TAKES ALL

a writing and roleplaying blog with a focus on exploring the demarcation of time. multi - muse. ― nurtured by fern.

[anakhronus]

blog rules / writer policies

I .   interactions stem from a reciprocal place. if i follow you, i like what i’ve found. that said, the onus can’t remain entirely with myself. please be open to communication, whether it be first introduction or invested plot. 

usually i prefer to plot out an interaction over engaging through memes.

very often i will hop into your DMs if i’d like to write with you. i read every blog’s rules, however please don’t hesitate to let me know if this method of reaching you is unwelcome!

II .   i will not write with persons under the age of 21, and preference will be strongly given to writers aged over 21. this is non - negotiable.

III .   content warnings will be in effect. you may approach to request i tag certain subject matter without a tag at any time.

for transparency, you can expect occasional themes of the following: - violence (physical and emotional) - blood & gore, body horror - trauma and trauma recovery, compartmentalization, and unhealthy coping mechanisms including substance abuse - gaslighting, emotional manipulation, and coercive influence - existential questioning and suicidal ideation

IV .   this is a hobby, and i am not always on top of things. you are always free to inquire on the status of a thread — or drop it entirely. my discord is available by request to current partners, and i may be reached there with almost guaranteed success if i’m otherwise unresponsive.

V .   please observe respect. patience is appreciated, as i work a variety of jobs and i’m protective of my time. i will try to communicate regularly if my schedule looks lean, but i do not need multiple reminders if i owe you a post. 

VI .   you may use icons, graphics, and formatted text as you please. i prefer not to. the only request I will make is that you not use incredibly small text. this is very difficult for me to read.

VII .   thank you for reading! you may call me fern. i’m 29 years old, my pronouns are they / them, and i reside with my partner and two dogs in the midwest. come say hello, or pop right over to check out the muse menu!

[metamorphesque]

“My father couldn’t warm my frozen hands.” ― Tahereh Mafi

1.Ocean Vuong | 2.Adam Custins | 3.Simone de Beauvoir | 4.Adam Custins | 5.Ocean Vuong | 6.Adam Custins | 7.Sigmund Freud | 8.Adam Custins | 9.Victoria Chang | 10.Anne Magill | 11.Catherine Lacey

[catchymemes]

[anakhronus]

if I ever tag you in a dash meme multiple times or on multiple blogs... I am sorry. I am crying my best

[anakhronus]

but have you ever seen skells and fern on the same place at the same time? nO YOU HAVEN'T. COINCIDENCE??

wait... who am I

[anakhronus]

[anakhronus]

Muse vs Mun

tagged: @trickstercaptain (ty!) tagging: @aglaecan / @immobiliter / @dimitresca / @mercysought / @beltraised / @imbricare

[anakhronus]

HOW DO YOU NEED TO BE TOUCHED? | cezara cernat.

cautiously.

your teeth are bared, as they have been, your jaw aching for so long as growls slip free. you always have to defend yourself. you lash out in fear. you need someone who does not shrink back... a hand falling slowly to your shoulder, however briefly, in a reminder that you do not have to lunge. there is no danger here, now.

tagged: @aglaecan tagging: @immobiliter (bobbie!) / @mercysought (émilie!) / @brutlist / @liesmth

[anakhronus]

∗ 59﹕ sender  prevents  an  injured  receiver  from  getting  up . @ amos

nonverbal prompts.

It's not a big deal. It's never a big deal, really; if it's a big deal, shit's gone sideways anyway and he'll be the least of her problems. It's not a big deal, but Naomi treats it like one, roping him into the big, space-eye view of... whatever this plan is shaking out to be, and while Amos isn't ungrateful, it's a big ask to expect he'll just lie here.

She can ask a lot. This, though, this is a bit much.

Amos' left hand wraps about her wrist, eyes immediately seeking hers. The grip is forgiving, even in its urgency. He'd never grab her this way otherwise. "You don't let me up, get outta my way, we're fucked," Amos says, simple and quiet and tense. "I'll bleed out later."

[brutlist]

     𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 , 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 , 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 . so he does , face pinked by the outside’s wintry chew , his cigarette just a hair’s breath from sizzling on it’s filter .     “     —     can i kiss you ?     “ 

[anakhronus]

Sahar has one, too. A cigarette, that is. It doesn't have a purpose other than to allow her some basic camouflage, risk-free and uninhibited. Damn shame she gets nothing out of the burn. "Very cute of you," she says with a short, threadbare laugh. The humor comes with a puff of smoke, and she turns her head to expel the remainder. "But no."

[ohisms]

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 .    (  a  collection  of  100  nonverbal  action  prompts .   mature  and  potentially  triggering  themes  are  present .   add  “ + reverse ”  to  swap  assigned  roles .)

∗ o1﹕ sender  tucks  hair  out  of  receiver’s  face . ∗ o2﹕ sender  offers  receiver  a  bite  from  their  fork . ∗ o3﹕ sender  places  their  feet / legs  in  receiver's  lap . ∗ o4﹕ sender  offers  receiver  an  earbud  to  share  their  music . ∗ o5﹕ sender  comforts  receiver  in  the  aftermath  of  a  nightmare . ∗ o6﹕ sender  gives  receiver  company  in  the  hospital . ∗ o7﹕ sender  wraps  their  arms  around  a  hysterical  receiver  to  calm  them . ∗ o8﹕ sender  shows  up  at  receiver’s  home  late  at  night . ∗ o9﹕ sender  falls  asleep  leaning  against  receiver . ∗ 1o﹕ sender  wields  a  [ gun / knife ]  at  receiver . ∗ 11﹕ sender  runs  their  fingers  through  receiver’s  hair . ∗ 12﹕ sender  invites  receiver  to  dance . ∗ 13﹕ sender  takes  a  [ picture / video ]  of  receiver . ∗ 14﹕ sender  places  their  head  in  receiver’s  lap . ∗ 15﹕ sender  and  receiver  make  eye  contact  across  a  busy  room . ∗ 16﹕ sender  pushes  receiver  against  a  wall  to  kiss  them . ∗ 17﹕ sender  and  receiver  cook  together . ∗ 18﹕ sender  comes  to  receiver  after  being  injured . ∗ 19﹕ sender  sits  in  receiver’s  lap . ∗ 2o﹕ sender  lifts  receiver's  chin ,  invoking  eye  contact . ∗ 21﹕ sender  overtakes  receiver  in  combat . ∗ 22﹕ sender  finds  receiver  [ injured / bloodied ] . ∗ 23﹕ sender  straightens  an  article  of  receiver’s  clothes . ∗ 24﹕ sender  crawls  into  bed  with  receiver . ∗ 25﹕ sender  rolls  their  eyes  at  receiver . ∗ 26﹕ sender  lights  receiver’s  [ cigarette / joint ] . ∗ 27﹕ sender  is  caught  wearing  receiver's  clothes . ∗ 28﹕ sender  strikes  receiver  with  a  pillow . ∗ 29﹕ sender  writes  a  note  on  receiver’s  skin :  [ note ] . ∗ 3o﹕ sender  wraps  a  blanket  around  receiver’s  shoulders . ∗ 31﹕ sender  runs  and  jumps  into  receiver’s  arms . ∗ 32﹕ sender  shoves  receiver  out  of  anger . ∗ 33﹕ sender  hovers  over  receiver’s  shoulder  as  they  complete  a  task . ∗ 34﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  somewhere  they  shouldn’t  be . ∗ 35﹕ sender  curls  up  against  receiver  in  their  sleep . ∗ 36﹕ sender  is  found  drunk  by  receiver . ∗ 37﹕ sender  throws  an  item  of  sentiment  bitterly  at  receiver . ∗ 38﹕ sender  joins  receiver  in  the  shower . ∗ 39﹕ sender  is  caught  following  receiver . ∗ 4o﹕ sender  traces  one  of  receiver’s  [ scars / bruises ] . ∗ 41﹕ sender  twines  their  fingers  with  receiver’s . ∗ 42﹕ sender  barges  into  receiver’s  home  unannounced . ∗ 43﹕ sender  kicks  receiver’s  shin  beneath  a  table . ∗ 44﹕ sender  aggressively  shoves  past  receiver . ∗ 45﹕ sender  kisses  receiver’s  [ forehead / cheek ] . ∗ 46﹕ sender  pulls  receiver  out  of  harm’s  way . ∗ 47﹕ sender  is  found  sobbing  by  receiver . ∗ 48﹕ sender  locks  receiver  out  of  their  room . ∗ 49﹕ sender  brings  receiver  [ coffee / tea ]  in  the  morning . ∗ 5o﹕ sender  rests  their  forehead  against  receiver’s . ∗ 51﹕ sender  plays  a  song  for  receiver  that  reminds  them  of  them :  [ song ] . ∗ 52﹕ sender  takes  a  [ punch / stab / bullet ]  meant  for  receiver . ∗ 53﹕ sender  buys  receiver  a  drink  at  a  bar . ∗ 54﹕ sender  needs  receiver’s  help  getting  in  the  bath . ∗ 55﹕ sender  and  receiver  cross  paths  in  the  kitchen  late  at  night . ∗ 56﹕ sender  twists  receiver’s  arm  behind  their  back . ∗ 57﹕ sender  winks  at  receiver . ∗ 58﹕ sender  is  found  collapsed  by  receiver . ∗ 59﹕ sender  prevents  an  injured  receiver  from  getting  up . ∗ 6o﹕ sender  claps  a  hand  over  receiver’s  mouth  to  silence  them . ∗ 61﹕ sender  cages  receiver  against  a  [ wall / the floor ]  with  their  arms . ∗ 62﹕ sender  storms  away  from  receiver  during  an  argument . ∗ 63﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  sleeping  in  receiver’s  bed . ∗ 64﹕ sender  [ applies / touches up ]  receiver’s  makeup . ∗ 65﹕ sender  throws  receiver  into  a  wall  during  combat . ∗ 66﹕ sender  dances  sensually  with  receiver . ∗ 67﹕ sender  strikes  receiver  across  the  face . ∗ 68﹕ sender  places  their  hand  on  receiver’s  leg  while  driving . ∗ 69﹕ sender  pulls  a  chair  out  from  under  receiver . ∗ 7o﹕ sender  catches  receiver’s  wrist  when  they  turn  to  leave . ∗ 71﹕ sender  leaves  an  intimate  mark  on  receiver . ∗ 72﹕ sender  beats  receiver  in  a  video  game . ∗ 73﹕ sender  and  receiver  stand  in  stunned  silence  after  a  fight . ∗ 74﹕ sender  cares  for  receiver  while  they’re  sick . ∗ 75﹕ sender  and  receiver  go  on  a  hike . ∗ 76﹕ sender  is  caught  snooping  in  receiver’s  things . ∗ 77﹕ sender  and  receiver  cuddle  while  watching  television . ∗ 78﹕ sender  throws  something  aggressively  at  receiver . ∗ 79﹕ sender  creeps  up  behind  receiver  to  scare  them . ∗ 8o﹕ sender  and  receiver  go  shopping  together . ∗ 81﹕ sender  helps  receiver  [ dye / style ]  their  hair . ∗ 82﹕ sender  draws  receiver  into  a  kiss  by  the  back  of  their  neck . ∗ 83﹕ sender  is  discovered  having  a  panic  attack  by  receiver . ∗ 84﹕ sender  accidentally  injures  receiver  during  sparring . ∗ 85﹕ sender  grabs  receiver  roughly  by  the  hair . ∗ 86﹕ sender  brings  receiver  to  their  knees  during  combat . ∗ 87﹕ sender  shows  receiver  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ∗ 88﹕ sender  winks  [ seductively / mockingly ]  at  receiver . ∗ 89﹕ sender  yells  at  receiver  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air . ∗ 9o﹕ sender  helps  receiver  patch  up  a  wound . ∗ 91﹕ sender  holds  receiver  as  they  cry . ∗ 92﹕ sender  silently  and  angrily  points  receiver  towards  the  door . ∗ 93﹕ sender  gestures  for  receiver  to  sit  down . ∗ 94﹕ sender  pulls  receiver  into  their  lap . ∗ 95﹕ sender  cradles  receiver’s  face . ∗ 96﹕ sender  tackles  receiver  out  of  the  way  of  danger . ∗ 97﹕ sender  has  hidden  an  injury  from  receiver ,  and  receiver  finds  out . ∗ 98﹕ sender  confronts  receiver  about  their  unhealthy  behavior . ∗ 99﹕ sender  proposes  to  receiver . ∗ 1oo﹕ sender  has  just  died ,  receiver  finds  out .

[aglaecan]

The movement of the bull, the snort of the heavy beast, drew his eyes for only a moment; and in that moment he looked again at the woman whose hair was not perfectly covered beneath her patterned wrap. Was the rest of her so imperfectly contained, he wondered? How much would it take to uncover it?

“This man is an idiot,” Cassander said aloud to Bibaut, his eyes returning briefly to the supposed potter Octav. Bibaut looked at him in startlement; but it seemed that neither the potter nor his wife did indeed speak English, as there was no overt reaction to the words.

Bibaut made a sort of soothing gesture with one hand, and Cassander snorted. The Belgian continued his quiet translation as he interrogated the potter gracefully enough that it did not seem an interrogation at all; and Cassander turned his attention away from Octav and back to his wife.

Her eyes had been on him, or so it seemed to him. The woman was staring at her husband now, and she looked as though she despised him. Cassander thought it would not take very much at all to tear the cloth from her hair and bare her soul.

He ignored the murmured translation, ignored the information Bibaut was taking care to keep imparting as his conversation with Octav continued. He ignored all of it, for he found himself certain it was all bunkum of the extremest order.

Cassander’s intuitive leap was justified in full the moment the blustering fool stepped away and the woman, Cezara, made her hasty correction. Her smile was gorgeously poisonous and Cassander felt a flutter of thrill low in his stomach, precursor to arousal. This was a woman who had been underestimated by many, greatly to their folly. He wondered if he could tame her.

He spoke. “You will guide us. We will pay the fool who married you well for the privilege.”

Bibaut stared at him and Cassander stared back. “Translate, Michel, or I won’t fuck you tonight at all,” he said dryly, “and you’ll have to make your hand’s acquaintance anew.”

"We will be discussing this later, Argent," Michel said; but translate he did.

[anakhronus]

The short and curiously agitated exchange passes without incident. Cezara watches their expressions, notes every shift, and feels her eyes narrow under the delicate, yet volatile pressure of Octav's temporary absence.

Michel Bibaut makes a translation, and not one to wear her sense of the world privately, her smile fades with silent surprise.

Now, she must think quickly — they could not be caught amidst negotiations of any kind once Octav was back among them. If she went, if he allowed it, there would be more talk among this village even if Octav were to intervene with a story of his own. The idea of it, this talk, does not needle her… but it will affect Octav, and so it will all come back into her hands. If she does not go, if she refuses, these men may not make their way.

Or worse yet, they will return with others, and make their way forcefully.

The balance is weighed carefully as she looks from the Belgian to the Englishman, and there upon him her stare rests. She saw no balance in his eyes, but there was something keenly knowledgeable in his words, filtered by translation though they may be. The privilege — generous, she thinks, and perhaps too much so. If he understands Octav is a fool, perhaps he can guess that she is not.

"If he agrees, I will guide you. When you make your offer, remember that he wishes he were more than he is." She hears him coming a moment before he strides back through the cottage door, a folded map held gently in his fist.

Her head turns away from him, but she need not have bothered; Octav is on a direct path back to his guests. Michel takes the opportunity to translate Cezara's answer, speaking with gestures of a conversational nature to support the clear absence of any… soliciting of his wife.

"I have it here!" Octav declares, and sidling near the two men, he carefully unfolds the heavy paper and indicates the way due north. "You see? This will be your best path, and there are sites here, guaranteed."

"I see," Michel affirms, "undoubtedly you're right. Still, we would like a guide. We must go tomorrow morning, and so it would be better if we could buy another favor from you."

Octav's surprise gives way to thinly veiled excitement and ends in a slight frown. "Yes, maybe this is best. But... I can't leave my work this soon. If I could have only a day more, this would please us all!"

Shaking his head with a solemn smile and a placating hand, Michel continues, "Tomorrow morning. Your wife, could she guide instead?"

Octav's frown deepens, and his glance goes to Cezara. She meets it with a bemused, single-armed shrug.

"We will pay you what your wisdom is worth, sir, and more. Much more, provided we find what we’re looking for." Michel’s eye twinkles. Octav takes a moment to think, and while he does so, Michel turns to Cassander and relays the exchange.

“She knows the way,” Octav says at last, and it was as good as a yes.

Michel’s open gestures of gratitude are a trifle, but go far. “This is good news, thank you my friend. Now I only ask one more thing: may we borrow this map, and return it and your woman in good time?”

“Yes, of course. But I want the money first, by morning.”

There is another, shorter pause. “Your cock better be worth it,” Bibaut remarks to Cassander in English, matching the tone of dry, yet perhaps not wholly dismissible promises. He returns quickly to Romanian. “Understood, my friend. Come morning, we will pay you half of these earnings, and pay you the rest on our return. Is it fair? We’ll be no more than a few weeks gone.”

Octav rubs the back of his neck and turns to look toward his wife. Cezara meets his eyes unsmilingly, the uneven vertical stripe of her bare chest rising with a slow, steady breath under her blouse. It hardly matters that he’s rented her like a cart — if she works these three men carefully, she need never see any of them again. “You will go with them come morning. Go inside,” Octav tells her, and rather than obey immediately, her eyes first flick back to Cassander.

“It’s done,” Bibaut says to Cassander only. “I promised him half his due as we leave.” Cezara only turns away and goes just before her smile can catch the way a spark does over dry moss.

[aglaecan]

Hawke gives the man an assessing kind of look. He doesn’t seem like the sort who’s going to take liberties with a girl in his car. (If he is, she’s got more than a few knives stashed on her, and knows how to use them. If he is, she also has one more weapon in the arsenal.) She gives a sharp whistle and, after a moment, from somewhere in the bushes t’side of the road bounds a large ball of grey energy.

A pitbull, that shade of grey fur they call “blue,” with a white belly and paws, and eyes of mismatched colors. He comes to a halt at Hawke’s side, sitting down and giving her a quizzical whine, the look in his eye somehow seeming more intelligent than he ought to be. His head comes up past her waist.

“Mind dogs?” she asks the fancy man in the fancy car. “This here’s Huan, and he’s a good boy. Won’t go for you for no reason.”

Huan gives a quiet yip at the sound of his own name, and thumps his docked stub of a tail as if to prove he is a very good boy indeed. “Popeyes, it is?” Hawke says then, not climbing into the car till this fellow gives his opinion on dogs and the possible welcoming thereof. “2010.” Her eyes narrow a bit, and she gives a short nod, having decided he’s saying something without saying it. 

“Personally I’m queer as a treeful of Shakespeare-writing monkeys so I don’t eat that homophobia chicken either.”

[anakhronus]

There's nothing wrong with a little expression. Blanc's brow pulls its weight as the young woman, flashy and narrow as a pocket knife, reveals her company. He's a beauty alright, big and... blue? Such a fantastic shade! Blanc lifts his sunglasses for a moment, just a bit, just for a peek. Then, he huffs a little one-note laugh. "Huan... now, I know I've heard that somewhere," He mutters to himself, but not quietly enough for this to be plain. The familiarity gets waved away, literally in fact, and he gives her a nod. "Then we'll get on just fine, you and I! You know, convenience not withstanding, I... well, I just found it soul-less. There's a certain kind of pleasure in learning later on one's intuition was correct. Hop in," he says again, and twists about as an afterthought to be sure there was space enough for Huan in the back seat. Of course there was -- not much back there but a stray receipt and Philip's winter gloves. A quiet crud leaves him once he remembers Philip had been looking for those. Coming back around in his seat, Blanc startles suddenly, and points the woman's way. "Huan, the Hound of Valinor! Now that's a name."

[brutlist]

anakhronus·:

He’s not so much younger than she is. He moves like he’s worked with his body the whole of his life; speaks like someone who learned very early that saying fewer words makes the outcome easier to control; behaves like someone who finds the levity where it takes others longer to look – or maybe like a parent. All of these things are true to her, but they were shallow, because they don’t know one another at all. But she remembers him, and the recognition keeps her from reacting to the unexpected touch in a manner some might consider extreme. “Jacob,” Sahar greets quietly, turning her body toward him and away from the windows that frame the dark, moonless city night. If there was a little yellow Volkswagon on the street, it’s gone now. She looks him in his tired eyes and her lips twitch into a faint smile. “Please tell me you don’t do that to everyone you met once, more than a year ago.”

     𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 , 𝐢𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐰𝐚𝐲 . their conversation has been menial , polite , not overstepping the live local music that strums along to the tune of peppered small talk , the metallic chatter of silverware and plating . and then , there it is . when heugh looks to her again , takes in that concave smile     —     he finds it .       something inside his belly rolls over , and that’s just fine . he remembers now . the waiting room , the coffee machine that wouldn’t work , the soak of red still smattered across his shoe . he remembers the boy , the way he’d already smelt of a dead thing when he’d been rushed into the OR , and ripped out of heugh’s hands .       the liquor’s swallowed wrong , sears his throat until he grimaces , rolls his nose . guess he’ll have to flirt another time .     “     not everyone .     “

[anakhronus]

What comes after those words, Sahar can't imagine. Maybe a but; some exceptional remark or other, carefully extricated from the referenced occasion and restructured into a sociable exchange. Normal, whatever that means. Normal for a first meeting in a hospital, between the pathology labs and emergency care. 

The musicians on the distant stage lead their song to a well-practiced close. There's a drink on the table closest to her, untouched. The ice has long since melted, a layer of watery amber sitting atop liquid bronze, all perspiration wept from the glass and pooling in a ring about the glass bottom. She doesn't reach for it — she's watching his face. 

"How are you?" The question comes after a stretch of silence, a quiet without expectation. Sahar asks it because she would like to know, not because she considers it a courtesy. Fuck courtesy. Another song keys up, and the dispersed crowd in this place cheers, recognizing it. 

She hasn't come here for the music. She's here because she needs to hunt to survive. In the low ambient light, her brown eyes are nearly black. They flick down sharply to the glass in his hand. "And what, for the love of god, are you drinking?"

[itberice]

[immobiliter]

       “ After all this is said and done, peewee… I will require a rematch. ”

@anakhronus​  /  s.c.

[anakhronus]

"Fine," a beat, a breath. Bare honesty; it's only half of one. He never did give a fuck. "I'm a people-pleaser."

[eirene]

Shot in the Dark, 1943 Tom Lovell