10 paragraphs due on MONDAY and I only have 2 done❤️ not only that but I'm literally SO FKING BUSY THESE NEXT FEW DAYS AND I JUST WANT TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Sorry I fell off the face of the earth for a bit btw, have a kitkat. I met this girl who'se fine asf and I feel so bad bc I approached her today and it was awkward
Here's some stuff I drew on the back of my chemistry notebook this year
im gonna kms if this doesn't save BUT I WROTE A FIC HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT🥂🍾🥳🎆🕺🏼💃🏼🕺🏼💃🏼🤙🏼🤙🏼🤙🏼
I'm doing the dating sim but fanfic style lmaooooooo
Tw: blood, death, jokes about death (sorry Elvis), vomit, suicide mentions
why do people c-nsor tw warnings it low-key pissed me off because they're just alienizing the words when they SHOULD be INTEGRATED INTO OUR SOCIETY to ELIMINATE STIGMA
Let me be YOUR Human
Chapter 1 ish - Joyful Inquisition
Roanoke was a joke. This much is true.
Except this was only partially true. It could've been an April fools joke for all we know. They could've been abducted by aliens. Except it wasn't. It disappeared like his wife did in the dead of night, never to be seen again, never to smile with again. Her ghost lingers outside the window* he never speaks of because she wasn't a joke to him. She was the only thing real
*Or maybe it was just a pale freak doing the helicopter :p The world may never know
And now the world is on fire. He swears he could've never known she'd die. Never noticed mushrooms growing in the basement before this, and he's never felt more jealous over a person hanging in the street than today. He's never wanted to be at the end of a bottle more than now. But life, or death rather, picks and chooses its favorites.
>who is it
And he's one of them.
He's in the living room reading the Sherlock Holmes saga to an audience of three, a man stranded from a bar, another man half-dead from third-degree burns, and one who believed his house was impossibly cold even if the company was anything but and the world in flames. A crash happens, a solid crunch echoing through the house, a shrill scream breaks through the imposed silence.
It's no surprise how the quietest ones can make the most noise. Even if said "one" has his mouth broken from seams that once forced it shut.
"Christ," the man in blue moves to stand, marking his page with a lightly-used napkin.
His feet pace over solid wood, across the hallway to where the man once sewn shut and a widow crowd the door. Their hunched frames etched with panic give him pause.
Swatting them aside with a wave of his hands, he tuts. "What's gotten into you two?"
Something metallic hits his nose before he can open his eyes, and suddenly, he doesn't want to look anymore. But his eyes flicker open instinctively.
He knows who's on the floor, knows who's blood that is, had smelt it before when scolding the young child for running around the house. He's smelt the blood when wrapping her knees in plasters from the scrapes she got from tripping on the floor. He'd even patted her cheek dry after she scratched it too hard one time. Yes, he knows her blood very well. She's the only one he knows by name.
"..."
How did this happen? How.
Elvis Presley one morning got up, believed himself to be fine, and died on the toilet. His father always laughed at the fact- how could someone die on the toilet? How do you not notice something's wrong? Respectfully, he would always apologize to whoever comanded from above that he was sorry about his father mocking the dead.
Yeah. Guess who's laughing now. Fuck you, Elvis (respectfully). Fuck you, dad (not respectfully).
He rushed to Eva's side, inspecting her head for the wound. The shower had since turned off, and whatever blood was on the tub was on its way to washing down the drain. Her skull had cracked where her forehead was, and the way she fell broke her neck as well. She wouldnt've survived with either one injury because of the lack of hospitals and all with the world going to shit.
His thumbs moved over her face gently, inspecting her innocently childish features one last time- bloody as they were. "Oh sweetheart..." Finally, they moved over her eyes, pulling the lids shut so she could rest in peace.
The neighbor's daughter was gone. Now that she was literally gone, he didn't know what to do with her. It was still morning, he wasn't ready to say goodbye. He had just finished with breakfast and the dishes, but now? All of it was coming back up.
Literally.
He moved over towards the toilet, abandoning her body in the tub. Two people entered before he kicked the door shut, and a pair of hands were steadying him as he retched into the toilet.
The smell of potatoes behind him made him sicker but relieved as well. Wires was good with taking care of people, the widow as well. Her husband was sitting in the hallway where she had been waiting for the little girl to exit.
Feeling a hand comb through his hair was what pulled him out of his trance for a moment. He swatted Wires's hand away. There was no way he was letting something that intimate happen.
There's knocking at the door. There's knocking at the door. There's knocking at the door. There's knocking at the door. There's knocking at the door. There's knocking at the door. There's knocking aT THE DOOR. THERE'S KNOCKING AT THE DOOR THERE'S KNOCKING A T THE DOO R. . TH E RE 'S KN OCK IN G A T THE DOOR.THERE'SKNOCKINGATTHE DOOR
.
He stands, hands twitching with need as he wipes his spit on the back of his sweater. All things can be washed, except for his heart of the anguish its been put through, and his eyes of her lifeless body spread ungracefully tangled in the shower curtains with blood smeared across her face.
Each step feels like a million hours passingtheresknockingatthedoor. He gets there eventually, eyes sunken and pale-faced.
Not as pale-faced as his first visitor of the night.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FIRST PART OF CHAPTER 1 DONE, STILL SO MUCH THAT HAS TO HAPPEN but I lowk have the flu rn so I'm tryna get some rest
Please lmk if you decode the first part and comment the answer <3 I'm never doing that again
Listen to my Palegun playlist called Kissing Lead on spotify!!!!
If I knew how to code I'd make a dating sim but idk how soooo take my concept ideas<3
5 whole pages of overanalyzing 28 personalities. I was going for that crush crush style gameplay TBH but they all live together. I should lowk make another blog to make it tumblr-style lmaoooo
Thoughts? Please commenttttttttt I wish to hear the people speak
I wrote this partial prelude because I hate my English assignments
We'll see how this does before I post pt 2 lol
It's been four months since Mr. Cadence published his latest work, and the French public is in uproar about it. The aged streets line with excitement about the diplomat's poem. Being a foreigner assisting the high judge, his works quickly gained traction. In England's eyes, however, his work is never celebrated or gawked at. It's just another scroll to read, another section in the daily paper, another book on a shelf. Something about publishing in London made nothing new. Edward Cadence is all the public raves about in the heart of France.
Edward...
Antoine swears she's heard his name before. At a gala, perhaps? With her husband? Was that the striking gentleman who kissed her hand, muttering sweet poems under bated breaths? Thean who caught her attention better than her dearest Francis ever did?
Halfway across Versailles, Duke Francis Prose is in the sitting with a man dawning a blue overcoat, paired with dim eyes casting over floor plans of the palace down the road. Antoine Castille is to inherit the industrial empire of her father with factories in northern Spain and France, subsequently cementing her legacy as the first female heir to the Castille production plants. The man beside him, he's more than familiar with. The hotshot diplomat from England, the poet, the Queen's heart-throb, his cousin: Edward Cadence.
"The assassination will be held at the cérémonie, where Antoine will be crowned before being promptly beheaded." Francis sat inquisitively, blonde curls cascading over his ears like an olive crown.
Edward batted his lashes slowly in the nobleman's direction, "and...you're still okay with it? The whole beheading thing?" His hands fell into his lap hesitantly, thumbs palming the cotton embedded in his white gloves.
"I assure you," Francis's hand grazed Edward's top hat propped on the corner of the table, "if I had any qualms about this, I would've mentioned something sooner."