MAGMATIC @demottcm - Tumblr Blog

（ *𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙊𝙏𝙏𝘾𝙈 , ） murphie , twenty-five , plot-driven selective oc crime , sci fi , apoc multi muse blog . 21+ only . triggering content is present . mobile muse list available under the cut.

‍ 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙤 ， 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ， 𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ，credit。

#pinned. /#authored by murphie . 26 . est .#she / hers .#glossary and full backstories available on google doc soon! / 1.21.23 #𝐎𝐎𝐂 : murphie . ⧽

𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 ,

𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 — stashed behind the toilet tank like a dirty secret, as if anyone else would point out she’d triumphantly announced she would quit just two weeks before — anyone but herself. up on a stool so the smoke would float out the tiny window up above, when she saw the truck pulling in. the engine huffing as it came to a halt, the gleam of a pale winter sun bouncing off the windshield. for a second she let that simple image sit with her, resting on her irises: something mundane, almost depressing in its simplicity. a life of nothing, of pulling in on weekdays and getting out on weekends —— wasn’t theirs, though. could never be theirs. he wouldn’t come in right away. if this was a movie, perhaps he would — all the more mundane, and simpler, for there is no distinction between light and darkness and all things good are good right until the end, and all things evil are gone and vanquished. fred laughed, mostly at herself. born and raised in the faded confines of penumbra, and now yearning for the clear cut lines between light and dark —— living in shadows got harder, and she kept growing more confused.

she was growing used to his silences — the pauses in between, like punctuation points for sentences she couldn’t quite understand in their entirety. and in the doubt she felt a guilt brewing, and wondered idly if this was right for him, or if she’d just prepared another cage for a man who didn’t know belonging unless it came with a noose around his neck. lately she’d been dreaming of a beaten dog, the same one every night, and it wasn’t lost on her, the question it brought along —— and the pain it took, to think of ilias as a wounded animal, and the guilt it caused to know some wounds would never heal. but the door of the truck opened, and he came out —— and fred sighed, left a half-smoked cigarette on the toilet sink, and smirked about the times she’d yelled at charlie for doing the same.

charlie’d grown tall enough that his frame now almost blocked out ilias’, and she had to tap him hard against the shoulder to get him to move. “i knew he would ”, fred smiled lightly, wholeheartedly now, without a sigh: ‘cause he was here. in between this and the moment of doubt was him being here, and real — and though no triumph would follow along, or a choir of angels singing somewhere in the back of her mind, the warmth embrace of relief was welcome all the same, a small mercy in a cold winter. “ hey ”, she reached for his hand, then brushed her fingers against the bandages and examined them, carefully. washed out hues of red peeked in through the gauze, and the skin beneath it looked darkened. fred raised her gaze, then, to meet his, pleading for honesty: “ are you okay ?” yet that sort of honesty demanded a different setting — away from ed and lucie.

one hand on charlie’s shoulder, to grab his attention. “ i’m gonna take five, you’re okay to take over ?”. didn’t expect much more than the charlie brand of sarcasm — “ sure, go make out in the back ”, though his quips now came with a lower note at the end, half faded, not quite as convinced. still fred smiled, muttered “thank you ”, and nodded at ilias to head to the back room. there, door closed behind her, fred threw a glance at the first aid kit, but grabbed ilias’ hand gently, instead of moving to the shelf to get it. looking up at him once, then brushing a thumb lightly against the bandages: “ what happened ? ”

ilias sucked his teeth in response to charlie's quip , though it was accompanied by a little smirk and a rough nudge of their shoulders as he passed by. a part of him wished that they stayed there for a moment , maybe to catch up or to just share the air. because every time fred looked at him now , it felt like she was carrying the weight of his world.

he leaned against a stack of crates as she closed the door. when she addressed the most immediate and visible of his wounds , he couldn't help the habit of pulling her in. since the day they met , it's all he's wanted to do. to hug her close and find safety in her space : take her in his nose and over his tongue , under his fingertips and his palms as he held her close. then , he suffocated her. so , ilias knew better by now. his touch was gentle , his fingertips travelled up her legs and over her hips. ilias looked up at her ever so slightly with tenderness before pressing a kiss against her left clavicle.

" would you believe me if i said i tripped and fell? " unlike kal , ilias' smiles were far and few. but with her , he offered a small smile whenever he could. he'd been too careless with her before , despite her pushback to being cared for like a glass doll. the rest of his life would be dedicated to making sure that they could smile freely , one day. without paranoia , worry , or disdain. he leaned in gently , silently asking for a kiss before he averted his gaze.

it wasn't until he sighed that he garnered the courage to lift his wounded hand and have her hold it as gently as she tended to with his wounds. " i found her last hideout , but i was being tailed and i had to climb a barbed wire fence. " he looked at her with a twinge of shame , but he shoved the monster back in it's cove. she couldn't know that paranoia ate him alive at night , the weight of looking out for himself and this little family they've constructed was enough to crush the very foundations of everything he knew. " kafka , she's not far. so , i diverged and put her on the wrong path. " he never knew whether to give details , not until she asked.

" i'm okay , really. "

his eyes searched hers , they were tired and the flame he knew as bic had dimmed — nothing hurt him more than knowing that. ilias pressed his thumb against her cheek and dragged his knuckles along the edge of her jawline. " i won't have to go away for a while. "

anything she said after this would suffice as a damper on his nerves , since now he had a promise to fulfill with her. but she'd know that he wasn't telling her everything , that there was another part to the plan that he was devising during his every waking moment. he knew more after finding kafka's last spot , the plan had to change. it wasn't for the better. " i don't want to , i mean. "

#dadukos #› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : narrative .#› 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 ᥊ 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : 𝘿𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙋𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙎 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙀 #* i may or may not have a plot point that i really want to happen that occured to me whilst writing this reply and you may or may not hate #me for it um.#xoxoxoxoxoxo

𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 ,

“how long have you been standing there?” (from kafka , or ilias , or faulk! ) ( ⁰¹ )

she'd stopped in the window, tried to catch an eye — only caught that of some man at the halfway point, shooed away with a sudden scowl from her. so with time for fooling pushed aside, november closed the gap, amusement wilted. steps quieter than she thought, she can only just see over the man's shoulder: phone aglow, perhaps something she shouldn't know — by her book, then, that makes it something she probably should.

but she is caught. later than she expected, but caught nonetheless, and with a charming smile, a glint in her eye that might not have been described on a second thought as friendly. “ how long is too long? ” perhaps her levity has not completely died, teasing as if she'd seen much at all; but the face of it is NULL before she pulls out her chair, VOID by the time she is seated. in a voice as swiftly dulled, “ i heard y'got something for me. ”

it seemed as though he were waiting aimlessly for no one. purpose was starting to dim and blur in recent years , thirty years in the " business " as it were was just the right amount to begin a harrowing amount of jadedness and paranoia. after all , the nasty thing about hired guns was that everything would be rendered meaningless if someone put a hit on a hitman. kalix knew that his time would be up at some point , but each sip of coffee and every tap on his phone was accompanied by a twinge of awareness.

it was never simple with november , sometimes it scared him : the way november reminded him of a time that once was his reality. she could look fearless and levelheaded , pull jokes and smile the way she did as she sat down. kalix looked at her with complacency and put his phone face down on the tiny café table between them. her snark gets him to pull a soft smile , " maybe you're just getting too good for me. " yeah , buttering her up for a second might tip her off. but maybe she'd appreciate the flattery and give him the light of day.

this wasn't going to be the most pleasant of requests , he preferred to work alone. but she'd just do a better job , a fact that would never be said with his own mouth. kalix reached down into his backpack and pulled out a dark green folder , the kind a fifth grader brings to school each day. " i need a partner for an upcoming project " in it , was a hit profile. " thought you'd be right right person to ask. " he needed the help. with his trust crumbling like a saltine , this was just his way of asking. while sliding it over , he then looked over at the café menu. " you want anything? " please. i'll owe you one.

#› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : narrative .#n0vembers #𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#thanks so much for this! excited to see where it goes :^)

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 ,

❝ truth or dare? what am i, fucking-- twelve years old and braiding your hair at a bratz themed sleepover? ❞ what he really is is a bit tipsy, actually, and being far too prissy about partaking in regular people's party games. he's not interested in anything that couldn't realistically ruin someone's entire livelihood. whatever happened to betting your annual earnings on a game of darts? now there's a dare.

❝ if you want something, just fucking say so. ❞ it's delivered with a shrug, like it's the natural thing to do. like he wouldn't be purposely difficult if approached outright. ❝ especially if this is supposed to be an excuse for asking super intrusive questions, i fucking love talking about myself, go ahead. ❞

please , please tell me you're joking. they spoke silently to someone that might be listening : krishna , abraham , zeus , albert einstein , truly anyone. kafka's palm pressed against their temple as they leaned against the mantel , some random shelf that the filthy rich designed for $20 stockings and two-for-$89.99 candles. everything this little worm was only added up to being bullshit.

their task was simple , originally. scare the vienna sausage of the family , go home. somehow , a simple confrontation turned into a babysitting gig. he reeked , in more ways than one. spewing something about sleepovers and wanting to talk about himself.

funnily enough , roman roy didn't seem the least bit concerned as to why a stranger was in his apartment. they pondered for a moment before finally responding by reaching behind their back and releasing the safety of their .22 rapid-fire pistol. the mechanical click was followed by silence and a sharp stare.

" okay , talk. " kafka shrugged and put their hand back in their pocket , still leaning against the mantel with their hand holding up their head. and they shrugged. " i'm listening. "

#rvolving #rvolving ( roman )#› 𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀 : narrative .#she / her / they / them

𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐣𝐚 ,

there were so few people, before or after the end of the world, that made nadja feel deferential. she’d always bucked at any sense of authority, but some people had something in ‘em that went beyond a badge and a gun or a tie and a pink slip. kafka was like that. nadja didn’t know much about them, and couldn’t really put a finger on why, but they had a presence. it didn’t make her nervous, but it made her think a little more before she spoke. it made her give a little more of a fuck. and, maybe subconsciously, made nadja stand up just a little straighter too—rolling her shoulders back in her leather jacket, which stuck to her like a second skin with cold sweat on nights like these.

unless she was talking shit or drunk, she wasn’t a big talker. people who knew her, back when knowing her was worth something, would’ve argued. that was just because she was always drunk. it had only gotten worse once she’d gotten a little blood on her hands and her flight to china had been delayed. but when the world ended and she kept waking up–ears ringing, hands shaking–eventually she had to cut it back if she wanted to live. and, hell, maybe there was no hope of ever seeing nainai again, but the hopes of finding someone with a plane kept her going at least. more than any self-preservation had. she’d learned a lot from being sober and everything she’d ever known ending. all the shit she liked was tied to civilization and it was all gone. fuck.

being paired with kafka was preferential than anyone else she could’ve been stuck running supplies with, but at least with any of those idiots she didn’t care so much what they thought of her. she kept quiet as they walked, speaking up finally to gesture to a group of shambling dead bumping into abandoned cars in the costco parking lot. had to already be picked over, right? when she said as much, kafka said something philosophical and nadja couldn’t help but snort. “that’s fucking bleak. like sartre bleak.” she didn’t really remember if that was the right reference, but it sounded like something she remembered from one of the less boring night classes she’d barely passed at the community college. “you think the costco’s worth picking over or should we move on?” she was a true scavenger, too much work for a potentially little reward wasn’t her style, but the dead circled the parking lot like carrion and the payoff could really go either way.

‍ ‍ ‍

again? that'd be the fourth time this week that kafka would be stuck with god-knows-who walking around everyone-knows-where. the truth was that rations were already halved , the scavenging runs were becoming more frequent , and the saltines were not cutting it anymore. people were slowly losing their respect and patience for the truth , which was beyond understandable. people just never know what to do with it. then , all their frustration and rage becomes useless. that's where competence and capability go to die. kafka thought that scavenge runs would do the trick , make use out of their lost sense of time and place. seeing nadja's name next to there provided nothing short of relief : finally , some competence.

their life before the dead walked just deteriorated into ghosts and ghouls. ilias left , adelaide was missing , and randy - they sighed softly. " i was going for nietzsche bleak , but i'll take sartre. " kafka offered her a shrug and continued walking rather aimlessly on their path : past the community college , a walk along the perimeter of costco , and looping parallel with the highway.

" you remember when people used to joke about what they'd do during the apocalypse? " fast or slow zombies , weapon of choice , taking over costco , a mall , or a local grocery first? it was a mental experiment , maybe even a philosophical one. it was also naive to think that they'd ever have a choice in the matter. kafka pursed their lips and stood beside nadja , curiously looking beyond the parking lot. god , all of this is bullshit. isn't it?

" costco? i don't know , nadja. " they looked over at her with a sense of hesitancy. " i guess we're running out of places to raid , though. " then , a complacent sigh. the last three times they scavenged this week , everyone opted to skip costco for reasons that were both obvious and vague. " there's nothing left anywhere else. " kafka unfastened their mag and checked their ammo , half full. they shrugged again. " you know the best way in? i've never been in. "

#› 𝐊𝐀𝐅𝐊𝐀 : narrative .#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#fiinalgiirls #fiinalgiirls ( nadja )#apoc au /

givethispromptatry

"Your hair smells nice."

"Stop sniffing me."

"Kinda hard to do at the moment given we're stuffed like sardines in this fucking broom closet."

#‘overdid it with the perfume/cologne today’#‘being locked in a closet with an opinionated asshat wasnt on my itinerary for today so please forgive my over fucking spritzing habit’#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : wanted connects . ⧽#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.

eurodynamic

IDRIS ELBA as Solomon Reed Cyberpunk 2077: Phantom Liberty (2023) dev. CD Projekt Red

#› 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 : visuals .#› 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 : musings .#› 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 : wanted .#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : wanted connects . ⧽#cyberfuture au /#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#tw long post #the hold this game has on me i swear /

houndmouthed

The moment a character realises they've been betrayed vs the moment a character realises they're going to betray someone, fight!

#*bites fist w tears streaming down my face*#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : wanted connects . ⧽#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#𝐎𝐎𝐂 : murphie . ⧽

towl

Angela Sarafyan as ‘Jessica Chambers’ in A House on the Bayou (2021)

#› 𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐄 : visuals .#› 𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐄 : musings .#tw blood #tw violence #tw gun #𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 : far down, there was an ITCH in their heart, but they made it a point not to scratch it. they were afraid of what might come leaking out.

𝘿 𝙀 𝙈 𝙊 𝙏 𝙏 𝘾 𝙈 is a multi oc muse blog following a criminal on-the-run narrative. + with alternate universes set in worlds of pirates, privateers, cyberpunk 2077, altered carbon, the last of us, and until dawn. DOC. / ©

#indie oc rp #indie crime rp #indie horror rp #tlou rp #indie lit rp #𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#𝐎𝐎𝐂 : murphie . ⧽

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 , 𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐡 fiinalgiirls : " you seriously think i could’ve done this ? daniel & hasher "

" i thought it was a bit of a stretch , " he moved around with his hands clasped behind his back as he took long , lazy strides like an old man taking walks down a cobblestone road. hasher craned his neck as if he were peeking around corners , but there wasn't anything stupendously interesting about a the vet's office.

then , he smiled with sarcasm dripping from the corners of his lips. " but i wouldn't put it past you to try and report it to the police. good thing that you know better , for some reason."

the trigger-happy metal hardware was clearly hanging on his waist , a universal message.

the curl of his lip remained as he faced the veterinarian himself. he spoke plainly. " 최다니앨 씨 , just talk to me for a second. " hasher shrugged as he reached into a glass jar for a biscuit to fiddle with. or to munch on. " you saw something at the crematorium , you filled out the report , but you never sent it. "

he curiously eyed the dog biscuit. " why? "

a starter for @fiinalgiirls .

#fiinalgiirls #› 𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 : narrative .#hope this is ok! lmk if i need to make any changes /#beta editor /#fiinalgiirls ( daniel )

muse : ilias abørn , prisoner on ice & direct gun for hire via needlecast.

scenario : set in the altered carbon verse. he's just been decanted into a sleeve of your muse's choice , on a world he won't recognize. he's walking out of qincheng prison and your muse has a job offer.

open to anyone who wants to write the ALTERED CARBON verse , non-mutual & mutual friendly.

𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙫𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙞𝙤𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙚 𝙣𝙪𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙡 , 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪?

when they made stacks , they thought that it was finally possible to separate the mind and body. there's a few steps to the worst part. first , of course , is pulling out the oxygen feed — a wiry plastic feed that expands the esophagus. some have to choke for a minute before an intern pulls it out , but ilias had done it enough to reflexively do it himself upon every decant. then there's the wobbly knees and the mobility lag.

now , it really sucks when it with sleeve shock drama : unnecessary screaming and panicking. ilias was lucky this time , he died a slow and painless death. so , he only gasped for air , suffered a migraine , and some growing pains for the next half-hour. the sleeve had some heavy neurochem work and a quick bio-healing pattern , that's all he could figure for now. he's usually spun up in virtual first , so waking up blind to reality in the real? well , it had him on edge.

after a shower , ilias re-entered the room with some disdain. he glared at the other and motioned downward at the silly silk bathrobe hanging from his frame. " ever heard of pants? " am i swedish?

#indie oc rp #indie horror rp #altered carbon rp #indie scifi rp #indie crime rp #› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : open .#open starter /#beta editor /#book or tv show experience is fine w me ! /

ohisms

↪ 𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑩𝑰𝑫 ᶜᵘʳᶤᵒˢᶤᵗʸ . ( a collection of various unsorted question prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . will be updated frequently . )

are you kidding me ?

[ name ] , what just happened ?

hey ! what’d you do that for ?

did you plan on ever telling me ?

do you want to tell me the truth , this time ?

you seriously think i could’ve done this ?

did you know about this ?

[ name ] , what were you thinking ?!

can we talk ? alone ?

why are you doing all of this ?

it can’t be that bad , right ?

haven’t you heard the stories ?

who did this to you ?

what are you insinuating ?

what did you think was gonna happen ?!

you think i could do something like that ?

who do you think you are ?

why won’t you let me help you ?

do you have any evidence of that ?

can we put away our differences for a second ?

where have you been ?

is that … blood ?

what’s your problem ?

are you real ?

where’s your sense of adventure ?

would you kill for me ?

you’re [ name ] , aren’t you ?

why can’t you just let it go ?

do you want me to stay ?

what if we left … ran away ?

what else was i supposed to do ?

how did you get this scar ?

could you give me a hand with this ?

do you ever stop talking ?

you’ve never done this before , have you ?

where do you think you’re going ?

how many fingers am i holding up ?

what can i say to make it better ?

why can’t we all just get along ?

can i stay the night ?

what’s that supposed to mean ?

where did your common sense go ?

you seriously don’t believe me ?

what aren’t you telling me ?

do you have a minute ?

why are you lying ?

you’re gonna walk away from this ?

where am i supposed to go ?

can we stop and think about this rationally ?

how long has it been since you’ve slept ?

why can’t we be civil about this ?

what makes you so special ?

where is all of this coming from ?

how are we gonna get out of here ?

you’ll never leave me , right ?

were you in on this ?

care to join me for a bit ?

shows what you know , doesn’t it ?

do you want to get out of here ?

what were you expecting to happen ?

what are you working on ?

i can tell you’re upset , what happened ?

when can i see you again ?

where do we go from here ?

can you sit up for me ?

how long have you been awake ?

what are you getting out of this ?

can we put this behind us ?

where are you ? nobody’s heard from you .

how can i make this go away ?

were you following me ?

where does it hurt ? show me .

[ name ] , what the hell ?

hey … can i ask you something ?

you’re not gonna tell me where we’re going ?

really ? you’re gonna do that right here ?

are you even listening to me ?

we can help each other , right ?

hey … did you hear that ?

you have no idea who i am , do you ?

how long have you known ?

what exactly are you asking me to do ?

how was i supposed to know that ?

are you new around here ?

can you stop and listen to me for a second ?

do you think there’s something wrong with me ?

what , you think i’m not qualified ?

why did you help me ?

can you just look at me , please ?

what can i do to convince you ?

where did we go wrong ?

oh my god , are you bleeding ?

why the long face ?

are you trying to get yourself killed ?

what do you make of this ?

how much do you wanna bet ?

you’re sure this will work ?

why are you so concerned about me ?

what are you trying to prove ?

did you ever care about me ?

are you drunk ?

isn’t this amazing ?

how long have you been standing there ?

what are you suggesting ?

why are you such a pessimist ?

did you know them ?

can we call it a day ?

where did you come from ?

#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : prompts . ⧽#will be treated as starter prompts ! /#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 , 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐈𝐑. he turned off his car engine and found some welcomed nostalgia in this moment : sitting in the parking lot outside of an old drugstore. it was something they both related to , old and rusty on the outside but reformed and warm on the inside. they found that in each other , he and fred. he sighed , a cloud of fog formed with his breath. how did it come to this? ilias saw it as a cage , this drugstore of hers. a nice cage. fruits from young trees that she burrowed in supple soil with her own hands , and she seemed to enjoy the feeling of flour now , cool powder that sticks and puffs. at some point in time , it would have annoyed her that it got everywhere.

she makes pie now. wonderful pies , he thought. she never believed him when he said he enjoyed them , because they weren’t ever going to be good to her own taste. never enough sweetness , bitterness , or never the right texture. but that’s what made it perfect , to him at least. that’s what made her perfect. he opened the door to his truck and checked the duffel in the back , it didn’t carry much. just a few change of clothes and boots , three glocks and twenty boxes of ammunition. and a diary. but he didn’t want to think about that right now.

when he walks in , a few people from the town greet him with that mumbled hallmark greeting. a bunch of “ hey! “ and “ look who it is! “ and “ big guy! ” , as if it was supposed to be comforting. but they liked the community , fred and charlie. so , he liked it too. after all , he’s ed turner of the turner family of turner’s corner store. it wasn’t on a corner like they usually were , but rather there was a corner in it for a passerby to enjoy a slice of pie and a coffee. see? corner store. he nodded and held a hand up to the few people who greeted him , he passed them with gentle greetings on his way to the back.

“ hey , kid. ” he spoke gently to the young man with the apron. charlie turned around and to ilias’ surprise , he had a beard. and his hair was longer , curlier than usual. but the smile on his face was the same and his hugs were just as tight. behind him , was her. charlie hooked his chin on ilias’ shoulder and smiled , “ told you he’d be back soon. ” ilias looked at freddie and reached a hand out to her. his write hand was bandaged and bruised , he’d explain later.

hi. his eyes remained on hers. i missed you.

starter for — @dadukos

#› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : narrative .#dadukos

mackayzy

George MacKay in I CAME BY (2022).

#› 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 : visuals .#› 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 : musings .#this murder’s getting big #and hes gonna be my fav to fuq up ♡

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄 ( @dadukos ) ,

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 / ft. @kalixus. st. peter’s bar, ashford, ca. march 28th, 4:32 pm.

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃, had found a way to begin repeating itself. even now, even here: in the thick of a so-called new beginning. it had done so discreetly, sneaking up on her not with the tightening of a noose or an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia: her routine had settled in gently, comfortable almost, like a blanket, like a well rehearsed line that somehow always got the laugh. behind the counter of st. peter’s, freddie dawson reinvented herself as the patron saint of purgatory and stood among bottles and glasses, as she had for the past four years or so. waltzing up and down her path like a guardian well acquainted with her kingdom: patrons would gesture for whiskey, for sherry, and once or twice entice her creativity with a cocktail she hadn’t been able to try her hand at yet, and she would smile, crack a joke, dutifully head towards her task as if that, too, was a test meant to prove her belonging to such a place. she would pour this and that, and take whatever conversation they were willing to produce with grace, like an offering to an altar: looks like rain, doesn’t it ? sure does, ned —— it’s about time. it all went along predictably, a script she knew by heart — only the weather still presented its fair share of variability. and though this dull life was peaceful to her, and she’d caught herself calling it shelter more than once, freddie surprised herself when the smell of a gathering storm came in through the door, and she caught herself harboring a nervous excitement at the prospect.

the gentleman who’d carried it with him, upon opening the door to st. peter’s, seemed tall enough to have to crouch through the entrance — or perhaps it was just her imagination, drawing cartoonish details where there were none, drawing a light grin from her lips where there was no amusement. the motions were mechanical, these too aptly rehearsed: she’d put down her glass of water, wipe her hands, step closer to the bar top. “ just in time, uh ? ”. freddie nodded towards the windows, where the stained glass couldn’t hide the wind picking up, streetlamps trembling, and the thickening darkness of clouds gathering up above. but the shadow of mesmerized concern crossed her face only briefly: step four in the usual routine was a smile, reassuring any lost soul who’d wandered in st. peter’s that they’d stumbled into the right place. nevermind their ailments, the scars. she saw one on his face, across the bridge of his nose: if this was a book, she thought briefly, that’d be the passing detail introducing a major character. the unwilling hero of the story, marked for tragedy from the very first page. fred smiled. “hi. what can i do ya for ? ”.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

he wasn’t all that appreciative of the cinematic entrance. nothing seemed like a good sign : thunder crashed just before he opened the door , lightning struck after he stepped in , and all the while — the rain drowned out any silence that would have comforted him. ilias became overly aware of the eight pairs of eyes that were watching him unsheathe from his drenched canvas jacket. he felt like a spectacle as the stranger whom emerges from the mist. and so , like a large cat making eye contact with his spectators on the other side of steel bars , ilias slowly moved towards an empty seat at the end of the bar. cautious and purposeful as he met every single gaze with a tablespoon of disdain.

her voice wasn’t quite what he expected , but then again —— he didn’t know what to expect at all. he only knew her from behind a manila folder , held together by a paperclip , and described with encoded gibberish. her name is fredericke , it was unclear whether she goes by her surname dickinson or by dawson , had she had reclaimed a new surname. thirty-five years of age , five feet and three inches , about 150 pounds. natural red hair and pale skin , freckles , blue eyes. remaining family is but an estranged sister and an uncle — who ever so kindly provided little to no more information than that for the hit he placed.

she’s his mark , the high-toned yet dark voice that emerged before him. hazel met blue with little trouble. “ a hot toddy with a rye. ” his voice was rather sandy and hoarse. the abrasive sound of a winter city streets of the northeast seemed to spike interest for a nosy few. under realization —— ilias hadn’t spoken over five words at a time over the course of eight days. he adjusted his posture and looked around at the eyes that still lingered , shamelessly so. his eyes simply looked on tiredly , a gaze with the intensity he never meant to impose. he looked over to the barkeep and pressed into his tight-lipped smile , one where the corners of his lips did not budge. “ woodford reserve , if you got it. thank you. ”

quietly , he sat with his elbows propped up on weathered wood after dropping his backpack beneath the barstool. he pressed the pads of his thumbs along his brow ridge as if he could relieve the tension headache by pressing a little button hidden beneath a brow. the long sleeve hadn’t quite survived the downpour , the heathered grey of his shirt darkened around his shoulders and down his back. the cold fabric sent chills crawling across his skin. palms met his cheeks and dragged skin down , pressing deep into tense muscles along his jaw and neck. then, he closed his eyes for a moment with his hands warming the sides of his neck and finally —— a deep sigh.

“ they all still staring? ” a corner curled into a smirk as he slowly lifted his head and lowered his hands to the counter. his eyes settled again on the mark , making note of nimble hands and her rather acerbic movements. she was used to busy nights and boring days , nothing incredibly interesting happens but she seems to be the kind to smile nonetheless. he could already hear her tone of voice matching well with sarcastic jokes and curt comments by the way she handled piping hot mugs and dirty glasses. he could also see her baring her canines at someone stepping out of line by the way she gently set the old stained mug down on the coaster. and ilias suddenly became curious about her laughter as he looked into her eyes.

“ i’m kal. ” one hand gripped the mug , the heat gently seeped through callouses and thickened dry skin. his other hand pushed a twenty dollar bill across the counter. “ and i need a job. ”

#› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : narrative .#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.#❪ ⋆、𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 ：I YELL AND THE SEA RUSHES IN * ❫#❪ ⋆、𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 ：DUST HER FINGERPRINTS FOR MINE * ❫

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 ( @crimewrought ) ,

𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴. 𝙸𝙵 𝙸𝚃’𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴, 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚂 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙾𝚆𝙴𝚁 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴, 𝚂𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽’𝚃 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝙸𝚃. it’s a testament to him, being able to sever her so from the invisible figures accompanying them. to be able to nullify the sorrow felt for fides, the rage for ira, the shame for severin. then again, perhaps that’s a natural byproduct to his isolation. wounds he’s cauterised entirely alone, tended to like an animal finding a salve in the wild. indeed, seeing him now ––– not a natural smiler, seeking solace in a mild drink and a lonesome diner ––– she reminds herself to be cautious of aggravating unhealed wounds.

“ so i only have to wait a century for some disorder? consider me counting down the years. ” no telling how he’ll react to her humour, but that doesn’t prevent her offering it. when her tea arrives, she folds her hands around the hot mug, and doesn’t even berate how much american attempts at an english brew fall so short, even now. a lone brow floats skywards, and there’s no halting the mischievousness that colours her tone.

“ i spent the turn of the decade in paris. all those silly new wave filmmakers really know how to have an excellent time ––– there’s a reason why Jean-Luc Godard has been casting so many mysterious blondes. i spent a short while in spain, with who turned out to be an equally silly man convinced he held a dormant title to the to spanish throne. that was terribly embarrassing. new zealand for the mountains, new york for the parties .. i suppose it’s been a busy two years. ” busy, indeed ––– busier than is at all right for that of a poor stable girl. she smiles at her recent recollections, but the expression fades some. does he still feel himself to be the viking, she wonders? can he still taste battle on a cold breeze, as she can smell london’s rain, welded with her blood? does he feels the deaths felt and inflicted, too? she longs to ask, but bites her tongue. if a mountaintop isn’t the place for those sorts of confessions, a forgotten diner isn’t likely to be, either.

“ and what about you? ” mischief wanes in favour of the inquisitive. there’s concern, and some undercurrent thrum of eagerness. has he sought sights so grand, in their attempts to make unsavoury memories fade? and would he say yes, if she asked him to join her on those adventures, once more? another question fighting for the askance, but maria doesn’t allow herself the indulgence, yet. she pauses, and settles instead for: “ it’s really good to see you again, ilias. ”

he rose a brow at her comment on disorder. just twenty-years prior , he was covered in grime on a packed immigration boat to escape the horrors he’d witnessed in germany. with half a mind to hold his tongue , it was in this very moment that he understood why severin and ira wanted to protect her so. while he had his reservations about embracing the pains of existence , in a sort of familial way he felt that she deserved better. he wasn’t sure why , she simply deserved it.

she deserved to grow bored of the after-parties in paris , spanish royal rendezvous , kiwi mountain hikes , and bumming cigarettes at two at the morning in new york city. “ it’s good to keep busy. i reckon people would pay good money to see your phone book. ” amidst his brewing jealousy and the strangest touch of pride , ilias found himself wondering what his life would have been like had he been born in the late eighteenth century. would he spend his idle time drinking mocktails on airplanes and discussing the dawn of psychology with rising high-lifers who live their lives to the fullest? he smiled internally at his audacity to imagine and took another sip of coffee.

even in the low lighting of this humble late-night city diner , maria seemed at ease to sit across from him. she seemed to know him enough to realize that her question wouldn’t come with a simple answer , but to ilias’ mild surprise : the clever sparrow cushioned it with warm sincerity. there was a tightness in his chest that swelled as he looked into her eyes. he softened his expression and nodded once to their camaraderie. words didn’t seem to do justice , so he simply repeated her. “ good to see you , too. ”

he took a moment to divert his eyes and think about what he’d tell her , about the time had passed and the gaps he purposefully left in his biography. “ i didn’t think i’d see anyone again , but i’m — i’m glad it’s you. ” ilias’ eyes fixated on a peculiar stain on the table , it sat so simply between the sugar packets and the pepper shaker. “ i’ve just been laying low for the past two decades. got away from europe in the forties and just spent a lotta time alone in cape cod. lobstering and working carpentry jobs , reading. a lot. ” the fixation became a dimming gaze , the blurriness settled in as a fitting background for projected memories. the old viking shrugged , still keeping his eyes on the stain spot. “ in between lives right now , i guess. you know how it is. ”

ilias blinked and looked up at maria , somehow —— a sly curl made way to his smile. “ might take up a job at NASA this year though. aeronautical engineering. ” he thought he’d leave it there. if she asked , he might just answer. if she stayed and nursed her tea , his coffee mug would keep her company.

“ it’s nice , living all quiet. think i’ve seen enough. ” a sigh for him was but a conversational pillow. after all , it’d been nearly two decades since he had to socialize at a dinner party. how long had it been since he had an honest conversation with a very dear , old friend? picking up his mug , he murmured into the lukewarm liquid. “ eight centuries worth of disorder was enough for me. ” after a sip , ilias allowed a nostalgic expression to take place. he was merely reading while she dazzled french filmmakers , how odd it was to feel so fulfilled that he was doing nothing important.

he shook his head slowly , feeling an anxious need to distract. “ how the fuck did you get mixed up with spanish royals? that’s a telenovela waiting to happen. ”

#› 𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒 : narrative .#man this felt good to write #forgive the wordiness it just felt good #crimewrought #❪ ⋆、𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 ：GO DIP YOUR WINGS AND CLAIM THE SKY * ❫#𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌 : queue . ⧽ 𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙎𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿.

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