PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Andulka
hello vonnie
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
roma★
𓃗
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
untitled
gracie abrams
No title available
Fai_Ryy
$LAYYYTER
Cosmic Funnies
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
KIROKAZE
🪼
#extradirty
RMH
ojovivo
Game of Thrones Daily
seen from Brazil
seen from Australia
seen from Belgium
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Iceland
seen from Venezuela
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Maldives
seen from Mali
seen from Netherlands
@dexterorvile-blog
"It’s a free country…" She started, eyeing the man in front of her, trying to pick if he was just a bit too different. “What, does it hurt your pretty ears or something?”
"Something like that." Really he just didn't agree with people who yell at those who are helping or serving them in any way.
A little out of the ordinary. She thought that was being relatively kind. She hadn’t known even normal bloggers, except for a couple in college who did it as a hobby. But no one had bothered to attempt and conform it into a ludicrous business. No one followed possible booby traps of leads in order to gain new content. So then, if he hadn’t been here all of his life, where had he been? And had those places the supernatural lurking around every corner? The concept frightened Odette, to say the least. The last thing she wanted was to imagine more vampires than Jack Beaumont running around Seattle, stalking humans and claiming them as their own.
"Out of the ordinary isn’t so bad. It could make for interesting conversation." She was more than a little tempted to tell him about herself - - — But that would probably be regarded with skepticism. He probably hadn’t been expecting an actual supernatural to come up and offer her coat. She’d just let him figure it out for himself, if he did. And if he didn’t, then that wasn’t so bad, either. "Well, you can’t wait out here all night." She gestured up towards the sky. "It’s past the full moon. There’s not gonna be much happening now." Pausing, she looked for his other belongings, even a laptop or a notebook, but she saw nothing. “- — Where are you staying?”
While he had never consciously met a supernatural, the boy and his blog says otherwise. He has a knowledge of the supernatural rivaling that of a hunters through a life of finding beastiaries and a lot of google searching. He knew about something as common as werewolves to the lesser found creatures like Wendigos. About Fae and witches, and his personal favorite, the vampire. A classic, a cliche he knows, but to him theres nothing cooler than vampires, as long as they're not trying to drain him, of course.
"It brings up a few things to talk about." She really was nice. And Dex is still extremely weirded out by it after all this time alone. The thought of her being something doesn't even cross his mind right then.
He's got a fact right on the tip of his tongue - that it doesn't have to be night for the Supernatural to be around, nor does it matter what time of night. But instead of saying anything his gaze travels up too. "Theres always tomorrow." He agress despite his thoughts, the question causing his shoulders to tense in the slightest. "I uhm..Its my last night at the inn.."
She squinted at him. God, he looked insane. Was she the only sane one around here? “What? You got a problem with my voice, freak?”
"A problem with the volume." Oh he's starting to know whats going on around here, knows she could be anything. The questions gotta be asked; Does the boy have a death wish?
"I suppose that you only speak English then," River says softly. She pulls her laptop out of her bag and sets it on the table next to her. She looks up at the young man who is still standing in front of her. River’s fingertips hover above the keys on her keyboard. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asks in a flat tone.
"I know some Latin? But other than that..yeah, just English." He really would like to learn more, but at the current stage in his life it seemed really unlikely that it would be happening any time soon. "Oh.." And thats when he feels awkward for having nothing else to do right now. "No..erm..just." He points at the table next to hers, sitting himself down with flushed red cheeks.
Short nails tapped against the counter, growing more and more agitated by the second. “Oi! Can I get some service around here? People are starving, you know!” For fuck’s sake.
Dont get involved, dont get involved.... "I'm sure these 'people' would also prefer you stop yelling." ...Damn it
With a glance at the other blond, an odd look tugs at Elijah’s features. He was used to strangeness, and this kid was definitely strange. It wasn’t a strange he hadn’t ever seen before, but still. “You come in contact with blood often?” he asked the kid. He wiped at his forehead the best he could, but wounds of the head were the worst, and bled the longest, even the smallest cut. He didn’t seem to mind, either, that it was staining his shirt.
Strange. Huh, at least the word was better than freak, he liked this word so much better. It wasn;t as strong as the ones he was used to, and for that he was thankful but would never show it. "Do you?" Avoiding the question seemed like the best route of action here. He had nothing to give away, nothing to hide, but he still didn't want to answer a question that could hold weight like that one.
Zachary rooted through his car, searching for his camera equipment. It had been three months since he did anything with cameras and computers. Three months in the woods changed him. It brought him peace, at least for a little while. He didn’t think his siblings would come back since they were always very thorough with their searches. Then again, they were also very determined and had his scent. Zachary reached into the back of his trunk and pulled out his camera bag. He tucked his tripod under his arm as he sorted through his lenses and filters. He remembered the route to the park. He figured that would be a good place to practice his photography. He needed to get back into the swing of things before he went around looking for commissions. Zach set up his camera in the park, turning to look for something interesting to capture. He looked through the viewfinder and snapped a picture of a person sitting on a bench.
Blink, blink. His knees are pulled up to his chest, he's put an add in Kaffine for somewhere to stay, but no ones called or said anything yet. He cant afford another night at the inn so the previous night was spent in the most secluded alley hidden in the darkest corner behind a bin. What? He had every right to be nervous lately, after all he's heard...witnessed to some extent. This town couldn't get any weirder. But now some guy's taking a picture of him and he feels uncomfortable. Funny. Vampires and wolves were fine, but cameras? Not so much.
"Sí. ¿Hablas español?" River figures he doesn’t speak it since he asked if it was Spanish. She wishes she could find more people who spoke Spanish. She knows English fluently, but she is always told that she talks in an odd way. She tries to be polite. It’s hard for her to be nice though because she never really enjoys the company of the living. Instead, she preferred talking to the dead.
"Uhm....Gonna go with no." His Spanish vocabulary was limited to thank you, hello and plug socket. Nothing more and occasionally he'll forget one so sometimes less. His English vocabulary was almost as small, not through lack of knowledge, rather, a lac of desire to form large sentences outside of typing them for his little job.
He was going to call her Detta. The last person who’d called her that had been a significant other in college. Third year. She remembered the sound of his laugh and how his voice seemed to caress all the research papers he’d get excited about. He was one of the stranger ones, an English major who found no wrong in the classics even if they were designated as some type of controversial or just plain-out written in a poor format. He once threw a book out a window - a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows - because he couldn’t stand how it ended. Regardless, the nickname brought back a multitude of memories, good ones to her, and she was proud to have someone call her this again. And her brows quirked upward, mimicking the motion of his mouth. So that’s what he was up to. He was out here, searching for the supernatural. And he wrote about it? How many encounters has he had with such things? Werewolves, vampires - other creatures she didn’t want to know about existing? Unless - but no, no, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. He was, after all, out here. Wanting an experience. She chortled underneath her breath. (Now, she could find humour in this. He was searching for an encounter, and having one, and he didn’t even know it. He wasn’t blessed with awareness to the supernatural. Just a fan-cast obsession with it. Or perhaps he was doing it as a dare?) "You’re right! You don’t." She could agree with that. "So then you’re out here, waiting for midnight and an experience? Well - I can tell you this town’s a good place to get it from." And she couldn’t explain much else without giving herself away.
Dex. The name had been with him for the last few years, when Dexter just didn't feel right anymore. He had no memories tied to it, none good and none bad. Maybe that would change like the scenery in his life, but he wasn't willing to bet on it. To him a name is a name is a name, it doesn't mean too much unless you give it the power to hold meaning. Like most things in life, he believed you held control over things like that.
Searching for the supernatural with seemingly little luck. What was he expecting? A moat around the town, bats and wolves everywhere? No, but he did expect things to seem a little more obvious to him. After all he knew about all the species that were apparently meant to reside in this town, but so far the only spooky thing that had happened in his entire time here was that his door was a little too creaky that what he would have thought normal in an inn.
The chortle has him briefly looking up at her. "Its a little out of the ordinary, I know." But a job's a job, even if he doesn't get paid.
Her next statement has his suspicions about the town starting to solidify into concrete assurance that Bindlebrim Hallows was not just another ghost town. That it held something more that just fake lore. "So I've heard, just gotta wait and see, huh?"
"W-what?" Harlow reached up to her nose, mimicking the boy like a mirror. Her fingers came back with a thin red crust. She must have smeared it on her nose with the back of a glove at work before she rushed out. "Thank you. How did I not notice?"
"Blood. On your face." He repeats, hand slowly lowering from his face after making sure she saw where. Said hand then slides into the pocket of tattered jeans, thin fingers warm once again. "Blood's actually pretty easy to miss when its dried, Miss. You cant really feel it."
He seems uneasy with Hyun’s presence. His eyes are evaluating her body - he knows that she is something out of the ordinary. She wonders whether he knows much about the supernatural, but the thought does not linger in her mind. He seemed naive not suicidal. No one with any good sense would be roaming the streets looking for trouble, especially not in the haven that was Bindlebrim Hallows.
"You will need to find a better place to live, and fast. It makes you appear to be a sightseer and their are many individuals who target tourists.”
She will not go into detail, afraid she might scare him further than she already had. Her eyes cannot divert from the holes in his jumper, the fraying of his cuffs. It seems that he will not be able to afford a better place to live, but she does not know where else she can offer to take him. Her home is off-limits. The constant smell of blood would inevitably end badly.
"I am sure there are many people who would offer you a room if you really needed one” including herself, but that would not be an offer she would divulge without exhausting all other options first, "perhaps you should put an ad out at Kaffiene. They get a lot of wonderful patrons, I think that would be your best bet.”
She keeps her eyes off him, hoping that he is the kind of person who would not like to intrude. He does not seem to be. He is soft spoken and a man of a few words, not likely to be someone who begs. She hopes she can help him out without hindering her own life - and endangering his.
His mind is working a mile a minute trying to figure out if there are any other signs pointing as to what she was. Saying she was very atheltic and muscled didn't work, as from what he could tell she was of too slight a build for that, but he couldn't notice any other tell tales to guide him to what she is. But what signs could there really be? He knew better than to look for fangs, and crusifixes were stuff just in the movies. He wasn't wearing any silver, and the boy never got around to finding any dead mans blood. { He says never got around too, really he doesn't want that stuff anywhere near him, he can be...squeamish about the weirdest of things. And dead blood was one of them. } "Target?" In what way, he wonders, though doesn't ask the question. He feels as though if he pushed her, asked too much he'd be rewarded with no more information, if he asked little by little then it seemed more likely for him to get all he needs. He notices her gaze, and thing fingers curl into one of the worn cuffs of his sleeves. He'd buy new clothes the second he had a stable place to stay and food. ( In abundance hopefully, he's rather missed eating whenever he wants too.) "Thats the coffee shop, right?" That seemed like the best course of action, after all it might even get him on the inside, depending on who, if any, gave him a place to stay. Hell. Even someones floor would do nicely.
River leans back to avoid the hand. She doesn’t like people to touch her or even come near her. She realizes that he isn’t reaching to touch her but his own face to point out where she has blood. Her hand makes contact with the blood on the side of her face and neck. She must have missed it when she was cleaning the rest of the blood from her skin. “Gracias.” She wipes the blood away with her sleeve. The shirt’s already dirty.
"Spanish?" He always wanted to learn other languages, but in this moment he's one hundred percent unsure if she actually knows the language or if she's saying the word casually, like how he used to say the french equivilant of yes just because he thought it was funny to run around and say it. (Bear in mind he's only little at this point, he hasn't ran around yelling french words lately. )
The voice comes seemingly out of nowhere, and when a hand points at his face, he flinches just a little and leans back in time just so he wasn’t touched, and even if that wasn’t the intended purpose, the offending hand was too close for his liking. “Thanks,” he muttered, wiping at his forehead.
"It might stain your clothes if you didn't wipe it." A random statement of fact, stains were the worst and he prided himself on not having stained clothes..even if they were a little worn otherwise. "Blood stains are the hardest to remove." Aint that the truth, he'd gone through multiple boxes of cheep soap to remove even the smallest amount.
Dexter. It promised brains and a little bit of necessary cunning. Odette liked to think about what names might mean towards a person and their dominant, or not, characteristics. Perhaps if she hadn’t been going to school for education, she would have invested in psychology. Better she was this, though; if she were a psychologist, she wouldn’t have been able to give up her job so easily; people would’ve looked for her. (And she thought that was better? What was the matter with her? It was as though she wanted to disappear into thin air. But no - she wanted to be found.) "I’ll call you Dex, and you can call me Detta." She proffered a nickname in return for his own. Though the air of uneasiness seemed to be dissipating, she still strove to make him as comfortable as possible. She had, after all, swooped down in the black of night and draped a coat over him. Now she was responsible, for the moment, for his well-being. He sort of reminded her of the boy Grayson - but just in age and expression. Nowhere near one another in attitude or outlook or openness about oneself. There wasn’t ease to this conversation. "You think something’s gonna happen then." She pursed her lips into a thin line and peeked past him down the sidewalk. As if she, too, thought she saw something. "What, like — something not normal?"
Odette. Sounded very fairy like to him, like if he were to watch some Tinkerbell movie she'd have a friend by that name. The Fae arent a species he's seen very often, and despite countless hours of research he hasn't found an awful lot about them, so he's stuck with the stereotypical image of a little person with big glittery wings. Though he has a fealing, that like most supernatural, they werent going to be like he first thought.
"Detta,"
He agrees, lips quirking up a little higher at the mention of them both using nicknames for each other. He's never been a fan of his own name, it promised too much, but Dex was shorter, more to the point and had no promises tied to the name for him to mangle and otherwise mess up. The nicknames do make him feel more comfortable, he knows better than to relax too much, but he's content in the knowledge that he's alright for now.
"You never know what goes bump in the night." A bitten lip and his eyes wandering to their surroundings acompany his words, and the boy is soon sort of explaining himself a little better. "I have a blog...about the supernatural. If you dont have experiances then you cant write interesting posts." Hah, the little hypocrit that he is.
❝ You have blood on your face. ❞ He's trying to be helpful. If he's bothering you just shoo him away, its okay. Thin hands are reaching up to his face to point out the exact location of where on the other person that the blood was. Note he doesn't ask why theres blood on their face, or where it came from...or who's it is.
The young witch’s features softened, coloring themselves slightly more humorous than they were second before when wrapped entirely in a veil of worry. More often than not, he was a slave of his fatherly instincts (and that would’ve been alright, if he actually had a child to father) but the ability of this boy’s to make light out of such situation had him overwhelmed with relief because even his positivism had limits. It was always easier when the person he was trying to help was working along, which was unfortunately a rarity in all Brandon’s experience. He liked wicked, but for the wicked existed no rest and if he was to lift his fingers and have them kiss the young contours of this boy, he would’ve been able to feel the exhausted that had seeped into the muscles beneath the pale and almost translucent skin covering them.
"Let’s…just…just let me…" giving up on words, he worked on unzipping his jacket and taking it off for the boy to wear. It was quite a comfortable, clean (with the traces of his cologne) and warm one and he’d gotten it as a birthday present only week ago, so it should serve him well. If he couldn’t get the boy somewhere safe, at least he could get him cozy.
(If only that was enough to set Brandon’s mind at ease)
He might’ve been pulling back in order to leave and have the boy enjoy whatever he came here for on his own, but the gears in his mind shifted as soon as he’d remember all the supernatural he’s aware of in Bindlebrim, let alone the ones he doesn’t know of. “You know what, I’m just gonna stay here with you for a while, if that’s alright? Maybe you could tell me why you like being here so much…it’s not like I have anything better to do.”
It wasn’t the truth. He had papers, spells, lessons to take care of - surely, they could all be delayed a little, but he was already overloaded with work and lacking time. But then again, he’d been practically antisocial loner buried in papers and organizations ever since Marcus left the town and if you asked him, he’d gotten too attached to one person. It was time for him to learn how to exist like a functional human being even without people he cares most for constantly by his side.
Humor, he's found, has always had a way of dispelling some of the tenseness that most found around Dexter. It helped people look past his odd and somehow quirky way in the world, reminded them that he was just as human as they were. Or just as human as some werent. Humor has a way of lightening the situation enough for more than tentative smiles and actual laughter. Puns, were one of the best ways to do that, he's learned.
And Humor is what he uses now to remove himself from this light his postion has painted him in. Yes he's homeless and sitting out in the cold, but he's normal, or at least he feels normal. He's not glass, despite how he's being treated. (He's not steel either, rather some in between, he's..plastic, brittle but durable. }
He's thankful for the jacket, he is, but such kindness is never reserved for him and as a result he's not touching the jacket consciously, the only part of him that is, is where its been layed over him. He's still working on the 'how to accept kindness part of life.
"Thank you."
He's not sure if he's thankful for the boy staying though, he does want to make friends. But first impresions are important and right now the impresion he's giving off is that he's homeless, likes the cold, is punny, and is one very strange young man. Alright, screw it, he cant come across any weirder, even if he does talk about why he's really out right now. "I hear, around here is a real supernatural hotspot..I'm waiting to see."
