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trying on a metaphor
blake kathryn
DEAR READER
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if i look back, i am lost
todays bird
noise dept.
wallacepolsom
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@dumbnbroody
I’ll be sending out replies…soon. I’ve been v busy and just got hired at a new job that requires me to travel a bit so—I need to get settled and stuffs. Love you all and trust I haven’t forgotten, I’m just annoyingly busy. Smooches :)
Send “🔥?” and my muse will admit whether they find your muse attractive or not.
My muse is completely intoxicated. Send me questions and my muse will answer them drunkenly.
@apphrodite liked for a cracked starter
Lucy groans, gripping her head in pain as she sits up from her place on the couch. Once she rubs the sleep from her eyes, it registers that this couch she snoozed on is in fact not hers, and she’s missing her jeans. Automatically assuming the worst, she looks around for any other signs of a one-night stand, leaning over on her side to look over the back of the couch.
With a hiss, she jumps back at the burning pain on her hip, her eyes snapping down to the dark ink marring her skin. Lucy turns her head to read the text, eyes widening in horror at the word “Slut” in loopy, cursive writing curving around her bare hip. “What the fuck?”
dumbnbroody asked: "Happy Birthday hoe,"- Angel
“It’s not my birthd--- Did you just call me a hoe?” Not like she was wrong about that. He just hadn’t expected her of all people to say something like that.
@dumbnbroody
“Oh thank god, I don’t know what I would do if you were a health nut.” She grins cheekily and props open the box, motioning for him to take his pick. “They don’t make for good company, trust me.” Angel blows out an exaggerated breath before leaning back in her seat. She doesn’t even have that much of a sweet tooth, but it’s customary to eat a treat on your birthday—right? It’s also customary to share it with someone, Billy is the only person that would be okay with her dropping by out of the blue, he’s also the only person that wouldn’t question her strange behavior.
Could you imagine if she brought in a bunch of baked goods into a Stark Industries lab? She’s scarcely spoken a word to her peers, what could possibly validate that behavior? Angel picks up her own pastry and holds it up with a crooked smile. “Happy birthday to whoever.”
dumbnbroody asked: ❛ pretty sure this is vandalism. ❜- Angel
Billy stood over the remains of the Ray of Hope entrance sign. It had felt great to smash it, the sign was old anyway. This place hadn’t been touched in years. Seems it had been abandoned at some point. Good riddance.
“Is it really vandalism if it ain’t being used anymore?” Besides it was cathartic to be destroying something that had a part in tainting his childhood so much. “Since this place isn’t in use anymore... I was thinking of taking it over. Maybe make it into a place where orphaned kids can stay without fear of being hurt by authority.” Of course that meant more costs for him to repair it, but money didn’t feel like much of an issue for him with his crew. Pulling his hoodie up over his head - not that he needed to conceal himself with his mask - he took a look around the premises. “Maybe we should take a look inside. See if there’s anything important left in there.”
@dumbnbroody
“The foster care system is broken, that’s for sure.” She murmurs in agreement as she treks further into the building. Once they go their own separate ways, she makes her way into the various abandoned bedrooms, just wandering and keeping her eyes peeled in case something useful came up. She’s mostly looking for any inconsistencies in the support’s or anything potentially dangerous or out of code in the dilapidated house, making notes for Billy in the meanwhile.
She slows to a stop, her thumbs slowing to a halt on the screen of her phone as she catches sight of a pair of battered cleats and a deflated soccer ball gathering dust on a shelf in one of the bedrooms. Angel can’t help the soft frown that twitches at the corner of her mouth at the sight, slipping her phone in her back pocket carefully before approaching the shelf to pick up the ball. It’s well loved, she notes as she turns it over in her hands, her passive expression faltering the more she thinks of the lack of such luxuries in her own childhood.
This group home was obviously a breeding ground for trauma for anyone unlucky enough to come across it, but Angel would’ve liked to be around other kids at this age. Not isolated and locked away for the better half of her life. Something as simple as playing a sport seemed unreachable when she was a child. With a stilted, shaky breath, she sets the ball on the shelf while blinking rapidly to rid her face of any emotion before turning back to the task at hand.
@bloodthirsty-hero answered my ask
Angel lets out a slow, shaky breath, turning her jaw to look off to the side. Eye contact has always been too much for her, the way he’s speaking so softly and earnestly to her is especially making it difficult. Her bruised and battered features twist into something indescribable as she debates with herself before she concedes, nodding tiredly. Angel may be a masochist but denying herself of this comfort would be going too far, especially after the day the both of them have had.
“Yeah, alright. I guess I can make an exception for tonight.” She looks up at him with a tired, teasing smile. “Since you asked so nicely.”
She snorts at the pet-name he gives her, shaking her head in amusement as she crosses the threshold into her apartment. “Was that a comment about my height? I may be small but I pack a punch—watch it fangs.” Angel offers him a joking grin as she sheds her backpack, letting it land with a thud next to the mess of equipment littering her living room. It’s less like a home and more like a secondary workshop, etchings and blueprints littering every available surface, half-finished projects sitting on any available elevated surface. “Sorry about the mess...I don’t really have company over.”
Angel is scarce in the friend’s department, even less in terms of family. Her apartment is cluttered, but homey. She allows herself a few comforts in the shape of an obnoxious number of throws and the odd ugly plushie she bought off the street. Beyond that, if it weren’t for the warm lighting the space would be downright clinical. “To answer your question, not much. Just, work on whatever has my attention at the moment.” Angel stands in the middle of her living room, swooping down to gather up as much of the mess as she can and put it in organized piles.
“I-I have some board games? Or...I dunno, I can always pirate something to watch. I don’t really make for great company.” She straightens up with armfuls of blueprints, offering him an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
@dumbnbroody liked this starter call and got: Catie for Lucy
“Wait a minute -” Brown eyes squinted as she looked at the galaxy renowned Bloodhound just a little bit closer. “I know you.” The name was on the tip of her tongue. Catie knew it was from her old life -- the one that had involved the stupidity of politics rather than the life of crime she had turned to now. This woman was someone’s daughter. She was sure of it.
“Diana? Is that you?” It’s not as if the two had been close by any means. Two children used as pawns in the world of politics. Cute little girls to get oos and ahs from creepy old men politicians who Catie could only wish to sucker punch in the balls now.
“What happened to you?” She asks as if the question couldn’t be reflected back at her. After all, she had once been the good little girl.
It takes everything in Diana not to roll her eyes into the back of their sockets as the droid bumbles along with a tray of drinks. She already has a horrible track record for being unlucky; of course, someone who would know her face shows up to her place of work, and of course they’re nosy as shit. Her eyes drift up towards the sky when Catie wiggles the drink in the air. She visibly composes herself and cools her temper before turning her gaze back towards the woman.
Diana doesn’t look particularly amused at her innuendo, only offering her a huff and a subtle head shake as a response. She has her own questions about whatever happened to Catie in turn, but she doesn’t care enough to slip into conversation with a ghost from her past. She’s already on edge as it is, if her employer overheard any of this, she’d probably have to kill him. Any extra kills tonight would be inconvenient.
“Hm, should I smile more too?” Is the only response she gives her, looking over and smiling sardonically behind her mask. All that’s really visible are the crinkles on the corner of her eyes, her cheeks pressing into the hard material of her mask before she drops it altogether and turns away.
Finally, the person she’s been tracking the whole night walks within her line of sight. The moment the sight registers, her entire posture and energy changes; like a predator’s ears flattening against their head at the sight of their prey. “As fun as this is, I really should be going. Good catching up.” The mercenary doesn’t really register the slip of the tongue, already smoothly moving towards her target as they duck out of the club.
@apphrodite answered my ask
Frankly, Lucy isn’t sure how she wound up on the dance floor with someone’s hand damn near down her skirt—but enough Old Fashions will do that to a person. Maybe she’s doing this out of spite, maybe she’s gotten sick of this cat and mouse game her and Becky keep playing with each other, at this point in the night she’s forgotten. Whatever it was, the reaction her sober self wanted was received.
Usually if anyone tried to manhandle her, they’d wind up on the floor with a caved in skull, but it’s different with Becks. She isn’t sure why, but it just is—the fact that she hasn’t figured it out is viscerally frustrating to her. All that she knows is her touch is searing, and she mourns it the moment it’s gone.
Lucy stumbles slightly once they come to a stop in some corner of the bar, her eyes glued to the blonde’s features. The question catches her off guard, considering she doesn’t even know the answer herself. “I...don’t know.” She murmurs, reaching her hand out to grab at the fabric of Beck’s coat hazily. “Why are you so angry?” The question is delivered with a challenging look, her brows drawn together in frustration.
dumbnbroody asked: "Happy Birthday hoe,“- Angel
“It’s not my birthd— Did you just call me a hoe?” Not like she was wrong about that. He just hadn’t expected her of all people to say something like that.
@dumbnbroody
“Hm?” Angel’s brows shoot up towards her hairline, clearly visibly taken aback that she of all people has gotten her dates mixed up. Breezing past his question, she presses on. “Well...it’s someone’s birthday somewhere.”
She leans back in her--his chair, propping her feet up on his no doubt expensive desk. Without missing a beat, she slips a small dented brown box from the inside of her coat and tosses it on his desk. “There was a two for one at the bakery, unless this messes with your macros or something.”
Like this for a cracked out starter, specify muse or I’ll just randomize it, whatever works.
I’ve drafted all my replies but I’m currently surrounded by spackle, sand paper and tons of dust because I got the random manic need to redo my room. So excuse me while I do that.
…replies will be out tomorrow—97% chance.
send me a 💞 and i’ll tell you something I like about your portrayal !!
BONUS: send multiple 💞 ‘s and for every one, I’ll tell you another thing I like about how you write your muse !!
I wish I were as pretty and as adored as she.
BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola
dumbnbroody asked: ❛ pretty sure this is vandalism. ❜- Angel
Billy stood over the remains of the Ray of Hope entrance sign. It had felt great to smash it, the sign was old anyway. This place hadn’t been touched in years. Seems it had been abandoned at some point. Good riddance.
“Is it really vandalism if it ain’t being used anymore?” Besides it was cathartic to be destroying something that had a part in tainting his childhood so much. “Since this place isn’t in use anymore... I was thinking of taking it over. Maybe make it into a place where orphaned kids can stay without fear of being hurt by authority.” Of course that meant more costs for him to repair it, but money didn’t feel like much of an issue for him with his crew. Pulling his hoodie up over his head - not that he needed to conceal himself with his mask - he took a look around the premises. “Maybe we should take a look inside. See if there’s anything important left in there.”
@dumbnbroody
“Way ahead of you, boss.” She says carelessly, slipping her hands into the deep pockets of her windbreaker. Angel steps through the broken doors, scanning for any signs of life carefully before allowing herself to step further through the threshold. The sight of the dilapidated buildings makes her passive features soften.
“Cute place.” Angel tries her hardest to keep a mask of indifference around Billy, keep things light and endure this facade of carelessness. But things like this weigh on her. She was never completely alone perse; she was passed from one family member to the next when her mother passed. But she would’ve rather gotten thrown into foster care if it meant avoiding her grandmother’s wrath in her later years. Swallowing harshly, Angel shakes her head to wave away the thoughts before picking a hallway and heading down it. Being task-oriented ought to clear her head.
@dumbnbroody liked this starter call and got: Catie for Lucy
“Wait a minute -” Brown eyes squinted as she looked at the galaxy renowned Bloodhound just a little bit closer. “I know you.” The name was on the tip of her tongue. Catie knew it was from her old life – the one that had involved the stupidity of politics rather than the life of crime she had turned to now. This woman was someone’s daughter. She was sure of it.
“Diana? Is that you?” It’s not as if the two had been close by any means. Two children used as pawns in the world of politics. Cute little girls to get oos and ahs from creepy old men politicians who Catie could only wish to sucker punch in the balls now.
“What happened to you?” She asks as if the question couldn’t be reflected back at her. After all, she had once been the good little girl.
Working security for high end underground events is something Diana usually would never be caught dead doing. However, the pay is suspiciously good, and she needs parts for her ship to get off this godforsaken planet and move on to the next quarry. She caught wind of Catie the moment she was stationed towards the back. The infamous Bloodhound never forgets a face, and the sight of hers has Diana’s hairs standing on end.
Diana Ashford is dead, so he fact that Catie recognized her so easily makes her collateral. She hopes for her own sake that Catie knows better than to fall down that rabbit hole. “I just have one of those faces.” Her modulated voice is tinny and unrecognizable through her muzzle like mask, her eyes narrowed into slits in her direction. Her persistence makes Diana visibly agitated at her next line of questioning. The mercenary glances away, resuming her casual stance, hand on her holster as she takes in the crowd.
“Something that could easily happen to you if you don’t mind your business, Princess.” The Hound nudges her head towards the open bar, leaning back against the pillar she’s settled by. “I suggest you get a drink and forget what you think you saw.” Her words are casual in delivery, but the underlying threat is there. Her leather gloves creak around the butt of her blaster along with the words, sending the point home.
@dumbnbroody gets a starter from Max
It was only a tuesday. Tuesdays were supposed to be normal, right? Nothing important ever happened a tuesday… Or at least that’s what Max told himself in order to get through the day at the bakery. Part of him was actually glad that it was the case, it even looked like he would get to throw out the trash, close the shop and head home for a good night’s sleep…
But of course everything had to change when he went to the dumpster on the back alley with his bag full of trash.
“Oi, what the bloody fuck are ya doin’ in me dumpster? C’mon, make some room for the actual garbage,” he sighed at the woman, placing his bag right beside her and walking away.
But only for a few seconds, as he realized not lending a hand would come back to haunt him at night.
“Aiight, let’s get ya outta here-” he mused, moving back towards the dumpster.
Angel winces and closes her eyes as the lid of the dumpster is swung open, she shields her face instinctively with a trembling arm. Her movements are lethargic, but once she realizes she’s not in danger of another scuffle, she relaxes. Her eyes trail the bag of trash as it lands right next to her head, defeat visibly worming its way onto her features. “Sorry I thought this dumpster was public.”
The snarky comment comes out earnest as she drags herself to sit up, her body screaming in protest as she grabs the side of the dumpster to hoist herself up to stand. With a bated breath, she swings her leg over the rusted lip of the container and heaves herself over. One thing comes to another and she’s falling onto the pavement below with a scarcely concealed groan of agony.
“Don’t worry—got it covered.” She grits, offering him a weak grin and a shaky thumbs up. Angel braces a hand against the side of the dumpster and stumbles to her feet with a wheeze of pain, continuing the conversation as casually as she can. “I’m sorry for getting your trash dirty I’ll just—head home.” Her goggles are broken and hanging half off her head—she hopes to whatever god is up there that the darkness and the expired food that’s no doubt dirtied her face is concealing her identity enough to get away with this monumental fuck up.
