šššššššš¼š : writing blog featuring my own original lore and fictional town and muses. private, heavily so. low activity. be respectful. this blog is horror based, it features uncomfortable subjects. curate your space. im over 25, be over 21 if you're gonna try and interact.
the primary muse on this blog and the main character, is my oc John Wyatt Evans Jr. NPCs are going to be listed and available, but they are request only.
brief about and bullet points below cut
Prompts / Board / Etc.
rules: don't be a dick. don't be a bad person ( racists, phobics, etc). i prefer plotting but memes work too. im here to have fun, no drama. basics apply.
Located far north west of Anchorage, nestled between the Denali national park reserve and Lake Minchumina is where you'll find it. A humble town by nature, where some go to forget the rest of the world and enjoy solitude.
Small in size, it is provided for by one of the few farms that raise cattle and reindeer. Its secluded from most besides its former neighboring town, Jarren's Outpost. Abandoned in 1894, there sits a tall tale told by the locals that the families that resided there vanished. All 1000 of them. Gone with nothing left behind and not a clue where to find them.
ššššš ššššš ; š¼ššš¼šš ššššš : The Evans
The Evan's run one of the two cattle ranches that exist in Wickham, AK. One of the original homesteads established in Wickham's start, the ranch itself is 6 generations deep. The former patriarch of the Evan's family recently passed leaving his youngest son John Wyatt Jr. in charge.
Its always been understood, that they provide for the town. Not just the town if we're being honest, but the woods surrounding the town as well. A pact made ages ago with an unnamed force, to keep the people safe and give fortune to those who choose to make a life in Wickham.
But after JW's father passed suddenly, within three years the people of Wickham are being haunted, hunted, and herded toward a deeper and darker future. It feels like there isn't enough time on the clock for JW to figure out just how to fix this, or if he even can.
NAME: john wyatt evans jrĀ AGE: early thirties - early forties. NICKNAMES: Johnny, JW, Junior, Jay, Evans.. BIRTHDATE: march 15th, _. SPECIES: human / VD . GENDER: CIS-male. SEXUALITY: bisexual. STATUS: single / VD. BIRTHPLACE: Wickham AK. RESIDENCE: Wickham AK. OCCUPATION: handyman, cattle rancher, homesteader / VD.
HEIGHT: 6ā3". WEIGHT: 200lbs. BODY TYPE: healthily (exceptional), toned arms and legs from working everyday.. SKIN TONE: fair, sun kissed. HAIR STYLE: short and clean cut. HAIR COLOR. Dark brown. EYE COLOR: brown. SCARS: a few from childhood, and work accidents. MODIFICATIONS: none. FACECLAIM: josh hartnett, but faceless otherwise
BIRTHSTONE: aquamarine. SUN SIGN: pisces. MENTAL: seasonal depression, general anxiety. ALIGNMENT: lawful neutral. AESTHETIC: i have my fathers eyes, i never should have survived the woods, etc..
PERSONALITY: Loyal, Impatient, Hard working. Withdrawn, apathetic, coarse.Ā
FATHER: john luke evans ā. MOTHER: Sofia June Evans nee Masters. ELDEST SISTER: nadine leah evans-nanuq. 2ND SISTER: heather ray evans. THE ELDER BROTHER: matthew dean evans. LITTLE SISTER: angela sidgie evans. PETS: Sugar ( a great pyrenees ).
REQUESTABLE NPCS:
Miles Lloyd Baker ; Age: Early thirties - early forties, Species: Human / VD, Gender: CIS-male, Sexuality: Heterosexual, Status: Single/ VD, Birthplace: Hulett, WY, Residence, Wickham, AK / VD, Occupation: jack of all trades, flies the supply planes to and from Wickham, works at a boating company, helps out at the Evan's ranch, VD. FC: Shawn Hatosy.Ā
*Connection to John: They were roommates back in college when they both attended UAF, became friends and eventually something similar to brothers. They go their separate ways after graduation before Miles turns up in Wickham after John's father passes, making a point to stick around doing the odd job here or there.
Angela Sidgie Evans ; Age: mid twenties - early thirties, Species: Human / VD, Gender: CIS-female, Sexuality: Bisexual, Status: Single / VD, Birthplace: Wickham, AK, Residence: Wickham, AK, Occupation: Mail depot, but occasionally works odd shifts at the local diner / VD. FC: Katie Douglas
*Connection to John: His little sister and a responsibility that keeps him on his toes and moderately sane. Being the youngest wasn't easy, but she had John -- still has John (for now) by her side. They both look after their mother, after the ranch, after each other.
The way I yearn to discuss how the closer John gets to being absorbed into the woods, the more it starts to reflect. His eyes begin to turn black, his teeth fall out and slowly are replaced by serrated jagged pieces of bone, his joints elongate and his reflection no longer looks like him. He begins to eat, he begins to bleed into this snow filled grave thatās carved for him.
The season is coming to a close. Something fairly evident in the way the snow lays heavier; the thinner blankets of summer and early fall now being hustled out to welcome the dense and suffocating winter on its heels. Puffs of breath linger in the morning air as John hustles and totes a bag of feed on his shoulder toward the crowd of cattle watching him. A faithful audience stands like wayward statues guarding the old fence line watching him approach with their food; and a restless energy ripples across them. The first bellow is aimed his way with disdain for making them wait so long and the second is a chorus that raises in octave as his pocket knife is drawn out, they knew this routine. Boots crunch behind him and setting the bag down his dark eyes flicker to the new approaching sound leaving the hairs on the back of his neck to raise. Instead of a drop of adrenaline, his heart stutters in its cavity only bleeding a warmth into his lungs and limbs. Sheās drowning in his jacket and the snow has her wobbling as she marches toward him with a sweet smile on her face; the warmth in his chest threatens to drown him and makes his throat cramp for a brief second. A hand rubs absently against his shirt collar as he straightens and gives her a crooked smile in return, dark eyes tracing over the beanie pulled low on her blonde head and the way her hand rests on her stomach; it leaves an odd chord being pulled in his chest.
ā You want help feeding them?ā Her question makes the dark brows on his face arch, he can't recall the last time anyone offered him help with the cattle. That crooked smile stretches into a grin as he gives her a softer look, a gaze thrown to the restless cows at his hip, ā Yeah ā cāmere. ā His gloved hand reaches out for her and his mind takes a snapshot, something candid and out of body as he helps her get closer to the fence line. Why did this feel ā right? Clearing his throat he slices the feed bag open and tries his hardest not to stare at Holly, ā Yāknow theyāre a galloway breed, real hardy. ā
There are many questions as to Johnās approach on the monsters and evil in the woods. A big one is why he doesnāt just say fuck it and burn the place down? But he canāt. Itās not a matter of morals or fear ā it wonāt let him. Heās tried and whatever wood he burns, what snow melts he feels it in his own flesh and blood. Like heās burning himself alive, and in some ways he is.
me forever standing on the hill that John is not the wolf in the woods. No he is the stag. Locked in a forever battle with the rotting and torn off head of another, antlers tangled as a final punishment for pride and wrath. The rot will grow and reach and spread and soon he will go blind and succumb to the woods, he will have destroyed himself.
' iĀ thinkĀ aboutĀ youĀ whenĀ iĀ touchĀ myself. ' That soft sweet voice assaults him -- given in such a matter of fact tone; it makes his blood roar in the back of his skull. A hungry hush of silence sweeps through that ever echoing mind of his, because of course even the demons that haunt him and torment him could agree ā all coveted her. Each nerve in his hand itches and aches to touch more, but even in his greed he is just as cruel and selfish to himself. Fingertips dig into the soft swell of her hips and eagerly knead into the curve of her ass before he pitches forward. Drawing himself up so that his nose may brush her own and those dark eyes are all that he can see. John cannot help but smirk. Something twisted at the edge and lined with starving teeth that eye her mouth with a twinge of hunger, he feels the blood beating through his entire body. ā Do you?āĀ
A sound of something low and trapped strains in his throat before he lets his palms smooth along the tops of her bare thighs; that ravenous look only taking on a sharper edge. āShow me.ā He wanted it to be a request, a question much softer than he delivered ā but it's a low and husked bite. ā Cāmon love, show me how you fuck yourself when you think of me? ā
Run Boy Run by Woodkid except from the speaker clipped on your friendās backpack while the two of you are running through the woods. At first the song was put on for some cool soundtrack to whatever stupid antics you got into, but the noises behind you are quickly suggesting that whatever youāre running from isnāt just your imagination anymore.
Are you normal or do you have hypervigilence problems because you always had to be aware of your family members moods growing up in order to deescalate situations before the arose
