multifandom || independent oc || written by Olivia
bio + rules
hello vonnie
will byers stan first human second
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

pixel skylines

oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
noise dept.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
occasionally subtle

JVL
art blog(derogatory)
KIROKAZE

Kiana Khansmith

Kaledo Art
Peter Solarz
Keni

No title available
styofa doing anything
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States

seen from Croatia
seen from Canada

seen from Türkiye
seen from Norway

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Singapore
@grcndeurs
multifandom || independent oc || written by Olivia
bio + rules
Soooooooooo anyway I realize that I haven’t been around for a while (Work, mental health, school ect ect.) However, I hope to fix that here and get back to writing if there are still people around, I heard a few rumors that it’s pretty dead on here :\
Anyway I’m going to put Jean @grcndeurs back on here more than likely just to have a centralized location for all my stuff. I’m also going to redo the muse page just because it would probably work better with…. idk a list? probably a list. Not sure, if anybody has any ideas that would be cool.
Nice to be back and I look forward to getting up to some shenanigans with all yall again.
Heads up
BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY. ABANDON EVERY HOPE, ALL YOU WHO ENTER. I saw these words spelled out in somber colors inscribed along the ledge above a gate; “Master,” I said, “these words I see are cruel.” He answered me, speaking with experience: “Now here you must leave all distrust behind; let all your cowardice die on this spot. We are at the place where earlier I said you could expect to see the suffering of souls who lost the good of intellect.” Placing his hand on mine, smiling at me in such a way that I was reassured, he led me in, into those mysteries.
– indie || sel || multi muse by olivia promo: ♤
Actually before I go putting max effort into this, do people still even write on here? Honest question…
I’ll be on in a bit once dinner is done to talk about some stuff :)
━━ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. ━━
𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘦 || 𝘴𝘦𝘭 || 𝘰𝘤 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢
sitting here. unkissed. when will it end
with all due respect (none),
#the poison#the poison for kuzco#the poison chosen especially to kill kuzco#kuzco’s poison#that poison
STARTER CALL ! !
hit that heart if you’d like a starter of varying length ! I may pop in for some plot ideas if I don’t come up with anything off the bat, but for the most part it should be pretty straight forward ! please make sure to read all the verses and everything else !
bio || verses || rules
STARTER CALL ! !
hit that heart if you’d like a starter of varying length ! I may pop in for some plot ideas if I don’t come up with anything off the bat, but for the most part it should be pretty straight forward ! please make sure to read all the verses and everything else !
bio || verses || rules
me: sees a mutual i have never even interacted with in my activities
me:
Hello it is I, your local astrophysicist. Your fun fact for today: Karl Heisenberg from RE is loosely based on Werner Heisenberg who won a Nobel prize for his work with ferromagnetism and theoretical physics.
His middle name is Karl as well.
Turn ask replies into threads.
If you like a response I made, you are more than allowed to just take it and make it into a thread. Some of you do this already, but others might need a bit of a verbal confirmation to let them know that they are more than allowed to do so. When I put a lot of effort into something, I really do enjoy when it sparks the need to turn things into threads with people. Whatever random situation I put our muses in normally something that I’ve wanted to write for a while, and I assume that you do too because you sent me the thing in the first place!
Write out a thing and tag me or mention me. I want to see where things go from there. Plus, who knows, if you wanted something with our muses, breaking the ice tends to make it easier to get that thing.
*foams at the mouth* THREE DAY WEEKENDDDDDD AAAAAAA
“Always” The Boys (S02E04)
greenherb:
the trails he carves through the banks of snow, turn to glittering slush. a snailtrail of slime that catches any and every errant flicker of light, setting it of in wild rainbows. a dazzling display despite the putrid stench he leaves behind and wafts off him. always and forever, he stinks of a thousand dead things left to rot in the sun. it cannot be helped, he cannot be hidden. the thick leather he drapes over his form, at one time, had helped to obfuscate the smell but slowly the slickness his body overproduces even in his more humanoid form, chewed away at the fabric and made a meal of that, too.
he has a meeting, mother had sent a messenger to inform him, that at dusk he was to be at the cathedral, waiting for her before she got there. his bulk took hours to get there. along the reservoir and up the jagged paths, his greater former could be utilized. talons that grip earth and thrashing tail to propel him along but the tight corridors of the village, the crooked, creaking homes barely standing as is, would fall to his bristling fins.
so he left early, allowing himself time to take breaks, to sit and rest and eat what he finds. salvatore is a scavenger. a brutal omnivore, he eats anything that he can fold into his mouth, live or dead. organic of otherwise. in plentiful times, the villagers bring wicker baskets of offerings. bottles of wine and wax-coated cheeses. bundled aromatics, fresh breads with intricate designs, small jars of honey the color of deep amber. he ate well in the deep summer but when the villagers starved, he ate their malnourished bodies. anything to avoid the hollow hunger in his gut.
he has sat down to a meal in the early morning hours. it is later than it seems, he can tell, despite the slate sky. his hands, up to his elbows, dipped into the gutted horse that lay on the path, the innards pulling between his teeth as the jagged things break through the natural casing.
a long howl is heard, not uncommon through the day and night. the lycans pillage always, starving in their own right, but the response echoing through the village drags his head away from his meal. he runs the back of one, thin forearm across his face. gore smeared along his malformed features as his mournful gaze is cast around. salvatore may not be able to understand the creatures but he understands the primal call and response. predators all chiding each other on for a singular prey.
he looks to the half-frozen horse, rime covering the cavernous inside. the promise of something fresh is one he does not wish to pass up. he may see what is happening and still make it to his meeting in plenty of time.
naked feet shuffle through the snow, ragged breath puffing in swirls as he moves on all fours, much like an animal would. closer and closer towards the prize, his maniacal laughter like a water-logged pipe belching air.
Dying is, and always will be, remarkably inconvenient. Back crunching into the rotting floor, Jean can feel several ribs shatter, puncturing a lung with the force of the monster on top of her. Its hot, fetid breath washing over her face in waves as its excited feral panting reaches a fever pitch — anticipation of the kill overwhelming the creatures bloodlust addled mind. Gun lost somewhere in the struggle; the woman hears herself yell back in raged defiance before it's cut short, teeth tearing greedily into the pliant flesh of her throat.
Blood floods Jean’s mouth, and her vision goes black as if someone had flipped a switch, the sickening lurch of death rushing up to meet her like a skydiver with no parachute finds the ground. But it doesn’t last long, never does and never will, a parting gift from Umbrella before Raccoon had gone all to hell. Part of the woman is thankful for this shred of immortality as a gore slicked hand reaches to her side and pulls the knife clipped there. Breath rushing back into reinflated lungs, Jean jams the knife in deep between the soft flesh of the Lycan’s rib cage, angling up into the cardiac wall. Feeling the wicked pulse of the things heart just as her knife rips through it, hot blood pouring from the wound and drenching Jean’s hands and chest.
A pained gurgling noise leaves the creature as gnarled clawed hands scrabbling uselessly at the woman’s forearms buried in its chest cavity. Wincing as the shredded skin on her throat stitches back together, Jean grunts as she throws the corpse off of her with a dull thump. Unmoving heaps of bodies litter the inside of the ruined house like broken dolls. Most had been shot before her gun disappeared from her grasp as one of them broke her right hand. Laying there on the slick, sticky floor experimentally flexing the fingers, she can feel the grinding resistance of bone on bone; connective tissues always took their damn time. Reaching up with her uninjured hand Jean gingerly probes the new skin around her neck; still pink and raw, it would take time before the tone evened out.
Sitting up stiffly, the woman feels several bones crack back into place with a visceral crunch that left her winded. Bitterly the memory of one of her colleagues faces looms through the haze of her mind's eye along with the words “perfect specimen.” Pain is the ultimate teacher they'd told her once, not that it even mattered now. It deterred her from nothing; if anything, it stoked the inferno of a temper just beneath her skin. Breathing evenly as Jean gets to her feet, she spies the dull glint of gunmetal next to an overturned couch and retrieves the revolver.
Limping out of the butcher house, massaging a hand into her neck Jean cracks the last bone back into place with a pained grunt. These things were intense, and the fascination with their single-mindedness made the scientist wonder just which brain chemistry had been altered. Strength and resilience of them indicated some tampering with norepinephrine receptors. Lost in these thoughts as her feet hit the dirt yard, the woman halts, gun snapping up to train on the man, at least it might have once resembled a man, standing in the road. There’s a stench of rot coming from him that’s entirely separate from the gore she’s coated in, it reminds her of low tide at the beach.
❛ Don’t suppose you’re here to give me a tour. ❛ Inwardly cringing at how hoarse her voice still sounded, the vocal cords having not entirely repaired yet.