madness.

“No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.” ― Aristotle

[m-hadley-blog]

megaracallas‌:

When: first day of the festival

Where: the festival

Who: open to all

Meg wasn’t the artistic type, not really. She dabbled in finger painting here or there as a kid but she was impressed with the submitted work. Her little fancy things club with Belle and Markus was as close as she got to art like this, so it was nice seeing it in person. 

Rather than lingering around too long, she checked the vendors out. The local businesses usually had something cute and handcrafted and she was itching for a new pair of earrings. After careful inspection of the others, she found a vendor she liked and was about to reach for a pair when her hand bumped with someone else’s. “Oh, sorry. You can look first.”

“ ― death,” Markus stated, rather obviously. The small picture in his hand depicting an array of crows, their dark feathers nearly diluting all his attention. The bartender found himself drawn to the painting . . . but he wasn’t the only one. The coincidence almost caused him to smile, almost. 

“Do you see it?” Can you unsee it? 

[m-hadley-blog]

itsjakelong‌:

date: Tuesday & Noon location: festival status: open

“Okay, where’s the food at? I am starving, please tell me some food stalls are around the corner, because I just walked up and down this entire street to triple check I didn’t miss any, and there were NONE around.”

Art festival. All the colors mixing together, painting reality — he couldn’t help but wonder what the Creator thought of it ; of this world. The one that had turned his brain into splatter paint. He blinked, barely registered Jake’s question. Food would’ve been nice, he supposed. It was supposed to be a joyous event . . . but how much of that was actually believable? 

“ . . . don’t eat the paint.” 

[lousolversons]

God has abandoned us… I won’t.

[m-hadley-blog]

rosierbelle‌:

There weren’t many places as consistent as Flo’s Diner. The same loyal customers had been stopping by since before Belle was born, eating the eggs from the Desrosiers’ chickens since before she could remember. But Markus wasn’t like that, consistently surprising her and the rest of the town. Despite consistently meeting up for book club every month, she still couldn’t predict anything from him. He was wonderful.

After Flo had paid for the eggs, Belle made a beeline towards her friend and stopped before greeting him, not sure if he was spacing out or in deep thought. With her father, she knew when to steal his attention away, but with Markus she just quietly leaned against the booth and waited for him to notice her.

And he soon did, but Belle was soon stumped, left without a good answer to his question. ❝ I wasn’t paying attention, ❞ she said with a small shake of her head. ❝ What did you hear? Or, who did you hear? ❞

“ . . the broadcast, new residents” he started, shaking his head slightly ( wishing to return back to reality ). This wasn’t a good book that he refused to put down, his imagination exploring a new world that kept calling for him. Instead, they were sitting in a diner. His fries were getting cold. And Hermosa would be welcoming strangers soon. One thing was not like the others. 

“Do you trust unfamiliar faces?” Markus wondered, knowing it felt like a miracle to even belong to something, something as small as a book club. He had always enjoyed learning . . . even if his mind ticked in every direction, his thoughts colliding together like magnets. They always called him eccentric, strange, weird. But Belle listened to his theories of literature, even ones that had no relevancy to the text upon the page. 

There’s always a deeper meaning, there has to be.

“Should we welcome the unknown?” 

[m-hadley-blog]

megaracallas‌:

Meg rarely dwelled on The Creator, but she was beginning to wonder if His title was literal. No one can just create a whole person out of thin air, right? So it made sense that they were newcomers. Still, she tried to rack her brain for the last time she left Hermosa and couldn’t remember. Was that normal? 

She couldn’t tell.

Taking a sip from her coffee, Meg couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Time to get them the Hermosa welcome wagon.” She snorted, no longer interested in the piece of bacon left on her plate. Her relationship with Markus was strange, but wasn’t what they had in common as well? Though, covering up a murder wasn’t exactly strange as it was awful. “They’re probably trying to get away from big city life or some shit.”

How did Hermosa welcome new strangers into the abyss? He can’t remember, his mind filtering to the last time there was a new face, new name in town. Unless there was a lapse in his memory . . . Markus can’t wrap his brain around the announcements; new residents. What did they want? What were they here for? What did this mean? 

Questions upon questions, only adding to the power of the Creator. The invisible force that threaded this town ( and threatened him ). Years had passed and the bartender could not stop the facade, the paranoia. He’s watching, he’s always watching.

“ . . have you ever left town?” Markus wondered. 

“Does anyone ever leave Hermosa?” Are they allowed to?

[m-hadley-blog]

curiousvr‌:

New residents. Like a crackle of electricity, Alice’s skin fizzled, on nerve ends with a toxic mixture of nervousness and excitement - sure to be a killer, in the end. Mysteries, which had once seemed to fold in on themselves, now expanded outwards, bringing new creations, new ideas, new forms of life itself to light. Naively, she had almost expected everyone else to feel the same way as her.

Sliding in the seat opposite Markus, reaching forward for a fry or two, Alice shrugged. “Nope.” Then, a beat later, expression softening. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen though.” 

He dunked his french fry into ketchup, his mind churning again. Replaying vivid memories of the past, of children shouting: he’s spacing out again! Their words rang like echoes inside his ears, the realities of yesterday and today molding together. What is real, what is fake. They never listened to him, they wouldn’t listen to him ( isn’t that what the Creator had intended? ).

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen though.”

He paused for moment, glancing at her. Alice is persistent, always eager ( with curiosity that would ruin her ). He should warn her, but what’s the point? The fun would end too abruptly, too soon. 

“Most would disagree,” Markus noted, leaning back into the booth. 

“Hermosa doesn’t get new residents often.”

[m-hadley-blog]

megaracallas‌:

It had been a late night for her, and she usually liked to nurse any remaining hangover over at Flo’s to start off the day. Truly, it had started out as a pretty nice day actually. She even had plans to do a little spring cleaning over at her apartment today. But as the broadcast began, Meg couldn’t help but roll her eyes. What gossip did Konos and Kryptos have on her now?

The Zenith.

Furrowing her brows, Meg listened closely, her mind racing. The Zenith? But no one ever goes there… not really, at least. Sure, she might’ve found a few guys Lincoln wanted her to take care of as they were fleeing from their fate there, but no one truly came from there. Why was this so odd to her? Surely the tourism business would be… enough for such a small town. Looking over at Markus next to her, she nodded slowly. “Seems like we’ve got some strays.”

Megara.  

Or rather, Meg. Meg Meg Meg, who always strolls into the bar for a little peg of liquor. It’s habitual, he notices, but he never stops it. They are creatures of habits, following structure while hiding away those gruesome demons. He thinks he knows her, he could be wrong. They were similar, weren’t they? He thinks so. 

He hopes so. 

He knows the truth, but so does she. Murderers. My, my, what an interesting place to be. Hermosa had visitors but he can’t help but wonder why? Did the Creator want this? Did the Creator do this? His french fries were quickly turning cold. 

“ . . maybe they’ll be adopted.” 

[knowthyselfrp]

                      AGE RANGE: 25 // OCCUPATION: BARTENDER @  LUCKY LEPRECHAUN //  PRONOUNS: HE/HIM

It makes sense that you work at The Lucky Leprechaun since your nonsensical words make the others feel like they’re going to get lucky when they speak to you. But you’re more than your funny little sayings and quick wit, aren’t you? Whatever traumatic event that haunts you from the past must’ve stuck with you if you’re so hell bent on this persona of yours. Sometimes you wonder if you’re more of an idea than a person and while you were the thought of someone else, you very much are real (as far as you know). You are an intellectual, however. Your words may seem like nonsense, but they have a much deeper meaning to you despite what anyone else might think. Your thoughts go a mile a minute, but they make sense to you. Maybe one day everyone will understand what you’re all about, but the good thing is that you don’t care if they do.

Alice- What a peculiar friend of yours. They’re so curious, a little too curious if you ask. But still, you like them. They understand what you’re trying to say and that you’re more than just the silly person in the town. Somehow, you two fit together like two peas in a pod. A strange pod, indeed, but it works. They make sense of what you’re trying to communicate and you appreciate their questions and their yearn for knowledge since you weren’t sure if there were any people like them left in the world. They’re not content with just what they were given, and you love that about her because you feel the same way. You may be a mystery of a person to them, but you like that you know what they’re all about. You keep them on their toes and in return, they can bring you back out of your head when things get too tough. So you decided to help their search for all these answers because what else do you have to lose?

Red Queen- Indeed they are cruel, but the two of your have a history. One that the both of you don’t like to talk about, and neither of you are going to tell Alice since quite frankly it’s no one’s business. You’re too quick for them, and you know too much so they can’t hurt you, not yet. Your little tea sessions and confessional meetings are something the both of you want to keep under wraps since both of you have dirt on one another. It’s only fair if neither of you act, staying in a Cold War standstill rather than unleashing whatever nuclear weapon you may have on each other. Their threats of cutting off your head are meaningless, you could destroy them too if you cared enough. So the antagonism the two of you possess with one another works, since Alice doesn’t need to ask why you don’t like them and it appears that the lovely queen simply despises everyone. It’s better this way.

He’s glad you make no sense all of the time because if you did, people would start to suspect. And people suspecting and asking questions means that His control over people in in jeopardy. Simply put, he does not like you. You always are too close to the truth and then flip it around like you have no idea what’s going on. He has a feeling you suspect the truth of Maurice, and he’s waiting for the right time to flip the eraser on you or a loved one of yours. Be careful, you do not want to make an enemy out of Him do you?

Riz Ahmed

Keep reading

[m-hadley-blog]

LOCATION: Flo’s V8 Diner STATUS: Open! 

He slowly munched on his french fries, his eyes staring out the window. The skies were so blue, too blue, that he wondered if it was a mere reflection of the ocean’s surface ( because was seeing really believing? ). The colors kept changing, much like the faces in the diner. His meal remained unfinished as the static broadcast filled his ears.

Intruders. Strangers. The Unknown. 

Markus kept eating, pretending as if it didn’t matter ( knowing that it did ). He could feel it, inside his bones, his thoughts screaming towards one singularity; the Creator. So focused on his inner monologue, he hadn’t even noticed the shadow hovering over him. He snapped back into reality, confessing, “ . . did you hear that too?” Or was he losing his mind again?

[gnossienne]

Mary Oliver, “Wild Geese”

[m-hadley-blog]

big dick energy tbh

( ooc: thanks for letting me use this gif, it’s the only valid response ) 

[therpmemes]

                                    moodboard meme

send me one of the following symbols and i’ll make a moodboard for my character.

✿ for a general moodboard about my muse

💛 for a moodboard about our muses’ relationship

❤  for a moodboard about a romantic relationship of my muse 

💗 for a moodboard about another significant relationship in my muse’s life

💕  for a moodboard on my muse’s view on romantic and/or sexual relationships 

👗 for a moodboard about my muse’s fashion style

👶 for a moodboard about my muse’s childhood

🏠  for a moodboard about my muse’s home aesthetics

🍕 for a moodboard about my muse’s favorite foods

👮 for a moodboard about my muse’s occupation

[twdrg]

send me an ask with ur opinion as to whether i have big, small or medium dick energy

[m-hadley-blog]

stolencrowns:  

Now, let it be known that their ‘friendship’ was born out of convenience. Not understanding. Both willing to give each other space, and respecting each other’s mutual tendency to disappear. It’s for this reason that they’re flatting alongside Jake. It’s for this reason that, disagree all they want, it’s never been logical to argue.

But again – he doesn’t quite understand Markus. Never did.

Kingsley couldn’t pass on the opportunity to mess with him a little, donning a greeting smile now. Bordering on mischievous. “Is it going to be on the house though, for a roomie?” he teases, followed by a request for a black russian. The thief is only kidding, of course; simply wanting a reaction.

“How’s the shift tonight? I’m betting tonight must’ve been interesting.” He means talks of the carnival. Maurice, All the chaos associated with it ( though the two have little in common, they at least have this curiosity ).

Kingsley, Kingsley, Kingsley.

Well known, well recognized, well liked. A cryptic combination of notoriety that Markus can - and will never - achieve. To a certain extent, perhaps he’s envious, perhaps he wants to live life on the edge ( become a dirty criminal of sorts ). However, he’s caught inside a web of half truths, spun by the Creator himself. 

Because you’re crazy, Markus. You murder. 

He merely shook his head, wanting to rid of these thoughts and focus on the discussion instead. “ -- it’ll be a surprise, only if you order first. Will you pay, or will you won’t? Your gamble. Your call. Your vice.” 

“Interesting. . . ” Markus repeats, replaying the events of the carnival. His mind churning at the outcome, the possibilities, the tragedy. “Ended with a bang, much like his disappearance. Strange, isn’t it?” 

[ingridbergman]

Riz Ahmed as Nasir Khan in HBO’s The Night Of episode 1: “The Beach” [originally aired June 24, 2016]

[m-hadley-blog]

curiovser: 

He doesn’t drink, so she takes his portion, figuring that she’ll need it more than ever by the end of their conversation tonight. Some things require a clouded mind, not a sharp one. She’s never been one entirely guided by logic anyway, but nor can she see between the panes of worlds like he can. Not without a little liquid help anyway.

The whiskey doesn’t burn anymore, long having trained herself to become numb to its taste. 

“Hey, you’re no coward.” Sometimes, Alice thinks he might be the braves of all of them. It takes courage to see the world as he does and to refuse to be shaken from that notion, even when the rest of the world brands you with the label crazy. If you believe in your perspective, does that make it a truth or not? 

Something pulls inside of her, the moment Markus mentions the creator, painting him like a deity they are all bound to worship. As if he isn’t a man at all. She doesn’t doubt him, not even for a moment. “Like…a God?” The thought sends a shiver up her spine. “I want to see it.” She whispers, because she does - always willing to believe in the impossibility. “But…it’s not perfect. There’s no pattern to these unexplained circumstances. Or…to the people missing. It’s like…” She can’t put her finger on it. “It’s like it isn’t intentional.”

Not like the game dominoes, but like a seismic event which just so happened to knock them all down.

He watched her take his portion of liquor, knowing she had been rather clever. Two glasses. Both for her. How silly to assume otherwise -- yet, what a relief to be saved from the burn, the bitter taste of alcohol. The way it smelled ought to give enough warning. However, humans tended to love their vices, and Markus knew of the risks involved when it came to harboring an intoxicated mind ( for puzzles became undone, much like his persona ). 

“Hey, you’re no coward.”

If anyone caught him off guard, it would be Alice. She’s too kind, too naive, too lost. Words slipped out of her mouth and he was so tempted to believe them. To believe her. And to a certain extent, he did. He cared. Because she had been chasing something that had directly impacted him. The Creator, the truth, the mystery. He wanted to entertain her ideas, except this one was too hard to ignore.

To brush aside, as if it compared to child’s play. 

“A dangerous God,” he added, his voice almost shaking. “One that leaves behind no marks, no traces, no evidence.” 

“You can’t control all humans, Alice. Sometimes, they mess up. Sometimes, they mess up so badly that - that they must be punished.” Just like himself. 

[m-hadley-blog]

oh-rigby:

While disappearing in a small town was a far worse fate than a broken leg, Rigby’s pain felt paramount. At least he wouldn’t have to pay rent as a missings person’s case. He wouldn’t even have to meet anyone’s expectations if that were the case. Sometimes that kind of nothingness sounded better than his disappointment of an existence. A confused pout hit Rigby’s face. 

“How do you even ‘spin your emotions’ after something like this?” He questioned. Everything was a blur after he nearly fell to his death. On the way to the emergency room, he saw citizens in far worse shape than he. He watched families huddled together, praying for their loved one to survive the whole disaster. He felt wrong for getting off so easy. How did Rigby matter in the grand scheme?

“Were you at that flop of a summer festival?” He inquired. Rigby felt as if the whole experience could go in the trash.

"You adapt. You force yourself to.” 

The answer slipped out of his mouth, the words resting heavy on his tongue. It was the truth, wasn’t it? Sometimes, you were forced into a corner and given very little options. They hadn’t known this would happen at the carnival. They hadn’t known that Maurice’s event would close in such a manner. 

One missing person. 

Too many casualties. 

Suddenly, no one cared about the inventor anymore. No one had the incentive to care. Not when their own loved ones were caught in harm’s way. Funny how things worked -- how human emotions could be so easily twisted. Manipulated. Controlled. 

Was this the work of the Creator? 

A deadly question with an even deadlier answer. 

“Yes. The carnival, the gimmick. We were fooled, weren’t we?”