Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Janaina Medeiros
@theartofmadeline
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JVL
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DEAR READER
Sweet Seals For You, Always
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
trying on a metaphor
titsay
Cosmic Funnies
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oozey mess
sheepfilms
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Sweden
seen from Malaysia
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia
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seen from South Korea
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@mr-walkers
((Ooc: hiatus-ish))
I'm so sorry I haven't been on here for the last couple of days. There are replies I will get to but have to be put on hold for now. My muse isn't really kicking in at the moment (I'd want to write a proper reply than a hurriedly shitty one, honestly, because I care about you wonderful peeps.)
Likely to be busy next week.
Sorry again! And I hope to return soon.
To new followers, thank you, lovelies!
☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑
Thank you darling! <3
One deep breath, and then another. Mary Eunice sits in her used Chevy (a ghastly pea clean monstrosity that, unfortunately, was all she had been able to afford) desperately trying to calm her nerves, settle her erratic breathing, calm the tremor that threatens in her already clammy hand. Adjusting the rearview mirror, she moves to nervously groom herself. Brushing softly curling blond strands out of her face. There’s something comforting in knowing that while she can’t control of the situation—of Kit’s reaction or of Jude’s—she can control the arrangement of her hair, the way her shirt hangs. It’s been years since she’s renounced her vows, but she’s still yet to get used to the sensation of her hair being loosed from her cornette—there time she feels queerly exposed without the the thick, comforting fabric of her old habit. With a final breath, she reaches for the door, steeling herself again. She’s been waiting for this moment for a long time, and she’s not about to let her cowardice get the better of her now. Shoes crunching on gravel, she makes her way up the driveway, rosy lips curving into a pleased smile as she looks up at the charming country home. It makes her heart swell to see the way he’s made a home for himself, despite his tragedies. It gives her hope. She smooths her hands nervously over her long skirt, straightening her posture, and with her porcelain features set in an expression of determination she gives three firm knocks on the wood of the door. God, I hope he’s home.
It's been a while since he made it out of the asylum. Kit's lived a modest life, got a home, a wife, kids. What he had wanted but did not get around to. He didn't want to wait, not after the period of his life he'd rather not remember (or forget?) in another place, in a time that was dead to him.
He took up again a mechanic job at the local gas station to earn his living. He's managed to live without any contacts to the asylum so far, save for the occasional sighting of Lana Winters on television and in bookstores. (She's a celebrity now. Could hardly avoid her, anyway.)
His wife was out with the kids to the park. It was a Saturday. He was attempting to make dinner (some kind of soup - at least he hoped it'd turn out to be so) when he heard the knock on the door.
Kit left the spoon in the pot and turned off the stove. He took off the apron before going over to open the door.
His jaw dropped slightly at the sight. Sister Mary Eunice. Only she wasn't - a Sister. That face, that indelible, captivating face was staring right back at him.
He thrust a hand into his trousers' pocket. "Sister Mary Eunice," he greeted, plain and polite, "What can I do for you?"
Put one of these in my askbox to see how my Muse reacts.
"I love you."
"I hate you."
"You’re dead to me."
"I trust you."
"I’m dying."
"I’m pregnant with your baby."
"I never really loved you."
"I want you. Naked. In my bed. Now."
☑xinfinity
<3 <3 you are the sweetest!
Send me "☑" if you think that I get my character correctly
"I was out of state working with a few patients who unfortunately couldn’t make it down here it was out of my usual preference but when the money is offered there’s never a reason to turn it down" Oliver admitted trying to keep the conversation going, the two were clearly from vastly different worlds but it was very interesting "Though while they are generous with their money I can hardly say the same about their hospitality, a couch and a cold meal at night was sufficient if not a little pain inducing"
Standing up straight from leaning on the car he let out a small stretch before turning and looking towards the office curiously.
Up until the current point in his life (who was he kidding?), Kit knew what he knew - that worlds were separated, that there were whole groups of people, whole societies and communities he was unaware of and would never be involved in, that he could question and wonder and gawk but never understand the people from those worlds.
He was starting to feel the man in front of him was in one such category.
He nodded, a pretense of understanding. The word "Sure," escaped his lips as he finished up his work and returned the hose back to the machine. He raised an eyebrow when the man's attention turned to the office.
"No one there now," he said, "Just me. Unless you count my radio. You looking for something?"
Grace finally began to feel her breathing decrease to its usual rhythm, his arms around her helping her with it.
She took a deep breath and let it out with a light hum erupting from her throat. A hum of content and happiness. Something she never thought she’d find in a place like this. But here she was, with a man who she thought she could maybe see herself with. Maybe?
She kissed his chest innocently, knowing they were pushing the limits further and further with each time they did it.
"Sure," she answered with a nod, letting him go to give the dough she was kneading before the sex the attention it needed.
"Hey, earlier you talked about being in love and I was wondering…" she trailed off. "I just wanted to ask…" she attempted to speak as she rolled the dough with her palms.
He wasn't one to object kneading dough. Or work, in particular. Kit enjoyed keeping himself busy, with occasional breaks. Boredom and the act of killing time by struggling to find a purpose to kill time - those he couldn't take.
He used to help out at his aunt's bakery, after all. The dough, the flour, the oven. His old friends. He wasn't that far away from that old life he longed for.
He watched Grace as she worked, a small smile on his lips.
Kit leaned against a counter behind Grace. "Love?" he asked, "What about it? What did you want to ask?"
She nodded, “sweet, is there others like you?” She wondered though honestly she doubted their was many people like him. He didn’t seem to have a bad thought for anyone, or at least not her.
"I’d like that." She admitted since she didn’t know how well she liked the idea of searching alone.
She picked out a Beatles CD and out it in her player, hearing the bands he mentioned, “some sound familiar, but I’m not extremely familiar.” She smiled softly, “70s pop music then?”
Her question made him swallow the words back down his throat.
Are there others like him.
Yes and no.
He tilted his head, eyes scanning her face. "Depends on what you think," Kit said, "But what you may know is true. Ghosts, most of them here anyway, died of ghastly incidents that they themselves committed out of hatred or vengeance. Very few are contented souls. Me, I just live with it."
He dragged her record collection over for a closer look.
"They're tormented. Disturbed," his lips were a thin, straight line, "Much unlike me, if you can imagine, but you wouldn't need to worry if I were your guide."
A wink.
Kit nodded when he saw what the girl had picked out. "Sure, I love the Beatles. They'd just started to invade here when I- uh- died, but they're great."
work's been tiring (drained me out) lately.
having a Halloween movie night (sort of).
will get to replies soon. haven't forgotten them, promise.
x
(not sure if will be busy during weekend.)
Quickly averting her gaze when she realizes Kit has noticed the attention she’s given to his face, she looks out, swallowing hard as her gaze flickers around the common room. For a few seconds, she tries to recall the memory of her first time in the day room. It hasn’t been so long but already the memories have started curling in around the edges like old photographs. “It is,” she nods, her attention shifting back to Kit. “Well, it depends,” Mary gives a blithe shrug, as she tries to work out the words to put a positive spin on the room without lying outright. “It’s just a place to occupy your time. Somewhere besides your room. You can smoke, there are a few checkerboards, decks of cards…” Her voice trails off as she realizes there’s little else to do. “If you get tired of things in here, you can always spend extra time in the bakery,” she offers brightly.
The list she had listed out sounded mind-numbing to him. Activities that could kill time but never brainwash one into forgetting his circumstances, his environment, that one is trapped within the confined space, these four walls, and forced to spend time - to actually find interesting ways to kill time.
What exciting hobbies.
He raised an eyebrow, interest perked at her mentioning of a bakery. "Bakery, sure." His aunt ran one. He used to help out when he was younger. Kneading dough was a fun way to pass the time - if he wasn't helping out in an asylum's kitchen. "What kind of bakery do you run here?"
Hopefully not one with drugs mixed into the dough.
Grace shut her eyes tight as she came as soon as she heard her name screamed out.
Managing to place herself back onto her feet again, she enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms and even more the kisses. “Always unexpected,” she replied with a grin and a nod, agreeing.
It was almost like he read her mind for she was going to ask if that’s all she was there for. It was his first day here and they’d had sex twice. Her first instinct was that she was his toy and nothing else. “Okay… Good.”
She pressed her head onto his chest, his heartbeat soothing her. She gave a shrug while her arms snaked around his waist. “Maybe later. Only not so soon.”
The curves of human bodies - the way a man and woman fitted together - was nature's way - God's, damn the nuns - of telling them they belonged.
Like Grace belonged here, in his arms. Her head to his chest, feeling his heart beat. Thump. Thump. Her arms around his waist. Their breaths mingled.
And they knew - were better aware of this than anything else - that they did belong.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, a hand smoothing out her hair. "Of course," he murmured, "Of course. I know what you're saying."
"Want to give that dough a go?"
She nodded, “sure not like I can’t track you down for them anyways.” She said as a joke and sat back next to him, watching him look through the horror books. He didn’t seem to be used to the books or books at all almost.
The thought made her smirk some, “just around?” She wondered how they all got there. The thought about how must past one house could have made her mind reel.
Violet started flipping through her disks next to her looking for a different mix disk to listen to, “so what did you listen to? Back then.” She stated wondering if she knew any of the bands, chances were that she didn’t, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t look it up maybe.
The conversation was starting to take an interesting turn. First ghosts, then the fissure in age and time between them.
Yes, he was here for this.
He jerked his chin towards the hallway. "Basement, mostly," he said, "I can take you if you want. Still in the house."
Kit watched her browse through her disks collection and sighed. Nostalgia hurt, to think about.
"Don't know if you've even heard of them," he started, "Your parents might. I listened to the Drifters, the Temptations, the Supremes, and some. They're good. They're really, really good. Songs that get stuck in your head for days."
A brow raised at his confession before shaking her head. “No you’re not Bloody Face.” There was no way this guy could be the mass murderer. “If you skin women then I can fly.”
She met his eyes and offered a tiny smile.
"The people who run this place are the insane ones, Kit. Well…there are a select few that are crazy here. But we are sane."
He laughed, his voice ringing in the otherwise chaotic common room.
"You're something, aren't you, Lucie," Kit mused, a corner of his lips tugged up into a smile.
He patted her shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that, darling, you're going to need it."
Since her arrival two years ago, Jude has warned Mary again and again that she needs to be more wary of the patients—especially the ones who look normal; the ones with charming smiles and eyes that spark with life, even in spite of their mind numbing meds. Those are the ones that need to be feared. Patients like Pepper? They’re harmless because they wear their afflictions on the outside. The others have learned to disguise their monstrosity with a charming, human mask. They make you trust, they make you question, like Satan disguised as a Serpent in the Garden of Eden. Kit Walker seems to be one of these patients. Still though, Mary reminds herself, all God’s creature deserve kindness and so she smiles back at him. “Sister Mary Eunice,” she supplies mildly. Running her eyes in quick appraisal over the new patient, Mary frowns at the dark bruise he sports over his eye. If it didn’t look so painful, Mary might find it comical. It does sort of make him look like a puppy, with his little flop of curly brown hair. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mister Walker?”
Somewhere in his mind the irony alarm was sounding.
They weren't supposed to be this nice, he thought. He had seen the nun who ran this place, Sister Jude, and the one sitting right next to him was in every way the opposite of her. Common sense, wasn't it? Fear and negative reinforcement. The tools to scare people into conforming and obeying.
The syrupy tone of her voice was almost too deceiving. Kit managed a smile (that wasn't too difficult - or painful). "I just arrived here," he began, "Is this the common room? What do we do here?"
He felt her eyes roam over him, and became more self-conscious. Sure, he'd gotten that bruise over his eye during that struggle with the authority - if anything, it'd heal in time. He didn't see any point in her looking at him with that pity.
I’m making this because I hit 360+ and I’m not sure how that happened and I just want you all to know how much I appreciate every single one of you. Love you guys <3
A-C
adoringroberts | ahsgeek | -americanhorrorstory | bllskarsgard | boy—parts | briarcliffwitch | cordeliafoxx | booboodaddyblogsonurface |
D-H
doctorothredson | emmaroberts- | emmarobertsuniverse | emma-rose-roberts | evnnpeters | evnpeters | exceptvodka| farmigataissa | fiercetaissafarmiga | fionagoddess | frakendick | frankenpeters | fratboykyles | hocusxxpocus |
I-N
| iamthemonsterinthe-dark | innocentbycorruption | itaissafarmiga | itsacoven | itshouldhavebeenyouasshole | iwillyounothing | kappakyle | kappalamdakyle | kylecantreallytalk | kylespencrs | kylezoe | kylspncr | letsrobparis | lilypaulson | madamecordeliafoxx | madikinesis | madisonmntgomery | madison-montfuckery | madisonmontgmry | mistysday | mr-walkers | mslanabananaa | ms-robichaux | noblewarveteran | normalpeoplesc4reme |
P-U
| piecesofkyle | quitethehumanitarian | relaxwerejustmessingwithyou | resurrectedsupreme | risingsunzoe | robertsemma | robichauxs-academy | robichauxs-murder-asylum | sacrificiial | scarsonacorpse | seekingxabsolution | serenitybennett | tainted-daughter | taintedtat-e | taissa-farmiga | taissafarmigas | taissafarmigaspam | taissa-obsessed | tastetate | tatelangedon | tatetatebobate | telekinetic-madison | thebensonwitch | themontgomerywitch | thirdsonofipswich | ttaissa | twiceblessedhalliwell | unevanpeters |
V-Z
| violate-this-noble-warr | violets-aredead | violet-the-daughter | whereinnocenceiscorrupted | whitelaceandxstrange | witcheryandbitchery | witchoftherisingsun | witchyzoe | xdestructivewitchx | xxfionag | youstupidhag | zoebcnson | zoebencer | zoebensoning | zoekazans | zoe-the-black-widow |
Smiling a little Oliver gave a small nod indicating that he understood the joke although he had no idea where to take it to “Yes it does appear to look like an extremely busy night, I’d ask if you’d considered hiring help but I’d be afraid of getting roped into doing all the hard work”
Kicking a piece of gravel underneath his foot he waited for the young man to finish his job. It felt relaxing to engage in small talk with someone, a luxury that he’d never really had before and it was a shame that they couldn’t have talked for longer as the guy seemed nice enough and interesting. Then again that might have just been Oliver’s need to see that rather than the reality of it all.
"Are you normally busy?"
The car's tank was almost full.
He'd love to chat on with the man, but Alma would be waiting for him back home. Kit merely gave a polite smile in response to the man's reply.
The loud noise from the machine alerted him to pull the hose out of the car. He did so, quite mechanically. Silence was still palpable. Kit wasn't much of a talker, especially with people he had just met. Small talks were fine. It's getting deeper that he'd begin to think too much about.
He shrugged. "During the day, mostly. Rush hours, you know." Kit ran a hand through his hair. "Your tank was nearly empty. Where were you driving from?"
