NIGHTMARE

i lived here, i died here, i thought that'd be the end of it.

[myrge-blog]

DEFENSIVENESS:

arms crossed on chest  //  crossing legs  //  fist-like gestures  // pointing index finger //  karate chops  // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture  // curling of lip // baring of teeth //  clenched jaw

REFLECTIVE:

hand-to-face gestures //  head tilted  //  stroking chin  //  peering over glasses  //  taking glasses off  //   earpiece of glasses in mouth  //  pipe smoker gestures  // putting hand to the bridge of the nose  //  pursed lips //  knitted brows //  narrowed eyes

SUSPICION:

arms crossed  //  sideways glance  //  touching or rubbing nose //  rubbing eyes  //  hands resting on weapon //  brows furrowing  // lips pressing into a thin line  //  strict, unwavering eye contact / /  wrinkling of nose  // grinding teeth

OPENNESS & COOPERATION:

open hands  //  upper body in sprinters position  //  sitting on the edge of a chair  // hand-to-face gestures //  unbuttoned coat  //  tilted head  //  slacked shoulders  //  droopy posture  // feet pointed outward  //  palms flat and facing outward  //  wide eyes

CONFIDENCE:

hands behind back  //  hands on lapels of coat  //  steepled hands  //  baring teeth in a grin  // rolling shoulders  //  tipping head back but maintaining eye contact  // chest puffed up/shoulders back //  arms folded just above navel   //  hip cocked

INSECURITY & ANXIETY:

chewing pen or pencil  // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb  //  biting fingernails  //  hands in pockets  //  elbow bent/closed gestures  //  clearing throat  //  “whew” sound  // picking or pinching flesh  //  fidgeting in chair  //  hand covering mouth whilst speaking  //  poor eye contact //  tugging at pants skirt/dress whilst seated  //  jingling money in pockets  //  tugging at ear  // perspiring hands  //  playing with hair  //  swaying  //  playing with pointer/marker  // smacking lips //  sighing  //  rocking on balls of feet  // flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION:

short breaths  //  “tsk” sounds  // tightly-clenched hands //  fist-like gestures  //  pointing index finger  //  running hand through hair  //  rubbing back of neck  //  snarling  // revealing teeth/grimacing  //  sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in the brows  // shoulders back, head up - defensive posturing  // clenching of jaw // grinding teeth // nostrils flaring  //  heavy exhales

tagged by: @bootpistol tagging: u

[myrge-blog]

bootpistol.

There’s something he misses about the woods. Don’t get it wrong, he loves Texas – wouldn’t have stayed, would’ve have had a child there if he didn’t (well, Oklahoma now that he and Ella’s mother have divorced but, really, all the same) – but still, there is something he misses about the north. There is beautiful lonesomeness in the desert and there is a different kind of beautiful lonesomeness in the woods.

He comes here to write, on occasion, when he can afford to. Surprisingly enough, Amanda has been encouraging him to write. She’s a good, honest woman, bless her soul – never lets the fact Caleb ruined her life get in the way of being kind to him. He could not have chosen a better mother for his child, even if he does regret meeting her and having said child with her, if only because she would’ve been better off having someone else’s child.

But getting the Texan out of Texas is not at all similar to getting Texas out of the Texan – which goes a long way to say he’ll be damned if he left his hunting rifle in the trailer on his time away. The sight of a fellow hunter, however, has him aiming the barrel to the earth, still damp with late spring showers and puts the hint of a smile on his lips, head dipping in a slight nod before he juts his chin at her. “Had ‘ny luck yet?”

@myrge, sc.

          she isn’t out hunting deer. it’s almost dark, and she’s been itching for days. though she may try, and try, and try to keep it at bay, the creature that has taken up residence within her, its grip on each of her vital organs, curled around each muscle and pressed against every nerve ending  ---  the creature has needs. tendencies. they have melded into one another, it is no longer it, she is no longer her. they are one and the same, she wants this too. 

          in a place like this, at a time like this, boys with beating hearts are uncommon. she’d hoped it’d stay that way. some wayfaring stranger wandering into the woods, gun or no, is just looking to get himself killed. if not by her, then something else. there’s always something else. 

          alice tilts her head, looks at him, at the gun, back at him. he’s fair game. she’ll outrun him, the demon will outfight him, and if he shoots ( it hopes he shoots ) she’ll keep coming.

          ‘ you ought’a get outta here. somethin’ lurkin’ out there might be waiting, hopin’ to gobble you up. ’

[myrge-blog]

hey guys! i miss writing here, so this is a plotting call! like this post and i’ll hit up your im’s!

[myrge-blog]

hey guys! i miss writing here, so this is a plotting call! like this post and i’ll hit up your im’s!

[myrge-blog]

hey guys! i miss writing here, so this is a plotting call! like this post and i’ll hit up your im’s!

[myrge-blog]

alice’s dad ?

[myrge-blog]

griefreak.

@myrge

     it’s good to take out the trash sometimes, b.j. figures. centuries of artifacts piling up can make you a bit of a hoarder.

      right now, they are seated on the sidewalk sorting through their poetry. b.j. had a string of years as a poet, using their endless time on this plane to scribble out beautiful and dignified words about everything and nothing at all. they are not a beautiful and dignified person, but their poetry has done lots to surprise them. perhaps instead of throwing these out, they should get them published anonymously…

      well, dreams of having their own book can wait. it seems the world is finally waking up. cars are passing by at a much faster rate, and even the occasional pedestrian lines the streets on their way to get breakfast or go to work. b.j. won’t have much time left before they sink back into the shadows.

      “so long,” they utter to the collection, before adding it to the trash pile. they are too caught up in their own head to realize someone is watching them.

          fuck that. she’s seen demons melt their host’s own face off to try and crawl under her skin  ---  this is new. it’s unreal. she stares for a long time, falling outside herself, drifting elsewhere. there’s something cruel in this. and it sounds just fucking like him. probably sold his soul in hell, let whatever entity that was first in line dig up his rotting corpse and wear it as a suit. swing by my girl’s first, would you? give her the shock of her life. might do her some good, wake her up to the ways of this cruel ass world.

          alice regains some level of cognizance, and shoots before she thinks too hard about it. the force of the shotgun round is enough to knock the trash can over, and then some. 

          ‘ hands on your head. ’

          she shoots again, blowing their poetry to smithereens, pages going everywhere.  ‘ ain’t gonna say it again. ’

[myrge-blog]

@bunburie

          ‘ you hungry? i shot a deer. ’  it’ll go bad before she can finish it on her own, even if she feeds the dog. no sense wasting food in times like these. she’s got the animal slung over her shoulder, and looks very small beneath it. it’s bleeding onto her clothes, but alice knows better than anyone how to get blood out of cotton.  ‘ here, ’  she tosses her rifle over with her spare hand,  ‘ hit anyone who looks at us funny. ’

[myrge-blog]

lesbian icon because alice is a lesbian icon

[myrge-blog]

:-) like for a starter in alice’s far cry verse 

[231098]

[myrge-blog]

alice fits so seamlessly into the farcry 5 universe but just in case anyone has any questions:

she’s pretty tame, she’ll snipe most anyone that comes near her property but she’ll feed you if you need it, assuming she doesn’t accidentally kill you

leaves her house rarely, and only to hunt (people and deer/wild pigs/etc) + gather supplies

she doesn’t have a lot of land so the cult isn’t very interested in it - its not worth its salt for growing crops and she doesn’t have any animals (except a doggy in this verse), but she’s a skilled marksman so they’ve sent a few members after her a few times

she has landmines in her front yard

she’s a prepper, has a bunker below her basement which she dug out when the cult’s growth didn’t seem to be slowing. has lots of canned food, her own vegetable patch, a source of clean water, hunts once or twice a week for fresh meat

she has a dog in this verse!!!!!! her name is pip and she’s a good watch/guard dog

i definitely like the idea of alice still being a demon and the cult trying to exorcise her so if anyone wants to take that and run with it PLEASE do

[myrge-blog]

genuineviolence.

@myrge

‘  you… smell. funky.  ’  a pause, they look her over carelessly.  ‘  no. offense.  ’

          ‘ saying no offence doesn’t really, actually, mean anything. ’  it is still offence, and she still takes it. she wants to blame it on the creature, the stench of death and decay and whatever else it must carry with it.  ‘ like what. ’

[myrge-blog]

thymocosm.

‘ you know exactly who i mean. ’ don’t lie, handsome, we’re sick to death of being lied to. ( sick to death is a little on the nose, but who’s counting if the hair always grows back after you pull it out at the root? not you, anyway. ) that fear-smell leaves lenny spinning-dizzy, some tingling in the skeleton-grinning teeth, some crawling in the throat, looking for — ? ( and then what? ) ‘ you have a little, ’ tap tap tap go the fingertips at lenny’s temple, ‘ ride-along, passenger, beastie in a box. ’

          knowing is one thing, wanting to know more is another. the shadowy tendrils that bind skin to muscle to bone long to reach out and crawl down lenny’s throat, curl up and pull them closer by the insides. whatever it is that holds alice together has had its interest piqued, which has done nothing but set off alarm bells for alice.  ‘ why, ’  alice scratches at her forearm, curls her nails around and digs them into her own flesh, their flesh.  ‘ you ought’a get outta here. dangerous place. might not like the answers to those questions. ’

[myrge-blog]

dirtypaw.

@myrge,

         “  alright.  if you want to have a staring contest that bad  –  onetwothreego.  “

          not what she bargained for, but the shadow that weaves itself through her bones takes note  ---  alice’s eyes will not blink, not for days and months and years, if it comes to it. the eyes are sharp, seem to look right past his and to whatever chaos lurks beneath. 

[myrge-blog]

memoryserved.

They’re looking at the shotgun first, with good reason, in their own opinion. The dirt and the blood and the questionable ankle are set dressing to the starring role that is the shotgun. Kennedy tips ash from their cigarette without stubbing it.

   “Will you put that down first.” They think of saying please but it isn’t really a pleading matter. Currently. 

          ‘ mm, ’  she looks pale, but the pain doesn’t otherwise show on her face. it is typical, for a malevolent entity controlling your body’s ability to heal, for said malevolent entity to slow the process as much as possible without actually killing the vessel. 

          the shotgun lowers an inch, and she makes a ‘come hither’ motion with the hand that holds it.  ‘ ain’t gonna shoot you. can’t say the same for the rest’a the things in this forest that come runnin’ at the smell of blood. best i keep this on hand, for both our sakes. ’

[spiraphobia]