hullo my dotter and I are still alive! there are various things abounding that I need to focus on, but when I have time I will return for the good writing content
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosmic Funnies
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS

@theartofmadeline
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ellievsbear
KIROKAZE

tannertan36

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

titsay

Origami Around
Peter Solarz
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n

oozey mess
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
Claire Keane

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@ohdaughtcr
hullo my dotter and I are still alive! there are various things abounding that I need to focus on, but when I have time I will return for the good writing content
left to be forgotten
nightwontlast:
❝ Yeah, no problem, ❞ Valentine says, a little hesitant.
She seems to take it so hard, that little bit of kindness. Even with that heart of his being so stubbornly tough, he feels a twinge at her reaction that leaves him feeling almost melancholic. It’s hard to put a name to it, exactly. He hates to see a person in pain & clearly she is ; whether it’s because of the attacks or because life’s just been unkind to her in the long run, he can’t hazard to guess, but he knows that he was right on the money to think that she really could just use a friend right about now.
He actually touches her shoulder, this time, with the hand that didn’t retreat before, the one with an unlit cigarette between the fingers like an accessory to complete the look of the dark & mysterious man ; the detective with no past to speak of. Then he gestures, off in the direction where the diner if one went looking.
❝ Shall we be off then, Miss ? ❞ A hint of old — fashioned charm to suit, accompanied by that smile of his that’s trying. Reaching into him for his compassion & tugging it out for her like the stuffing of a pillow, in tufted clumps in quick succession. He cares, he truly cares, but warmth is not always easy for him, & however much he does, he has to work hard just to put forth enough to make a person’s hands feel less of the bite of the world’s chill for a moment.
He thinks that she seems like a nice person to give that to, that moment of maybe a little less chill while she recovers from what she has been through, what she knows & what she’s been through even if she didn’t see anything this time. He knows that, in her position, he sure as hell wouldn’t mind it.
When the touch upon her shoulder comes she flinches reflexively, surprised, but quickly stills. With the contact it dawns on her how close they actually are, probably the closest she’s willingly been to anyone in...a long time. It’s strange to remember the girl she used to be, always ready with a hug or an offered hand, or even just sharing the same space casually. Something wobbles in her middle, nothing to do with her stomach, and she shuts down her train of thought. Closes her eyes, opens them. Glances up at him before looking to where he indicates.
Miss. The title, so unexpected, actually manages to draw a laugh from her—just a breath, soft and light, but the contrast is remarkable. Antiquated things have always held claim on a corner of her heart, brought some rarely-seen charm back to life that, for reasons unknown even to her, seems to give everything a bit more jauntiness, a bit more flair. For a moment the heaviness brought on by things unasked for and Peace’s own self-blame lifts; for a glimpse, she’s just a girl.
“I’m Peace. My...my name’s Peace.” My mom named me, always on the tip of her tongue during an introduction, is curled back behind her teeth, still too afraid of it all turning to ash yet. Instead she offers him a small, hesitant smile of her own, worn and torn by life but not quite snuffed out yet. Trying.
And when was the last time she introduced herself to someone? Keeping pace with the detective as they make their way towards the diner she continues to dart glances at him, tendrils of her old self finding shelter in his windbreak kindness and stretching cautiously. Curiosity stirs, budding questions unrelated to mysterious beasts and those who have passed. She bites the inside of her cheek. Dare she ask?
Peer into my muse's memories
❤️- A happy memory that makes them smile
💙- A sad memory that makes them cry
💛- A memory that makes them feel angry
💚- A memory that makes them feel guilty
💜- A memory about one of their loved ones, happy or sad
💔- A memory that leaves them feeling lonely
❣- A memory that leaves them laughing
💕- A memory about their significant other
💞- A memory about their children
💓- A memory about their friends
💗- A memory about a good deed they did
💖- A memory that made them feel special
💝- A memory that made them feel loved
💘- A memory that gets their heart pounding
💟- Wildcard!!!
ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀsᴇʟғ ᴀ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ?
Ind. Selective Multi-Horror OC Blog (say that 10 times fast). Comprised of monster characters of original species. Multi-verse with an option for a lore-centric and canon-complicit verse. Wrangled by Cirque / Lisette. Permanent semi-low activity. *There will be a horror-based focus, but not everything will be guts ‘n gore.
— HOME. ╳ ASK. ╳ RULES. ╳ MUSES. —
Art Credit: Nagabe.
ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴡɪsʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ.
* winnie the pooh prompts
a collection of lines from the stories and films.
‘ oh, bother! ’
‘ where are we? ’
‘ it’s got my name scribbled all over it. ’
‘ stay safe and sound. ’
‘ but we can’t all, and some of us don’t. ’
‘ weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them. ’
‘ some people care too much. i think it’s called love. ’
‘ that’s the silliest thing i’ve ever heard! ’
‘ tell all of them. ’
‘ thanks for noticin’. ’
‘ is anybody at home? ’
‘ when you wake up in the morning, what’s the first thing you say to yourself? ’
‘ gee, that was fun! ’
‘ i used to believe in forever, but forever’s too good to be true. ’
‘ might take a day or two, but i’ll find a new one. ’
‘ that isn’t even a word. ’
‘ i tried to stop, but it’s snow use. ’
‘ who am i forgetting? ’
‘ that wouldn’t be a very good idea. ’
‘ sounds like saturday night at my house. ’
‘ we’re always there for you. ’
‘ one of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having surprising discoveries. ’
‘ i have pumpkins to protect! ’
‘ eat well. ’
‘ that’s what it is. pathetic. ’
‘ nobody can be uncheered with a balloon. ’
‘ what i like doing best is nothing. ’
‘ neither can i. ’
‘ when you and me become we. ’
‘ what on earth are you doing! ’
‘ did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again? ’
‘ i don’t see much sense in that. ’
‘ i just love a happy ending. ’
‘ oh boy, a party! ’
‘ what’s the good of that? ’
RP-Meme: These Feelings
memeattic:
Send me ‘Feeling’ and I’ll generate a random number between 1-100 and write a starter in which my muse is feeling…
lost
ecstatic
nervous
courageous
restless
mournful
vengeful
proud
embarrassed
surprised
weak
panicked
nauseous
festive
scared
content
excited
uncertain
miserable
humiliated
inferior
superior
adventurous
threatened
lonely
nostalgic
disappointed
peaceful
heartbroken
bitter
irritated
ashamed
indifferent
anxious
shy
frustrated
desperate
helpless
rejected
insecure
left out
cold
quilty
out of place
happy
hopeless
jealous
infatuated
bored
amused
overwhelmed
depressed
thrilled
blue
numb
confused
abandoned
offended
suspicious
cheerful
hopeful
guilty
loved
worried
gloomy
aggressive
furious
hesitant
misunderstood
concerned
mischevious
grumpy
uneasy
sorry
sleepy
crushed
impatient
nothing
passionate
used
regretful
useless
worthless
energetic
trapped
intimidated
exposed
curious
disgusted
affectionate
lucky
dirty
exhausted
empty
lazy
tense
dizzy
upset
relieved
fired up
nightwontlast:
She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days. Skinny as a rail with an appearance so bedraggled, she could have told him she was living with a colony of alley cats & he would have been more inclined to believe her than not. He’s got a good mind to wonder just where she’s come from ( he doesn’t blame her for being nervous, given what’s happened here, what’s going on ; besides the matter of talking to an investigator, private or not. still, just like the cats she invokes, it seems as if there’s a risk that if he makes any sudden moves, she’ll turn tail & run off into the back alleys, never to be seen again ).
He shakes his head, out of the question. ❛ Discounts ❜ or no.
❝ That’s not necessary, ❞ he says, ❝ You need somethin’ to eat, I don’t mind getting it for you. C’mon. I’ll take you to a diner I saw on th’ way here. It looked decent enough, wanted t’ check it out myself when I got through here, an’ wouldn’t you know it, I just did. ❞
He offers her this look he’s been working on, the touch of a smile that pulls at his lips without reaching his eyes. A bit of softening to reassure & offer up, if not comfort then some reassurance that it’s worth trusting him, that he’s worth trusting, & he’ll get to the bottom of all this given a little bit of time & a push in the right direction. Both things that she can give him, if she’s able. If she’s willing. Maybe he could get justice not only for the victim here & now but for her, for her friend & that family lost to the killer beast, whatever it may be.
Even if she can’t help him, as much as he’s sure she’ll be able to ( nothing is a sure thing, not really ; he still might not get anything out of her, but he won’t blame her if that turns out to be the case, much as he’ll wish it hadn’t been ), it can’t hurt to just be nice to a body in a bad spot like this. & it sure as hell won’t stop him from investigating, getting to the bottom of this whole thing. He can’t in good conscience turn his back on something like this when the police are already prepared to handle it as a random animal attack, so long as he just doesn’t believe it is.
Just accept the free meal, kid, he sort of wills her, with that look of compassion he’s been trying out. Everything else will fall into place, you’ll see.
It’s always the kindness that does it. She chews her lip, protests reflexively bubbling in her throat but her stomach is just as insistent and in the end she can’t say anything, just curses her weakness because she can’t be a burden to him. She won’t be. Steeling herself, she clenches her fists and squares her shoulders and opens her mouth to say, Thank you, but I can’t accept it, I’ll be fine, only then he smiles at her like it’s not something he’s used to but he’s trying and the bottom of her heart drops away. Suddenly she’s a little girl again and the curtains are open but the window is closed, filtering sunlight to spill across her mother lying in a hospice bed. She’s five years old and her mother is telling her, soft and fragile, the very first story Peace ever remembers hearing—
(“He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen until you, sweet pea...I mean, I know it sounds so dramatic, but it was, I don’t think I really understood what it meant to...really feel alive until I met him.” Blaire smiled in that way that made her eyes crinkle, that meant she was laughing, and despite the bruises of exhaustion and death’s pale shadow, she shone. She was the most beautiful thing Peace had ever seen. “I know you’re not old enough to understand yet, but...oh, sweetie, when you are, just remember that I told you to watch out for the dark and mysterious ones, okay? They’ll eat you right up...”
But it never sounded like a warning when she said it like that. It sounded like longing.)
Peace swallows, hard, almost chokes on a swell of emotions and things she’ll never get used to because sometimes time doesn’t heal, it just gives you distance. This, though, this she’s gotten used to, or at least better at, and it’s not even a minute before she’s pushed through the tears and swallowed her heart and tucked the memories back into the small, untouchable part of her mind. She’s always been the sort to look for the best in people, but even more than that she wants to trust him. Longs to.
“...Thank you,” she finally manages in a small voice. “I...I really...thank you.”
nightwontlast:
His eyes, the haunting eyes that pierce & follow, they are intense & oh, yes ! they are truly golden ! Improbably so, & it’s easy to see why that would be a descriptor to stick out in the mind when they are so yellow that it should seem impossible, a shade so rare it must be one in a million. Like this meeting. The eyes, fixed on her, offer silent promises of answers & conclusions & a thousand things more, all reflected citrine in the depths of them.
& that they should belong to a detective, of all men ; a stray with no past on the hunt for some mystery killer ! Even, or perhaps especially one so close to home for her. Of course it would stir up the imagination, even hope, laying down the foundation of a thousand conjured scenes of lost love & woe, sleepless nights spent remembering, or forgetting, all that happened 18 years ago.
The impressive height of his solid frame, the lines that draw maps on his sharp features, the quirk to narrow lips, the reminiscing of a scar cutting gently across his brow all come together to fan the spark of what could be into a flame, while he stands here now thinking only of a case.
( Yet, he is completely unaware of who this girl may be that stands before him now, while he asks her questions only about heinous murder & bloodshed. how ironic that seems‒‒‒‒ painfully so ! he doesn’t even suspect ! )
❝ Some, ❞ he answers accordingly, with the deep & rolling accent of someplace far away from here, ❝ I’ve heard about attacks that don’t quite fit th’ description of any local animals. Some people were figurin’ it for coincidence, a bear or a cougar, but… ❞ he trails off, shakes his head. Makes an empty gesture with the unlit cigarette in his left hand.
Still, what he lacks in empathy he makes up for in understanding, & his tone softens as he looks at this girl on the verge of tears & realizes that’s not the right tack to take. She looks like she’s on the verge of a nervous break. Poor thing, been witness to too much. It’s a sad world. Nobody ought to have to go through so much.
❝ Hey, take it slow now, ❞ Valentine says, ❝ Anything you can tell me about what happened would help me a lot t’ catch this thing, but don’t force it out. C’mon, I think I’ve found all I’m going to here for th’ moment. Why don’t I buy ya a coffee while you collect your thoughts ? ❞
Peace has got a story. As he’d thought, she knows something, something big. About the attacks, maybe about the killer behind them. Of course he’d want little more than to know what it is she’s got on the beast, what happened to her friend, but he’s smart enough to know that’s something that needs to wait until after he’s got her calmed down. He’s not here to break witnesses, he’s here to get justice for the victims, the dead & the living. Besides, there isn’t much a detective stands to learn from somebody too shook up to speak.
He almost touches her shoulder with the right hand, but not quite. Not quite. It ends up back in his pocket instead, contemplative.
Take it slow. Breathe. One step at a time, she knows, but the more she talks the more likely, the quicker he’ll catch this THING (of course they’d think it’s a bear, a cougar, convince themselves it’s within the realm of human scope) and it’s the fear again, catching in her throat until she forces it out, again, breathe. The edge is there but she can see it now, ready, push it back a little farther and scrub the threat of tears from her eyes. He offers a coffee and she almost smiles; his tone is gentle, and she almost feels safe. Almost. Is it worth it? Maybe she’s not—but maybe he is. And maybe...
In through the nose and out through the mouth and her hands lower, clasp and twist in front of her. A wall of sorts, if one is into reading body language. Her hair, shaggy and self-cut, still curtains her face as she looks up at him, eyes searching in that peculiar way as when she was first staring. As though looking for something familiar. Wanting him to be familiar. Before she can give too much away her gaze drifts back down, settles somewhere near his knee. It’s been too long. (She doesn’t see the way he almost moves to comfort her, and it’s just as well.)
“If..” Once more to clear her throat, more words at once than she’s spoken in months rusty from disuse, mangled by stress and everything she can’t say. It’ll take some getting used to. “If it’s not too much trouble—”
Her stomach growls. Blood rushes to her cheeks, lips pressed tight and arms folding across her middle like that will help somehow, like swallowing her mortification might be enough. Peace’s metabolism grew right along with her and she knows it’s not forgiving, does nothing for her shabby appearance, hounds her despite the dinner she’d splurged on the night before. After a pause in which she fights the urge to simply excuse herself and run, she manages, “I didn’t, um...have time to eat anything. This morning. If you don’t mind...”
A longer hesitation and she seems to shrink slightly, a wilting flower. Ever quieter. “I can pay. There’s a convenience store, they give discounts on...on food, sometimes. I can pay.”
♡ for a starter !
(specify verse if you want, or I can make something up)
《 @nightwontlast ╱ cont. 》
She should’ve bailed the moment she saw the news about the attack. It wasn’t her, she knows it wasn’t her, it happened two days after she woke up safely trapped in her monthly prison and the fact that there was enough of a body left for easy identification only confirms it. But it doesn’t matter whether she’s innocent or not. Over the years she’s made enough mistakes that there’s a new urban monster myth floating around—not so many that it’s anything more than whispers, the latest ghost story to tell in the dark, but it doesn’t matter. It’s enough to draw some extra attention to a fatal animal attack, and attention is the last thing she needs. It’s the thing that sends her packing to find a new part of some city grungy enough that her own homeless grunge won’t stand out too much, clean enough that she can pick up the odd honest job if she needs to, and most importantly of all, to find a new lockup for herself.
She definitely shouldn’t be talking to a guy who’s investigating the attack.
And yet...there’s a reason she was careless enough to get spotted by him, lurking around the crime scene as she was (just to make sure she really didn’t do it, even though she knew that already, even though this hasn’t been the first animal attack that wasn’t related to her in the least). Hell, she might as well have walked right up to him and waved in his face with the way she’d been staring at him. Is still staring. She can’t help it; his eyes pierced straight through three years of running and hiding and fear to reignite an old hope she’d thought dead with the rest of her family.
Except her father, maybe. A father she’s never met. The man her mother had loved dearly to the very end. The man with golden eyes.
As the thought enters her mind, she knows this is a terrible idea. Probably the worst she’s ever had. This could ruin everything, put countless people in danger, put this man in the most danger of all—but no. She won’t let that happen. She just...she just needs to know. She needs to keep the promise she made at her mother’s grave.
But even as she opens her mouth to ask, did you ever know a woman in Seattle, about 18 years ago, her name was Blaire, please, she was my mother, her voice sticks. The words won’t come out, and suddenly her throat floods with fear. What if he doesn’t remember? What if he lies or brushes her off, because his history of flings is certainly not the business of a disheveled and barely hygienic ragamuffin like her? What if he doesn’t care?
Peace swallows, hard. She’ll ask, she has to, needs to, but...maybe there’s a better time for it. Maybe after they get to know each other a little better. If that’s even possible, considering they’re perfect strangers meeting at the scene where some poor person was mauled to death by who-knows-what kind of animal. No doubt he’s got more pressing matters than becoming more closely acquainted with a nobody on the streets.
And just like that, the haphazard scraps of what doesn’t even amount to a plan, just sheer desperation and the ghost of a child’s dream and the tattered end of a very frayed rope, take clumsy form and tumble off her tongue.
“Have you heard the stories?” Her voice is barely more than a rough whisper and she has to pause to clear her throat before she continues. “Th...they say that there’s a monster. In the city. Cities. N-nobody knows what it is, but it. It moves around. This isn’t...um. Th-this isn’t the. Um. First.”
The last word breaks, raw and visceral and as memories she’s tried her best to avoid start resurfacing, Peace chokes and blinks rapidly against the welling tears, struggles to continue, “My...my friend, h-her whole family...the cops, they never...”
They never caught it. It’s still running free, alive, I’m still alive while Ellie and Seb and Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard and AunTea and Uncle Howie and I don’t know how many others—
She feels the break coming, the never-far tidal wave of panic and terror and hopelessness and why is she still alive, why why WHY but before it crashes over her she clenches her fists until her tendons creak, bites her lip and bows her head and digs the heels of her hands deep against her eyes, shoulders hunching, biting harder until she tastes a bright, sickening note of blood and her nails are surely drawing more from her palms and there’s a sharp-heavy-agony-make-it-stop in her head from the pressure and the harsh breath that would have been a sob or a scream explodes out of her and finally her hands move to her hair, red and watering eyes fixed sightlessly on the ground as TV static swims across her vision.
What is she doing? Is it even worth it? She doesn’t think she’s worth it. How dare she.
me: I wanna add a new verse for Peace
me: starts making a private school with a history and various original lore monster children and proceeds to fall in love with the potentially also monster headmistress who basically runs the whole au
me: neat
I miss writing. I’mma get back on that.
alright guys, things are sort of going zero to sixty (well, more like thirty-five to sixty) this week & next week for me. halloween’s always An Event™ for me, and right after that I’m most likely going to be working eleven days straight and my life has also reached a point where it’s demanding a lot more attention and energy so I’m probably going to be taking a little break of sorts. if I have the time/energy/mood to get on I will, but I can’t promise much activity outside of the queue and I’ll probably just lurk and read everyone else’s threads