★
wallacepolsom
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
RMH
Claire Keane
No title available
oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Three Goblin Art
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Cosimo Galluzzi
Andulka
tumblr dot com
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Stranger Things
Janaina Medeiros
No title available
Discoholic 🪩
almost home
seen from United States
seen from Guernsey
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Singapore
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Guernsey
seen from Japan
seen from United States
@shadowedvales-a
this blog is starting to get wayyy too cluttered for my liking. so over the next few days i am going to be archiving it and making a new one— and making it wayyy more private than this one. if you wish to remain mutuals, be sure to like this post and i’ll follow you over there when i am set up! if you don’t want to, no hard feelings and i wish you all the best!! <33
this blog is starting to get wayyy too cluttered for my liking. so over the next few days i am going to be archiving it and making a new one— and making it wayyy more private than this one. if you wish to remain mutuals, be sure to like this post and i’ll follow you over there when i am set up! if you don’t want to, no hard feelings and i wish you all the best!! <33
this blog is starting to get wayyy too cluttered for my liking. so over the next few days i am going to be archiving it and making a new one— and making it wayyy more private than this one. if you wish to remain mutuals, be sure to like this post and i’ll follow you over there when i am set up! if you don’t want to, no hard feelings and i wish you all the best!! <33
this is a lil mini shoutout to @janessaives!!! seriously yall, i wouldnt even be writing max if it wasn't for frankie and how incredible her mind is. the work she has put into jane (and continues to put into her) is so inspiring which is not a word i use lightly!! so if youre following me i highly highly recommend you follow her too, because not only is jane an integral part of max's canon but you definitely want this caliber of writing on your dash!!<3
gosh, what an absolutely lovely thing to wake up to! phoebe you are such a talented person and every day i thank my lucky stars that i followed you, and we became good friends! everything you have put into max is so incredibly unique and inspiring. no one will ever be able to come up with something for her story like you have. i can’t believe you chose me to be your jane, i am truly so so lucky for it!
El Hopper in this outfit™
a prime example of one nancy’s favorite of jane’s idiosyncrasies : those wide brown eyes drink in every inch of the world with seeming reverence . nancy always tries to allow wiggle room for that , a few extra minutes of transition for the younger girl to enjoy the newness of it all . the station wagon isn’t anything special , but through jane’s eyes it feels almost glamorous . it’s a bittersweet feeling , coaxing out that persistent ache for the missing pieces of both of their respective girlhood . new additions in their lives have somewhat soothed the sting of loss , but the knowledge of all that was stolen from jane remains poison in the well . it’s in the past , but lingering on the thought for too long will send nancy seething —-- better to focus on the things that could be repaired , & a trip to the mall seems an excellent place to start .
‘ totally bitchin , ’ nancy echoes happily , despite how foreign the slang term feels on her lips : the hopeful energy jane is emanating is absolutely contagious . the simple gift of glasses is accepted as though the girl has been bestowed a precious gift , and though the frames are slightly too wide for young features they somehow still suit her . the compliment is a minor surprise , and nancy finds herself sincerely touched by the statement . ‘ that’s really sweet of you , jane ! ’ as far as nancy is concerned her fashion choices are nothing remarkable : prim & pretty silhouettes , feminine but modest . ‘ thank you . we’ll figure out your style , too . we already know you have a great eye , so it shouldn’t be difficult . ’
blue eyes leave the road for a brief moment to acknowledge the high tops , nodding understandingly at the plight . ‘ definitely —- we’ll find you some cute flats that will look nice with your dresses . maybe even some mary janes or loafers …. whatever you like . ’ she’ll also take the time to name the different styles once they arrive , casually adding the terms to jane’s vocabulary for the next time . ‘ a basket is a good idea , especially if you’ll be biking to school . if there aren’t any pretty ones , we can get a plain one and decorate it ourselves —- i’m sure my mom has ribbon and stuff in a closet somewhere , ’ nancy muses , head tilting thoughtfully . as for herself ? there’s not much she needs at the moment . it’s difficult to exhume the old nancy who spent hours finding the perfect top to impress steve : a personal regression she shies away from . it’s not something she’d voice to jane , though , or anyone really . instead she offers a quick answer , something easy & basic about wanting to find some new barrettes for her hair . ‘ i’ve only been to starcourt a couple of times , but i’ve been to other malls before . they’re fun , but can be loud if there’s a lot of people . '
‘We'll figure out your style, too’ lapped around her mind, prompting a nervous twitch in her seat which was otherwise absent thus far. How was she supposed to know what her style was? Surviving on hand-me-downs, or donned in make-up and attire everyone else claimed her true identity. From a tattered gown and shaved skull; a yellowing wig and pink dress; slicked hair and dark eyes— the prospect of finding herself was a frightening endeavour. Although as her fretted perception fell to the dress falling over her knees, she felt like a little chip of her shattered body had been pasted back together. Perhaps it shan't be a worrisome journey with the experienced Nancy at her side. She could gander this girl for hours, honeyed sigh echoed from internal chambers; equipped to enter the belly of the great animal, shrouded in social cues and unfamiliarity... one step in the direction of typical girlhood, right?
“Mary Janes and Loafers...” She mumbled lowly, repeating the names to get a feel for them in her mouth. She decided against questioning what the strange terms meant, figuring it best Nancy simply showed her when they were inside. Road signs, clean and vibrant compared to others scattering the streets of Hawkins, indicated how close the mall was becoming, and anticipation joined prattled nerves. Marvellous suggestion turned her head away from outside directions, a grin pursued, nodding firmly to indicate how grand the idea was. “If there are pretty ones, I think we won't get them. We should make one! It will be more fun and you can show me what to do.” Quickly bit back a tempting ‘only if you want to!’, not letting it conclude her sentence. If Nancy didn't want to spend time with her, then she wouldn't be here right now. Those thoughtful intricacies are things Jane needed to conquer at a careful pace.
She wondered how her hair might take to barrettes, given tresses trailed rather thin and untamed; she wasn't fond of anything weighted upon her scalp, even dingy clips. Alas, this hour dawned an array of new opportunities: who knew what she'd go home with! “What malls have you— is that it?!” Jumping forth, she used her left arm to point wildly at the looming building in the near distance, excitement breaking initial question. It practically towered at the end of the road... for some reason, Jane's first thought pondered how large the car park must be. Grey seatbelt strained across her chest, fingers rested atop the glove box, sun splintering her eyes to an extreme that offered glasses don't completely protect them. Interlocked in the hold of fascination, for a moment she doesn't grasp the tightness of her ribcage, nor veins pounding thunderously in her ears, foreboding fear weaved in her fresh venture.
Awaited prize is discovered at long last; she leaned back in her chair like air was tugged out her lungs. “Wow. It is really, really big. Are malls always so big?”
@hollowvictory
𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕪 𝕤𝕫𝕟 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤
send 1 to watch a scary movie with my muse send 2 to go to a real haunted house with my muse send 3 to go to a commercial haunted house with my muse send 4 to go to a theme park (knott’s berry farm, 6 flags, etc) during halloween with my muse send 5 to go trick or treating with my muse send 6 to help my muse into their costume send 7 for my muse to help yours into their costume send 8 to be scared by my muse send 9 to scare my muse send 10 to put up halloween decorations with my muse send 11 to host a halloween party with my muse send 12 to go to a halloween party with my muse send 13 to pick out costumes with my muse send 14 to help my muse get ready for a costume party send 15 for my muse to help yours get ready for a costume party send 16 for our muses to hold a séance send 17 for our muses to play with a ouija board send 18 for our muses to go to a fortune teller together send 19 for our muses to carve a jack-o-lantern send 20 for our muses to go to the pumpkin patch send 21 for our muses to get lost in a haunted corn maze send 22 for our muses to tell ghost stories send 23 for our muses to do halloween baking together send 24 for our muses to see a ghost together send 25 for our muses to be in a cemetery together send 26 for our muses to toilet paper a house together send 27 for our muses to pull halloween pranks send 28 for our muses to happen upon a spooky abandoned house send 29 for our muses to hear a strange noise in the night send 30 for our muses to argue over who is being what for halloween (couple costume/pair costume)
at twenty four, jane reads her very first full length novel, without a dictionary beside her to look up words, or needing to ask about certain phrases. the book is the chronicles of narnia, the lion the witch and the wardrobe. she’d seen the last half hour of the original miniseries on television, thought the effects were wonderful and loved the idea of a majestic talking lion. the battle between good and evil struck a close core, and she immediately became enthralled with the story. the following day she goes to hawkins library to borrow the book, only to discover there are multiple in the series. a little overwhelmed, because while they’re not big books by any means, all of them combined is still daunting. nevertheless, she takes out the book and gets through it very slowly, but ever surely. peter is her favourite character, and the quote: peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick. but that made no difference to what he had to do, sticks with her forever. because if a young, magnificent king could overcome his fears and commit to his responsibilities, and come out stronger than ever, then so could jane!
@shadowedvales ( starter call. )
the girl seems to come from another world altogether. the nurses gossip to each other between various "treatments" about her, which tugs at johanna's heartstrings ( no one should be talked about as if they're an object ), yet she cannot help but listen in. apparently, she was brought to them wearing trousers. a girl no older than thirteen in black trousers of a strange fabric. the length of her hair makes johanna wonder if she was forced to sell it before this. in whatever world she came from. there was the occasional joke that the girl must be irish. on the only occasion she ever heard the girl speak, she didn't sound irish. foreign, but even johanna, after years of being locked away in the bedroom, knew she wasn't a brutish walking stereotype of a neighboring country.
she was nothing more than a young girl with cropped hair and wide, brown eyes that remind johanna much of a starved rabbit with a fate as doomed as the rest of them: a lifetime rotting away in a madhouse. ( but johanna still sings. she sings despite the complaining from the nurses and the ways they discipline her before of it. she sings despite her hankering exhaustion and the moment where she squeezed her eyes tight and wished she could end it all. if she doesn't sing how will anthony find her? )
today, they've somehow ended up near each other. the little girl and her. johanna doesn't move from the window until she's dragged away, even then her fingers grip at the bars until she's bloody and bruised. why the girl joined her today is none of her business, really. no one talks to each other in here. no one has any reason to make a new friend. besides, there's no telling who she could trust. any one of the women around them could have blood on their minds. perhaps, the girl just needed some fresh air, too.
❝ are you sick? ❞ despite herself, johanna hears the question in her own voice. she doesn't talk to people here. not even the ones that seem perfectly sane but ended up locked away for various reasons. yet, her gaze turns down to the younger girl beside her. ❝ i've heard you coughing. it sounds like you are. because if you are -- ❞ tone lowers ❝ -- don't tell anyone. they'll bleed you out. ❞ a faint memory exists in the depths of her mind of being pinned down by the strong arms of several nurses and watching in frozen horror as her own skin was cut open and she watched blood drain. ❝ that's what they do when you're ill. ❞
The earth churned sickness. Colour sapped from growing greensward, heat residing in her body trampled cognition. Frosty weather of her arrival was unfelt upon scolding skin; cold air did not weave inside a frantic system, left disorientated and coughing horrid, oozing black goo. An otherworldly artifact, a taunting souvenir representing everything sacrificed... but she, void of even a hint of a happy ending. Thrown into the habitat of the creatures, powerless, throat hoarse and fickle, screaming for friends with deaf ears, who failed to speak the language of girl's born for sacrificial slaughter. The weak are buried and the strong survive— couldn't she be weak this one time?
The Gate she eventually found sparked a glimmer of aspiration, evidently it turned out too good to be true. Just like finding her mother in an unresponsive state; like finding her sister plagued by sins occupying her past. Ives' women bred beneath a moonless sky and a wolf's howl: doomed to a specific curse, trekking life in service of others... little Janessa stood no exception.
Small, bitter voice wrapped in thorns. Jane nodded to the question, and spat her response. "I won't." I won't tell anyone. I won't tell anyone anything, ever again, so it seems. The makings of a beast had always caressed the flesh of this child, dawning within those big brown eyes; their sadness destined to last forever. She didn't intend the sharp cut of expressed tone, especially when her gaze draped over the pale maiden, yellowing tresses bright like the sun itself— a sun Jane feared she mightn't see anew. Not in her own world. Wherever her world was.
She was early to rot, but late to die; after a heartbeat's hesitation, she said, "I will be quiet." Momentary droop of her chin evoked shame, and the sincerity of her words entailed a muddled way to apologise for previous shortness. The strangers words are water, flowing forth with fragmented compassion which Jane laps up greedily. The very first soul to offer something related to kindness, a warning shaped like a gift in The Mage's perspective— she now knew what her volume may result in. She'd never get to understand girlhood nor its deplorable outcomes, (why should that haunt you? You shan't know childhood, either) deserted to become some vulnerable fantasy for adults in her life to mould as they pleased. This place resembled her upbringing: solemn faces of prisoners, holier-than-thou attitude of those running the show. "Thank you." You are the only one thus far to provide knowledge of the unfamiliar.
Jane inched closer a foot or two, allowing the limber breeze to dance across her still heated presence. Veins shaping her features were beginning to fade, however her arms remained criss-crossed in an ugly apparel. Hot to the touch, the chilled gale granted minor relief. "I hear you sing." She looked up to properly meet the elder's view, fingers tugged together by old habitual nervousness. 'Twas a bewitching sound, the organs emerging from her chest, sad, though it ignited a strange sort of hope. (She's nothing if not strong. She merely needed to remember how to be it.) "It is pretty." Akin to a porcelain doll, Jane wondered if she pushed her over, would the girl shatter. "Why do you sing?"
@cannotfly
shadowedvales > janessaives!
it'd be easy enough if he could just be one of those heartless bastards that roam the lawless lands now. the ones who scowl and growl and shoot first ask questions later. it would've been so easy to turn his back on the reality of the world and instead turn inward, to turn into the desperately hopeless person he had once been. because before he had found elle that day, he had been that person. he had been taunting fate, hadn't cared how much trouble he drove into or how many of the infected he attracted. his mind was spinning on a roller coaster that he couldn't get off of ; his mind desperately seeking out the one person that he couldn't have anymore. his mind an aching whirlwind of guilt regret anger that he couldn't stop –– hadn't been able to stop. why would he? he deserves the torment and outward hell that follows him around, a harboring angel of death that seems to attract far too many people toward his bubble when they should all stay away if they know what's good for him. he was going to leave elle that day. he was going to let her fend for herself because fuck everyone and honestly she would've been better off on her own. he was going to. he was going to.
except it's a lie.
because one look at elle and for a moment his mind wasn't seeing her, but seeing adelaide in her place ; he was seeing them driving across the country, his little sister scared and bundled up in the front seat of the car, his foot pressing down as fast as he dared to go. driving lessons had only gone so far and when fuel could be spared for half an hour. but he had learned fast because he had only one objective, over and over again –– make sure adelaide survives. that was the prime objective he had ever known since she had come out of the womb, to be a big brother and to ensure that things would be fine, that the world wouldn't crush her when it decided to be cruel and unfair. and in that moment he hadn't been seeing elle or the bite on her leg –– he had been seeing his failures, over and over again in a whispered ghost that he couldn't get away from. a haunting that he had made of his own doing and yet he couldn't step away from the realm. he was stuck there, frozen, the infected crawling the place, and all he seen was adelaide looking up at him. he seen the question in her eyes.
why didn't you save me?
damien takes in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping a little bit harder on the steering wheel as he slowly comes out of it, pushing the memories to the back of his mind. he can't afford to get lost in them, not now, not ever. the second he gets lost in them, the second that he'll fall back into who he was, who he was willing to be because he had nothing left to fight for. and maybe that's the problem –– damien's been on his own for a while now and it's started to eat at him. mindless fucks in the qz and inebriation can only get him so far –– it numbs the ghosts but doesn't exorcise him. they're always there in the morning, gripping around his neck and choking him, same as the drink of choice from the night before as he leans against the bathroom floor and screams.
her hand takes his and for a moment damien tenses up, still somewhere in between and torn into the real world around him. this girl, this little girl, has managed to change everything for him, and he doesn't know how to feel about that. she takes his hand and it's like his thoughts clear up, like the ghosts in his head relent, if only for the moment. they give him the reprieve, allow elle's presence to sooth them down when they would normally rage. there is something inside of this girl that the world cannot harm, cannot fathom, and he wonders if she knows it. wonders if she knows just how damn special she actually is, and not just because of the survival of the bite. but because she is a beacon of light, standing in the harbor when every single ship gets lost. he wonders if her friends know it, if they cherish her, if they smile at her stupid jokes just as much as he does.
he may have lost adelaide, but elle is giving him a chance to do things right. she has slipped into the little sister role so effortlessly that sometimes damien has to do a double take, has to remind himself that she is who she is and that adelaide is not seeing there, another glitch in his mind.
“ i don't know about that one, ” the words he says are honest because elle deserves honesty. it's part of their pact, being open with one another because secrets are what kills you in the end. if you keep too many of them, they become your entire being, and in a world like this there's no room for them. so he's honest with her, even when the odds are out, because she deserves it. she's honest with him but he doesn't know if that's her choosing or if that's just the type of person that she is.
but there's a slight smile on his face too as her words sink in, and he shakes his head a little, squeezing her hand, his own bigger one practically engulfing hers. “ i would've still stopped for you. i'm not…i'm not going to leave people behind. but there's sometimes when it gets really fu–... really dark. you know? sometimes it's hard to be positive. ” nose scrunches a little bit before he sighs, thumb tapping along the steering wheel. there's only the pavement under the tires and his racing heart to keep him company for a brief moment, because he remembers that this beacon of light, this reprieve from the dark, isn't really his. and that's where they're going, is it not? he's going to return her to her friends, because she deserves to be with her family.
it doesn't matter that it's been months and he feels like he's her family. there are just some ties that you have to sever for the good of a person. and if this is his redemption, then he'll let the bird go because it can fly on its own.
clearing his throat, he shakes his head again and gives her hand another squeeze, tethers himself to an anchor when he feels like he's going to drown. “ stop being so smart. that's not allowed. ” he teases her gently, sticking his tongue out at her. “ when'd you get so smart, huh? ”
She was supposed to inherit her mother's glee and father's compassion— she succeeded Terry's incomparable grief and Andrew's doomed fate, instead. The womb was barren, the child buried, the name Janessa Alexandra Ives bore a birth and death certificate under the same date. She ceased to exist; Elle stood in her place, and what a girl she turned out to be. A weaker descendant may have crumpled, but she'd grasped her pain before, burned it in her body and carried it. She would prevail as long as it took. The scar on her leg oft' tingled with a feigning stench of iron, carrying the reminder. A way to evoke her mother's strength and father's security. Isolation is a sword that cuts the hands who possess it: shame collected in her shoulders and pulled them taut. At least she had him to aid in relieving unwarranted strain. At least she wasn't alone anymore. It was a dimly-lit reality when children were cornered like cattle, specifically when they remembered the slaughterhouse in shades of varying crimson. Damien granted her the chance to see sky-blue's and brighter aspects.
She's a patch-work animal, some creature given breath by Frankenstein; she's yet to see fear in the eyes of the monsters, and that frightens her beyond compare. Her own terror proved she was human, not some crafted necessity called upon for drastic tasks and repeated experiments. Elle survived in limbo, a bloody imprint of false parentage. Alliance does not come effortlessly to a wounded dog. But alas, here she is.
Their self-made world slowed, a few fleeting seconds stilled; it provided a glimpse to simply watch his face, every line marked through stress of a life undeserved. She wished so much more for him, truly. All the same, he breathes air back into her dusty lungs, resuscitates a once deceased heart... such is the impact of company. Here is the meeting of two would-be beasts, poked and prodded at by the earth gravitating around some demonic action. A Hellmouth surely rested beneath the crux's core, issuing men in white coats and ceramic walls; issuing souls trapped inside decaying bodies, hungry desperations destroying memories and tainting the living. They trekked and hiked and drove in the wilderness, no map or compass to guide, open sky above resembling a promise. Time hardened everything, but if that horizon was followed... they might be alright.
“I understand. I know how it feels. When it gets fucked.” Something impish glimmered amongst the slate grey of her hues, a mirthful tug warmed the corners of her lips. Brief heaviness expelled, a low giggle rang out her throat; there is life to be found by those who seek it. She placed hard attention on the final word, hearing how he chose to halt it escaping his mouth last minute. In all seriousness, she did understand. Of course she did, and to represent it, she tugged his grip closer and enveloped both hands over the one, protecting it in the crevice of her palms. She stretched her fingers a fraction longer in a (failed) attempt to completely embrace his skin and hide it away, protect him, shield him. Elle stopped with a silent sigh, halted the futile act and turned her trance up. “Will you try to remember? That I believe you are very good?” The science that aided her upbringing did not fashion her limbs to give up easily, physically or mentally. She’d tell him this, over and over, every day if necessary.
Even if he resorted to gentle teasing to ease built tension. This, too, she would not back down from! “It is allowed!!” Mouth parted, playfully shocking, eyeing him in a tame solemnity. Attempted annoyance clearly seen through by the bearing grin peeking ever slightly, provoking dimpled cheeks. “I was always smart. You—” She dropped his hand like it was on fire in order to give his shoulder a sharp poke, emphasising her dramatic words, “did not see it. Now you do. That means you must listen when I say these things.” How often had she seen Damien smile in their shared months? Not enough. He made a home for her, he settled and remained a constant friend. It was an appeasing thought to ponder, that just maybe, she housed a certain place for him. That her affection was reciprocated. Ultimately why it's so easy to be near him, to allow her mind to run rampant, to give into light-hearted mannerisms without concern of what's coming next.
Elle decided to keep the shifted atmosphere as long as possible. There'd be more opportunity for deep talks, she had no doubt. One day she may confide further regarding Eleven, a life which seemed so far but eerily close at once. Lithe secrets to find declaration, uprooted from the weighted tonne residing in every inch of her system. One day, one day... Elle sometimes prayed this car ride never sought its destination. And by god, iniquity soaked her from head to toe after transitory thoughts... How she despised herself for it. She retrieved his hand again, moving in her position so her back was no longer pressed straight in the seat, leaning her side against it instead, entire body now facing him. The seatbelt strained around her chest. She consistently assured they were both strapped in, despite no other vehicles appearing for miles across miles.
She raised a topic which had been questioned a few occasions in the past. “And. Bee-cause I am smart, and now you do know it... I think it is time you teach me how control this.” Free hand reached forward, tapped thrice on the steering wheel, brow quirked an almost challenging stance. “I think me... me and my big brain could understand it. You said yourself, that I am smart!”
JANESSA ALEXANDRA IVES ,
𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 : 03 / ? mutuals may interact, personals will be blocked.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ The blond nodded as the girl spoke, listening intently. His fingers were idly wrapping light blue ( a colour he would have objected to if any other kid he wanted to play on the Snow Cubs had chosen since it was the colour of the Knox Knights ) grip tape around the handle of hockey stick a lot smaller than his own one was. He had even managed to find a roll with little clouds on it. It wasn't an issue that ever really got to him, but Scottie could rarely listen and sit still at the same time, he always had to be doing something else to really listen to someone talking. Brown eyes glanced at Jane to check she was okay before returning his attention to the stick again. Her whole childhood seemed like a nightmare, and one she couldn't be sure she was safe from now. The teen cut the fabric off and held out the stick for her to take. It was probably dumb, but Hockey had offered him control when the things he had thought were constant were stripped away, he thought Jane could probably do with some of that; plus, there was no way she wouldn't bring some crazy energy to the ice. Scottie chewed the inside of his cheek, ' sounds hella rough little dude. There's no point playing with 'what if' though, right ? You've saved more people than will probably ever even know you exist ! '
— @shadowedvales : ❝ i play that moment back in my head all the time. ❞
She stared at him like a rabbit caught in headlights, immersed by the small action he committed upon her hockey stick. Jane fixated more than she'd care to admit: cautious in her curiousity, mouth ticking down to fall slightly lopsided, lost in the trance of this boy who was there when no one else was. The words spilled before she realised internal thoughts ran unrestrained up there. That head of hers which constantly wrestled the notion of rest. Long since rejected so much gentleness, Jane pulled her glance asunder, shame near wreaking havoc for allowing sins of old to play a role, to shimmer and shine through at every stance.
Until he spoke, and her confidence blossomed like a daisy sprouting in early springtime. She hadn't worn blood as an accessory for a decent amount of time; not on her hands nor in her subconscious. Winter finally bid farewell to make room for tiny, but strong buds of new growth.
She smiled at his endearment, it reached her eyes. She wondered if he really meant it, (questions just about anything, everything aided a doubting expression, she can't help it). Taking the instrument from him, she did so without peering at it; she continued watching his face, each crease and curve. “Yeah. That is prob - able - ee true.” Shrugging casually, as if she hadn't allowed horrors of her past to settle in the air between them... no point playing with 'what if'. He was right. He always seemed to be. His praise soon turned flattering, and to avoid it, to clear away her cheeks turning bright ruby quickly as she could, she held out the hockey stick with a raised brow, features contorted into a look of sheer novelty. Changing the subject deemed the best way to dwindle her speeding heart rate.
“Why did you do that?” Holding it in one hand, she used the other to gesture at the light blue tape draped around it. It appeared a strange practise to begin with, even more so now he'd concluded.
𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐘, 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇 a demon might have chosen for himself, under any circumstance. ( then again, he'd had little control / if any at all over any of it since the beginning. ) SAUNTERING VAGUELY DOWNWARD to hell had certainly not been his intention either, yet he'd found himself there just the same. so it would go: tumbling on and on, an existence endured with all the freedom of being thrust over a steep edge. a head-first plummet into the expanse of the ineffable. amber eyes burn into the young girl until he receives some semblance of her understanding, & the nod alone seems to suffice. he nods in return, and shifts the direction of dark-shaded spectacles back toward the person in question. ❛ ────good talk, glad that's properly sunk in. ❜ uttered from the side of his mouth, though her inquiry seems to pique his interest. ❛ er, .. well [ ... ] ❜ what would his dear friend say to something like this? some holier-than-though bollocks, probably, he can hear it now: forgive, and forget.
sod that nonsense. he smirks, and lowers his voice a bit. leans ever-so-slightly closer to the youth, and quirks a single brow toward auburn hairline. ❛ i'll show you what i do, but only if you promise not to tell the angel. have we got ourselves a deal? ❜ @shadowedvales
Her patience ran bone deep. Frustrations often spat out the side of the mouth in rumbling expressions foregoing her unknown place in this world— somehow she was so small, yet so large all at once. Still, an ever tolerant thing, particularly alongside company blessed to receive. Who could fathom where she'd stand today, if not for unpredictable guardians and their almost ancient dwelling? If she's told no, advised against something, then compliance arcs up without a fragment of disapproval; Jane yearned for so little because she truly knew so little. Give her a couple more years, that's sure to announce a grand turn-around. She'll eventually gather a sharp wit about her, but for now, found ease in her created landscape.
Her body turned light all of a sudden, eyes widen like informed of wild, earth-shattering news; earning a kind of excitement one might expect to find of a child in a candy-store, who'd had never eaten a sweet in their life. “You will? Okay...” She couldn't know what to expect from the man, and giddiness dialled down a few notches, glee instead offering a composed stance. Her smile faded slightly, but intrigue remained bounding off the walls; glance didn't dare depart lest she miss some pivotal twitch beginning an impending showcase. She mirrored his movement, own brow quirked, falling in a tad closer to him without realising her feet inched.
“I promise. I promise I will not tell.” To seal her commitment, she raised her hand with only the pinkie finger pointed, waved it right under his nose. A pinky-swear seemed the best way to assure that whatever events transpired, no word shall escape the confines of the important action she thrust at him. “We have a deal.” If you partake in her symbolic gesture!
we haven't been mutuals for very long but i deeply admire the amount of thought and care you put into your characterization. your divergences, honestly, should be canon... you understand jane better than the show runners themselves and it shows. i can not wait to write with your jane ❤️
thank you!! your wide range of characters are truly remarkable, and just shows how talented you are to be able to portray all of them so well. i can’t wait to write with you!! <3
how’s my portrayal.
TRULY i just love how personal your portrayal is to you <3 the amount of thought, detail, & care that goes into jane is obvious in everything you post. whether it's writing, headcanons, even just small tidbits of info, all of your effort and attention genuinely comes through 🫶
ahhh this made me smile :,) i really have always admired your blog and writing style, and i’m so excited that we are finally delving into our absolutely fantastic dynamic!! you’re such a gem and i am so glad you refollowed me when you made your return <33
