Aug 20, 2014
[For the "What would your muse be the guardian angel of" meme -- protector of runaways and wanderers, perhaps.]
// this is literally perfect YES
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
[For the "What would your muse be the guardian angel of" meme -- protector of runaways and wanderers, perhaps.]
// this is literally perfect YES
realityhelix:
Oh come on, how many more of you are doing this? I know you're out there. I fucking know it.
agenttrentcarter replied to your post “I’m so tired. ”
What happened?
...work happened.
// updated relationship page. Let me know if I need to augment your descriptions in any way!
✍ ☮
✍:For what my muse has written about yours in their diary.Aug 5, 2014 new guy came into town today. real official looking, taking everything in. his eyes didn't miss nothing. he wanted to know about night vale, the way things work here, that kinda thing. I think the museum of forbidden technology surprised him kinda. it's sorta a weird museum. anyway.
☮:An argument I think my muse would have with yours.// ohh man I think that they'd likely argue over how "weird" Night Vale is. Trent probably finds the place pretty odd, and Alex sort of takes it all in stride, that kinda thing
agenttrentcarter replied to your post “agenttrentcarter replied to your post “sometimes I forget that people...”
I was gonna reply with 'well fuck the children' but then thought better of it.
... probably not the best response, no.
agenttrentcarter replied to your post “sometimes I forget that people find swearing offensive”
Fuck those assholes.
wo w. you're so offensive think of the children
"Don't chase the rabbit."
You're sitting at the table, having managed to steal a few moments to yourself. You're not doing homework, though- the pile of uncompleted assignments is enough to make you give up, just looking at them. Instead, you're reading through your book on World War II submarines. Your history class has one large assignment due before the month is out. If you can get a good grade on that assignment, it guarantees you a good grade for the rest of the course. You're actually very close to finishing the book, and you've got a notebook full of careful observations that will make writing your assignment easy. So you're concentrating on your work, not really paying attention to what's going on around you, when your brother lets the front door slam behind him. You keep scribbling in your notebook, eyes fixed to the pages of your history book, as your brother paces through the kitchen, letting out a derisive snort as he pauses before the sink. The very air shatters, trembles as he drops a dirty plate on the table in front of you. Your pencil lead snaps, as sharply as a gun's report, and your head jerks up as you stare at him, shaking too long hair out of your eyes as you take in the fact that Dmitri is standing over you, a second plate in hand. You have enough presence of mind to dive to the floor, shoulders trembling as the plate smashes a few feet away from you. "Dmitri, what the fuck, what the actual fuck.." "You didn't finish doing the dishes." His hand is in your hair, pulling you to your feet, and you gasp in pain, feeling hair pulling free of your scalp. "Oh, stop crying like a little bitch. Little bitchboy can't even clean a kitchen right, can he?" "I have to do schoolwork sometime," you shoot back, clawing at his hand. "Let go, let go, you're pulling my hair.." "Damn right I am. It's too fucking long." He opens his hand, drops you like you're too disgusting to touch. "You look like a sissy fag. Cut your hair, and fucking clean this kitchen." He waves a hand at the mess he just made, and you grit your teeth. Answering back isn't worth it. "Make sure Susannah's quiet, or you'll both be in trouble." You stay down until he saunters out of the kitchen, his footsteps leading to the back of the trailer, where you hear the springs of his bed creak as he lays down. You hope that Susie stays put. You pick yourself back up, wincing at the new ache in your scalp, and begin picking shards off your notebook and schoolbook.