#char dev;

[anhfdn-hub]

⚠️Reblog this post and tag your OC's dangerous/annoying habits⚠️

[anhfdn-hub]

me: gosh, I would love to open a restaurant or food truck, I have so many ideas, but I know I would hate actually running a restaurant and also don't have the means to open one.

me: ... ... ... . . .

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L to R: Emmaline, Severine, Cynthia

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sabbat pack lives in rv has sick ass flea market vaulderie knife send post

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dr. emmaline jean fletcher’s one single solitary published work:

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A letter arrives with no return address. With no stamp. No postmark. More like an envelope just materialized inside the mailbox. More like someone other than the mailman delivered it. She knows better but she still opens it, taking a moment to look it over. The envelope is thin, one of those cheap "security-print" ones people get from dollar stores. It doesn't really conceal anything inside. She can almost see how many times the piece of paper inside is folded, in fact she can clearly tell it's doubled over around another piece of paper. She shakes it, turning her ear towards the hand holding it, just slightly, listening. Nothing suspicious. Probably. She turns, holding it over the plume of steam beginning to shoot out of the electric kettle on the counter in front of her, one of those little glass ones that's all squat and round so it looks like a snow globe when it boils. It's boiling now, actually, and the click of the switch resetting itself syncs up almost perfectly with the stiff flap of the envelope popping open. Something that wanted to be a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and she tilts her hand to shake the contents out - DINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDINGDING "Oh, shit! Shoot!!" she corrects herself, stomping and scooping the fumbled letter back up off the countertop, patting her opposite hand on her chest a few times as if it would reset her heartbeat, slow it down a little maybe. She takes a quick breath before snatching the remote off the raised bar separating her from the den, and jabs the volume button with her daintily manicured thumb until Lauren Who Just Won A Car and all her friends & family aren't screaming so loud anymore. The remote clatters hard and plasticky against the granite in the quieted room as she slaps it down. She shushes it, as if it could hear her. The envelope lay there, just a few inches away, the little triangle flap waving in the ceiling fan breeze like a flag. She can see it in the edge of her vision, so she closes her eyes. It does no good, it's back in her hands before she can stop herself. Shit. Gingerly, she shakes the little paper pocket, causing the second, smaller paper pocket inside to slip out, pap, onto the counter, and it sits there, gently flapping, lifting just enough to reveal the edge of a photo tucked inside. Shaking, she slips it out with one hand, flipping the letter open with the thumb of the other. The photo is blurry, taken from what looks like the back of an auditorium. Maroon blobs form a line across the smeared field, one of them a little further out than the rest. June Geraldine Fletcher's eyes are open now, wide. They shift over to the paper, a small, plain stationery sheet. Little pink- and blue-haired angel babies and stars and clouds surround the tiny scribble on the page.

“love y'all"

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til moon waxes zeke turns into tom nook more at 11

[rowenaravenpuff]

The (re)birth of Rose

Characters: Rose (main verse)

Word Count: 575

tw: can’t think of any that stand out

The dirt in her mouth was bitter and she could hear each grain rub against her teeth. She clenched her jaw as she thrust her hand once more through the darkness. The light, although dim, broke through the abyss. She panted, frantically taking breaths before she screamed loud enough to conjure the last bit of strength inside of her. She felt the dirt fall away around her, and she wiped away more of it from her eyes.

She was surrounded by numerous tombstones, and the dim source of light came from the church she recognized at once. As memories flooded her, her hand sprang towards her neck to check her most recent wound -- except it was gone. It was replaced by impossibly smooth skin, almost like the carved marble of a renaissance sculpture. 

Her body was shaking and unstable, but she willed herself to stand. The last of the dirt fell away as she stood and began to walk towards the church. A faint footstep stopped her in her tracks. “Who’s there?” she hissed.

“Daughter of mine,” an unfamiliar voice began, “You no longer belong with the living.”

Rose turned around towards the voice in the shadows. She could not see the woman’s face. It was hidden by the shade cast by her large-brimmed hat. “They will plot your demise. Neither you nor they are the same, therefore nothing is as it was.” 

Rose burrowed her eyebrows. The way this woman was talking annoyed her more than her ominous warning. She pushed aside her impatience with the stranger and instead asked, “What’s different about me?”

“Ya ain’t human for starters,” chuckled another stranger. “Any chance you’ll come with us without a fuss? I’m mighty tired today.” The hooded stranger moved forward into clearer view.

It felt like a mistake. She was taught to stay away from folks like them. Her old self was already running towards the church, her safe place, but her feet were anchored where they were.

“Tell me your names,” Rose demanded. Her own assertive tone surprised her, and it mismatched the way her guts seemed to twist and jerk in anxiousness.

The hooded man shed the hood of his jacket and held out his hand. “Clemence,” he nodded with a sinister smile.

“Constantine,” the older woman answered behind Clemence. She didn’t offer a hand, but she did remove her hat.

The two strangers looked normal, plain even. Rose shook Clemence’s hand.

“I s’pose... there ain’t no point in askin’ who you are,” Clemence added with a slight chuckle, “--only b’cause we saw which grave you climbed out of.”

Rose blinked in reply. “You’ve been waiting on me then?”

Constantine nodded. She pointed to a car in the distance. “We must leave. We do not have long before the hours until sunrise threaten your safety.”

Rose considered all of the suspicious things the two had said since they met only a few minutes ago. “Daughter of mine” or the way they had known she’d climb out of the grave she’d been buried in. It was like they had planned all of this. She had no idea if she could trust them, and she also had no idea what Constantine meant by “threaten your safety”... She knew she could trust her church and her family, but they had buried her like she was dead. They were unlikely to welcome her home...

“I need new clothes,” Rose finally replied. It was a “yes”.