#creaturedear

[antialibi]

malachite & currant!

COLOURFUL HEADCANONS,     not accepting.

MALACHITE:     has your muse ever done anything that they winded up feeling incredibly guilty for in the end?       frankly?   no,   she hasn’t.     sometimes she will feel regret for her actions,   but that usually happens when she makes a choice or a mistake that negatively impacts herself    (  ‘ oh shit,   i shouldn’t’ve done that  /  i played myself  /   i made a bad move  ‘   )   ;         the only thing i can think of that would make her feel guilty is if someone she   REALLY  DOES  TRULY  LOVE   gets hurt   /   dies as a result of the chaos that her presence causes ie. when the void targets someone it thinks charlotte genuinely and deeply cares for to maximize *bass boosted* pain.   but this happens   EXTREMELY RARELY   because charlotte normally doesn’t get this close to people.

CURRANT:     what’s something that absolutely disgusts your muse (can be a person, place, thing, etc)?        righteousness,   genuine kindness and warmth,   plain rice,   and the colour lavender.

[ubysm-blog]

from his starting position, ernesto’s discomfort is able to remain on par with the norm: hair standing on end, a chill up his spine, the urge to pull his sleeves loose so that sweat doesn’t stain him under the arms. the back of bertie’s newest customer reads to him as distorted and jittery as the front will, he’s sure, which is all the convincing he needs to do his job. won’t get any better. rip the bandaid, big man.

ernie peels open and folds back his notepad (a few pages stick together with what is either a reddish jam or barely-dried blood) as he crosses the truck stop one unhappy step at a time.

each footfall registers more distantly than the last, as if his mind has begun to move independent of his body. there’s a realization to be had, a collection of observations to piece together, which he attempts, in vain, to resist. now he knows the full view will provide little beyond confirmation and heavy, persistent dread.

you’re a child, he thinks. you’re a child, what happened to you?

         ‘ ’morning, ’ he says, tapping his pen on the page for an excuse to look quickly away from her face. he watches intently as an ink bleed twists into the words ‘you’re a child’ in his own script, then flips to the next page and spins the pen around between his knuckles. ‘ can i get you something to drink or do you — do you need a minute? ’

@creaturedear,  sc.

[bravetoo]

❛      want     a     cigarette     ?     I   got   two   left.      ❜        /     @creaturedear

[clamberclamor]

Hello how are you doing I am new here but I may post occasionally about things I find interesting. I like how you can post anomysomisy so that is nice to know. More posts soon. - Creaturedear.

👀!

[delirous]

cheek kisses for my connie and no one else :*

    there is a shy move of her head trying to hide behind that curtain of blonde locks.    it isn’t because she didn’t want to exposed to such gentle gestures ever again  ,  it’s because of that.    she hasn’t been shown any sort of kindness since then.    there is no one around for her to be mistreated  ,  but those things in the walls taunt her with false love.    she keeps giggling behind locks.    fingers curled up against her lips as if to not show any loud joy as if to not upset those horrid things.    but she keeps giggling and doesn’t show any signs of stopping any time soon.

[religend]

"Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to the body."

    possession.    seizure.    keeping.    hostage.    what is a body  ?    to both himself and to the thing that sits beside him.    the body is a web of blood and electricity like strings woven into the holes of puppets to yank the arm or kick the leg.    do what the body wants to do because it is never your own.    you just exist in it.    the body to these creatures is only a place to stay.    a dirtied hotel room that many patrons have inhabited before they did.    it becomes a burden because this isn’t a home.    what ellie tells him isn’t far from a familiar feeling.    he  knows.

    i  hate  it  here  and  i  would  like  to  move.    he thinks to himself.   but where would he be if he wasn’t here in this hell that has catered to his every need.    this is what he’s supposed to look like and sound like.    this is a label to put onto him when that goes against everything he wishes to be.    the walls will complain and the phones will ring  ,  but he is still here in this body.    and she  ,  sitting beside him ass absent as she could be  ,  wants to be one with something and not the thing that holds her to the ground.    she wants to be in it.    this much he knows.

    ❛      that’s  a  good  thing  ,  ya  know.      ❜    he tugs a half smile to make it seem like it is.   he doesn’t even know if that sort of feeling is a good thing himself.    ❛      that’s  how  you  know  this  is  not  the  body  for  you.    when’s  the  next  time  we’re  gonna  go  lay  in  the  forest  ?      ❜     with the time he’s gotten to know ellie  ,  he’s learned that’s commonplace for her.    the place where she can be as she wants to be.    not a dream  ,  but the very opposite.    the blackness of not having a dream.

[antialibi]

"There’s really no point in doing anything in life, because it’s all over in the blink of an eye — and the next thing you know, rigor mortis sets in."

“   WELL,   HOLY SHIT.   ”             charlotte spoke like a metronome,   the words falling from her dry lips like rocks off a cliff.     she shifted her weight and tried not to   kick   eleanor in the head.     the fine layer of   dust   that was yet to freeze to the forest floor   stirred   and mixed with the white smoke of her breath.       “   you’re in a mood.   ”

fists pressed into the   sharp   bones of her hips,   bones made from   dead birds   and mineral rocks.     flaxen locks tousled over slender shoulders as she canted her head and then,   like a scientist peering down a microscope eye - piece,   charlotte blinked down at eleanor.     the girl existed out of focus     -     as though this small creature was only a   mirage  .     but company was company and they had places to be,   and so she continued :       “   are you sure you’re totally lost in   nihilism  …     or are you just   hungry  ?     i find it’s usually the latter,   so maybe you should reassess.   ”                  /           PROMPT,     accepting      -      @creaturedear   .

[delirous]

at what points in her life does connie start to transition from being a rebellious kid to the more reserved person she is as an adult? were these changes brought on by certain events (maybe her relationships with matthew or her family)?

meta  questions.

    all of it had started during her last moments in reamlie and when she had come home.    the war was the biggest wake up call she never asked for a realized that wasn’t supposed to be her way of living or her idea of it.    when they had decided to come home and stay home in the real world, connie wanted a change because she associated that rebellious part of herself with her world.    that sort of style didn’t seem to fit her anymore, so she made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t be so against the grind anymore and violence would become a foreign language to her.    don’t take this for granted though because she’s a still strong woman who won’t let people step all over her.   it was a total transformation of personality while keeping components of her nearly reckless personality.

    these changes were completely her choice.    even then connie doesn’t let outside components influence her in the things she decides to change.    in a way, you can still say she was rebellious, but in a very modest way.    connie felt like in order to become totally disconnected from her old and younger self, there needed to be a change in the way she looked which included the dyeing of her hair and the change in clothes (which covered those knees and nearly choked her up to her neck).    the act of her changes being self activated become more prevalent in the years nearing her death as she becomes a little less worried about the way she looks.    things start changing around her and within her and she lets them happen without it being a person doing so, if that makes sense.