#dysquiet

[punishr]

      𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐓𝐎  𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍,    𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐁𝐘  𝐎𝐍𝐄.    tiled  floors  crack  and  give  way,    walls  peeling  like  stripped  skin.    the  visitor  isn’t  innocent,    has  already  been  haunted  by  a  force  far  older  than  he,    and  yet,    has  been  summoned  to  walk  these  streets  -----  alone,    trapped,    left  only  with  that  of  his  own  mind  as  company. 

        the  apostle  does  not  see  these  visions  as  they’re  meant  to  be  seen,    only  as  they  are.    a  small  boy  hurries  by,    giggling  quietly.    footfalls  disturb  a  nearby  puddle  and  send  a  smattering  of  droplets  onto  the  sidewalk. 

        he  watches  with  muted  curiosity  as  the  boy  ducks  into  one  of  the  decrepit  hotels.    a  flash  of  yellow,    and  he’s  gone.    somewhere,    a  siren  blares,    and  a  small,    accusatory  voice  seems  to  carry  with  each  wail  --  

    𝙞𝙩'𝙨  𝙖𝙡𝙡  𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧  𝙛𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙩.    𝙖𝙡𝙡  𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧  𝙛𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙩.    𝙖𝙡𝙡  𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧  𝙛𝙖𝙪𝙡𝙩.  

@dysquiet​

[fatedruin-a]

@dysquiet​  said :   ‘ you’re letting the booze and the powder do the thinking for you. ’ 

     words  cut  deep,  scratch  across  nerves  already  frayed  beyond  repair.  formerly  steady  hands,  now  so  often  plagued  by  bouts  of  shakes  --  roaming,  curious.  a  need,  left  buried  for  too  long.  they  both  smell  of  brandy,  heads  swimming  from  young  marston’s  ( YOUNG  DEAD  MARSTON’S )  cocaine.  it  didn’t  take  long  for  them  to  fall  into  one  another’s  arms. 

       it  was  armstrong  who  knocked  at  blore’s  door  that  night,  after  the  party  had  dispersed,  hoping  to  apologize  if  his  accusations  of  their  other  two  guests  had  killed  the  mood  -----  but  it  had  been  blore’s  hand  that  had  first  brushed  against  his.  he’d  stake  his  life  on  it.  given  their  circumstances,  he  might. 

       maybe  blore’s  right,  and  he’s  drunk  and  high  and  not  thinking  clearly  ( wouldn’t  be the  first  time,  might  just  be  the  last )  but  in  the  moment,  he  doesn’t  want  to  think.  he’s  spent  quite  enough  time  in  his  frazzled  head  the  last  several  days. 

     ‘ 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩.  𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭--  𝐬-𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩  𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, ’  he  pleads  quietly,  rimmed  eyes  downcast  as  he  grasps  wearily  at  blore’s  upper  arms.   ‘ for  once,  please,  just...  shut  up. ’

[telekinela]

@dysquiet​​ II Starter Call

“..How is Will?” Is asked as she looks up to Jon, a tinge of curiosity and concern in big doe eyes. A simple question, one she’s been wanting to ask since the day after the gate had been closed, she just hasn’t been able to.

[hawkinsheir]

               ❝    you    tell    anyone    about    this...    i’ll    kill    you.    dead.   ❞

                                                   @dysquiet​.

[shoreearchive]

@dysquiet​ // s.c.

                      her eyes narrow as he approaches the counter, and if the red surrounding his eyes didn’t give it away, the smell does. though she doesn’t mind, emma’s very aware of nora’s quick temper. she’ll have a fucking hissy fit if this kid sticks around long enough to drive the yuppies out. so, she braces herself, smile forced as she taps the back of the bakery case. ❛ —- lemme guess, hungry? ❜

[lcngdays-archive]

@dysquiet cont. from (x).

Wide grin spreads on what would be flawless features, if not for the eyepatch he wore over his left eye and the mass of scarring that spread out underneath it, laughter in his tone and his body language, pure and utter delight, even without being that drunk. The man raises his own glass eagerly, raising his right eyebrow and then downing it, then tilting his head back and laughing, a sweet, wonderful noise, like church bells on a Sunday morning. 

“Curious sort, aren’t you?” He all but coos at Richie, seeming nothing but eager to be entertaining the question. “Well, that’s quite alright! The same has been said about me! It’s also been said that I am utterly insufferable to be around, that I’m annoying, that I’m tactless, oh, how people just love to go on and on and on about me! But what a wonderful curse, wouldn’t you say? For even if they despise me, I’m always floating around in someone’s mind.”

Cuthbert talks and talks and talks and talks. He loves it, he can’t get enough of it, he can’t get enough of the air in this bar, of the excitement from conversing with someone who seems just as apt to carry on conversation as he is. His right eye is bright and alive, he’s practically wriggling out of his seat. 

Empty glass is slammed against the bar, his smile only growing wider as he speaks. “Why, I’d take any death over quitting, so I would indeed! I’d stand against thousands of men with only two six guns and a small posse and go down without a single complaint! For as my old teacher- horrible as he was, he did have a point with this one- said, Control the things you can control, maggot. Let everything else take a flying fuck at you and if you must go down, go down with your guns blazing!” “

And as he quotes his old teacher, his voice utterly changes, it goes low and growly and rough, the voice of a scoundrel who inflicts pain and loves to do it. A perfect impression, really, it’s something Cuthbert has always been good at and as he finishes it he straightens back up and laughs again. 

[shinegone]

SUBJECT  LINE  :  A  PEAK  INSIDE  (  ACCEPTING.  ) FROM  : @dysquiet​​

09  :  𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘳

           if  dan  is  living  in  a  proper  apartment,  and  not  renting  a  single  room  his  junk  drawer  will  have  various  things  in  it.  scissors,  miscellaneous  electrical  items  and  hardware  for  fixing  things.  screwdrivers,  a  hammer  --  tape,  etc.  there’s  a  few  takeout  menus  for  local  places  in  there  as  well.  it’s  not  terribly  organized,  but  there  is  a  small  drawer  organizer  to  keep  some  things  separate  from  others.  

[patricaurismoved]

@dysquiet​  called:  🌷 a time my muse said they loved yours. 

random moments  /  open.

“ you know I really love you, you know ? “  patty really couldn’t thank him enough. they were currently cleaning up after another game night which had resulted in patty flushed faced from too much wine and stanley somewhere in the living room. but the sentiment pushes from her, leaves her leaning against the doorway. she tiredly rubs beneath her eyes. stanley was so happy to have his friends back, and patty was still riding some high on trying to impress them, and then just being happy he has them. but patty and richie ? they were also, in some way, kindred as well. she was putting stuff in the sink, from the way the glasses were clinking.

  “ you’re a really good best friend. “ she stops herself from giggling. her somewhat serious husband befriending a jokester like richie ― but not even that, it was patty too. patty, who could keep up with stanley , and patty again, who bonded really quickly with richie. she won’t call t fate, but she thinks it.  “ be honest, what did you think of me when we first met ? “