A FUCKING SYSTEM BLOG FOLLOWED US OKAY
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A FUCKING SYSTEM BLOG FOLLOWED US OKAY
Guys what if job bot was my f/o. This is an idea. I think he's really cute
death is among the characters in children's stories. they come in a pair, if parents, just before local festivities, can be believed. one that guides and one that bites. never has hwei made their aquaintance, for never has he been at the threshold. a witness to destruction is not exactly someone, he assumes, death would lend their time to.
first, it startles him to spot them while checking the scenery for composition. then, shortly after, his ever-present melancholy seeps back in. he thinks little about himself - the brush finds the linen again - but rather siblings that will be without their eldest. ❛ i had hoped i'd have more time. ❜ many missed opportunities suddenly come to mind. many unfulfilled wishes follow soon after. hwei looks up and between them, even if just for a moment. considering the situation ( he assumes he's in ), his manners slip for a moment. ❛ i did not expect you to look like the . . . you . . . from the fairytale. ❜ there's no intent to offend. even with most - if not all - children's tales having some roots in truth, the tale of the kind death always seemed so outlandish. his attention falls back down to the linen scrap. both of @incertion are already featured in the rough outline of the scenery.
❛ i have a crass request, before we go. allow me to finish this last painting. i'd loathe to leave my last piece without meaning. ❜ unfinished, yes. as all art is. forever evolving, forever changing. every piece of his bears meaning and heart, even if his intent doesn't reveal itself even to him until a piece is properly soulful.
andrei tarkovsky
snapshot: during the storm, reigen runs back into someone familiar. (or, gatsby and the green light)
;;
“Hey,” Dimple says, soft. The gruffness of his voice still laces the word. Tapers off like gravel ground beneath a tire. But it’s gentle, all the same. “It’s been a while.”
Reigen stares, the blood from his forehead trickling down, down, into the wind-bitten skin of his chest. It’s cold. The world is dark, pressed and pummeled into black nothing, the stars somewhere far above, circling where he can’t see, may never see again.
But Dimple’s here, somehow. Glowing and pulsing still like he never left. A beacon through the storm. A lighthouse, a green light. A familiarity with sharpened teeth, a redness so bright it almost bleeds.
Reigen thinks it could stain, if he just got close enough. If he was a different man, he might reach for it.
But instead, he grinds his teeth together. Looks up, swallowing thickly as he curls his hands into fists.
“Yeah,” Reigen says at last. “It has been.”
;
When Reigen opens his arms, eyes unblinking even through the harsh wind, Dimple hesitates for a split second before phasing into his ribcage.
There’s no snark, for once. No banter. Just quiet.
A flicker of low warmth crackles over Reigen’s bones. The weary, torn flesh beneath Reigen’s tattered shirt.
Thanks, Reigen finds himself thinking. And instantaneously, he hears – feels – a new voice from the back of his head. An unexpected coolness that he finds he doesn’t mind.
You’re welcome.
❝ i’d prefer it if you didn’t get so close to me. ❞
@planetsank / for velo !
he was tapping his fingers against his thumb as he waited for the sheriff to get back into the office he'd been given. tim wanted to run out there and see what he was seeing, to understand what is going on, he'd woken up to sounds of screaming. a body, torn to shreds, but someone needed to stay back and talk to the woman who'd found the body.
after that tim had gone back to the office, settled on top of @givcns desk to wait, there was no chance he was sleeping again after what the woman had told him.
when the door opens tim does not get off the desk, there was only the sound of one person walking on the wood outside the door.
"it as bad as she said?"