#holiar

[skullstroid]

Wrapped in Lights ✨

[celluloidseems]

@holiar !

    '    we're not open.    '

[bunburie-a-blog]

🌠:💀🐮

munday meme questionés

🌠 : from what you know of my muse, which of your muses would you recommend me to play with and why?UMMMM tony is an easy fit for pretty much everyone because she just talks so much but also peter and olivia straddle the Real Life / Paranormal / Science Fiction line that i think a lot of your muses do too so that could be SUPER FUN

💀 : which of your muses would probably fight each other if they met?obrey has a particular dislike for both cassidy and minnie (minnie more so than cassidy) because he just wants to chill and he doesn’t really like people who infringe on that

🐮 : which of your muses is the strongest?physically i think any of my vampires (cassidy, obrey, minnie), but also irving, and tony when she’s in the suit can lift a fair bit

[critcry-blog]

@holiar

          “It’s-- okay-- it’s-- it’s, mmm, it’s nooot a cult. Unless cult is short form for cult-ivating! Because we are cultivating your quality of life!”

He has his own free will, so I can not will him to comprehend how truly abysmal of a line that is. In fact, you can be sure I have no control over him because I would never think up such a tacky thing to say. Tragically, I can not prevent him from thinking the line is so good that he must write it down this very instant. There he goes, he’s pulling out a pen. And his meter long paper (which he writes his daily sins on, and I can tell you that because I’m diabolical and relish in humbling him--oh, and also I’m omniscient). He looks so proud of himself. Terrific.

[colured]

@holiar

      “ this isn’t the freeway, back the fuck off my ass. “

( she’s always been bothered by people walking too close to her, but this stranger is a solid five feet behind heather. but her usual cocktail of redbull and coffee isn’t exactly giving her the effect she’d been looking for, so heather duke is on edge today and ready to pick a fight at any convenient moment. )

[scriose]

to be out of bed, chris has decided, is a mistake. he’s fighting a cold  ---  or whatever else is capable of rendering his lungs useless  ---  and out of smokes, which is what brings him here. a convenience store at six in the morning.

he’s miserable. and wearing pajamas under his jacket.

         ‘ it’s fucking --- ’ hey, stranger, there’s no need to listen to this sad, scratchy-voiced man. ‘ --- cold in here, isn’t it? ’

@holiar​  /  sc.

[singingrass-archive]

      It isn’t often Job gets bad vibes off of people, as he’d describe it --- but when he does, it’s pretty undeniable, and he finds the ill, eerie feeling in his gut almost impossible to shake. It’s the heebie fucking jeebies; goosebumps all over his skin and this sort of gnawing feeling at his heart like something is horribly wrong, but he can’t put his finger on what --- and, well, a slight nausea. He always tries to push it out of his mind, though with little success. He doesn’t even notice the arms crossed over his chest in a distinct standoffish manner.

      “Daffodils, man. Uh, and wheat.” It’s pretty easy to tell they’re his favorite plants from the way long stocks of both are tattooed on each of his arms; both showing now with the way he stands, weight shifting from one leg to another as he tries to smile at them, but feels the gesture is off. “‘course, you can’t really grow either of ‘em in your home, right? Kinda sucks. Wish I could. Not that they’d stand my travelling, but... iunno, wakin’ up to some bloomin’ yellow daffodils would be pretty neat, no?”

@holiar ( for Moss! )