#ourcharade

[intopearls]

  💌   @ourcharade — unhappy, darling?

  the  addams  family  sentence  prompts  —  i.

" yes, and can you not sound so excited about it? " a huff, torso leaning forward as elbows rest on the study's desk. effie considers not throwing a tantrum about the absolute disaster that fine evening turned out to be, but then again, never has that battle ever been won. voice cracks as she begins, " i mean, of course, i see mr. boddy's vision, this whole night is about murder! but truly, you tell me, did the cook have to die on top of me? out of all people? " one fingertip pats lightly at the corner of her own eye, weary of smearing her eyeliner. " how am i supposed to clean blood out of satin ? "

[chantres]

@ourcharade said ❛  what was that?!  ❜ ━━━━━ prompt.

far be it for amora to deny a petulant beast it's moment for theatrics. in truth, she adores the extravagance and melodrama that strife and suffering often bring but the enchantress marks it rather rude when thori's dramatics turn from precious to inconvenient.

" fine - if you refuse to help. "

amora suffers little in the form of annoyance and dismisses the hound with a disregarding wave, a slight of magic that envelopes the animal in green mist and sends it to realms unknown - or perhaps one realm, the one that serves as both rose and thorn for the goddess that had once believed it to be untenable.

" my gods ... " a sigh caressed by a curse. amora does not care what chaos may reign, she so truly does not, but now is not the time to draw scrutiny.

the enchantress embarks reluctantly for midgard to follow a trail of magic and hellish sulfur - perhaps she only need listen to the screams ... and then the gunfire that rather impressively finds a target in the space between thori's eyes and banishes it back to hel for a time. turning a hot gaze towards the attacker, the goddess seethes and slices a sharp inhale between gritted teeth.

" it was a hellhound, obviously - one that was particularly difficult to summon considering present conditions and one that you banished back from whence it came with your - "

amora stalls, looks down at the weapon held in the man's hand, and then back up at him with a wicked smirk.

" - adorable little gun. "

[agentinred]

Carmen’s fingers traced the wooden banister, leaving faint lines in the dust as if trying to resurrect the life that once animated this place. The silence around them felt like a weight, heavy with stories untold and voices long silenced. Her eyes swept across the grand staircase, its former splendor now lost to time and neglect. The only living inhabitants now were the spiders spinning their intricate webs in the corners of the room. "This house… it feels like it’s waiting. Like it’s caught between the liminality of life and death…” & Despite the perilous jungles and seedy city underbellies Carmen had navigated, something about this house unnerved her.

Starter Call | @ourcharade - Benoit

[jewelstole]

ourcharade asked: "suppose it falls into the wrong hands." –  superman TO CATCH A THIEF PROMPTS

she has every intention of being a bad kitty. " suppose it does. i wouldn't know who would do such a thing. lucky for us .. " she circles behind him , taking a place at his side for a mere whisper. " we have you to save the day. right ? "

[intopearls]

"now, haymitch! timely late, of course." there is only what she could call a brief attempt at hiding her own dissatisfaction at the sight; the man is a mess, sweat and puke and remains of whatever drinks he wasn't able to finish the night before. so, as effie reminds herself with a quickly remedied sigh, the usual. "i arranged a few meetings for you this afternoon. with some other victors: three, and seven. it's a great opportunity for you to discuss allies for the children, for a change. i suppose it's only fair you present them something... bearable for once?! perhaps even your best self. whatever that might be." @ourcharade

[driverseats]

❛ patch . help my muse patch up a wound . — killian to emma

" son of a bitch- " she hisses & it's the strongest feeling of deja vu she's ever had – a cut along the palm of her hand, him coming to the rescue with his flask. the sting isn't as bad this time, but even if it was, she'd welcome the distraction. neverland is all kinds of disturbing as is, but dark hollow is either something pan took straight out of a nightmare or a place perfectly designed to haunt one. either way, she feels the strong need to snatch the flask out of hook's hand & drink away the image of his shadow almost getting ripped away from him. & neal's. but they have a way home now – pan's shadow is trapped. in a goddamn coconut, but trapped, nonetheless. now, all they need is henry.

" maybe you should take it easy. " she mumbles, the concerned undertone not as subtle as she might've wanted it to be. eyes shift back to her hand now, rotating it to speed the wrapping process along – all she did was accidentally graze her palm against her sword while they were getting cornered by the shadows. not really the coolest of battle wounds. she'd rather forget about it altogether. " that whole shadow snatching thing... it didn't look like it tickled. "

@ourcharade | meme

[showtal]

ogre. one of our characters turns into an ogre at night. — from zod (you turn into an ogre fuck you)

it is not friendship that sticks the two together. it is not exactly fate, either. it is a combination of sam lane, his sadistic daughter, and the one kryptonian among them that believes in peace. tal would rather endure another lifetime of zeta-rho's training.

well. he would have, if zod weren't so clearly perplexed by his presence. instead of sharing in his suffering, tal delights in it ⸺ so much so that this confinement has become less of a prison sentence, and more his reason for living. after all, he's spent half his life in captivity. books get boring. destroying zod's peace? more entertaining than he could ever have dreamed. he stalks the general around their confines, leaving him not a moment to himself. he chatters. rambles. makes sure that every thought inside his head makes it out of his mouth.

why? he's not really sure. it's just that he's had something to do all his life, and now all he has is this.

the only peace zod has is after sundown ; tal retreats without warning, barring himself in his room. he doesn't emerge until the sun comes up. the army has figured out how to bind their powers, but haven't bothered to twist his dna back into shape. zod had the luxury of arriving on this planet fully formed, prepared to take on its sun's radiation ; kal arrived younger than he, allowing him time to adapt. tal has had neither of these luxuries. and so every night his body twists and it breaks until he comes something unrecognizable ⸺ something more alien than he ought to be. every bone in his body snaps until he is less bipedal creature and more thing that oozes.

but hey ⸺ at least zod can sleep, right?

[b4kerline]

i have to find something to wear. — carrie bradshaw

⸺ garden of earthly bodies.

there's something effortless about the high heels and the leopard print that carrie dons, even if lois knows just how much effort goes into it. she plucks a cigarette from carrie's pack, settling in the window frame as she lights it. lois maybe, maybe will throw on a pair of high-heeled boots for a date; she much prefers a flat that she can move in. and it's not that she judges carrie for it, not that she'd dream of it ⸺ she wishes she could feel as comfortable and chic and feminine in a tulle skirt as carrie does, but every time she tries to borrow something from her friend, she feels utterly ridiculous. it's just the same as it was growing up with lucy. she's let carrie dress her up, curl her hair, do her makeup, just as she's always let her sister do ⸺ but she never recognizes herself in the mirror, always forgets she's wearing foundation until her hands come away stained with it.

lois doesn't think about this, not often, not unless she's watching carrie dance around her room getting ready for a date. she wonders why none of this has ever clicked for her. what the fuck is girlhood, anyways? it's more leaning out a window with a cigarette hanging out your mouth bitching about your friend's new boyfriend than it is matching your purse to your shoes, that she knows. but there's still this tiny part of her that feels like she's missing out, sometimes. a part of her that longs to be a part of things.

" carrie, " lois says, exhaling a mouthful of smoke. " is he taking you somewhere nice? because i've never met the guy, but i highly doubt he's agonizing over what he's going to wear. what about that little black one? no, the other one. from new year's last year? no, the other one."