#tempest-tate

[tempest-tate]

❤️

tatelangdon,

[imaghostofmyformerself]

Don't disappear on me.

bla bla bla

[imaghostofmyformerself]

Where are you, my pet?

somewhere you could never find me. i’m not your pet - asshole.

[tempest-tate]

ooc: I have ideas for para rp with one of Tate's victims who managed to stick around the house after Tate...ahem, expired their souls.

Message me if you'd like to plot with this idea in mind.

[tempest-tate]

There's never enough blood to drown in. 

I drain the life-force from people as they filter in, unannounced and without an invitation. I figure if I cover myself with enough of their pulse-mixed elixir, maybe I can feel what it means to have my own rhythmically beating chest again. I know this won't work, but fairy tales that Addie made me read to her have left their imprint on me; I can still see her chubby fingers, dog-earing any page which illustrated the prince of rescue as she begged me to read a sentence from the novel of whimsical lies.

I have this naive, disgusting hope that one day I'll find the magic equation to grasp life once again. The pathetic irony of longing for life, when as the living, I wanted nothing but eternal sleep.

I allow them to bleed out until there is only a flicker in their eyes. The flicker is what separates the dying from the dead. It is my ticket, my warning to remove the fading light of their soul before they get too comfortable. I'm running out of places to hide them on the opposite side of the fence; away from the possibility of acquiring an additional inhabitant. 

Even in death, the world is too crowded.

[tempest-tate]

where are you now I thought you and violet were active again

You can only be so active in a house that banishes you to its walls 364 days a year….

[ooc: committing to be active once a day, so as long as my Vi can do that, activity will commence again]

[imaghostofmyformerself]

OOC

I can't even tell you how happy I am at this moment. My baby is posting again and omg I love her so much, I can't even. I am literally sobbing and squealing while I'm reblogging her last post. 

[anotherfuckingposter-blog]

Jac stumbled and tried to focus on how she was walking down the dark, quiet street. Since she had gone out earlier today, she had consumed 8 pills complimented with her favourite kind of alcohol.. anything she can get her hands on. The road was blurring more and more as her high crashed harder with every step. As she approached the Murder House at the end of the street, she hoped that her newly acquainted friend Ronnie was still awake to assist her to the attic, for she is still unsure of how to get up there. 

She stumbles up the stairs, and subconsciously begins to bang on the big, wooden front door. Jac grabs the handle and beings to wiggle and push it to enter like she had done the previous night...."Fuck...locked."

"God, open up." Jac mumbles as she begins to feel the head rush take hold and the nausea rising. "Come on.." she slurred as she continued to bang on the door.

She heard foot steps heading towards the door and tries to regain her posture and swallow the sick feeling rising in her throat.