#undeadxdisciple

[thebrokenkieren]

@

Your muse has suddenly snuggled up with mine in bed, send me a @ to see my muse’s reaction.

Kieren thought it was a dream at first, when the other snuggled up with him. “Simon, what are you doing here?” For a moment he looks confused up at him, before nuzzling closer and hiding his face in the others chest. They should really doing that more often..

[raexfsunshine]

In the wrong flesh {Closed}

Rae was a follower, never an instigator, even before she died, so it just made sense for her to follow the Undead Prophet and the ULA. She wanted to believe that there would be a second rising and that people like her shouldn't have to hide behind layers and layers of cover up mousse, but she had been told of the chaos, panic, death, and she wouldn't wish that on anyone...And she couldn't be herself...Her uncle would be hated, and he was the only family Rae really had left. She didn't want that for him. The female sighed, putting her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, staring at the bungalow in front if her. The website said there was a ULA meeting here today, with other PDS sufferers like her..And really, she just wanted to speak to people like her. She hadn't spoke to a single person like her since she came from the treatment centre. Rae was also risking everything her uncle was trying to hide coming here, but she was about to break. She couldn't keep this facade of being 'normal' any longer. But her uncle had done everything to stop her status of 'Rotter' away from the people of Roarton. Rae took a breath, looking around. If something went wrong, she could always say she was looking for someone. She took her phone out of her pocket again, looking at herself in the screen. She looked 'Normal', she had her contacts in, her cover up mousse was on, and no one could see the medication insertion spot, at the back of her neck. The mask was in place. Rae lifted her hand, an d pressed the doorbell, waiting for an answer.

[scalpxl-blog]

dream I have drawn content || Closed with undeadxdisciple

It struck Oliver, as he made his way down one of the seemingly infinite streets in Roarton, that he maybe should have planned this a bit better. Travelling the UK was all well and good if you knew where you were headed and where you could stay, but really, the young PDS sufferer hadn't put that much thought into it – a school had finally agreed to let him give a talk, and he didn't feel like he could stand staying with his family any longer without killing himself.

Again.

Unconsciously, his pale hands moved to the cuffs of his size-too-large, well-worn hoodie, tugging them down so that the ends came to just above his fingertips. He didn't need to wear it, seeing how he didn't feel the cold anymore, but he still found some quiet comfort in the soft fabric. Still, a comfortable item of clothing didn't do anything to change the fact that he was lost, it was getting late, and he hadn't bothered to pre-book a room at Furness B & B. Maybe he could ask someone for directions?

Blank, contact-free eyes scanned the road ahead of him as Oliver walked. He had worn his lenses for a while, but after nearly a year of Undead Prophet videos he had given up. He rather liked his new eyes, anyway.  And by the looks of it, there was someone just up ahead.

"Um, excuse me?" He sped up a little, closing the distance between them, hoping his quiet voice carried in the still evening air. "Excuse me?"

[renwlkr]

"You know-- this would be a whole lot easier if you would just keep still." A dart of his tongue slips out to moisten dry lips as his brows furrow a degree, gaze flitting between his muse sitting there a few metres beyond his canvas back and forth back down to the painting-in-progress. Hand hovering above his work, his gaze averts back to where Simon sits; eyes whereas first focussed on his face soon subconsciously dropping to his mouth before he's busying himself with his palette again --- adding a few overly-delicate finishing touches to an already thorough portrait.

Truth be told, he didn't need Simon here in the flesh to paint him; already he'd had him memorised him from top to bottom: a mental photograph imprinted onto the forefront of his mind. But it was nice. It was nice having him here. Even if it meant pushing Simon's patience to the limit with his notoriously sharp concentration and half-hearted, ushered discipline at his every movement. In fact, especially then.

He leans back from his work, head canting to one side slightly as his eyes squint. Through Kieren's eyes, not even something that meets no conventional bounds as art could ever encompass Simon's beauty, but what he's created is as close to the real-deal as the paintbrush in his hand allows him, and so he places his utensils back down with a satisfied hum of his lips. "Okay, you can look now."