#wutherye

[adauxilium]

(nourish) -       for your muse to provide my muse with food or drink

time was... a relative thing in college. it was something she'd discovered during her freshmen year and had continued to rediscover as the courses went on and on. she knew she had sent a text explaining her whereabouts. when she had sent that text was a complete mystery as the brick walls and heavy ceiling of the library did a very impressive job of killing any and all cellphone service.

the words had begun to go swimmy ages ago to the point that even her glasses had begun to fail her. sat back in the corner at a table to herself; reference books to the right, laptop with tabs upon tabs of articles before her and her trusty journal to her left taking down notes on the reformation and the explicit versus implicit goals it had. the outside of her pinky had to have been permanently stained in highlighter ink and graphite by the time a grease stained paper bag made it's way onto the table before her alongside a telltale soda cup with the straw bent.

                               " - hey."

it was said with a smile as she looked across the table at the very familiar blond that had taken up residence there. he was too good to her. taking time out of his own studying at... christ, was it really getting that late? and all to bring her fast food and liquid caffeine.

             “ —— have I ever mentioned how I don’t deserve you?”

                            @wutherye

[panamastayed]

@wutherye––––––STARTER CALL ( accepting ! )

BLOODY KNUCKLES rest draped on the either SIDE of his knees, BROW raised as he LEANS back, lazy cigarette hanging from his lips as he glances up at the ABRUPT company, fingers gently plucking the cigarette so as he SPEAKS puffs of smoke escape him.

“RIGHT...s’what I was gonna say––no TOTALLY fer sure.”

[tccnagedirtbag]

@wutherye liked your photo “tccnagedirtbag: “A dreamer is to be classified as a weapon…”

It had been a while since anyone had visited Ronan Lynch at the Barns. His younger brother was at college, and his older brother was working for The Man in DC. Both were too busy to check on the problem child, and even when they came back to go to church together once a month, they never stopped at their childhood home.

So when a loud Camaro, in appearance and noise, came up the long driveway, Ronan, who was super paranoid already, picked up his shot gun and charged out the front door. “Can I fucking help you?” he called to the driver. 

[soulscatter]

@wutherye​​ ♥’d this !

SHE SITS cross-legged in front of him, his hands held in hers, using them for her to fidget with. she glances between him and the floor, brow creased in thought. 

       ❝ do you think it means something? all of this? that i saw your death, that           i was meant to kill you with a kiss... that you’ve been chasing glendower           this whole time and my father was his adviser...? that can’t be           coincidence, right? maybe there’s an even deeper magic to this than we           thought. ❞

[pcrrished]

@wutherye

The day is proving to be... a day. An ordinary day. A day so bland and tasteless that it seems palpably obstinate in it's want to be over with. Still, as Adam Parrish sits, drumming his fingers on top of the table in the cramped kitchen of the adoptive home that had taken him in— he had the tiniest spark of hope that something would change, that some cataclysmic event might happen to help pick up the pace a little. Idly turning over the cards before him, he listens again for something, anything. The sound of a car pulling up in the drive, the sound of footsteps headed for the porch, the sound of the phone ringing in the other room.

               Wait.

If he'd lived anywhere else for the last five months, he might have called the whole thing eerie. A coincidence. Nonetheless, the familiar chiming rings throughout the house- calling for attention and begging for somebody to answer. Knowing full well that he was the only one at least physically in the home, Adam stands. The walk to the phone is complete with a full body stretch upward towards the ceiling before his form sags beneath the weight of it. A hand reaches, fingers curling and all at once the receiver is to his face just before his lips begin to move.

         "Three hundred Fox Way, how may I help you?"

His voice is both familiar and not with it's lazy lilt. He's gotten too comfortable being alone to think to conceal the accent with something that bore a shorter clip, better enunciation. Regardless, it was out there, leaving him to pause and wait for an answer.

[bettertm]

          josephine  murray  doesn’t  deal  well  with  strangers  ;  she  never  has  and  she  probably  never  will.  but  she  does  like  people  watching  --  the  things  people  do  when  they  think  they  aren’t  being  watched  is  always  interesting.  usually  ,  she’ll  do  this  for  a  couple  hours  and  head  home  but  today  seems  to  be  different.  the  way  the  man  is  looking  oh  so  blank  ,  she  feels  a  strange  pull  to  him.  it  takes  her  a  second  to  work  up  the  nerve  to  go  over  to  him  ,  hands  deep  in  her  pockets  as  she  stands  in  front  of  him.  ❝  hey  ,  uh  ,  you  good  ,  dude  ?  ❞

* /  @wutherye​  liked  for  a  starter.

[unseencne]

                 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐  𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖊  𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘  𝖉𝖔𝖓’𝖙  𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖊  𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞  𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒  𝖙𝖍𝖊  𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉.   almost  as  if  in  such  a  place  they  could  find  something,  perhaps  even  a  reason  to  feel  like  home ?  a  deep  breath  fall  from  his  lips  for  a  second  while  his  muscles  gave  in.              ❝   would  things  be  easier  if  there  was  a  right  way ?   ❞

            hozier - someone new  //  @wutherye​  ↷  s.c.

[naivelost]

@wutherye​:  ❝please, enough with the pumpkin spice.❞

              Ah. Ben had two shameful weaknesses in life: stupidly sugary drinks, and falling victim to seasonal trends. As he goes to take another sip, he tries to cover his cup with his hand. Maybe they couldn’t tell.   “   Oh, yeah. Totally. It’s the worst.   ”