uncanny valley girl.

in the company of wolves, they respect i eat first.

[thewolfruns]

             SURVIVORS HAVE SCARS; VICTIMS HAVE GRAVES.                            in the company of wolves, they respect i eat first.

howdy, folks. this is a selective, original multimuse focused on high-concept genre plots. heavily post-apocalyptic, scifi, horror based. i'm in the pst, but work swing, so active at all hours. beta only bc this is a new blog. formerly @fiinalgiirls, which is now just my personal. forever creating universes with @someotherdog. runs mostly on a queue. current draft count : 37

                lucia. 36. pst. she/her. sporadic activity. beta only.                             rules.  muses.  verses.  interest tracker.  starters.  wanted.

"the wolf runs. it runs three legged, like all damaged creatures, across the snow. she thinks: this is true. she thinks: this is a life. she thinks: i do not want to die, but my life will always be like this — wounded and animal, lurching against white."

[thewolfruns]

hi pals, it's been awhile since i've been around though you may see me posting a little. i'm mostly dipping my toes in writing with velouria, but if there's something really specific you'd like to write with me, feel free to hmu. i'll just be around very, very sparingly.

[thewolfruns]

it was three o'clock in the morning. the kind of three o'clock in the morning where you wake up on the couch with a backache and a sore throat from snoring after having only a few beers. salem's arms are still crossed the way they usually are when he's trying hard not to seem like he's falling asleep. at some point, he'd slumped down against the cushions, knees wide and seemingly only held to his body by the boundaries of his jeans. salem hated sleeping in jeans.

the tv is still on, which is sort of weird. after this long, the 'are you still watching' usually flashed before fading into the blackness of an idle television screen. sometimes, he'd find whatever weird cable channels were on his parents' basement tv on, but it was usually because someone sat on the remote. now something almost familiar flickered on the screen in black and white. he sat upright and looked over at his companion, still asleep, before breathing into his hand to make sure it wasn't too bad.

a familiar theme struck across the television and rod serling greeted him like an old friend. he used to love watching the twilight zone as a kid and his lips pulled into a smile as he looked around, feeling like he was part of a nostalgic prank. he'd probably seen them all, between his childhood viewings with his dad or grandmother and a passing high school fixation after he'd been forced to read an occurrence at owl creek for english. only this episode was unfamiliar.

the amen shrieker

what the hell was this? the credits rolled over a town sign for a place called boot hill. salem felt compelled to open his phone and search for more about it. suddenly embarrassed, he stole a furtive glance at his friend and dropped his phone in his lap. "oh, uh--sorry. you're up." but his attention was stolen by rod serling's trademark foreshadowing; they were about to enter a world no one wanted to leave. even if they could. ( @someotherdog )

[thewolfruns]

alright, y’all. My two biggest wanted things rn? my wife stephanie beatriz as an opposite and a grosse pointe blank plot. they don’t have to be combined! I just want them!

[thewolfruns]

muse: lourdes ‘faust’ campeon lopez (they/she) open to: all genders connection: your muse picks them up on her way east in the desert–do they already know one another ? up to you ! setting: a couple of months past a zombie outbreak (or other such apocalyptic event) in the california desert. faust has been living as a vigilante the last couple of years, but has been alone since the outbreak.

the california desert was expansive–an unending sea of sand melting into the sky at the horizon. the car that had carried her almost to nevada baked beneath the autumn sun like a desiccated beetle. faust had never expected that she’d be so alone like this. their ex noemi had long since moved on and their parents and brother were nowhere to be found when the outbreak hit. no doubt, pancho had taken their folks somewhere safe. somewhere without faust. they wondered–as they moved out of the cities squaring off against the dead with truer aim than she’d had for the living–if they were the last person alive.

they had been more than lucky, having played robin hood in inglewood for almost a full two years before the dead didn’t stay down. it had sharpened their aim and their heart against the guilt that came with taking a life (even if, nowadays, those lives had already been taken). they hoped the few short months noemi had stayed with them after everything had given her the same leg up on surviving. backpack slung lazily over their left shoulder, they carried a few canvas sacks of food and necessities in one hand and their assault rifle in the other–swinging it slightly by the strap like a little kid with their halloween candy. headphones rested around their neck blasting music just loud enough to cover up the sound of tires until it was close enough that they could almost sense the car on them. in the desert, where a person could see for miles around them, it didn’t seem like too big of a risk. maybe they’d indulged in the music a little bit too much.

they’d never survive out in the desert on their own and, regardless of who was in that car, needed a ride. turning, faust pulled their biggest smile, unaware of how it didn’t reach her eyes, at their approach. they approached the car with a boldness that was reserved for only the most naive or dangerous of survivors.  “i’m not normally a hitchhiker,” they started, once the driver’s side window was down. “but you think you could hook me up with a ride out of this place?” widening their smile, faust was feeling stupid and hopeful. both qualities of people who didn’t survive. “please. i promise i’m not like an axe-wielding murderer or something.” the smile faltered. it was hot and it was desolate. another car coming by was not a promise. “i really need a ride.”

[thewolfruns]

muse: neve channing open to: all genders setting: based on the film the domestics, neve and your muse are trying to get to your muse’s parents place in detroit, michigan after not hearing from them in a month. they have to make their way through a post apocalyptic wasteland filled with mad max style gangs, which include the nailers, cherries, plowboys, sheets, and gamblers. connection: this can either be a relationship on the outs, platonic, friends/enemies to lovers or whatever else you can think of–the only stipulation is that they were in the middle of a falling out prior to everything going to shit and that they lived together. we could also take this some other direction and your muse could be an estranged member of one of those gangs that neve joins forces with; the world is your oyster.

it had been a rough start to a treacherous trip and it only promised to get worse. after a close call on sheets territory, neve had been the unlucky recipient of the skirmish’s first blood though she and her companion had been the last ones standing. miles away from anything, the pair stopped off in a desolate gas station to see what they could scavenge after having to leave half of their supplies behind in a hurry. neve slipped away for some space–needing a breath of fresh air from the tension the pair had tip-toed around since their departure. a modest bottle of rubbing alcohol in her med-pack gave her pause, wondering if she should waste it on such a small laceration to her hairline. thank fuck she’d gotten a tetanus shot before everything went south. tracking the laceration along her scalp, she bit her lip, using as much friction as she could tolerate to clean it out without causing anymore damage. approximately five centimeters in length, it could use staples and was grateful that she hadn’t injured a hand or some place with more nerve endings; lidocaine had never worked on her and staples took no skill at all. if she’d been cut up this bad on her hand, she’d be left wanting for proper sutures and a second pair of hands and she wasn’t ready to owe that kind of debt to her companion.

just as she ejected the last staple, wincing and letting a small groan escape her lower lip ( which has held firmly in place by her front teeth ), she heard the tinkling of tin cans from the traps she and her partner in exodus had set before splitting up to shake out whatever was left in the gas station convenience store. with a sharp inhale, neve slowed her breath in the hopes of ameliorating the adrenaline that coursed through her veins like a downed power line. she’d been brave in the face of death dozens of times before, but the cost of capture weighed much more than the risk of death. as the door to the restroom opened, she threw her med-pack over her shoulder and raised the rifle she’d been carrying since she’d pulled it off the body of the sheet member who’d been gunned down by his own in the fray. as the door opened, she aimed forward and let out a controlled breath, slipping behind a display shelf and hoping to see her partner had already taken cover.

[taiturner]

TWISTED METAL ━ 1x09 "R04DK11"

[grapefruitey]

Candy pouted as though she was being scolded. It was her standard response to Vlad, who she would only allow those sort of comments from. This wasn’t remotely what she thought she would end up doing with her life. Movie star was always number one on the wishlist of course. It turned out she really enjoyed home renovation though. She was doing it right too. This wasn’t a shitty HGTV reno where the house basically fell apart after a few weeks. Then again, she’d never taken over an entire house before. It was usually just one room for another influencer. This was her next step.

This would just be a blip, Candy was sure of it. There were weird things in old houses all the time, Vlad was right. “No, no dog. I’m sure it’s just like you said. Old house.” Candy crossed her arms and looked at Vlad. The other had become such an integral part of her life that she did such things automatically. “Should we um, go check?” If they said no, it was fine, Candy would be reassured. Vlad had real life experience, they knew things. "Could like an animal have snuck in?"

[thewolfruns]

vlad couldn't help smirking at candy's pout. it always amused them, which was the only real reason for the digs. that and they weren't much for the spotlight, so her whole career sort of seemed strange to them. wild, considering they were adjacent to celebrities all the time, but special effects really lended itself to a different sort of relationship with fans. sure, they'd made an occasional cameo. anyone who knew could spot tom savini would know them on the screen just as easily, but they didn't really have a media presence. it was hard to relate and easier to joke about. at least candy was still fuckin' cool and could take a joke as easily as a pr package.

"can i smoke in here?" what a stupid question and they knew it, but ... maybe it'd be cool until they repainted. taking the camel light from behind their ear, they were eager to scratch that itch. "eh, that's a real bummer. i was hoping you'd adopted some cute rescue you were gonna surprise me with or something." honestly, they'd be glad to see a dog. more of a cat person--or honestly, more of a goldfish person--they were feeling skeeved out in a way they couldn't quite describe. a dog at least made things feel safer somehow. "i'm pretty sure that's one of the top five reasons people get killed in my movies, but it's probably just a raccoon or a squirrel or something, so i'm gonna say yes." the cigarette was gonna be requisite noww.

[dcgtown]

open to any / mutuals only pls!

zombie apocalypse au. your muse wants to leave the homestead created on weston's family ranch. connection and reason up to you!

WESTON BARNETT. 30s. he/him. bisexual. rancher.

"If you leave, nobody is gonna go looking for you. Do you understand that? No search and rescue mission. No blood hounds. Nothing." Weston says like he wasn't a moment away from following them headfirst into danger.

[thewolfruns]

"i have to finish my research, wes." rocío shrugged. she was being dismissive and walked quickly as if avoiding eye contact was some sort of super power that would protect her from having to hear whatever he'd prepared to sway her. she'd mentioned it was genetics research to him. she'd tried to tell the group she could make a cure, she was sure of it, but not without her old research. in reality, it was her doctoral thesis. it was genetic research, yes, but of the hybridization zone in tikaboo valley where yucca trees were being pollinated by tegeticula synthetica and antithetica. and it had fuck all to do with the outbreak, but no one was going to let her leave over her life's work if they knew it was about moths.

"no one needs to come find me, okay? if i make it, i'll come back." that was maybe even true, though she wasn't sure. she didn't feel the same drive to belong to a group like the others did. the only thing she had any drive for was her research. "i'm not asking anybody for anything."

[someotherdog]

character / ira availability / f/nb, +25 as long as they aren't familial or t*boo story / ira and your muse are having an affair of some sort or are secretly dating behind doors, while pretending to hate each other in public for any reason, such as work rivalry or to keep suspicions at bay. (keep in mind that he's a surgical resident, so he works in a hospital if we go the work rivals route!) setting / a bar or family party, depending on which relationship they have!

ira hated that his heart skipped a beat the moment they appeared at his side; before he even looked down to see them beside him, it was as if his heart knew they were there before he did. he didn’t want his body to know them so intimately. he didn’t want his heart to soar. it was getting more and more difficult to keep his composure around them, wanting so badly to forget all the people in the room and just throw them down on his lap. instead, he ignored that impulse by ignoring them, looking the other way while he took a swig from his beer bottle. it was only when he could feel their eyes boring into his face that ira could acknowledge their presence, “i can’t believe you’re wearing that. i mighta’ thought you were amish or something, the way you’re always so… covered up.” he teased, voice sounding so much meaner than he really felt, but his softness for them was evident in the way his hand lowered to the back of their thigh, tracing underneath the hem of the dress he was just making fun of.

[thewolfruns]

"puh-lease. you know i make a turtleneck look sexy." catalina practically whispered as she tried not to look over at him, smile too evident even in her hushed voice. it was hard to figure out the right wardrobe to look sophisticated and professional. she had enough working against her. it was true anyway, that's why she was usually so deeply covered up. it was weird that they'd both matched at surgical residencies in the same hospital despite their different specialties. she might've said it was fate if she wasn't so irritated that she didn't hate him anymore. it was even weirder now that both their groups were at the same bar. thankfully, since this was just residents, she'd dressed to impress.

she smirked at the subtlety of him finding the hem of her dress. red was her color for sure, though she rarely wore it in the hospital unless in the form of scrubs, which felt disingenuous now that she was a resident. anything fancier than or scrubs was the kind of bougie that people laughed at you for til you'd really made it somewhere.

"i should really get back to my friends." she threatened, smile still lingering as she flagged the bartender down for negroni. "i'm sure they're missing me." she said, turning to finally look at him with a quirked brow and a smirk. she was trying to be cute, but she genuinely worried that if she was spotted lingering with him for too long there'd be questions and rumors. that was not how she wanted her residency to go.

[thewolfruns]

alright, y'all. i'm HERE. fingers crossed it stays like this and i might be around for a few hours. i'm gonna queue things and be around.

[thewolfruns]

OKAY I know I have a habit of saying I’m gonna be here and not, but HOPEFULLY the preschooler/baby double sleep regression that has been dominating my life is through! And I deep cleaned my house this weekend so I’m going to try really hard to be here tonight and also catching up on love island (which is a really weird show to start watching for the first time on its latest season the dusty old unused anthropology degree is wildin).

ANYWAY I’m gonna hit my drafts but if we need something new together lmk!!

[thewolfruns]

Y’all, I’m gonna do my best to get some things queued this weekend, but that is fully up to my children and whether or not they go to sleep lmao. Wish me luck.

[thewolfruns]

"He told me a joke and I thought of you." + Cameron

"yeah? well, he told me a joke and i thought of you." this was bullshit and cameron wasn't getting mixed up in more of other people's bullshit. she'd had enough for a lifetime. she'd lost her entire friend group because of some creep. then she'd alienated herself from anyone left in her life with a decade's alcoholism. sobriety was hard won and a constant source of frustration. and it meant for a low tolerance for other people's bullshit. the snide remark really hadn't done her any favors, but it was like her to lash out when she was angry. "i'm not getting involved. that's the end of it."

[kercsene]

This moment had played so many times in her mind, millions and more, going every way the woman thought possible. And yet, none of these scenarios had prepared her for it when the moment truly came. She knew, before the mask fell, that it was him. She never allowed his image to fade away. There were parts of his features that she couldn't commit to memory anymore, or some that would creep up on her at the least expected time, when she heard someone that could sound like him or saw something that reminded of him. Some would slip in and out and she would curse out loud, isolate herself and scream in pain and anger. But some things could not be erased by time and that was what had told her that this was Salem, before she saw his visage, without a shadow of a doubt.

"Salem," she said in reply to his question. The inflection in the way he said her name telling her it was has hard for him to believe as it was for her. Bea had searched for him, refusing to give up, refusing to let others tell her that he was gone for good. As long as there was no body, she wouldn't give up. She didn't know if he had done the same, if he had never given up on finding her again. They had found each others among the wreckage of the world once and they would again, she was certain of it. And now, Salem stood there, in flesh and not a dream and she was at a lost of what to say. Gently, her hand raised to touch him, needing to feel that he was real. "It's you, it's really you. I've looked for you, I never stopped." Her voice was breaking now, uncertain if it would end in a cry or laughter.

[thewolfruns]

salem hadn't stopped looking for bea, but he found her everywhere. the world was saturated with her. every survivor. every dead body. every living dead. he found her one hundred thousand times and lost her one hundred thousand more. every time he mourned her a little harder and lost himself a little more. he was barely a man anymore. he was a phantom. he was la llorona searching for her children. he was the grey lady of edinburgh castle. he was king frederik the second. he would walk the earth a thousand times and never truly be reunited with her and so what the fuck did anything matter anymore? what other option was there except to walk and to haunt. to find and to mourn and to begin again.

and yet, she was there. in front of him. not her outline or shadow. not a mirage or similar face. not a gait or the cut of her hair or a familiar style of dress. in front of him was the whole package and scent of her. his body was screaming and he wondered if his mind had finally broken. was he mad as well as haunted?

"bea?" her voice sealed it. the reality of her. because despite finding and losing her and dreaming after her, the sound of her voice had faded into some strange estimation of the truth. once her heard her voice, the memory of it flooded back and hit him like a ton of brick. he closed the distance between them quickly. he had to touch her to confirm. "what happened?" could he say much more? did he even have the words to return the question if she posed it back to him?

[rpmemes-galore]

Go on anon and pretend to be a journalist. Ask my muse the hard-hitting questions. Make them squirm. Make them admit things they don’t want to.

[soulsuckrrs]

Something was very wrong in this place. Becca had felt it earlier when she first arrived, accompanying some friends from school, all an effort to get her to live a little, other than studying and focusing solely on work the others had managed to drag the studious witch to the music festival. It had been such a vibrant experience, the music and the energy flowing off the mass of people sharing that moment with her, it was unlike anything Becca had felt before. But there had been something else beneath the jubilant and euphoric aura of the festival, something she couldn't shake the feeling of, something dark. Her instincts on such things had rarely been incorrect in the past and Becca found herself inevitably wandering the festival grounds, seeking out the source of the thing she felt, whether it was out of studious curiosity or morbid fascination she wasn't sure but her wandering found her at the right place and at the right time.

The blonde offered a friendly and compassionate smile, warm eyes scanning the area around them, looking for anything or anyone that might have made the woman she'd found gasping for air and easily startled, Becca didn't miss that forced smile either. She dropped her eyes to her feet, glancing over the other briefly before she nodded and shifted to pull the clear backpack off her back to offer her last unopened bottle of water to the other. "Here, have some water," she said, the look of concern was genuine and once again she let her gaze scan around them before she shifted a step closer to the other. "-- I can help you find your friends or walk you back to wherever you're staying, if you want." Because it was more than obvious to Becca that something wasn't right here, either.

[thewolfruns]

if she'd been sober, bertie would've clocked that the bottle cracked open when she twisted the cap. she knew better than to accept a drink from a stranger, even a sweet looking girl, but since she figured she wasn't long for this world, she didn't even hesitate to take a long drink from the bottle. what did she care? she wiped her lips with the back of her hand when she was done and went back for another drink before choking on it at the suggestion of finding her friends.

"no!" she said. too desperate. too immediate.

bertie wouldn't call the people she was there with friends. not anymore. not after what she'd seen. there was a time, much to her brother's chagrin, she would've bought into the whole work family bullshit they were peddling. he'd probably have called it toxic. she was pretty sure he told her she was working for a new age-y fyre festival two, but she'd thought she'd somehow seen something deeper than that. they liked her ideas. they hung out outside of work projects and did drugs and listened to music. it seemed like maybe he was just being cynical or, maybe, jealous that she'd finally found where she fit.

only it was hollow. it was snake oil. it was worse than that even, because they were using the whole stupid event to commit murder and her work was what helped attract ... what exactly? victims? sacrifices? did the semantics even matter? she was stuck here in the middle of the desert, a little high and a little buzzed, and no one was going to believe her. surrounds by thousands of people, she was entirely alone.

slowing her breath, she massaged her brow. she had to get it together. maybe this girl had a car or ... a friend with a car? maybe an airbnb nearby or miles away? but no one was going to take a crazy girl ranting about ritualistic killings home with them. she had to get her shit together even if her mind felt like it was working through sand to form a single coherent thought between the adrenaline and booze and molly.

"sorry, just--" bertie forced a desperate sounding laugh. she hoped it was convincing (it wasn't). she whispered "--i don't want to go back there. i just want to go home."