untitled
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
The Bowery Presents
@theartofmadeline
One Nice Bug Per Day
Monterey Bay Aquarium
noise dept.
Discoholic 🪩
art blog(derogatory)
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
ojovivo
No title available
bliss lane
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
Kiana Khansmith
if i look back, i am lost
h
Doug Jones
KIROKAZE
seen from Vietnam
seen from Finland
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland
seen from Australia
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Uruguay
seen from T1
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
@unfinishedbusincss-archive
Hello friends! I'm afraid I moved blogs again; I'm sorry for that. After a little over a year of "trying" to write her, I elected to give Anne her own blog. Please come find me there!
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙽𝚈 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙳!
illustration by mirandakat template by calisources
𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟕𝟐𝟏, 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲. 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙽𝚈 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙳!
independent / slightly selective / s/low activity history & headcanon based captained by ren 21+ only, please
template by calisources
...i moved. sorry.
i thought i was going to keep up with this blog, but i don't think so now. peep anne on her own blog!
love and peace!
𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟏𝟕𝟐𝟏, 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐲. 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙽𝚈 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙳!
independent / slightly selective / s/low activity history & headcanon based captained by ren 21+ only, please
template by calisources
...i moved. sorry.
i thought i was going to keep up with this blog, but i don't think so now. peep anne on her own blog!
love and peace!
ooc post to be expanded on later: hi I'm Kao (39, he/they, queer, semi-random sleep/awake so timezone doesn't matter, 21+ writing partners preferred heavily) and this is all someone else's fault but I am here to roleplay!
Specifically in Our Flag Means Death or other pirate-y deals that are similar, as a Season 1 canon-compliant with dark secret history Izzy Hands and/or a Season 1 canon-compliant as if he survives Lucius Spriggs. Izzy has a lot of real history baked into his background but it's stretched out to present the age of Con's portrayal.
Could also take either character backwards in points depending on the intent of roleplay.
Hi, I'm Someone Else (1/2). This Kao. He's my favorite Izzy and also new to town. He's crazy talented and until he met me, never before cursed with this blue hellscape.
He can sing his own praises, I'm just here to say: if you like good writing and pirates, preferably in that order, Kao's your guy!
Ginger Pirate Bicon Seeks Swashbuckling Partners for Adventure
Now that I have your attention, hi! I’m Ren (she/her, 29, CST) and I write for my own interpretation of Anne Bonny over at @neverhangd ! I’m trying to find some partners interested in writing piraty things with Anne and me. While I’m open to all characters, I’m especially looking for:
Izzy Hands, OFMD (friends, rivals, romance)
Stede Bonnet, OFMD (friends, working relationship, romance)
Edward Teach/Blackbeard, OFMD (friends, working relationship, rivals, romance) (kraken or evil verse preferred lol)
Edward Teach/Blackbeard, no fandom/history/all fandoms (friends, working relationship, romance)
Jack Sparrow, PotC (friends, working relationship, rivals)
Elizabeth Swann, PotC (friends, working relationship, romance (?)) (pirate king verse a plus lol)
Long John Silver, TI (friends, working relationship, trusted mentor) (I don’t know BS so don’t @ me lol)
I write a little bit of everything and adore exploring every option for relationships out there—platonic, romantic, antagonistic, you name it!—but I’ll also be honest and admit that I really enjoy shipping and sinning, and would like to find partners willing to indulge me there. I am perfectly happy and willing to become partners if you don’t ship it, but shipping it is a huge plus!!
Please like, reblog, and/or comment on this post and I’ll happily check your blog out! Looking for writing partners on Tumblr and/or Discord.
Ginger Pirate Bicon Seeks Swashbuckling Partners for Adventure
Now that I have your attention, hi! I’m Ren (she/her, 29, CST) and I write for my own interpretation of Anne Bonny over at @neverhangd ! I’m trying to find some partners interested in writing piraty things with Anne and me. While I’m open to all characters, I’m especially looking for:
Izzy Hands, OFMD (friends, rivals, romance)
Stede Bonnet, OFMD (friends, working relationship, romance)
Edward Teach/Blackbeard, OFMD (friends, working relationship, rivals, romance) (kraken or evil verse preferred lol)
Edward Teach/Blackbeard, no fandom/history/all fandoms (friends, working relationship, romance)
Jack Sparrow, PotC (friends, working relationship, rivals)
Elizabeth Swann, PotC (friends, working relationship, romance (?)) (pirate king verse a plus lol)
Long John Silver, TI (friends, working relationship, trusted mentor) (I don’t know BS so don’t @ me lol)
I write a little bit of everything and adore exploring every option for relationships out there—platonic, romantic, antagonistic, you name it!—but I’ll also be honest and admit that I really enjoy shipping and sinning, and would like to find partners willing to indulge me there. I am perfectly happy and willing to become partners if you don’t ship it, but shipping it is a huge plus!!
Please like, reblog, and/or comment on this post and I’ll happily check your blog out! Looking for writing partners on Tumblr and/or Discord.
There's an immediate uproar from the boys when Anne spits in his face. Izzy, close by his side, starts to draw his blade. Edward raises his hand to stop them, pausing in the gesture, before he wipes the spit from his cheek. It smears some of the kohl from his skin, leaving black on his fingertips.
It wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Though, perhaps he should have. Jack had been Mary's husband, whatever else the pair had going with Mary. It made sense that she'd be reactionary in the face of his death, though some part of Edward had always wondered if she'd eventually get sick of the man. He'd seen how rough Jack could be with her. The same roughness that he turned on Edward, though Edward was quick to get caught up in it and behave like a rowdy youth instead of a man of his years.
That was what had happened when Jack had come back into his life. It was a part of the reason they were where they were now. Izzy had summoned Jack from who knows where to try and get him to lure Edward away from Stede. Get him out of the way of the English. And it had worked, to a degree. Izzy had banked on Ed losing his head and falling back on the behavior he was inclined to when in Jack's presence. His personality could be as variable as his moods, dependent on those who were around him.
Jack was gone. So was Stede. And Edward... Edward didn't know what he was becoming.
Maybe it made sense that he'd end up tangling with another ghost from his past in this way. Fuck, maybe he should even let her kill him. It would certainly be a hell of a way to go. It would end the pain of whatever was happening to him right now.
"I was there when it happened, more or less, Anne. Not sure how it isn't my business," he said after a moment of consideration, and drew his pistol. He didn't level it at her. He handed it to the side, waiting for Izzy to take it out of his hand before he drew his knife and handed it off as well. He shed his leather coat, handing that to the next pair of hands near him.
He didn't know the hollowness she felt, or the wound that he had unintentionally pressed upon in his attempt to use Jack as a flashpoint. He'd been close, of course he'd been close, but he didn't know what he'd stumbled upon even as he missed the target he'd aimed for.
Didn't matter. This was... interesting. Maybe it'd even make him feel something beyond the ache in his own chest.
"Well, mate. Come on then. Let's settle it like men."
Hands’ blade starts coming out and Anne’s hand—her left, the one Ed might know to watch for but nobody else did—hovers at her blade until Ed steps back in again. He’s cooler-headed than she’d thought he’d end up after that, which only serves to unsettle her further. If he’d gotten mad, she would’ve understood, could have worked with that. But this eerie quietude? Anne can’t trust it, won’t even if she somehow could.
And then he’s shedding. Weapons, clothes, down to his fists, taking her seriously up on her offer for a fight. She’d never known Ed to back down, fair enough, but she somehow thought he’d pull some smarmy shite about “being in charge around here.” Against her better judgement she can’t help but respect him for that.
As soon as it becomes clear that he’s stripping all the way down—well, for a pirate—Anne follows suit, jerking her arms from her coat sleeves. She’s no one to hand it to, not about to trust Ed’s men, but she’s never been one to be bothered by such trifles as shedding affects onto some other fuck’s floor to knock him about. The heavy belt with its sheathed swords falls onto the jacket next, followed by Anne’s hat. She rolls her sleeves up to the elbow and manages a wayward prayer that Jack never told Ed about the knife she keeps in a secret hem-pocket inside of her trousers. She doesn’t intend to use it unless she has to, but she’s loathe to reveal it to this band of dogs.
It isn’t that she doesn’t hear him when he says he was there. Actually, it makes the bile rise in her throat, especially since she wasn’t all-there in the moment. She’d been half delirious with pain and then some crushing other thing like rage and sorrow all bundled into one spiky emotion she couldn’t (and still can’t) swallow. He probably wasn’t really there, but that he’d even try to goad her like that, to say it’s his business what happened, it’s enough to light fire to the blood in her veins.
As waifs with Hornigold, Anne had been fast…but so had Ed. Anne’s faster now but it’s shite to think Ed somehow isn’t, and more, the fucker’s so massively built-out now that she has no illusions about how this’ll shake out. She’ll just have to give as good as she gets and hope Ed’s dogs don’t pile on before she can draw some blood.
Anne readjusts the distribution of her weight and puts her hands up, tonguing the inside of her cheek. It was Jack he’d always tussled with, not Anne; what he’s actually capable of, she isn’t sure. Damned if she’s going to let that stop her now.
“T’when?” she asks, not sure if she wants hear to the death or to its brink more.
formerly teachthekraken
18+ indie RP blog: OFMD, The Terror, with more planned.
Written by Prior. OC, AU, and crossover friendly.
Mobile Guide • Memes and Prompts • Ask
No one would dare describe Blackbeard as a gullible person -- even if it was, to some larger extent, relatively true. No one would describe him in that way for fear of his reaction to that statement. For all that he was able to accurately predict the movements of an enemy ship, or even an enemy he was engaged in hand to hand combat with, he was not particularly good at discerning another person's true intentions. Their thoughts were more mysterious to him than the wind moving through the clouds above their heads.
In that, Anne had always had an advantage.
Sarcasm and passive aggression were a particular weakness of his. His own understanding of sarcasm tended towards hyperbole, making it possible for more subtle examples to squeak past him. Some of this stemmed from his tendency to take people at their word, to accept what was said as being fact.
It was easy to lie to Edward Teach. Always had been. In moments that he had more self awareness, he'd try to compensate for this simple fact about himself with suspicion -- something that only made him cagey and tired. Being suspicious was exhausting, requiring more of his attention than he really cared to give it. Those spikes of suspicion would vanish as quickly as they had appeared, just another aspect of his ever fluctuating mood.
He was already getting tired of his own suspicion now, the sudden sick spike of paranoia that he'd felt in seeing Anne. He felt her looking at him, taking in everything that he was clinging onto to make himself more like himself again. That look, the flick of her gaze over his face, opened up a door for rejection. The things she could say... fuck, it was almost worse than the unexpected appearance of Jack.
Jack. There was the in, the blade to twist. There was the thing that he could use to deflect from himself, and any news that might have reached her about the whole Act of Grace business. About... Stede.
"Mm. Best not to... but Anne. You have my condolences," Ed nodded to her, tapping his finger against the butt of his pistol.
Any wind that had gained in Anne’s sails from the half-decent bluff was quick to die out the minute Ed mentioned condolences. Fucking hell. Man really did hear anything.
There wasn’t much else a condolence could be given for in Anne’s hard life that wasn’t what had been suffered in Cuba. Anne goes cold and hot by turns over the sheer fucking audacity to throw her own recent loss in her face like it was only some piddling matter undeserving of a modicum of privacy. Especially from an old friend who knew the quiet she liked to lick wounds in, this is a slap to the goddamned face. What the rest of the near future holds is unclear: the only thing that is clear is that Ed’s pushing the dram of gunpowder under her nose to light her off with, and that wild spark of fire in Anne leaps up with it on reflex.
Anne’s spittle lands square on Ed’s cheek, hands falling a bit with the motion of leaning forward to spit on him.
“Fuck you,” she rasps, jagged still around her most recent wound. Another woman might have cradled her belly at the reminder and looked away, kept quiet; Anne fought the urge to leap across anyway and sink feral nail and tooth anywhere it’ll land to rip away at Ed like he’s just done to her. Bad enough that rumor of Jack has him near enough by to come seeking Anne to knock her back into place; her empty womb and Ed sticking his fat-fingered hand in it is pushing things too far.
She has no plans to go back to Jack, ever, even if it means dying first. And if she’s going to die at Ed’s hand, she’s going to maul the fucker first. It doesn’t matter how he heard about the villa, the baby, the loss—she’s going to rip that clean out of him and tear the hole too big to scar over when she does.
Or she will, the second there’s a clear path at him that isn’t also a clear trap.
Even so, she can’t stop from adding, “That’s none of your fucking business, nor anyone else’s. Leave the fuckin pistol aside and let’s settle this like men.” He’s a sight taller than he was and probably stronger too, but Anne was quick and eager and vicious as a goddamned snake. She’d get her strikes in even if it ended up with her on her arse and a gun to her head.
She was like a damned ghost. It had been years since he had seen Anne Bonny, much less sailed with her. They'd been a part of The Flying Gang, under the tutelage of Hornigold. Over time, they'd gone their own ways -- and had begun the process of being in different stages of fucking each other over.
He would have greeted her with enthusiasm and open arms, if it hadn't been for the catastrophe with Jack only a few weeks earlier. Despite the fact that Izzy wouldn't have had a chance to skitter away like a rat and summon his past again, her presence made him suspicious.
He hadn't known she was aboard the ship when he'd made the decision to take it. Seeing her had been a surprise -- and he quickly cycled from surprise, to a spark of familiarity, to suspicion and paranoia.
And her hands were too damn close to her blades. She'd always been good. She had to be. She had to prove herself in the midst of all the panting idiots who underestimated her because of her womanhood. He'd seen too many men make that mistake. As long as it had been since he'd actually had to do anything to enforce the fact that he was fucking Blackbeard, he wasn't going to make that mistake.
Certainly wouldn't be boring, though. Hm. "Heard a lot of news about me lately," his voice was hoarser than even he had expected. "So it would depend on what, exactly, you're referring to." He stood with his hands casually rested on his dagger and pistol. Someone familiar with him would recognize this as something he often did, whether or not there was a threat present before him. Someone familiar with him would recognize the slight difference in that pose, the way his fingers hooked beneath the curve of the pistol, that acknowledged the presence of a threat.
He was Blackbeard, again. He was himself, again. Even if the fucking beard was short, close to his jaw and smeared with kohl to make it actually black again. The same kohl was around his eyes, a stripe smeared across his face. It hid the redness, to some degree. Looked better from a distance than it did up close. That was just the way of things, wasn't it? Things always looked better, when you couldn't see them clearly.
Anne was a keen eye. She’d always had to be, and didn’t much mean it. She wasn’t always bright, but she was smart. Saw a thousand things at once and remembered every one of them. That means she saw—as an example—the kohl smudged over his chin, despite his keeping himself vaguely shadowy, both physically and metaphorically. She saw puff and redness around the eyes he’d probably meant to cover or distract them, and had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at Ed fucking Teach and his theatrics. (The fuckeries were one thing, but the daily fucking drama was quite another.) She saw the trigger finger and even had time to hope it didn’t itch between noticing Ed and keeping some track of the others around them. Ed she might let near, if he let go of the pistol. But these other cunt brained, mouth breathing jackanapes clearly waiting for Ed to say the word go? They’d only lose an eye, if they were lucky. Both and some teeth if they weren’t. Dead and damned alongside her, if that pistol came out.
All in all, she wasn’t loving the odds of escaping Cuban waters ahead of the rest of the news.
The larger problem at hand was that, until a fortnight or so ago, Anne had been absolutely bereft of all news for three whole godforsaken months. And most of the news that had washed ashore even before then was old, and she’d been the villa’s involuntary guest for two or three months before the stony silence set in. Her gamble had been based on context clues almost entirely, and just like the arse he always was, here came Ed calling her bluff.
Fuck.
Fighting against her own fidgety fingers—fidgety by nature, he might remember, though in the given circumstances, trusting that memory resurfaced might not serve her best—Anne also fights against the growing panic in her chest, heart and lungs bickering to see who would go out of control first. The hole’s been dug, but Anne Bonny’s been nearly a year out of water, and no one knew about it but Jack himself. There’s no way Ed can possibly know which cards are in her hands. (All junk, but she’s too deep to fold.)
Keep it vague. “The recent troubles,” she says vaguely, nodding in his direction. Someone familiar with her might recognize the way her eyes linger on Ed’s blackened jaw for just half a second too long. Someone familiar with her would recognize the way those broken bits of sea glass stab into his blackened under eyes first, then his own eyes second before the beard. Or lack thereof. Depending on one’s definition.
Either way, when Anne looks up, the next weapon after a sword is drawn: wit. Ed could read the clouds and the wind and had the luck of the upper hand, but Anne could read people and had had to scrap by harder than ever on that fine-honed tool for a full fucking year, an adventure of its own perhaps worth the telling when people weren’t feeling so murderous.
“Ye know me, I’m loathe to bring up tender subjects.” Loathe to bring up most subjects, frankly, out of both the necessities of survival and a generally button-lipped disposition, lest given a dram’s worth of gunpowder for her temper.
Fish knew better than to disobey Anne Bonny herself. Still, she glanced at her ale with furrowed eyebrows while she sat down. If she didn't bring her captain his beer, she'd be in trouble anyway.
"I don't-" she stammered, wiggling in her chair, "I don't know ma'am Bonny. Is he... yer brother?"
He was called Bonny after all, right? It only made sense. As to why Anne Bonny wanted to even talk to her in the first place, that was still a mystery.
Anne sneered reflexively on being called ma’am Bonny, each word on its own hates in context to her and both hated depths and depths more, for reasons she couldn’t be arsed to explain to the kid.
“Anne. Sir. Miz. Anne Bonny if ye’re desperate,” she corrected. But it was all the answer she needed. “Ye’re goin to give that swill to yer cap’n, and ye’re goin to tell him Anne Bonny’s willin to pay ten dollars for him to let ye piss off with her and move some crates for a mate. And ye’re not goin to come back until he’s said yes. And if ye’re not goin to come back at all, there’ll be a knife at yer throat next time that blue head of yers washes up anywhere ‘tween here and Sierra Leone.”
Anne Bonny is a feral cat.
Spicy when first encountered
Will hiss and take a swipe at you just for being nearby
Growls
Can eventually be bought with affection but it’s almost always gonna be an uphill battle for a while there
Will still growl while accepting affection initially
You can’t go to her you gotta let her come to you
Shows her affection normally just by hanging out with you
You’ll know you made it when she shows you her metaphorical belly
Update:
• Can be bought with food and consistent gentleness
• Hunts rats and insects for fun and for praise
• Secret Knives™️
• Growls about baths but probably needs them (bonus points for it being a guilty pleasure)
• Can’t sleep if she’s uncomfortable, will nap if she is
Just realized that the reason I love making friends on tumblr is because it’s exactly how you make friends on the playground as a six year old. No, I don’t know their name but they love mermaids too and built this awesome sand castle. No, I don’t know their age but their imaginary cheetah is friends with mine. You like this show? You like this character?? You can sing the theme song really loud??? Here is a flower crown. Here is a juice box. You can share my time and I might never see you again but part of you stays in my soul forever. In my mind we’re still on the swing set and the sky is blue and nothing will ever be wrong again.
blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! a collection of icky, bloody prompts for those who like to choose violence. actions are reversible. general warning for blood, violence, murder, death.
𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :
" that's a lot of blood. "
" it isn't mine. "
" what did you do ? "
[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "
" come on. have a taste. "
" holy shit, are you okay ? "
" it looks worse than it feels. "
" you should see the other guy. "
" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "
" lean on me. "
" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "
" . . . gross. "
[ standing over a body ] " oops. "
" is that a fucking body ? "
" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "
" what the hell happened ? "
" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "
" at least it wasn't me this time. "
" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "
" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "
" i'm not scared of you. "
" you don't scare me. "
" shut up and let me help you. "
" i got your shirt all bloody. "
" let's get you cleaned up. "
" that looks like it hurts. "
" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "
" we are so fucked. "
" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "
" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "
" the fucker deserved it. "
" red looks good on you. "
" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "
" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "
" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "
" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "
" this isn't what it looks like. "
" it was an accident. "
" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "
" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "
" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "
" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "
" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "
" you're bleeding. "
" what the fuck happened to you ? "
" you're getting blood on the carpet. "
" sit down before you fall down. "
" that looks like a you problem. "
𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :
sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet
sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver
receiver finds sender covered in blood
sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding
sender helps receiver clean up after a kill
sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth
sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb
sender licks receiver's blood off a knife
sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb
sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver
receiver finds sender stood over a body
sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]
sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]
sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood
sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean
sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood
sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed
sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)
receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze
sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone
sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand
sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face
sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them
sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver
sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall
sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled
receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off
sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver
sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse
sender takes an injury meant for receiver
sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood
sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone
sender punches receiver in the mouth
receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust
sender helps receiver bury a body
sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3
sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3
sender leans on receiver for support
sender kills someone to protect receiver
receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it
sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver
receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself
sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip
sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning
Dash Game | List Your Top 10 Favorite Movies Of All Time
Sick, time to make everyone question my sanity by unveiling the Mess that is my preference in cinema! First listed is my first fave; it's a grab bag of different films I went through obsessive periods for after that.
The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) ♡♡♡
Reefer Madness!: the Movie Musical (2004)
Muppet Treasure Island (1996)
The Addams Family & The Addams Family Values (1991 & 1993)
Beetlejuice (1988)
Labyrinth (1986)
The Wizard of Oz (1939)
Star Trek II-IV (1982-1986)
Peter Pan Goes Wrong (2016)
Clue: The Movie (1985)
tagged by: stolen from @lovepurposed
tagging: STEAL IT, COWARD! (& tag me!)
In case you’re like “why is Ren almost entirely using queue?”, it’s because I get a regular dripfeed of serotonin from Discord right now. I can’t run a server worth ass but this one’s so cool.
Anyway, I’m still around! I lurk! I just…only have Anne brain rn. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒, her mam hadn’t managed to keep her out of the sea. It’s always called to her with its strange siren song — a piece of her she’d never known was missing. Shadows shift near the ship — creatures playing in the cool water. She feels a strange sort of kinship to them. More than she ever had to another human being. No one else had ever known what it was to hide in plain sight. And now, there’s Anne Bonny, standing beside her on her ship talking about a man whose name should matter. Jack Rackham. It doesn’t. Not to her. She’s not competing with anyone — they can’t touch her. They think they know the sea. They know nothing.
“You should stay, Anne,” Marin says, her voice gentle — not the harsh thing that she uses with the men when they’re around. As it is, they’re plenty alone and the better for it. “Stay with me and belong to no one. I don’t know why, but when you’re here, I feel less alone.”
Anne keeps her eyes aligned towards the sea, leaning against the railing at the forecastle. The wind is kind today: it dissolves their words behind them. There's no need for hushed tones here. All the same, Anne listens as much to the wind and the taut ropes behind them as she does to Marin's voice; it's as much out of habit as it is intentional. She needs to keep her legs under her.
She shakes her head at Marin's suggeston. "That's still belongin t'you. Shackled, like it or not, by the same thing that brought us together first. There's no keepin your secret and bein free at once.
"I would know. I feigned bein a boy, when I were a wain." But that was different. That was Anne's choice to engage in, too. That was nothing compared to trying to keep a secret like Marin's, in constant proximity to the very people she's meant to keep it from. She can't be asked to juggle another two-faced lie. Even if she was able to, Anne wouldn't do that. "A woman pretendin to be a man, and all to keep from bein attacked by her own?" Anne muses. She shakes her head, quietly muttering "That's not freedom, neither."
Anne's is a boundary drawn in the sand; she'd follow the tide of Marin's desires if she didn't shore up somehow, and soon. She keeps her face turned away and hopes the ocean will anchor her there.
