i live! hello. idk perry flew away for a bit. sup, fam?

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@bonecut
i live! hello. idk perry flew away for a bit. sup, fam?

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you know when youâre like oh hell yeah my muse is so loud. but then theyâre just there in your head laughing at you. so. i have muse. but perry is a dick and wonât cooperate with drafts, sigh.
before it all becomes the same old song

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     â what seems to be the problem? â brows pull together in CURIOUSITY and concern. the morning has barely begun and already it seems there is excitement, and maybe not the GOOD kind, brewing in the air. if anything, growing up in her fatherâs shop has taught her to deal well with conflict. or at least not let it bother her as much as it might otherwise. angry customers and all. â @bonecut // s.c.Â
so, heâs covered in blood. donât worry about it. all he knows is that he needs somewhere to chill, at least for a while, to keep the rectifiers from finding him. who would have thought that traveling back three hundred years throughout time would land him in a place that STILL held people within institutions & deemed them as hospitals. bullshit. all of it. he scoffs & clears his throat. might be limping a bit. âjust uh-- was lookinâ for a job,â he feigns, nodding & clearing his throat.
THE  SUN  IS  BEATING  DOWN  .     mid - july ,  the  time  of  year  for  popsicles   &   swimming  costumes  that  / cling /  .      thereâs  a  sigh   &   a  hand  tirelessly  fanning  at  her  flushed  face  .      â    dear  ,   could  you  buy  me  a  soft  ice  cream  ?    â
đ  *     @bonecut   liked .
a glance at her, shades brought down to the brim of his nose. his great-great-way-to-many-greats-grandmother is off in the distance, skipping around & laughing. sheâs about eight right now, or something like that. heâll just call her a distant relative, if anyone asks. lily doesnât though. sheâs one of the few that believe him, thanks to umberto.
                     âdepends.â toothpick removed from lips. a smirk. âwhats in it for me?â
Tears are words that need to be written.
Paulo Coelho (via kristensnotebook)
I will not tell you I miss you. You will not hear that from me, no. I will not admit I have been thinking about you, not out of resentment towards you, but because I am strong and you are in the past. I will not tell others about you, since you tell no one of us. I will not explain myself, for the ways I chose to distance myself from memories of you, for sucking others dry attempting to hurt you but you were too far away to be damaged. I will not question why you left, you have done me a favor, even if it doesnât feel like one right now. I will not look for an explanation from you, on why you did the things you did, I do not have an interest in justifying your actions.
I will persevere and try my best to not live in fear of others wronging me in a similar way you did. (via mimosaleewrites)

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      â  getting   shit  done  will  never  matter  if  you  arenât  sober  âŚ.  â
                 @bonecut   ⥠âd
   he just takes a forlorn dragged gulp from his whiskey bottle ; metal gaze fixed-- dry paint ( so mesmerizing ).
       â  IS LOOKING SHADY A PART-TIME  job , or do you work full-time ?  â
@bonecutÂ
   â...â heâs not impressed. ârun along, little girl.â

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lustrcvs.
  at the sound of his name ââ- the girl takes a small steps toward him  ;  still cautious not to get too close. heâs shaking, her eyes catch that as his hand trembles and she canât help but feel bad for him.
                    â JUMPED ?! oh god, y-yeah here. â
  before she knows it, sheâs digging through her purse, cursing to herself as she can not find the small device.
            however, she takes note that he called a phone a â  communicator  â
  â h-here it is. â her arms extands, fingers slightly gripping on to it as she hands it overâ skin brushing against his.
there may be blood, heâs not sure. his vision is just blurry. the ache in his side is getting worse by every passing second. thereâs a brick wall close & he tumbles forward to lean his weight against it, heaving in & out raggedly.
his hand collides against hers & itâs definitely not the palm he remembers having, nearly dropping the device. itâs like a bright box, more like a fancy techladace that op definitely would have stolen from the vacancy.Â
the memory of op begins to quickly fade, though. & where is he? a groan as he feels warmth trickle down his temple. fender slides down the wall, face contorted in pain. he looks at the phone & huffs out a pained breath. shit. shit. he doesnât even know WHO to contact.
âi c-canât remember anything,â he whispers to himself, the feels the tears well up as he looks at her. âi canât remember anything...â heart starts to race. blood everywhere as he just feels the pang of her. the weight of her in his arms. âwhere is she? what did they do with her?â