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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Discoholic 🪩
Misplaced Lens Cap

if i look back, i am lost
Keni
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Claire Keane

⁂

★

ellievsbear
One Nice Bug Per Day
YOU ARE THE REASON

titsay

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izzy's playlists!
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oozey mess

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@crudemask
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me, realizing that everyone is actually aware of the judge’s identity:
❝ nothing’s gonna take you from my side. ❞ FUCK ME UP THEO
CARING. ACCEPTING. / @skiesking.
there’s something to be said about nick: he has a smile like bottled sunshine and his heart is too big for his chest. every single beat spills out onto everything he touches, everything he says, and everything he does. when he cares, he does so in an all-encompassing way, a way that risks everything – a way that says: well, i love you, so damn the consequences.
Empty Chairs at Empty Tables | Les Miserables Soundtrack
call me cliche but uhhhhh empty chairs at empty tables directly after rook wakes up in the bunker / when they’re under the impression that none of the people they loved survived the collapse :)

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CARING SENTENCE STARTERS
for muses that need a little love.
❝ i’m here for you. ❞
❝ let me help with that. ❞
❝ i’m here. ❞
❝ nothing’s gonna hurt you. ❞
❝ if they do it again, you tell me. ❞
❝ i’ll protect you. ❞
❝ i’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you. ❞
❝ let me take a look… ❞
❝ i’m a phone call away. ❞
❝ you should have called me. ❞
❝ here, sleep. ❞
❝ if you wanna talk, i’m here. ❞
❝ hey, shh, it’s okay. ❞
❝ i’ll never let you go. ❞
❝ you’re with me now. ❞
❝ nothing’s gonna take you from my side. ❞
❝ i’ll do what i have to. ❞
❝ i need you to stay here, okay? i got this. ❞
❝ it’s safe here. ❞
❝ i’m fine, let me see your face. ❞
❝ we’re gonna have to keep ice on that. ❞
Czeslaw Milosz, Notebook.
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@rendsin asked: 😭 for @crudemask >:)
FOR THIS MOODBOARD MEME 😭Something a muse misses
“Wha-Wh-Wh-What do yo-y-y-you miss? ….M-M-M-Me? Oh, y-y-yup, me. Y-Y-You’re poi-p-p-pointing at me. I m-m-m-missed yo-y-y-you too.”
me:
dark me: hey do you remember the butch and sundance commentary between nick and kim? ( ‘we’ll be like butch and sundance!’ / ‘nick, they both died in the end.’ / ‘... nah.’ ) do you remember that, for all they know, rook did die in the collapse? how they don’t know they did survive, and that they became the judge? how, as far as they know, kim was always half-right?

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also hey: if you ever try to forcibly unmask the judge they will react very violently.
give me:
seed siblings surviving ( seed siblings surviving would also give us more realistic scenarios in which there are multiple judges, just sayin! )
au where the deputy makes it through the seven years with joseph and doesn’t succumb to his word and they both leave and part on even ground, having come to terms with their shared trauma and come out on the other end whole
au where the deputy escapes early-on and finds another bunker because excuse me you’re telling me dutch didn’t have protective gear to keep safe from radiation stashed in his bunker somewhere?
au where the deputy doesn’t crash the truck and makes it to a bunker safely with pratt and hudson and whitehorse ( and prob joseph if hudson doesn’t gut him lmao )
half: (listen I need them being cute friends)
DRABBLE PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. / @forgivenessbound.( HALF: OUR MUSES SHARE SOMETHING. [A SNACK, BLANKET, ETC.] )
they sit so closely that one can hardly tell where one of them begins and the other ends. the sky is a vibrant etching of pinks and oranges, the bright edge of the sun beginning to rise over a far-off hill. twin judges, twin flames. silent, masked, ever-watching. the one on the left still clings to womanhood, fills against the curve of femininity beneath her mask. the one on the right is nothing– is neither– and is unimaginably content to be so. they are both nameless, however; and that is what they share. they are nameless, they are unknown, they are hidden beneath veils of carved wood and hoods of old, patchwork leather.
they are silent to everyone but the Father – to everyone but each other.
they have settled a blanket over both of their legs. it’s an old, threadbare thing, patched unevenly, but it does its job to ward off the underlying chill in the air. the one to the left breaks the silence and casts her companion a sidelong glance. ‘ are you hungry? ’ her voice is a soft thing, rarely used, that blends cleanly with the wind in the trees.
the one to the right nods, scooting closer to her. if there is a way to supply the air with wordless curiosity, they have managed it. the judge reaches into one of her hidden pockets and retrieves two foil wrapped bars, handing one off and beginning to unfold hers. the food is homemade; something made of granola, peppered with dried fruits and nuts. they both lift their masks enough to comfortably eat their breakfast without hindrance, and the one on the right gently knocks their knee into hers to get her attention. they tap their chin, thanking her, and cannot help but mirror the warm curl of her answering smile.
me: oh folks are doing gun for hire quotes i should do one for the j-- me, remembering they don’t speak: oh yeah

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[iscariotsdeputy] 'touch' a gentle touch like rubbing their back, hugging them, holding their hand. :DD
NONVERBAL. ACCEPTING. / @iscariotsdeputy. ( TOUCH: A GENTLE TOUCH LIKE RUBBING THEIR BACK, HUGGING THEM, HOLDING THEIR HAND. )
the judge had a name once. they had a life. they had a home. they had a career. they had a family. a flock of their own, borne of circumstance, borne of justice, borne under the heavy weight of a badge shared between them all. ( oh, but they found another one. a new one. a better one. an inevitable one. ) staci isn’t supposed to know them. shy of the Father himself, no one is supposed to know them– that was their choice, that was their one wish. please– let me reborn like the world cleansed of sin and– and— the judge is hidden beneath layers of roughly sewn cloth and leather, a shawl of wolf’s fur tucked around their shoulders, and the mask, always; a flat, placid face with holes slit wide for their eyes. they don’t speak, they don’t sing. they do little more than point the way and lead the paths.
staci is the purest thing since the before, since the after, since–
he sits at the hearth, stoking the sputtering flames within while they hover next to him. the world is silent but for the crackling of damp wood, the echo of far-off birdsong, the chattering cicadas in the leaves outside his small cabin. it’s nearly entrancing, how peaceful it is. they don’t expect staci to interrupt the quiet, even as slow as he is about it. he’s hesitant and his smile is almost shy when he rises to his feet, glancing up to address them. ‘ h-h – hey. ’
they nod when they turn toward him, white mask cast in hues of yellow and orange. it’s a tiny movement, the simplest inclination of their head.
‘ c-c-can — can i – ’ he moves closer, lifting his hands as if to reach for them, and stops in an aborted movement. ‘ c – can you s-sh – show me s-something? ’ their head cants to the side, almost owlish. it’s a movement they make often, but it’s curiosity that spreads and simmers beneath the surface of this particular motion.
he takes it as encouragement, but still – staci gestures at the cuffs of his own shirt, then towards theirs. ‘ y-y – your r-right arm. ’ then, so soft, so hopeful, ‘ p-please? ’
for a moment, there is nothing. they are so still, barely breathing – a statue of flesh and blood. they are as silent as they always are, but this is something somehow quieter than quiet. staci isn’t to know them. no one is to know them. they don’t deserve to be known.
staci has always been an especially perceptive person.
the judge finally moves, peels the thick-fingered glove off of their right hand. a palm is lain bare in the dim light of the cabin. then they begin to unroll the sleeve. the skin that comes to view has not been kissed by the sun in many years, crisscrossed with a myriad of pale, silvery scars. against their wrist is faded linework that was clumsy, shitty, even when it was new. a lopsided smiley face shines up at both of them, a testament from a time before. ( before the crash, before the arrest, just before the badge, before, before, before – ) he takes hold of their arm and passes his thumb over the ugly thing, almost reverent in his touch.
when he meets their eyes again, they lift their still-gloved hand, pressing a finger against the space where their mouth hides, a softened expression beneath the mask. staci’s smile seems to bloom, warmed by a memory much purer than fire. it makes them wonder, begs a question that they don’t know how to answer. ( was it always so easy to be known? )
he nods, squeezing their hand. ‘ jus – j-just our li – l-l-litt-little secret. ’
GIVE ME ALL THE JUDGES GIMME ALL THE DUPLICATES