Peter Solarz
art blog(derogatory)
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
tannertan36
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
izzy's playlists!
Love Begins
Show & Tell
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Product Placement
sheepfilms
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosimo Galluzzi
titsay
todays bird
oozey mess
Not today Justin
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
@facepeeled
#FACEPEELED: a writing blog for CRICKET FARROW (an ORIGINAL HORROR CHARACTER.) independent & mutuals only. fandomless with original lore. low activity. by aria. READ ALL PROVIDED INFORMATION BEFORE INTERACTION. rules. | bio. | stats. | verses. | lore.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
CRICKET FARROW / aesthetics - 1/?
plot where our muses are both actors/actresses that land a gig as co-stars. for muse a, it's the opportunity of a lifetime. they're just starting out in their career (maybe this is even their first real role.) muse b, however, is a big time celebrity with a horrific reputation for being erratic, unreliable, and a nightmare to work with.
closed starter for -> @facepeeled
the drug clouded his thoughts, iron permeating the air in a way that felt like fog in the lungs, beneath the burn of his nose. slowly he breathed out, a dark laugh following as he began to fiddle with the frayed edge of his sleeve. " i want to fuckin' kill someone, cricket. " he said, speaking into the silence softly, but enough of a disturbance it startled him. but his lips wouldn't stop. he went on, propping up on an elbow to stare at her intently. " i'm serious. i want to finally just do it. "
SHE'S TAKING HER OWN HIT OFF THE PIPE WHEN HE SAYS IT. inhibitions long gone already? what a lightweight. she takes lighter to glass and breathes in deep. speaks around the burning sensation in the back of her throat. "yeah, there are times i think i could kill someone," she says. and those times are more often than not. if nothing else, she inherited her daddy's rage issues. she fantasizes about it a lot, but up until now she's been content with just fantasies. but hey, if he's SERIOUS... "how would ya do it?" she asks.
“ GET OUT OF this dead-end town for the day, maybe? there's literally nothing to do here & all the guys suck. we could find some extra salty morsels in neighboring towns, i'm sure of it. ”
CRICKET LIKES THE SOUND OF THAT. she's already ran through all the decent lookin' guys in town-- and earned herself quite the reputation in the process. a new town, a fresh start, where she can pretend to be innocent... that sounds like FUN. "for sure," she agrees, a nod of the head. "you gotta car or we gonna hitch it?"
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
CRICKET FARROW / edits - 9/?
@facepeeled liked for a starter: xxxx
❝ Take it from someone who has lived here their ENTIRE life...❞
Taking a sip from his beer before he continued to speak. ❝ You don't wanna go in the woods here, unless you have some sort of death wish❝ . Shifting the way he sat, honey colored eyes meeting hers. ❝ I know that sounds dramatic, but I swear, you've got to trust me on this one.. ❝
"OH YEAH? SOME KINDA BIG, BAD BOOGEYMAN OUT THERE GONNA GET ME?" she teases, a quirk of the brow as she brings her own beer up to plump lips. if she had a nickel for every small town she's passed through with its weird superstitions and urban legends, she'd be a rich woman. not just a drifter. "ya know you sound crazy, don't you?" she says, a mischievous grin on her face. she's just buzzed enough to be intrigued. "but tell me, what's out in those woods?"
@facepeeled ( continued from here)
She had just spent the last 30 minutes cleaning that carpet, and now she would have to do it all over again! If she didn't know any better she would have said that the young woman must be one of those Nordic types- they simply had no respect for fresh linens or clean carpets!
" Of course I know. I have been a laundress for more than 85 years, dear, I can get a stain out of anything!" she might be insecure about lots of things, but she knew that she was the best at getting rid of evidence. " It's best that you stop the bleeding first, or else I'll have to clean it over and over again"
CRICKET WRAPS HER BLEEDING HAND UP IN THE BOTTOM OF HER SHIRT. it'll stop and coagulate soon enough, ain't no need for a fuss or for bandages and first aid kits. she was raised better than that, no doctors and no whining. rub some dirt on it.
she holds the wadded red bundle up for the other woman to see. "all good," she says, flashing a little smile. "should i get outta your way, or you gonna let me in on your secret formula or whatever?"
“you’re slurring.” from chris lee.
"AM NOT," SHE PROTESTS, TAKING ANOTHER PULL OFF HER DRINK. if there's one thing cricket's good at, it's holding her liquor. that's a skill refined from years and years of practice, from putting in her 10,000 hours or whatever the fuck people say. she pokes a finger against chris lee's chest, accusatory and defensive. "YOU'RE the one that's drunk, pretty boy, not me," she says, though her case is weak. "THIS is just how i talk. 's called an ACCENT."
she's not far behind cricket as she begins her run to the basement, scratching the back of her neck once at the bottom of the steps, she eyeballed her own kill, head tilting to the side to take a good look at him. she didn't realize how ugly the kill had got until after the fact, she wasn't really paying attention to detail.
❝ yeah, guess i did. he looks like he got hit by a truck. like roadkill. ❞she giggles, bouncing on the last step of the stairs to get to the bottom, getting a closer glance, kicking him to make sure he was dead dead.
❝ shit, yeah. sorry i just didn't want this scum bag thinking he could disrespect the dead like that. but dad's gonna be pissed if he sees this. so yeah, i'm gonna need another hand. please. ❞
POOR FUCKER LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE ROADKILL. cricket should know-- she's seen and eaten her fair share of the stuff. she shakes her head slightly, a giggle bubbling up in her throat. OF COURSE scout is more worried about her father's reaction than, say, the COPS. fathers are just more terrifying. their punishments severe, cruel, unusual. cricket should know that, too.
"i'll give ya a hand," cricket says. "we oughta cut him into little pieces and bury them 'round town or somethin'. better yet, grind 'em up into dust and use it to fertilize the flowers outside the funeral home."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Send "PINNED" for your muse to pin mine against a wall.
You [ the sender ] can include context as to whether or not it is done out of anger, as a threat, sexual tension, playfulness, etc.. or else let the receiver decide! Send "PINNED + reverse" for your muse to be pinned by mine instead!
@facepeeled. CRICKET FARROW ft. CARRIE WHITE.
❝ i'll be honest with you, i have no idea. ❞
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW THAT HAPPENED?" she asks, disbelief dripping in her voice as she gestures wildly towards the scene of the crime. what was once a shelf, hung straight and secure in the studs of the wall, lined neatly with porcelain angels and jesuses and religious babies with little bible quotes on them, now SHATTERED and SPLINTERED on the floor. "fuck, my daddy's gonna beat my ass for this," cricket says, going over to the mess and trying to find any survivors. "if you knocked it down, you should just say so."
copious amounts of strangers wandered into lockjaw, usually on accident, or just to pass through ; but some find themselves pulled to the small, georgian town. atticus wonders what this woman is doing in his home, standing near the only diner in lockjaw, staring out at the trees and the swamplands beyond that. 's'cuse me, miss,' the man steps up beside her, giving her a charming and friendly smile as golden eyes meet hers. 'can i help ya find anything? ain't much t'see, but m'happy t'help, anyway,' @facepeeled.
SHE'S BEEN BREEZING ALONG THE HIGHWAY FOR WEEKS NOW, LETTING THE WIND CARRY HER DOWN WINDING ROADS LIKE A PIECE OF TRASH. there must've been ten, maybe a dozen, different little one horse towns like this along her route. and she'll pull over to the shoulder in her stolen car, park, and get out to stretch her cramped legs. sometimes there's something to do-- a five and dime to SHOPLIFT from, a diner for cheap ROCKET FUEL coffee, a cute stranger to FUCK in the backseat of her sedan. this particular town, however, only seems to have a diner. she drinks three cups of coffee and puts a handful of quarters on the counter before stepping back out into the hot sun. the breeze off the swamplands nearby rustles her chocolate colored hair and musses her curls. something about that place intrigues her. so much so, that when she's approached by the town's WELCOME COMMITTEE, she has to ask about it. "y'all got boats out there?" she asks, pointing one long fingernail towards the treeline. "gators? hunters? that kinda shit?"
@facepeeled // 🫀
❝ i um, kinda made a mess in the basement... ❞she'd caught someone trying to ransack the morgue in her own home, thank whatever god was out there cricket was there and there were plenty of options for weapons in case such a thing should happen. now she had bigger problems, a mess to clean and a body to dispose of. he must've entered through the morgue's backdoor. the front door was always locked. just another ordinary day for scout.
❝ fucker was gonna ransack the bodies, their belongings. now he's one of them. ❞
A MESS IN THE BASEMENT-- WELL THIS DAY JUST GOT A LITTLE MORE INTRIGUING. umber eyes go wide, not surprise so much as appreciation painted on her face. "you didn't," she says, playful teasing in her voice, cocking one blonde eyebrow. but she knows scout did. she doesn't wait for an invitation, doesn't ask for permission, she practically bolts down those stairs to see the dead body. she stops at the bottom of the landing, taking in the sight: him, splayed out, pupils dilated and tongue lolling out of his blue lips, the multiple stab wounds in his chest from various different instruments. cricket whistles. "DAMN, you really did a number on him." she steps closer, tentatively, even though there's no way he's about to get up and walk this off. "you need some help cleaning this up?" not that she'd usually offer to help CLEAN, but this wasn't the typical dusting and mopping. this might require something akin to DISMEMBERING. it might even be FUN.
“Where did you get that bruise?”
FOLLOWING THEODORA'S GAZE DOWNWARDS, CRICKET TAKES IN THE BRUISE IN QUESTION. it's the size of her palm, at least, deep purple at its center and a greenish-yellow around the edges. a real DOOZY. and right there on her upper thigh, for anyone drinking in those long legs to gawk out. she picked a bad day to wear daisy dukes. "ya know, i dunno... i don't think it was there this morning," she says, the gears in her head working overtime trying to remember. NO, she decides, it definitely wasn't there this morning. so that means she must've run into something HARD. maybe the edge of the metal counter at work. maybe she fell down in the parking lot of the local dive bar, wobbly on her feet following her standard getting-shitfaced-after-a-long-shift. she shrugs. "must need more iron in my diet," she says with a laugh. god knows she doesn't have any in there currently.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"You're getting blood all over the place!" hazel
CRICKET CRADLES HER BLEEDING HAND TO HER CHEST. it's just a flesh wound, one she can barely feel, but yeah, it's a GUSHER. (guess that's what she gets for trying to show off with the knife game-- the webbing between her index and middle fingers split with the blade, almost down to the knuckle.) CRIMSON hits the carpeted floor and doe eyes follow its path. "shit," she says, 'cause she never says SORRY. "well you're good with the bleach and shit right? know any tricks for gettin' blood out?"
high pain tolerance starters
“[Name], you’re bleeding.”
“How long has it been like that?”
“Did you dislocate a finger?”
“You’re slurring.”
“They say you almost died. You left it that late.”
“You’re snapping. Headache again?”
“You’re in a bad mood. Are you in pain?”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Hey, why are you walking like that?”
“That’s a lot of swelling.”
“Where did you get that bruise?”
“Whose blood is that?”
“When you say your pain’s ‘4 out of 10′, that’s a normal person’s ‘8 out of 10′. We’re going to the hospital.”
“How did you not notice?!”
“If it hurts, it hurts.”
“I know you can manage it, you just don’t *have* to.”
“Holy shit, how long have you had this?!”
“[Name]? [Name]! Hey!”
“We’re a team. You need to tell me about this sort of thing.”
“That’s … a lot of blood, is that - oh, fuck.”
“Hey! Hey! Stay awake, okay? Stay awake.”
“It would have been a lot easier to treat if you’d mentioned it sooner.”
“You can’t keep hiding this stuff.”
“I need to be able to trust you to tell me when you’re hurt.”
