#ššš„šš§ššš¦šš”š. HERETICS INCORPORATED, BY JACKKNIFE. FEATURING CHARACTERS FROM VARIOUS MEDIA FORMS AND ORIGINAL MUSES. CARRD. PROMPTS.

oozey mess
YOU ARE THE REASON

blake kathryn

tannertan36
we're not kids anymore.

@theartofmadeline
Today's Document
Jules of Nature
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
RMH

pixel skylines
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Origami Around
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day

Kaledo Art

titsay
KIROKAZE

let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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@hereticsinc
#ššš„šš§ššš¦šš”š. HERETICS INCORPORATED, BY JACKKNIFE. FEATURING CHARACTERS FROM VARIOUS MEDIA FORMS AND ORIGINAL MUSES. CARRD. PROMPTS.

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ā ššš”šš šŖšš§š š š, įµį““ᓱ ᓳ̲ᓬ̲ᓸ̲ᓸ̲ᓼ̲įµĢ² Ā š³š°š½š²š“Ā ( ⦠) A VAMPIRES ONLY MULTIMUSE, BY JACKKNIFE. ESTABLISHED MAY 2026.
JACKKNIFE'S BLOG ROLL. AN UPDATED LIST OF MY CURRENT ACTIVE BLOGS, AS OF MAY 2026.
HERETICSINC, MULTIMUSE. An assorted cabinet of characters from various media forms and original characters.
LESVAMPIRS, MULTIMUSE. A vampires only affair, focused heavily on drawing from traditional folklore and mythology.
LECHRONIQUES, LESTAT DE LIONCOURT. Mixed influence, though predominantly show based with some stuff cherry picked from the novels.
ARMEDMETAL, BUCKY BARNES. Exclusively comic and headcanon based interpretation.
All blogs are currently placed on a tentative status of low to medium activity until the middle of June, as I am about a month away from graduating college and ( understandably ) super fucking busy, stressed, etc.
Alright, you guys voted for it, so it's here. @lesvampirs, a vampires only multimuse based around folklore from different cultures and countries ( and a few canon vampires as well! )
Vespera has been moved there as well.
š¤: š¶š§š š³ š£š®š¤š² šøš®š“š± š«š®šµš¤ š³š š²š³š¤ š«šØšŖš¤ ? |Ā |Ā | [ š©šš¦š£šš„š ššššØš„š¢š©š ] THE ANSWER IS FIGS ( ... )
Sweet,Ā sticky,Ā theyĀ haveĀ anĀ earthy,Ā honey-likeĀ flavor.Ā FigsĀ wereĀ Cleopatra'sĀ favoriteĀ fruit.Ā SheĀ orderedĀ thatĀ theĀ snakeĀ sheĀ intendedĀ toĀ endĀ herĀ lifeĀ withĀ beĀ broughtĀ toĀ herĀ hiddenĀ inĀ aĀ basketĀ ofĀ figs.Ā AnĀ ancientĀ fruitĀ thatĀ hasĀ alwaysĀ fascinatedĀ painters,Ā poetsĀ andĀ storytellers.Ā YoursĀ tooĀ isĀ aĀ loveĀ thatĀ shouldĀ belongĀ toĀ booksĀ andĀ paintings.Ā YourĀ loveĀ isĀ steady,Ā theĀ peopleĀ youĀ loveĀ knowĀ howĀ deepĀ yourĀ feelingsĀ areĀ becauseĀ youĀ alwaysĀ rememberĀ themĀ Ā Ā āĀ Ā Ā Ā howĀ muchĀ youĀ loveĀ andĀ desireĀ them,Ā andĀ thatĀ youĀ willĀ alwaysĀ beĀ there.Ā MaybeĀ notĀ withĀ words,Ā expressingĀ yourĀ feelingsĀ mightĀ notĀ beĀ easyĀ forĀ you.Ā It'sĀ yourĀ actionsĀ andĀ attentionsĀ thatĀ letĀ themĀ know,Ā becauseĀ theyĀ feelĀ seenĀ andĀ heard.Ā FigsĀ areĀ lucious,Ā sensualĀ fruits.Ā You'reĀ aĀ passionateĀ lover,Ā youĀ craveĀ warmthĀ andĀ touch.Ā Ā
YouĀ doĀ notĀ fallĀ inĀ loveĀ easily,Ā maybeĀ youĀ usedĀ toĀ whenĀ youĀ wereĀ youngerĀ butĀ youĀ haveĀ nowĀ learnedĀ better.Ā BecauseĀ youĀ learnedĀ thatĀ whenĀ youĀ loveĀ youĀ giveĀ itĀ all,Ā youĀ sacrificeĀ aĀ lotĀ andĀ youĀ cannotĀ doĀ thatĀ carelessly.Ā LikeĀ theĀ femaleĀ figĀ waspĀ that,Ā whenĀ enteringĀ anĀ unripeĀ figĀ toĀ pollinateĀ itsĀ flowers,Ā losesĀ herĀ antennaeĀ andĀ wings.Ā You'reĀ aĀ quietĀ devotedĀ lover.Ā YoursĀ isĀ anĀ unwaveringĀ deeplyĀ rootedĀ love.Ā YourĀ loveĀ isĀ intense,Ā almostĀ overwhelmingĀ likeĀ figsĀ are,Ā swollenĀ withĀ hundredsĀ ofĀ seeds.Ā There'sĀ somethingĀ quiteĀ disturbingĀ whenĀ lookingĀ atĀ itsĀ flesh.Ā ButĀ that'sĀ whatĀ givesĀ itĀ thatĀ crunchy,Ā poppingĀ feeling,Ā theĀ sameĀ ofĀ aĀ loveĀ thatĀ doesĀ notĀ knowĀ boredom.Ā ButĀ beware.Ā YouĀ mightĀ beĀ aĀ lotĀ toĀ handle,Ā andĀ sometimesĀ itĀ mightĀ beĀ hardĀ forĀ youĀ toĀ rememberĀ thatĀ notĀ everyoneĀ lovesĀ asĀ fiercelyĀ asĀ youĀ do.Ā LetĀ yourĀ intensityĀ beĀ aĀ gift,Ā notĀ aĀ burden.
Thank you for tagging me, @heavnhill, I adore you. For anyone who wants to steal this, feel free and say I tagged you so I can read all your answers! For now, I'm going to tag ... @lamourstre @rozqnov @stvampyr ( for Nicolas or Dale ) @sacriphic and @okoden!

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one of the last things julian remembers is looking out at the harbor, vision blurred and heartbeat so slow that he could swear it stopped altogether at some points before starting back up again. and now ... this. whatever this is. from julian's current perspective, it's looking a lot like the motel he'd walked past before his solo excursion through town, a desperate search to score something worth ruining his six month sobriety streak over. entering the building had come with some difficulties, the door feeling about fifty pounds heavier than it should have.
the voice startles him. julian takes two steps back before warily approaching the front desk, looking down at his own hands. they look opaque, but the musician has a strange and sinking feeling that if he wanted to, he could will himself away like a curl of smoke. he blinks the thought away, and his inner monologue begins to sound like he's underwater. what the fuck is happening? he's never felt this sensation, no matter what he's ever taken. head tilting slightly, julian addresses the stranger for the first time since his arrivalā ā where am i ? ā
HeĀ canātĀ recallĀ theĀ lastĀ timeĀ heĀ gotĀ aĀ fullĀ nightĀ ofĀ rest.Ā TheĀ distortionsĀ inĀ hisĀ visionĀ werenātĀ exactlyĀ new,Ā andĀ neitherĀ wasĀ theĀ weightedĀ leadĀ inĀ hisĀ bonesĀ orĀ theĀ poundingĀ headaches,Ā butĀ theĀ symptomsĀ ofĀ hisĀ insomniaĀ wereĀ nonethelessĀ ā¦Ā disfiguring.Ā ItĀ hadĀ neverĀ beenĀ quiteĀ thisĀ badĀ before,Ā RiverĀ notesĀ toĀ himself,Ā watchingĀ asĀ theĀ personĀ beforeĀ himĀ flickersĀ inĀ andĀ out, going softĀ aroundĀ theĀ edges.Ā Ā
ItĀ wasnātĀ unlikeĀ theĀ spectersĀ thatĀ hadĀ floatedĀ throughĀ theseĀ hallsĀ forĀ theĀ lastĀ severalĀ decades,Ā scrapingĀ awayĀ atĀ theĀ innardsĀ ofĀ hisĀ headĀ withĀ littleĀ regardĀ forĀ theĀ stateĀ ofĀ hisĀ sanity.Ā ButĀ thisĀ wasĀ aĀ newĀ face.Ā SomeoneĀ whoĀ hadĀ walkedĀ throughĀ thoseĀ doorsĀ ofĀ theirĀ ownĀ freeĀ will.Ā HisĀ mindĀ playingĀ tricksĀ onĀ him,Ā andĀ theĀ guestāsĀ apparentĀ confusionĀ aside,Ā itĀ wasĀ exciting.Ā Ā Ā Ā
āUhmĀ ā Ā the ⦠ WestoverĀ Motel.Ā Maine.Ā WeāreĀ aĀ small,Ā locallyĀ runĀ StephenĀ KingĀ themedĀ bedĀ andĀ breakfast.Ā PrettyĀ muchĀ allĀ ofĀ ourĀ roomsĀ areĀ horrorĀ movieĀ themed,Ā butĀ ifĀ thatāsĀ notĀ reallyĀ yourĀ vibe,Ā weĀ haveĀ oneĀ regularĀ oneĀ thatĀ IĀ havenātĀ gottenĀ aroundĀ toĀ redesigningĀ yet.Ā ItāsĀ totallyĀ functional,Ā though! Really nice.āĀ Ā
ThereāsĀ aĀ pauseĀ inĀ theĀ ramblings,Ā asĀ heĀ realizesĀ thatĀ maybeĀ itĀ hadĀ beenĀ aĀ bitĀ tooĀ longĀ sinceĀ theĀ lastĀ timeĀ heādĀ indulgedĀ inĀ thoseĀ goodĀ oldĀ fashionedĀ customerĀ serviceĀ skills.Ā NotĀ exactlyĀ theĀ greatestĀ salesĀ pitchĀ heādĀ everĀ given,Ā either,Ā asĀ heĀ hardĀ pivotsĀ intoĀ smallĀ talk.Ā
㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤āWhat,Ā uh ⦠ whatĀ bringsĀ youĀ intoĀ town?ā
ā i felt like if i didn't leave, that rage would kill me. ā ā° @hereticsinc
rage.
he never thought of it that way. he felt it hot in his chest when he looked at the pulpit ā empty or not, it felt like a branding iron between his lungs, somewhere deep in his sternum that only God could possibly find. he just never found the right word. and when joelle says it, it clicks in his brain. peter realizes then, that if the rage didnāt kill him, it would have made him kill someone else. on bad days he wishes the latter ā on his worst days, he deeply wishes the former. but, in front of him, he notices joelle is ⦠here. the rage didnāt kill her. theyāre both here. theyāre both lucky. he appreciates this, and he takes note of it.
his hands are nestled into the sleeves of his flannel ā one leg bounces, quick, nervous, steady. he looks down. he doesnāt look at joelle. he keeps his eyes on the floor, on the scuffed edges of his shoes, on the frays of his ripped jeans, anywhere but joelle. quiet, like itās dangerous : ā how did you end up leaving? ā
and a quieter follow up : ā why tierney? ā
Jƶelleās eyes are cast off into the distance. Watching, quietly, as her four year old daughter tumbles through the tall grass and leeches every ounce of warmth from the sun. Just a few yards away, never fully out of reach. Sheās too young to understand the things that have happened to her just yet. To her mother, her aunts, her uncles. She still gets to cling to innocence like a warm blanket.Ā
āI just ⦠ran,ā Jƶelle says, her voice hollowed out as the sensation of bare feet sinking into cracked dirt, rock, and roots resurfaced. Her toes curled, twitching in the shoes she wore now. The felt the weight of her child slung across her back, tied tight in a homemade sling as she scaled the walls. The dirt road winded ahead of her, and it seemed to stretch on forever until it didnāt. Until that dreaded town came into view, as unsettling as it was dark. It might as well have been filled with ghosts.Ā
Curtains were drawn, not a single building stirring with any signs of life ā except for one. Lights flickered, a neon sign she couldnāt yet read. Salvation in the form of a bar. Jƶelle remembers bursting through that door, pleads spilling out of her mouth like a running faucet.Ā
āI ran until I hit the town, and I cried to this old man ā Eddie. Told him everything. Him and his wife kept me and my daughter safe until those men showed up and took everyone away.ā
Her siblings, her parents, everything sheād ever known, had cracked and splintered in that moment. Children were taken ... hauled off to hospitals and police stations in towns theyād never heard of, only to be filed away neatly into the system and put up for adoption. With how tainted the Ballard name was now, she wondered if any self-respecting set of prospective guardians would want to touch any of them with a ten foot pole. Her heart ached for every single one of them, but at least their parents were in prison.Ā
The children who, like her, were just barely above the age of eighteen had been thrown to the wolves of the real world and left to figure it out themselves. She had nothing. Not really, anyway. Nothing but her daughter, which was enough.
āI came here, because ⦠Tierney was about as far as I could get before I got exhausted from running. Traveling. Seemed like a nice enough place. What about you?ā
šššš: STARTER CALL. |Ā |Ā | [ @terr1fy ] FEATURING FATHER JOHN DE LEĆN AND BLACK PHILLIP ( ... )
ThereĀ wasĀ somethingĀ painstakingly, achinglyĀ familiarĀ aboutĀ theĀ manĀ beforeĀ him.Ā SomethingĀ thatĀ disruptsĀ hisĀ system,Ā likeĀ anĀ oldĀ woundĀ unraveling in real time. Stitches coming undone.Ā SomethingĀ heĀ hadnātĀ feltĀ sinceĀ heĀ wasĀ aĀ young boy,Ā andĀ hadĀ spentĀ yearsĀ tryingĀ toĀ buryĀ alongsideĀ theĀ rest of the bodies.Ā Ā
TheĀ pierĀ wasĀ nearlyĀ abandonedĀ atĀ thisĀ hourĀ ofĀ theĀ eveningĀ āĀ orĀ earlyĀ morning,Ā whateverĀ itĀ was.Ā JohnĀ stoodĀ idlyĀ byĀ theĀ metalĀ railingĀ asĀ cigaretteĀ smokeĀ curledĀ outĀ fromĀ betweenĀ hisĀ lips,Ā waterĀ rushingĀ belowĀ theirĀ feetĀ withĀ theĀ cityĀ skylineĀ stretchingĀ outĀ beforeĀ them.Ā SomehowĀ endlessĀ andĀ theĀ edgeĀ ofĀ theĀ worldĀ allĀ atĀ once.Ā LightsĀ blinkedĀ inĀ andĀ outĀ ofĀ existenceĀ inĀ theĀ distanceĀ asĀ carsĀ theĀ sizeĀ ofĀ antsĀ rolledĀ acrossĀ theĀ bridge,Ā andĀ saneĀ healthyĀ peopleĀ turnedĀ inĀ forĀ theĀ night.Ā TuckedĀ warmlyĀ intoĀ theirĀ condosĀ andĀ rent - controlledĀ apartments.Ā HisĀ coatĀ doesĀ veryĀ littleĀ toĀ standĀ guardĀ againstĀ theĀ briskĀ winds,Ā causingĀ himĀ toĀ retreatĀ backĀ intoĀ itĀ likeĀ aĀ shell;Ā hisĀ collarĀ isĀ onlyĀ halfĀ hiddenĀ beneathĀ theĀ layersĀ ofĀ fabricĀ thatĀ wrappedĀ himĀ inĀ theirĀ lukewarmĀ embrace.Ā Ā
ItĀ feltĀ likeĀ theĀ familiarĀ strangerĀ wantedĀ toĀ sayĀ somethingĀ ā¦Ā like,Ā anyĀ minuteĀ now,Ā theĀ inevitableĀ conversationĀ mightĀ spark.Ā JohnĀ figuredĀ itĀ betterĀ toĀ breakĀ theĀ iceĀ first.Ā āNiceĀ nightĀ out,Ā isnātĀ it?ā
šššš: STARTER CALL. |Ā |Ā | [ @felinoir ] FEATURING NICK MATISSE AND FELICIA HARDY ( ... )
āYouĀ wantĀ aĀ drink?Ā OnĀ theĀ house.āĀ ItāsĀ aĀ simpleĀ question,Ā exhaledĀ fromĀ exhaustedĀ lipsĀ asĀ heĀ meandersĀ throughĀ theĀ rowsĀ ofĀ emptiedĀ tablesĀ atĀ theĀ endĀ ofĀ theĀ night.Ā TheĀ lastĀ fewĀ guestsĀ stillĀ lingered,Ā arguingĀ overĀ checksĀ andĀ polishingĀ offĀ glassesĀ ofĀ overpricedĀ wine.Ā NickĀ perchesĀ himselfĀ onĀ theĀ edgeĀ ofĀ aĀ barĀ stool,Ā restingĀ hisĀ achingĀ feetĀ toĀ alleviateĀ someĀ ofĀ theĀ painĀ fromĀ anĀ eighteenĀ hour,Ā backĀ breakingĀ day in the back of house.Ā ThereāsĀ aĀ takeoutĀ boxĀ inĀ hisĀ hand,Ā wrappedĀ neatlyĀ inĀ aĀ plasticĀ bagĀ thatĀ heĀ slidesĀ overĀ towardsĀ hisĀ favoriteĀ customer.Ā Ā
TheĀ bartenderĀ startsĀ onĀ fixingĀ himĀ aĀ drink,Ā andĀ itāsĀ theĀ sameĀ routineĀ everyĀ nightĀ asĀ theĀ kitchenĀ staffĀ shufflesĀ outĀ theĀ backĀ doorĀ toĀ spendĀ theĀ nextĀ fewĀ hoursĀ barĀ hoppingĀ throughoutĀ theĀ downtownĀ area.Ā TheyādĀ workĀ allĀ day,Ā playĀ allĀ night,Ā catchĀ aĀ fewĀ hoursĀ ofĀ sleep,Ā thenĀ rinseĀ andĀ repeatĀ withĀ aĀ wholeĀ lotĀ ofĀ cocaineĀ mixedĀ inĀ between.Ā IfĀ heĀ wereĀ twenty,Ā maybe thirtyĀ yearsĀ younger,Ā heādĀ joinĀ themĀ āĀ butĀ nowadays,Ā heĀ savedĀ thoseĀ binge-drinking,Ā chain smokingĀ excursionsĀ forĀ hisĀ travels.Ā ItĀ madeĀ forĀ goodĀ television, apparently.Ā Ā
āSavedĀ youĀ someĀ extraĀ truffleĀ macĀ andĀ cheeseĀ andĀ aĀ plateĀ ofĀ mussels.ā
šššš: STARTER CALL. |Ā |Ā | [ @okoden ] FEATURING RIVER VEILMONT AND JULIAN DEVEREAUX ( ... )
ThereāsĀ seldomĀ anyĀ guestsĀ thisĀ farĀ outsideĀ ofĀ town,Ā butĀ heāsĀ neverĀ reallyĀ ā¦Ā alone.Ā TheĀ WestoverĀ MotelĀ wasĀ aĀ quaintĀ littleĀ spot,Ā nestledĀ inĀ betweenĀ treesĀ inĀ aĀ portsideĀ townĀ inĀ Maine.Ā TheĀ buildingĀ itselfĀ hadĀ seenĀ betterĀ days,Ā butĀ itsĀ ownerĀ hadĀ pouredĀ moreĀ thanĀ hisĀ fairĀ shareĀ ofĀ tenderĀ loveĀ andĀ careĀ intoĀ thisĀ bedĀ andĀ breakfastĀ āĀ buildingĀ upĀ hisĀ ownĀ tomb,Ā brickĀ byĀ brick.Ā Ā
TheĀ sprawlingĀ hexagonalĀ carpetĀ ofĀ theĀ lobbyĀ mimicsĀ thatĀ ofĀ theĀ veryĀ oneĀ featuredĀ inĀ TheĀ Shining;Ā theĀ toweringĀ darkĀ oakĀ shelvesĀ thatĀ lineĀ theĀ roomĀ areĀ stuffedĀ withĀ variousĀ copiesĀ ofĀ StephenĀ KingāsĀ works,Ā inĀ everyĀ iteration,Ā translation,Ā edition,Ā orĀ variantĀ coverĀ thatĀ RiverĀ couldĀ find.Ā HeĀ standsĀ perchedĀ behindĀ theĀ check-in,Ā gazingĀ aheadĀ withĀ tiredĀ eyes,Ā stacksĀ ofĀ invoicesĀ andĀ miscellaneousĀ filesĀ clutteringĀ theĀ desktop.Ā TheĀ exhaustionĀ isĀ evidentĀ inĀ theĀ sagĀ ofĀ hisĀ shouldersĀ andĀ theĀ bagsĀ underneathĀ hisĀ eyes Ā ā¦Ā butĀ heĀ couldnātĀ beĀ happierĀ toĀ seeĀ aĀ newĀ face.
āHey there!Ā Welcome inĀ toĀ theĀ WestoverĀ Motel,Ā howĀ canĀ IĀ helpĀ you today?ā

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šššš: STARTER CALL. |Ā |Ā | [ @ensnchekov ] FEATURING FURIOSA AND PAVEL CHEKOV ( ... )
āDropĀ it!āĀ FuriosaĀ spitsĀ theĀ wordsĀ outĀ withĀ forceĀ throughĀ grittedĀ teeth,Ā fierceĀ intimidationĀ burningĀ behindĀ herĀ eyesĀ withĀ theĀ sameĀ levelĀ ofĀ intensityĀ asĀ theĀ sunĀ thatĀ beatsĀ downĀ onĀ theirĀ backsĀ likeĀ aĀ drum.Ā The sawed off end of herĀ shotgunĀ isĀ drawnĀ andĀ aimedĀ atĀ theĀ strangerĀ ahead,Ā andĀ heāsĀ armedĀ withĀ ā¦Ā something.Ā WhateverĀ itĀ was,Ā itĀ wasĀ unlikeĀ anythingĀ sheādĀ everĀ seenĀ before,Ā andĀ sheĀ didnātĀ trustĀ it.Ā Ā
HisĀ clothesĀ wereĀ clean Ā ā¦Ā neatlyĀ stitched,Ā likeĀ theyĀ wereĀ new.Ā NotĀ aĀ speckĀ ofĀ dirt,Ā oil,Ā orĀ grimeĀ marringĀ hisĀ features.Ā IfĀ sheĀ hadnātĀ alreadyĀ piecedĀ togetherĀ thatĀ heĀ wasnātĀ fromĀ hereĀ basedĀ onĀ theĀ factĀ thatĀ heādĀ materializedĀ beforeĀ herĀ outĀ ofĀ thinĀ air,Ā thatĀ mightāveĀ beenĀ theĀ deadĀ giveaway.Ā SheĀ jerksĀ theĀ barrelĀ ofĀ theĀ gunĀ towardsĀ theĀ metalĀ glintingĀ inĀ hisĀ hand.Ā Ā
㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤āIĀ saidĀ āĀ dropĀ it.ā
šššš: STARTER CALL. |Ā |Ā | [ @macabrehunter ] FEATURING THALIA GRACE AND FRANK CASTLE ( ... )
āYou know, if weād headed west six fucking miles ago like I said, weād be there by now,ā Thalia huffs, the leather sleeves of her jacket creasing as she folds her arms across her chest in protest. The air of annoyance was clear as the ache threatened to creep into her bones. She was exhausted beyond recognition, and the only thing keeping her going at this point was spite and a clear cut deadline. Being on the run wasnāt exactly anything new ā sheād been doing it since she was ten. But even demigods needed a rest every now and then ⦠not that sheād ever admit that.Ā
āShouldāve just split off when I had the chance.ā
|Ā |Ā | [ š¦š§šš„š§šš„ šššš ] For a starter from a randomized character off of my muse list, comment a number between one and twenty-six below! Length may vary, tentative cap at ten.
ā don't you have to be stupid somewhere else? ā / Frank Castle + Violet.
Violet + Frank // @hereticsinc
Frank turns slow, eyes narrowed-- but he never holsters his gun. Finger still curled, cradling the trigger. Mouth set in that half-curl... part smile, part snarl. Like he's contemplating how hard to bite. He gives what he can only assume is another fucking vigilante a once over.
"Huh," Frank grunts. "That supposed to hurt? You tryin' to hurt my fucking feelings?" Gravel grinds beneath his boots as he steps closer, slow and calculated.
"You don't know a goddamn thing about stupid," he spits. "Stupid is thinkin' you run your mouth at a stranger with a gun and nothin' happens." And yet he never raises the firearm. Every motion is low, cautious.
"I been stupid in places where people don't get fuckin' warnings. Places where they scrape what's left of your sorry ass off the floor and call it a lesson. Hm? You wanna play stupid games? Or you wanna mind your fuckin' business?"
It seems she triggered a nerve with that one. The face of her helmet lacks emotion, mimicking the unbothered expression she wears beneath it. Sheās still as a statue as the man before her lashes out and brandishes verbal threats like theyāre its own kind of weapon, all with his finger on the trigger. She is unflinching, uncaring, and definitely not impressed.Ā
āYou always angrily monologue about your tragic backstory to people who donāt give a shit?ā Her tone is flat, bored-sounding as it filters through voice changer embedded in the armor.Ā
ā ā Quit fucking up my plans and Iāll mind my business just fine, asshole.āĀ
Sheād had a plan, nice and neat. Get to Hemsley and make him pay. Burn the whole thing down and be done with it. He was supposed to be here. Alone, like an idiot. Now there was some grumbling brute with a gun standing in her way, solid as a brick wall, and she had zero problems with letting him get caught in the crossfire if he didn't get the hell out of her way.
if anything goes wrong, you go find ghost. instructions tally has heard over and over for as long as she can remember: if her father doesn't return, simon will know what to do. it's for that reason she's standing on the doorstep of an apartment she's never seen but has long since memorized the route to, tears brimming in her eyes, arms wrapped tight around herself to stave off the bite of winter air.
" something happened to my dad. " the words tumble out of her as soon as the door opens. wide doe eyes look up at @hereticsinc and it's all she can do not to burst into sobs right then. " he was supposed to pick me up from school, but he didn't and he's not answering his phone. he told me if anything ever happened to him i should come here, so i walked here. i didn't know what else to do. "
HeĀ hadĀ neverĀ beenĀ greatĀ withĀ kids.Ā Hell,Ā heādĀ neverĀ beenĀ allĀ thatĀ greatĀ withĀ people,Ā either.Ā ThereĀ wereĀ plentyĀ ofĀ otherĀ thingsĀ inĀ hisĀ repertoireĀ thatĀ heĀ excelledĀ at;Ā heĀ couldĀ protectĀ peopleĀ justĀ asĀ easilyĀ asĀ heĀ couldĀ killĀ them,Ā butĀ comfortingĀ aĀ cryingĀ thirteenĀ yearĀ oldĀ girlĀ he hardly knew whoāsĀ standingĀ atĀ hisĀ doorstepĀ beggingĀ forĀ help?Ā ThisĀ wasĀ farĀ beyondĀ whatĀ heĀ feltĀ heĀ wasĀ capableĀ of.Ā ( š³š“š°š»šøš½š¶Ā ššøšš·Ā š°Ā š±ššš¶š»š°šĀ šš¾šš»š³āš š“Ā š±š“š“š½Ā š“š°ššøš“š. )Ā Ā
GhostĀ onlyĀ takesĀ mereĀ momentsĀ toĀ processĀ theĀ wordsĀ comingĀ outĀ ofĀ herĀ mouthĀ beforeĀ hisĀ eyesĀ sinkĀ intoĀ hisĀ surroundings,Ā dartingĀ downĀ theĀ apartmentĀ hallsĀ toĀ ensureĀ thatĀ nobodyĀ hadĀ followedĀ her.Ā HeĀ doesnātĀ sayĀ muchĀ beforeĀ heāsĀ shufflingĀ herĀ insideĀ andĀ shuttingĀ theĀ door,Ā shiftingĀ everyĀ lockĀ intoĀ placeĀ behindĀ them.Ā Ā
āWell,Ā youĀ didĀ theĀ rightĀ thing.āĀ IĀ justĀ wishĀ yourĀ fatherĀ wouldāveĀ letĀ meĀ knowĀ thatĀ IĀ wasĀ yourĀ emergencyĀ contact,Ā forĀ fuckāsĀ sake.Ā HeĀ hadnātĀ exactlyĀ beenĀ expectingĀ company,Ā andĀ theĀ abysmalĀ stateĀ ofĀ hisĀ apartmentĀ andĀ loungewearĀ reflectedĀ that.Ā ItĀ wasĀ aboutĀ asĀ bareĀ bonesĀ asĀ itĀ couldĀ get,Ā andĀ itĀ wasĀ anyĀ wonderĀ thatĀ aĀ personĀ actuallyĀ livedĀ here.Ā ( š½š¾šĀ šš·š°šĀ š·š“Ā šš°šĀ šš“š°š»š»šĀ š“š š“šĀ š·š¾š¼š“Ā šš¾Ā š±š“š¶šøš½Ā ššøšš·. )Ā Ā
āJust,Ā uh ⦠ comeĀ sitĀ onĀ theĀ couch,āĀ GhostĀ speaksĀ withĀ aboutĀ asĀ muchĀ tendernessĀ inĀ hisĀ voiceĀ asĀ heāsĀ capableĀ of,Ā leavingĀ muchĀ toĀ beĀ desiredĀ asĀ hisĀ headĀ shiftsĀ intoĀ actionĀ mode.Ā SoĀ muchĀ forĀ thatĀ timeĀ off.Ā āDidĀ yourĀ fatherĀ sayĀ anythingĀ elseĀ toĀ youĀ beforeĀ heĀ left?ā

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" jesus fucking christ. " it takes a hell of a lot of work to sneak up on someone like john price, but if anyone is capable, it's @hereticsinc. no human being should've been so soundless. but then - that's why they call him the ghost. john scowls at the bulky silhouette he sees in the dim moonlight filtering through the kitchen window. " can i fucking help you, ghost? "
he's abrasive only because he'd been caught unawares, in his own home no less. still, it's better that he'd been the one to find an uninvited guest in the kitchen at this hour rather than his daughter. " lu's asleep, so keep your voice down. how the fuck did you get in here? "
āAinātĀ exactlyĀ FortĀ KnoxĀ inĀ here,Ā now,Ā isĀ it?āĀ GhostĀ keepsĀ hisĀ voiceĀ atĀ aĀ lowĀ grumblingĀ tone,Ā perĀ PriceāsĀ instructions.Ā HeāsĀ farĀ tooĀ largeĀ forĀ theĀ diningĀ roomĀ chair,Ā bulkyĀ limbsĀ spillingĀ overĀ withĀ hisĀ fingersĀ splayedĀ outĀ acrossĀ theĀ topĀ ofĀ theĀ breakfastĀ tableĀ andĀ drummingĀ aĀ rhythmicĀ patternĀ againstĀ theĀ agedĀ woodĀ grain.Ā PerchedĀ inĀ theĀ shadows,Ā andĀ cloakedĀ inĀ aĀ maskĀ andĀ layersĀ ofĀ darkĀ clothing,Ā thereĀ isnātĀ muchĀ ofĀ himĀ thatāsĀ visible.Ā ButĀ evenĀ then,Ā thereāsĀ somethingĀ aboutĀ theĀ toneĀ ofĀ hisĀ voiceĀ thatĀ alludesĀ toĀ shit-eatingĀ grinĀ hiddenĀ beneath.Ā Ā
āWhat,Ā youāreĀ notĀ gonnaĀ offerĀ yourĀ guestĀ aĀ drink?Ā ThatāsĀ justĀ badĀ manners.ā
š”šĀ š¬š”š«š®š š ššĀ šØš§šĀ š¬š”šØš®š„ššš«.Ā aĀ small,Ā dismissiveĀ motion.Ā heĀ thoughtĀ ofĀ hisĀ father.Ā hisĀ mother.Ā theĀ quietĀ studyĀ tuckedĀ deepĀ insideĀ theĀ library,Ā filledĀ withĀ framedĀ degreesĀ āĀ proofsĀ ofĀ brillianceĀ thatĀ nowĀ feltĀ lessĀ likeĀ accomplishmentsĀ andĀ moreĀ likeĀ mileĀ markersĀ onĀ thatĀ quietĀ road.Ā eachĀ oneĀ aĀ reminderĀ ofĀ hisĀ relentlessĀ reachĀ towardĀ theĀ onlyĀ thingĀ thatĀ hadĀ everĀ trulyĀ madeĀ senseĀ inĀ hisĀ world.Ā āĀ rejectionĀ andĀ isolationĀ becameĀ myĀ lifeĀ forĀ aĀ while.Ā maybeĀ youngĀ flynnĀ knewĀ whatĀ wasĀ coming.Ā ā
whenĀ heĀ finallyĀ turnedĀ towardĀ her,Ā tryingĀ toĀ pieceĀ herĀ togetherĀ throughĀ theĀ blur,Ā hisĀ mouthĀ curvedĀ intoĀ aĀ smile.Ā heĀ slidĀ hisĀ glassesĀ offĀ andĀ tuckedĀ themĀ intoĀ theĀ pocketĀ ofĀ hisĀ oversizedĀ shirt.Ā āĀ thereĀ areĀ aĀ lotĀ ofĀ scaryĀ thingsĀ outĀ there.Ā humansĀ areĀ byĀ farĀ theĀ worstĀ ofĀ them.Ā āĀ heĀ shuddered,Ā thenĀ shookĀ hisĀ head,Ā asĀ thoughĀ physicallyĀ castingĀ theĀ thoughtĀ aside.Ā no.Ā tooĀ heavy.Ā tooĀ close.
hisĀ expressionĀ softenedĀ asĀ heĀ lookedĀ backĀ toĀ her,Ā curiosityĀ returningĀ likeĀ aĀ familiarĀ refuge.Ā āĀ butĀ whatĀ aboutĀ you?Ā whatĀ piquedĀ yourĀ interestĀ inĀ gothicĀ lit?Ā ā
HeĀ wasĀ shyingĀ awayĀ fromĀ theĀ topic.Ā SheĀ couldnātĀ blameĀ him,Ā either.Ā AsĀ soonĀ asĀ theĀ questionĀ gotĀ turnedĀ backĀ aroundĀ her,Ā EosĀ feltĀ herselfĀ recoilingĀ atĀ theĀ ideaĀ ofĀ tellingĀ himĀ theĀ truth.Ā HowĀ doesĀ oneĀ casuallyĀ explainĀ thatĀ theirĀ deadĀ siblingāsĀ soulĀ latchedĀ itselfĀ ontoĀ herĀ andĀ herĀ twinĀ brotherĀ andĀ seemsĀ contentĀ toĀ hauntĀ andĀ tormentĀ themĀ forĀ eternity?Ā HowĀ doesĀ sheĀ explainĀ thatĀ sheĀ hasnātĀ sleptĀ throughĀ theĀ nightĀ inĀ ā¦Ā well,Ā ever?Ā Ā
āMe?Ā Oh,Ā wellĀ ā¦Ā IĀ donātĀ know,Ā IĀ wasĀ alwaysĀ aĀ prettyĀ morbidĀ kid,Ā scaredĀ ofĀ aĀ lotĀ āĀ horrorĀ andĀ gothicĀ literatureĀ alwaysĀ seemedĀ likeĀ aĀ safeĀ placeĀ toĀ exploreĀ theĀ thingsĀ thatĀ reallyĀ terrifiedĀ me,Ā gaveĀ meĀ aĀ controlledĀ environmentĀ toĀ doĀ itĀ in.Ā TheĀ HauntingĀ ofĀ HillĀ HouseĀ byĀ ShirleyĀ Jackson?Ā FuckingĀ horrifying.āĀ Ā
ForĀ moreĀ reasonsĀ thanĀ one.Ā GrowingĀ upĀ lonelyĀ inĀ anĀ emptyĀ mansion,Ā nobodyĀ butĀ herĀ brotherĀ andĀ aĀ ghostĀ withĀ anĀ innateĀ abilityĀ toĀ unravelĀ herĀ mindĀ andĀ driveĀ herĀ insane,Ā thatĀ bookĀ hitĀ aĀ littleĀ tooĀ closeĀ toĀ home.Ā NoĀ parentsĀ aroundĀ toĀ takeĀ careĀ ofĀ them,Ā alwaysĀ leftĀ toĀ theirĀ ownĀ devicesĀ withĀ aĀ weird,Ā indescribableĀ secretĀ toĀ keep.Ā PoorĀ littleĀ richĀ girl,Ā sheĀ thinksĀ toĀ herself.Ā Ā
āĀ ā Ā ButĀ ifĀ IāmĀ beingĀ honest,Ā theĀ firstĀ firstĀ thingĀ thatĀ reallyĀ gotĀ meĀ wasĀ Goosebumps.Ā DonātĀ tellĀ myĀ students.āĀ EosĀ laughs, in spite of the fact that she had on numerous occasions used that series as an example of the common themes and tropes found throughout the genre.
āSo,Ā whatĀ kindĀ ofĀ booksĀ haveĀ youĀ gotĀ inĀ thatĀ bagĀ ofĀ yours,Ā becauseĀ itĀ looksĀ likeĀ itĀ weighsĀ aboutĀ aĀ millionĀ pounds.ā