Apparently I BELONG Here.

the   tip   of   her   combat   knife   aligns   perfectly   with   his   temple   as   she   aims   it   SKILLFULLY  from   her   position   ,   prepared   to   hit   the   mark   with   a   good   ,   vigorous   throw   should   he   suddenly  lunge   forwards.   not   that   it   would   be   sufficient   enough   to   deal   any   lasting   damage   anyway   ,    since   eveline   had   already   gotten   to   him   first.   ❛   sorry   to   burst   your   bubble   ,   but   i’m   walking   out  of   here   —   &&   if   you   won’t   move   ,   then   i’ll   make   you.   ❜   her   tone   indicates   the    SINCERITY   behind   her   statement   ,   notion   of   potentially   harming   him   not   exactly   perturbing  her   in   the   slightest.   he   was   sick   in   the   head   —   &&   not   because   of   the   mold   that’s   such   a  prominent   element   of   the   baker   residence.   ❪   have   to   get   out   ,   away   from   here   —   let   the   world  know   the   truth.   ❫   ❛   don’t   make   this   harder   than   it   already   is   ,   because   i’ve   already   made   my  choice.   ❜

     “Ooooh, scary.”

     A sudden lurch accented his words, teasing, mocking, though he really made      no move from his position as he leaned back again, grin on his face.

     The raised and pointed knife was certainly a threat, if only to his patience and      the fact that it'll slow him down if she runs. Still, Lucas makes no move to step      away from the door—in fact, he leans against the door frame, arm out to the      other side. Completely blocking, not that he had much of a mass to cover it      with anyway. Bloodshot eyes glanced down towards the knife again—it's      pretty cool, actually. Maybe once she's done running around, he could find      some use for it.

     “Y'see, now, I can get outta yer way all you want, but you're not gettin' outta      here. That's no threat, either. If I don't get ya, my mama will, or my ol' man.      They're lookin' for ya. So, if you 'made yer choice', do somethin'.”

rp sentence starters - 5 w’s || WHO – no longer accepting!

@churlishlunacy

     “I do!”

     Lower your voice.

     Zoe took in a quick breath, allowingher shoulders to relax somewhat,      pulling herself back behind thewalls she put up once she realized      that she really was alonein this. Who cares? That really was the     question. Who cared about her anymore? Who cared that she was     starving off in her trailer? That she wanted to saveherself?

     Not him, obviously.Really, she’d come to not expect much from him      to begin with, butaltercations like this always left her feeling…something.      Hurt,angry—why her family? Her mom anddad? Her house? It didn’t      matter now, it was far toolate for those questions.

     “Just because you don’t careabout bein’ cured doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.      If youreally don’t give a shit, why are you botherin’ meabout it? What’s      it matter to you?”

Send me a number, and I’ll write a drabble – slow, still accepting!

@insanivit - Silence and laughter

It was never truly silent unless you locked yourself inside with all the windows shut. 

Zoe could never stand it when she was younger, how quiet the house got when night settled, laying in her shared room, just waiting for something. Could hear a pin drop. Sometimes she could hear her father wandering around if he’d been drinking, her mother having long since gone to bed once his words started to slur. She could remember fighting with her brother in hushed stage whispers about the window being open at night, however. It was too noisy open, you closed it and it was too quiet, yet it was Marguerite who solved the issue with an old rickety fan. Lucas seemed to shut up after he stopped waking up in the middle of the night due to overheating. It hummed nicely and kept things comfortable, it was a win-win. 

Now, the constant noise seemed to be a problem again—her uncle’s cabin seemed to let in the slightest noise, the lack of walls letting her hear every snore and mumble from the man once sleep settled in. Many a night she wished she had the gall to hurl a pillow or something at him, and the thought brought her right back to before Eveline, laying in a completely silent and way too stuffy room, her brother sleeping soundly while she lay awake listening for something outside the realm of the house setting. Wanted to throw something at him in envy over his peaceful sleep instead of waiting up for noises and paying for it come daylight.

Chatter, nails against doors, the lumbering footfalls of the monster she had been sure watched from the basement. 

The thought caused a wheeze to escape her in the present, her tired and stoic face twisting up into an odd grin—a step from genuine laughter, a step from genuine crying. 

Oh, how she’d wished that the monsters that plagued her memories now were the ones she made up as a kid, she had long since killed those ones as she aged. They were…they were all dead now, regardless. For a few moments, she was brought back to the comment her uncle had brought up when she had called her family monsters—that’s what they were, that’s the viewpoint that kept her from crumbling at the violence, the insects, the names and laughter. They had loved her deep down. Especially her dad. That’s what Joe had said. The comment sat heavy in her gut, a part of her hoping that was the case, while a part of her had a hard time accepting that at the same time. She knew that they had tried to fight it, her mama especially in the beginning, but all of them were too far gone in the end. The grin fell slightly, a small sigh escaping her as the sounds of the swamp and her uncle’s light snoring coming back to her as the memories became muted in her head. She still had a long way to find laughter without grief, the horror was over but in a way it still felt like it wasn’t, but maybe one day the feeling wouldn’t be as consuming. 

     “Don't know why you keep comin' over when the ol' man looks like      he wants to punch somethin' whenever you show yer face.”

     Direct, but Lucas didn't care all that much to beat around the bush.      Really, might have been a little interested in the details, and he certainly      wasn't going to his dad while he was like this—was probably worse      than when he was drunk. It was still odd, considering his parents were      very 'family above all' but his dad seemed to back off that bullshit when      his uncle showed up. Yet, here his uncle was.

     “Now, are they ever makin' a fuss about you.”

     Now that he finally found her, Lucas couldn't help but mock. It      was true—his mama, especially! Ohhh, boy, was she ever. He      didn't see much of the reason, she seemed a bit like a bitch,      stuck up, but what say did he have? His parents weren't all that      interested in handing her over to him just yet, would probably      try to eat her as a last resort before that. Still, he managed to      remain somewhat casual, despite blocking her way out, hood up      as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his sweater, bending      forward slightly at the hip as he spoke, red-rimmed eyes gleaming      in amusement.

     “How'd you get in here?”

     “Redfield?” she asked, still somewhat woozy as she sat up on the      makeshift examination table, but her emotions were...mixed.

     There was relief—this was finally over, but...really, at what cost? Her      family, outside her uncle, were gone. Yet, even with that weighing on      her, she managed to sound somewhat interested, a little more lively.      She certainly felt it, like something had finally been ripped out that had      been weighing her down for so long.