#bitgrls

"siobhan!" he plops down in front of her, a grin spreading across his features. he'll hold out his hands for her to see, wiggling his fingers. "can you---....paint my nails?" it doesn't matter that his nails are already black. it was nice for a change every so often, right? plus, it was a good way to bond with the pink y2k princess. // @bitgrls

@bitgrls asked: 83 82 whoever // spotify wrapped meme

82. free — florence + the machine

"SOMETIMES I wonder if I should be medicated," Michael blurts out— it isn't entirely uncalled for, especially when he's currently being grilled by the person offering him a place for cheap ( too fucking cheap, the last thing he needs to do is piss Jenny off enough to take back that offer ) for whatever might be fueling the insane decision he's making right now. He... doesn't know how she can tell it's an insane decision ( might be something about how he hasn't left in awhile and is all of a sudden ready to rush out with a bag, but she doesn't know about the message he got ), but she won't leave it be enough for him to slip out.

@bitgrls asked: ❛ They're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. ❜ (bitgrls siobhan and remus. somebody will die of fun type mfs) // the walking dead sentence starters

WHATEVER REACTION SHE WANTED to coax from him by pointing out the obvious, Remus doesn't give it. That is, unless she was looking for a particularly unhinged smile. "And that, Siobhan-" He hops down from where he had been standing on a platform near one of the rides, dusting off dark gloves and angling his index finger towards her with his remark. "—is exactly the point." The group tends to be eager to flock towards newcomers, and while Remus will welcome every lost soul that ends up perishing within the park's walls... the living is a different story. Simply wandering into the park is one thing, realizing who they are without being one of them... Remus doesn't care who's friends with who, it's a danger.

@bitgrls asked: "Good of you to join us." (bitgrls. duke >:)) // sleep/unconscious prompts

MICHAEL GROANS, digging the base of his palm into his forehead in a half-baked attempt to drive away the headache that feels as if its drilling into the back of his skull. His eyes stay trained on the ground for a few moments, half-closed, adjusting to the light creeping into the corners of his vision. It's dark down there, in the hole, and though his vision thrives while turned... it makes adjusting to emerging when he's already exhausted a bit of a nightmare.

It isn't uncommon for him to be out of it after his monthly transformations. It used to be worse: the physical effects combined with the mental toll ( so many times he would sit, dazed and guilt-ridden, water dripping down his hands and face as his father gently cleaned the blood ). There's less emotional strife now, at least, but the exhaustion is the same.

&. 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

✦ — "I'm not —— !"

Argument dies on her lips because — okay, yeah, that's exactly what she's doing. But in her defense, she wasn't even doing anything weird! Her skin is pale, but not so much that she appears dead, her veins are muted beneath it, no detritus ebbing from her fingertips. Perfectly passable as a human being, a normal teenage girl ( god, how badly she wishes that could be true ), and despite it all she's still being backed into a corner. So all Rose can do is try to avoid the subject at hand.

he noticeably jumps whenever violetta raises her voice at him. wide, blue eyes focus on her face, searching it for anything. anything to signal that she was joking. a crack of a smile. anything! though, all he saw was anger, frustration---....the look he had been so used to seeing as of recently. he'll take a step back, looking taken a back, borderline offended. though, he knows that she's right. he's too scared to look at the other face's around him as chester stomps off. he keeps fucking up. god, he keeps fucking up.

"𝙾𝙷, 𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚉𝙰 --" he immediately moved low with concern to grasp her face in his hands. stroking away the hair from cheeks. "-- of course not." he coos, accented voice soft as he attempts to quell her. his own brunette hair in his face softens his features even more-so.

gathering her close, he attentively looking over her features. the slightest curve to his lips meant in reassurance joining concerned furrowing. "none of this is your fault, my darling."

there were days where he'd prickly to her brothers while remaining patient &. doting to his daughter. long digits brushing through her hair. "daddy loves you, lizzy." he breathes. it's been a few days from the initial shock of her accident. his eyes are heavier from worried fatigue, but not red from tears . . . not anymore. quietly shed where no one could see.

purple trousers bunch along with gaudy orange, complexion pallid &. face lined with stubble. "daddy's here, now. . ." he tells her, his fingers wrapped 'round the back of her skull. gaining a bit of firmness. "i'm - very sorry." he exhales it. shaking his head after softly quaking lips press to forehead. but he realizes his fingers are shaking (from alcohol withdrawal, or guilt?) as they dance down the side of her face. his own slowly retracting for further glances, with a slight tilt.