"I did not expect to encounter people within these woods," says the Beta as he sits upright in the patch of flowers. The werewolf was unclothed, which was horridly unsurprising, for it wasn't as if when a werewolf returned from Change they would magically find themselves adorned in garments. His legs are upright and crossed, feet and flora obscuring the view of his nether regions. "I apologize for the inconvenience. I suppose I should say I was that sand-hued wolf you were so diligently observing."
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send me a ♛ and i’ll explain why my character treats yours the way they do.
hhHhHh this one is actually so complicated and i'm going to refer to pre-reset barte lewis because it is?? such a good illustration of the awful things she is doing to herself and other people
important things to note: barte reminds spirit of jake, which should be bad, which should have her breathing shallowly and fighting tears and trying to attack him, but she has trained herself to be comfortable around these sort of people (residue from the capture bond relationship; even without training herself to fit into dynamics with awful dangerous people post-jake, the survival mechanism would be in place) and only has to fight down this dizzying sense of revulsion when she's around him. also because he reminds her of jake is this weird awful attraction because a) her weird awful attraction to jake b) her weirder awfuler attraction to all the bad things she has to do to herself to die right
after barte revealed himself, though, and got all weird about kodak (will explain this Shift later), spirit realized 'shit, heck, i should hate jake, i do, i should hate this awful creepy jerk scaring me into doing what he wants' and she does, she can easily shift from 'attracted to bad things' to 'mocking and still unafraid of them' which is what happened with pre-reset barte.
my life would be so bleak without barte lewis jokes you dont udnerstand he's so funny theyre so funny but more than that youve created a character who is ok to hate as a person not as a character because u realize how scummy he is it's beautiful
PHAMTANSNORGIA IS SO CUTe it gives me the warm and fuzzies i love the versatility of your writing style and all the cool edgy faceless iconsjust keep doing what u do
our eyebrow conversations are important that one picture u sent of eyebrows is Really Important
YOURE SO CUTE AND BEAUTIFUL AND PRETTY AND GORGEOUS like this is vague and awful but if i talked about it more itd be creepy (u have great hair it's perfect you look like a hollywood queen)
u introduced me to sad hippie trash and u know what kroger is which is very refreshing after jimjom not knowing naythn g
i made a list of people who care about you & want to put up with your shit, because they care about you, because they, for some reason, are not sick of what an awful weird little thing you are:
i read a book today, just kidding, i went to a book place thoh, agan, thatt weird guy was there who doesnt make noise the whone who sounds knd of sort of like he did sometimes
i dont want to see weird books hadow shadow man with sharp teeth like his i dont want to keep seeing these things at all. ever i threw up in the toilet and it was black againaand he held my hair back like he shouldhave when he made me stay with him, i turned around and it was weird book sadhow man speaking languages related to satanspeak probably
remember when i wrote and spoke satanspeak? i do but i dont remember the prinesc name
anyway i went to the bookplace, it was boring, we talked about music and he dances like a freak
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◘ ( even if they've TECHNICALLY just met we can preten d they beca me friends or som e thing tbh i rlly love your writing a n d i know u can do something great w this meme. .. .... )
your character has passed away, and my character is having trouble coping, so they keep calling your muse’s old cellphone. Send me ◘ for the last voicemail my character left.
a few things that have already gone wrong (alternatively titled: why spirit thinks it’s okay to hide in the corner of her bedroom next to a box of cellphones, five jars of applesauce, and a lot of weed when she’d rather be robbing gas stations):
he is a shadow man, apparently, which is really cool when you get to talk to him but a fucking travesty when he’s dead.
shadow people can die, so, like, what’s the point?
shadow people don’t have signals on her ghost radio, which is faulty programming, if you ask her.
her only friends are a zombie boy, a shadow man, and a lobotomized blondie who may or may not be in the gays with her—but that’s irrelevant now.
aforementioned shadow man is dead, and they were friends, and she brought him coffee and loose buttons from goodwill flannels all the time because he looked like the dismal sort of fellow who would enjoy a button collection, and now the book store is gone and there’s no more lovecraft to burn and it takes longer than it should to realize that he’s dead.
he’s dead, he’s dead, barry, barrett, mister l, b, shadow man (only the second and last out loud), he’s dead and there’s not even a grave to visit and say some tearful words to.
so she does the next reasonable thing: sits in her room for five hours straight (when, previously, she’d only gone in there to pilfer sheets and think about how fantastic it would be to smash the windows), goes through all of her phones until she finds the one with his phone number in it, then goes through them three more times to distract herself with phone cases, cracks, and whether or not her calls will be tracked.
satisfied with her selection (thoroughly cracked, minimalist case), she dials barrett’s number and prays for the impossible.
it rings. it rings. it rings some more. his voice mail is still there, since he hasn’t been gone long enough for the line to be disconnected, and some disembodied woman asks her to leave a message.
"sure, why not."
the woman doesn’t say anything back. spirit, in her rare moment of emotional frailty, tries not to take it personally.
after the beep, it takes her six more seconds to figure out what to say without crying in front of nonexistent-digital-ghost-barrett.
"okay, so, like, i saw this poster for a concert and you totally would have hated it and so would i, but we should have gone. i bet there were going to be banjos. you like banjos, right?" she pauses to breathe, still not used to talking this long even though it’s how most of their phone conversations start. this time, he doesn’t even answer back.
"—or we could have gone camping. i know how to kill squirrels, birds, knock their heads together and shit. the fire might have been a problem, though, and you could have gotten lost in all of the tree shadows and i might have forgotten you."
she feels bad immediately after saying it. all of these feelings—sorrow, guilt, attatchment—make her queasy. she searches in her blanket nest, hastily assembled in the corner, for the bag of marijuana.
"joke. it was a joke. i’d use, like, a dog whistle to find you before you got kidnapped by forest colonies. the mountains might have been nice. i bet shadow people like the mountains. all rustic and sorrowful and shit.
—come on. come back we can go to the mountains. i’ll get you more buttons, or no more buttons, if that was the problem. this—this dead shit is a lot meaner than you just changing your number. you shit.”
the message stopped recording somewhere before ‘come back’.
