May 23
slaps your bald spot at 300mph
rips off your SINGLE mustache hair, leaving a massive red bald spot on your upper lip. embarrassing.
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slaps your bald spot at 300mph
rips off your SINGLE mustache hair, leaving a massive red bald spot on your upper lip. embarrassing.
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mindy's almost reluctant to hand it to him at first : a wrap of hand-made pryaniki and a deep, jewel-toned vermillion scarf that she'd bought from a market during her time in denmark. both folded and tied in thin, brilliant jade ribbon. "happy yuletide, shitheel."
without question nor hesitation, one hand reaches forward to accept the gifts. thor’s eyes are trained on mindy’s face for the moment; slowly, they fall, observing the carefully wrapped & tied gifts. even slower is the smile that crawls across his face. opposite hand coming to lay gently over the top, a huff of a laugh leaves him.
the beginning had been rocky. the day on which they first became acquainted, thor never would have imagined they would come to this. helping one another, sharing gifts to express gratitude. protecting each other. to give voice to any of that would certainly scare her off. it seems as though mindy fears nothing but vulnerability. intimacy? so he will keep the string of disarmingly affectionate thoughts to himself, and only meet her eyes, holding them as the smile steadily remains.
“i thank you, mindy mccready. you did not need to give me any gifts. but i appreciate that you wanted to, anyway.” fingertips recede from the fabric they sit atop of; he unravels the ribbon, and with that lone hand, wraps the scarf ‘round his neck as best he can without dropping the dessert. “how does it look? i think you’ve chosen a brilliant color. i have been told red brings out my eyes.”
lois...im your child
" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄. go take the trash out, grab a juice box and get the fuck out of here. i'm reading. " she doesn't even look up.
@mndies ════ ゛ short starter call ! ˎˊ˗
❝ thanks, mindy. for coming to service with me. ❞ she can see it in her eyes. the blatant disinterest, the hands stuffed into her pockets. the woman did not want to be here, but had nonetheless agreed.
a hand of jeannie's own, offered alongside her attempt at a warm smile. she was trying her damndest to get better at them. so many people had told her how very awkward she looked .... ❝ it means a lot, to have you with me. ❞
〔 𓆣 : ･ﾟ * º • 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔯 〕 » @mndies !! liked for a starter
❝ Damn girl, how many weapons are on you? ❞ The scarab continuously pinged about her threat assessment; it was getting annoying to a degree. Anyone with so much as a pocket knife tended to draw Khaji's attention. According to the constant warning going off in his head, you'd think she was practically the Terminator. ❝ Uh . . . ❞ Jaime wasn't supposed to know she had a bunch of weapons . . . poop. ❝ Would you believe I was talking to someone else? ❞
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the fiend come to final resting place among the california dunes was an ugly sumbitch even in one piece, the ghoul wagers. his remains are clammy despite the sun in its apex, teeth rotten to the quick, and persistent drug use has eaten the youth out of his cheeks until yellowed skin went pockmarked and crêpe paper thin. if he were a better man, perhaps he’d feel sorry for him. kid can’t be much older than twenty, though you’d never tell past the half - dollar bruises that fold under his eyes, the blond hairline already receding like someone grabbed him by the scruff and yanked the entire scalp back. he might’ve made something of himself, in another life. gone to school, or served his country if he weren’t the bookish sort, married young and helped squeeze a few more hungry mouths into a world with scarce enough resources to keep them all full. but he is not a better man, and this wasteland is like a deer tick in spring, swollen off the blood of those content enough to piss their future into the wind. all that matters to either of them is where the next meal comes from.
@mndies asked : he was dead when i got there.
feminine voice draws his gaze up, narrow and level at the ghoulette ‘neath the brim of his hat. she’s a young thing herself, still early in her radiation poisoning. the whites of her eyes have gone dark, sour like old milk, and blood pools in a sickly orange blush ‘cross her cheekbones, shadow over her lip as though something had tried to seal the flesh to her teeth. at the end of her nose, skin is inflamed and shedding ; sand - scorched at first glance, a long - term symptom of sun exposure. he doesn’t need to feel the itch in her sinuses, that dry, ichorous run where the cartilage stops, to know it won’t be long before the whole thing sloughs off. an unmistakable marking as one of them. quietly, he’s thankful his had been an instant turning. all that good fat and healthy tissue carried out in the initial blast two - hundred years past, rather than the slow peel back from the nerve endings that new creatures of the waste have to endure. little victories. take ‘em where you can.
“ ain’ happen to have any caps on him now, did he? ” the ghoul asks idly, nudging one arm with the toe of his boot, his eyes still fixed on her pallid complexion. “ ‘cos this poor fucker right here . . . well, the n.c.r. had a few questions fo’ his sorry ass. ‘n darlin’ . . . i just hate to disappoint the good men and women keepin’ our lovely state from fallin’ into chaos. ‘specially if it means i lose out for needin’ to haul him in cold – through no fault of anyone in particular, o'course. ”
@mndies // one liner
"Now YOU look like somebody who knows how to have fun."
@mndies liked for a starter.
" hold on — get back here! " the masked man calls out, running after the girl. she’s going to get herself killed just running in like this. it reminds bruce of another time, of a heavy loss that could have been prevented: if only i had been there. he can be there now.