#modestmuses

@modestmuses said: Lydia: i don't want to go alone. (woe oc with no bio be upon ye) PROMPTS FOR SCAREDY-CATS

Ava shoots Lydia a small smile, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as she tells her, "You're not goin' alone." She had been mulling over whether or not she wanted to suggest that she go in first, ensure that everything was clear. It would satisfy some of her curiosity and ensure that Lydia had nothing to worry about. "Do y'want me to go in first and come back for you? If, uh, if not, I can always take the lead."

Had anyone else said that, they probably wouldn't have batted an eye, but given the man before her was older than she was, it just couldn't be ignored. They stare at him, mouth slightly agape, trying to parse out just what the fuck he was talking about. That was a phrase she would have expected to be said by one of the little shitheads that wander the streets, trying to get themselves into gangs, not... Someone a little more distinguished.

@modestmuses asked: tracing the veins on their wrist with your finger (mamie, sentient zombie oc, for heidi winther) ; ›     SOFT   ROMANCE      →      receiver    to    sender.

    It was such an oddity to see how the human body changed. She had heard of zombies and some infections being able to retain consciousness (from old friends that were deep in the scientific field). Yet, it was so odd. How the skin pigment changed, and how it lost the warmth. It was ... interesting. She hadn't realized in her thoughts that she was tracing the veins that were exposed on her wrist, seeing how different they were.

    Suddenly, she perked up. Oh shit. She was doing this to a stranger.

The course has changed, he thinks, resting patiently and attentively on his knees while Horatio finishes setting up the final obstacle. No fidgeting, no touching his collar, no scratching, no distraction- cool eyes locked on handler, waiting command, eager to run. All working breed, all power.

Save a shelter mutt, they just might outpace a purebred.

He's worked hard to learn his master's signals, both hand and verbal. Worked hard to drift into and hold this headspace. Trained hard for it, too. They've been running obstacles together for just over a month, Mox pushing to satisfied exhaustion, gently knocking head against his master's hand when granted praise and affection after doing so. It's not always a cardio session. Sometimes it's a long walk, a nice jog alongside a bike, put through his paces on harness lead and keeping up gamely. A nice nap in his crate while his master takes care of business, maybe even invited on the couch once he's been cleaned up, if he's very good.

He's buzzing to run, to move, to make use of what might very well put Ninja Warrior to shame, sized just right to be difficult but possible for his large frame.

morbid curiosity prompts

❛ i don't want to be like you , you're not even scary enough to be considered a monster , you're just rot ❜ his response dry , the biting response hiding the fact that his heart clenches beneath rib cage as the bitter reality once again washes over him against will ; the role of the chosen one isn't something people willingly choose , it's forced upon you by the gods , by those with more &. in turn it's a rot all on its own , ugly , a decay that was much slower than the process of skin &. muscle . he wasn't so dense to misunderstand mamie , he knew the trade of places was more than just the physical ; it was the roles played by each of them . though he supposes , in this story being written , they're two dead men existing in different realities ; he believes , however , he remains more monster than the corpse before him . the anger , he was a house fire burning away in a night hidden street ; the spark &. light moving to infect the house next to him , only to spread , volatile &. destructive . some days the fire kept him warm , most of the time it left him charred &. broken , begging for relief from the blisters &. agony the flames caused . he wants to say , i don't want to be myself either , but the words are swallowed down like pebbles , lodging in throat in the process , blocking airways &. leaving him gasping for air . though , he's not so much drowning in hatred &. self pity that the others'means of existing seems pleasant , either . ❛ . . . i suppose we both lucked out not having to experience each others existence . ❜

@modestmuses: Goth Boy: "You think you're so cool."

"....Duh?" Like, what? Was this even up for debate? "Of course I'm cool. I'm the coolest bitch on the planet."

Taking the blunt out of her mouth, Taylor used it to point at the other. "That's the secret to running this place. You gotta be cool. You gotta believe your shit stinks like flowers and everyone wants to be you, or wants to fuck you. Because you know what? It fucking works. Yeah, I'm hot, I've got great tits and beauty bias is a thing, but you also gotta work it to your advantage. So yes, I am fucking cool, and you can be to, just own it."