PT 1

I'm not scared of god, I'm scared he was gone all along. Who will take the fall? Who of us is stronger? You'll just want it more-- If you could, you'd have fought it. (x)

Friday 4:46pm —Cholla Springs — Ridgewood Farm —

Marshal Johnson and the deputies, with Marston's help had saved the small ranch from a gang of bandits. Most the men had been killed, the women getting beaten and threatened, but a boy had managed to escape and warn the Marshal in time so the girls got a chance to survive— two of the poor victims already had their throat slit for fighting back, the corpse of the last husband who fell was still warm, the bandits were about to start having fun, in their own twisted way, when gunshots and horses could be heard.

Before the large house, a familiar face, rope around her neck, up hanged to a wooden pole to die. He knew her, the blonde woman, she was so young back when she was part of the gang. Marston shot the rope to set her free, the fall wouldn't be enough to hurt her, probably she had resisted and they tried to hang her as an exemple to the others.

INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

My problem is that I am interested in so many things at all times. I am usually most drawn to aus/verses where the limitations are few and far between. I like exploring putting my muse(s) in situations that they would not have experienced in canon.

Admittedly, I will write with just about anyone. However, there are some defining qualities that make me lean in and show favoritism a lot. I like writing more in-depth threads than one-offs so I am always wanting to write with people who want to do that as well. It doesn’t always require plotting, but most of the time it does. I like feeling like I have an understanding of their character as an extension of mine and vice versa. I think enthusiasm and effort is very much needed for me, otherwise it can be a bit stale and a waste of my limited time. When I feel like I am wanted around, that they're interested in whatever we're exploring and that pushing my muse at them isn’t a burden, I thrive best. :) I have pretty severe rejection sensitivity lmao, so to combat that, when I feel interest waning or not there, I just move on so I do not sit in that feeling. Also, minimal drama is a requirement, lmao, but I haven’t experienced anything particularly traumatic in a very long time.

The crystal chandeliers of the summit’s gala cast a golden glow over the mingling elites. Politicians, scientists, and the obscenely wealthy, all here to discuss the planet’s accelerating collapse. Bruce Wayne stood near a floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of untouched whiskey in hand, watching snowflakes dissolve against the glass.

Ra’s is here. The League’s intel had been clear, though the Demon’s Head had yet to show himself. Worse, whispers of a "Lazarus Vector" - a pathogen capable of rewriting neural pathways - had reached Clark’s ears. Bruce’s fingers tightened around his glass. Ecological salvation or mass enslavement? Ra’s never deals in half-measures.

A server passed by with a tray of canapés, and Bruce seized the distraction to slip toward the exhibit hall, where a display on Arctic ice melt hid a Justice League comms relay. But as he turned, he nearly collided with a woman in the other direction.

@vuulpecula

"Ah. I suppose y' were that sort what was raised on tales o' the sea, were ye? No doubt told o' darin' adventures 'n' treasures beyond yer wildest dreams?" Barbossa begins, a note of amused condescension threaded into his words.

"But the sea—the truth of it—isn't like what land-folk speak of in those stories, Missy. She's fickle, 'n' 'er mood changes with the turnin' o' the tide."

tony tilted his head a little, brows furrowed as he looked around in thought then back to the woman who stood in front of him. "so..." he paused, to scratch behind his ear with the pocket knife in his hand. "yer not a cop, then?"