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[blasphimy-blog]

It speaks to a domestic upbringing, the upkeep of her trailer and things. A bizarre contrast to her genuinely unpredictable behavior. But, with all of her chores squared away, it would appear she’d have some time to spare before their departure. Eyes cast to the folk doing the harder labor, thoughts of going over to offer another pair of hands briefly flit through her mind before they are reasoned away.

Instead, her eyes drift, searching, and settle, wide and wild, onto a single carnie. Her new, painfully obvious, fixation. Lilly’d found him curious, at first, in the same way she found plenty of the carnies curious. But, then, sometime ago, not remember exactly when, she’d heard it.

Her Mutti’s tongue. Henceforth, her curiosity turned into a full blown obsession.

On the outside, it could’ve been mistaken as a pup’s crush, seeing as the both of them appeared to be close in age physically. She certainly followed him around like a dog might. And when he beckoned to her, morsel in outstretched hand, she obediently came to his side.

Lilly steps close, too close for any comfort, as her fingers gingerly rest on the edge of his crate. It takes her a moment to regard his body language, rather than interpreting the words spoken. Strangely enough, the girl is still full from her last performance. Stranger still is the fact that she seemed just fine eating nothing for days, weeks even.

Lilly’s nose wrinkles, proceeding to shake her head and shudder. Afterwards, she snorts a quick laugh. With the corners of her mouth upturned and amused, the feral girl stares at him unashamedly once more. Heart racing, a pink-pale finger points to his hand, bright blue eyes electric. 

Lips part and, for the first time since arrival, she speaks. “Schlechten Geschmack.” The voice is deceptively soft and girlish. “---Danke.” 

                                                The same hand audibly pats his crate. “...Brauchen Sie Hilfe?”

Perched atop his crate of trinkets and props, too weak and exhausted from last night’s performance to manage lifting it up to his trailer all by himself, Mike watches the circus staff, hard at work as they take apart the tents and prepare the convoy for the road. They will continue to travel south, chasing the oncoming spring. Winter still dampens their general income and though he’d like to have been eating an apple right now, he unfortunately has to settle for a small, stale bun, ripping one small piece off it at a time with his dirt-encrusted fingers.

He notices the Feral Girl, the white-haired savage who serves as the circus’ best-selling horror show, observe him from under the shade cast by her own trailer and, without thought, holds his hand out, the half-eaten bun grasped at its end, and calls out to her, “You hungry?”

@blasphimy!

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Having a lot of unexpected muse for my angry dog boy. Might have to write up his bio while I’m off. 

[blasphimy-blog]

agunthing‌:

“Oh, uh…” lingering at the door perhaps a second too long, Job then steps inside, the hesitation in his step all too evident. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, has always been bad at masking his true emotions and this time around is no different in this regard, palm still rubbing at the back of his neck as though attempting to soothe the tension in his muscles.

“I just, uh, found myself in town and thought maybe you’d like to, umh, hang out. It’s been… a while.” Though he tries to keep the smile on his lips, one of its corners gets bent down as Job chews on their inner side absentmindedly, knowing full well who’s at fault for their loss of contact.

Found himself in town, is it? Admittedly the words hurt more than is to be expected, whether Jobs intention was to be coy about his intentions to not. Then again, it’s Ron’s lingering selfishness that makes him upset that he’s not the sole reason Job is in town, apparently.

To be honest Ron would’ve been just fine wallowing in his apartment alone, had Job not come along to complicate things. His own smile stays rigid, polite, further strained by the other’s unease. His eyes half lid, pained confusion and regret laid just beyond gold irises.

“Of course,” Ron replies smoothly, and for a moment it seems his guard has dropped, “---I’d love to catch up... hear about your time on the road.” 

There’s no harm in fleeting fancy. “Did you... wanna go somewhere, or just stay at mine?” 

[blasphimy-blog]

The boy Job knew a year prior is not the man that stands before him now. This one’s eyes are calculating, his body seemingly bigger, more intimidating somehow. It’s as if all the warmth has seeped from him and a refined, bitter ichor taken its place. 

Things between them had to have been temporary. Ron knew this, he’d accepted it. Yet, to see Job on his step, looking guilt-ridden of all things, is not only a surprise--- it’s stirred something in the serpent he’d rather forget entirely. Ron smiles, but it does not touch his eyes.

“Hey, Job.” Suddenly, he is pushing open the door in a welcoming gesture, beckoning the other inside. “You hungry? I’ve got some pizza... Might have to re-heat it, though.”

The smile that greets Ron when he answers the door is not the same carefree, painfully-wide, goofy-looking grin Job sported so often for him nearly a year ago but, rather, something of a thin, apologetic line, a hint of the usual crooked smile if it were soaked in guilt. Job raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck and, weight shifting from one leg to another, offers a hesitant, “Uh – hey, uh, hi.”

@blasphimy!!!!

[blasphimy-blog]

hoping to get back into writing sometime, i really miss it. life has just been.... a lot

[blasphimy-blog]

      A sharp---- CRACK ---- against the concrete once it hits the phone is ugly. Best to pray the device has the proper protection. In hindsight, maybe the phone could’ve been caught, has a certain someone been paying attention. Instead, it’s the  

    Though, oft time of misfortune circumstances can lead to the best of things, be it through the actions of a soft hearted stranger or a stern lesson learned. Tie your shoelaces. Or, simply wear shoes without them.

   Custom-made oxfords are the first thing to greet the girl on the ground. Then, a figure whose tiny stature almost rivals her own, clad in the crisp, handsome layers of a burgundy suit. A small hand reaches outwards, offering aid.

    “...Alright, love?” Concern, though perhaps not quite as genuine as the next person. She finds the affair somewhat inconvenient, considering the tightness in her stomach. But Emelie’s never been the type to pass up playing gentleman, if and whenever she can. “...Sounded like a rough fall.”

@blasphimy

       untied shoelaces drag through puddles as the petite        petal shuffles through the streets   –  juggling a rather        (   childish   )   looking umbrella, a brown paper bag of        ᵘ ⁿ ᵐ ᵃ ʳ ᵏ ᵉ ᵈ  goods, and a cell phone pressed flush         against her cheek.              ‘    –   i’m a-aware i was         JUST f–f — fucking there, matt !!  but  when   i   pay        fifty  ɢᴏᴅᴅᴀᴍɴ  d-dollars for a w–whole lot of fucking         N  O  T  H  I  N  G    —–    ‘                     her whole body jerks as untied shoelaces,                   once again, get the best of the tiny girl. a                    shriek  parts  her lips as her  knees scrape                    the sidewalk, and her phone goes flying —                                        ‘   –   FUCK. ‘

[blasphimy-blog]

in character chat here! 

remember the rules: 

1. you don’t have to be following me. 2. reblog if you join (get the word out!) 3. no actions or prose  4. any character goes! it does not have to be the character you use on tumblr.  5. have fun! 

[blasphimy-blog]

              That’s a familiar question.

          With an amused, nasally exhale and thin smile, she admits, “The birds are new to me, actually... I have a fear of heights.” In reality, she had always preferred predatory animals if she were to change shape. Big, frightening beasts, as opposed to the quaint form of a quail or dove.

          Ravenel’s eyes leave her companion, favoring the beyond. Stares absentmindedly out a window, expression souring. Not that the other would know, nor would it be unlikely they’d ever know, birds were still a great source of pain for her. And not in the physical sense. Even her own birth name carried a tremendous amount of weight on her shoulders.

          “It’s no different to swimming, or running, I think. If I do it for too long, I become quite sore or I...” There’s a flutter of eyelashes, before Ravenel sits back, flush against the chair she’s settle into. Pops a grape into her mouth, doubting her initial response. It’s not what Moa wants to hear, she thinks. The woman cradles her cheek in her palm, the other hand draped within her lap gracefully.

          “...It is absolutely freeing, yes. I can come and go wherever Id like. Of course, no one asks a bird for a passport…. whether or not it has any money...” Then, adds this with a assured nod, “And the ocean is incredibly breathtaking while you’re up there.”

❛ &. ┊ “ What’s it like, to fly? Is it really that freeing? ” Furrowed brows, but no insult meant if the question comes as an intrusion of privacy. Fingertips absentmindedly pick grapes off a delicate wine, offer every other fruit for the other to take – not much has changed, after all; she’s never ceased to be warm, never ceased to be her caretaker, even if once temporarily so. “ I’ve always envied birds for being capable to fly across the ocean. ”

@blasphimy. sc.

[blasphimy-blog]

Starter call || @carnnibalism

    Within distracted seconds, hands expertly emerge from the shadows grasping at their victim in a mischievous attempt to cover the other’s eyes.

           Victim, as in Souma. Ravenel, the perpetrator. With a fright in his trailer.

     “Boo!” The sound is followed by a playful giggle, cut short by a gasp (realization) as her hands immediately move to tightly wind themselves around his mouth. Holding her breath, she thinks how awful it would be if he let out a genuine shout. Or, God forbid, a laugh. Prefers not to be nursing a migraine all the way through New Years Day.

     After a moments passing, long fingers trail from his lips to clasp gingerly at his shoulders. “Sorry, sorry.”

     Tall as ever, more so now that the nights are long, she stoops to peek at him from beside his shoulders. A hand removes itself, focused on the task of bringing a bundle of sweets out from her purse to nudge into his hand. “Souma. I have had an idea,” she tells him, voice enthusiastic albeit fearful for his potential retaliation, “Do you remember? The talk we had on the internet? How you say you have no rest?” Waits before proceeding, hoping to see some kind of confirmation whether its verbal or not.

   “What if…” Eyebrows pinch, eyes cast upwards while she picks her words, “Uhm… Well, you know how I change---” At this point she maneuvers around him, keeping at least one hand to his shoulder. One hand places itself at her chest, then points to him respectively as she reveals to him her grand plan, “I doppelganger you, mh? A gift for a day, so you can relax. 

                                                                                                       ---No one will be wiser.”

[blasphimy-blog]

jjhelps‌:

FAIRY TALE AESTHETICS: BROTHERS GRIMM VERSION

Rules: Bold what applies to your muse and reblog

SNOW WHITE: jade trinket boxes.  taste of iron.  fingertips on a mirror.  yellow and green with envy.  long handled hunting knives.  sewing by the window.  combs laced with pearls and poison.  an apple white one side and red the other.  white doves.  frosted glass.

THE MAIDEN WITHOUT HANDS: a blunt axe.  a ring of chalk.  tear-stained cheeks.  sweet pears.  hands tied behind back.  shallow rivers. aching feet, walking for days.  flowing gowns.  liquid silver.  wax seals.  blinding lights.

THE THREE LITTLE GNOMES IN THE FOREST: lukewarm bath water.  sapphire butterflies.   tiny milk snakes.  baskets of strawberries.  fat toads.  sparkling snow.  fur cloaks.  raw gemstones.  kettles made of copper.  red wine.  a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere.

BLUE BEARD: a tiny key made of gold.  pools of blood.  stains that won’t rub away.  galloping hooves.  treasures from far away lands.  dragged by the hair.  dark and damp cellars. marble walls.  shivering with fear. screaming at the top of your lungs.

THE SIX SWANS: sitting side-saddle.  daughter of a witch.  nettles.  white feathers.  refusing to smile.  needles and threads.  a castle in the forest.  sound of beating wings.  birthmarks. climbing trees.  balls of yarn.  silver crowns.

LITTLE RED CAP: wildflowers.  rich-tasting cake.  wicker baskets.  the path rarely trod. sharp teeth.  curtains drawn.  a dying fireplace.  grey pelts.  red velvet.  handmade quilts.  sunlight peeking through branches. opening corks with a satisfying pop.  looking someone directly in the eye.

[blasphimy-blog]

someone: *says that they love my characters or that they love writing with me*

me:

[blasphimy-blog]

Happy Holidays, everyone! ))

[blasphimy-blog]

Got the next three days off after tonight, bless. 

[blasphimy-blog]

oh, your cold dead hands ! oh, your cold dead lips ! oh, your cold dead heart ! oh, your cold dead KISS !

[blasphimy-blog]

          Guys, if your blog was marked at sensitive (your icon is blurred), you can appeal it via this link: https://tumblr.zendesk.com/hc/en-us/articles/360011657153-Reviewing-and-appealing-content-flagged-as-adult

           At the end of the page it tells you where to go and how to go about it to unflag your blog. 

[blasphimy-blog]

Sooooo I’m guessing by my icon that all of my blogs got flagged.

[blasphimy-blog]

asynjja‌:

❛ &. ┊ There is a lot she expects on a cool Sunday afternoon, from an invitation to a second date with the woman she’s slept with two nights back, to a call from her son to perhaps repair the broken relationship ever since he scared away her last girlfriend by spreading rumours that were not even true. What she does not expect, however, is to enter her apartment and see a protracted figure standing near the window sill, skin bare and entirely unhuman, spine curving in a posture that allows the observation that her sudden visitor has not been left unharmed. And when eyes catch sight of the absence of her avian protégé and the way her counterpart holds an injured arm, takes a mind only a short moment to grasp the situation. 

A shape-shifting bird, that’s new. Lips purse ever so slightly when hands push the door shut, set the bag of groceries she’s brought on the nearby table top, and run spread fingertips through thick, dark hair. “ Ouais, ” a sigh, an admission of her surprise perhaps. It’s been quite a while since she’s been greeted in French but is her accent impeccable as always – that is, if one ignores the underlying ancient tone of having been brought up with a language similar but much older. She hasn’t visited the Normandy in centuries, not wanted to, quite frankly, for it brought back memories she wished to forget. But it’s where she was born and the language that drips off her tongue as if it were the most natural vocalisations of her thoughts, the one she’s spoken as a child. 

❛ &. ┊ “ Ça, … je n’ai attendu pas. – Mais bien, veux-tu quelconques vêtements? Peut-être un pansement à ton bras? ”

Those are offers that seem justified; she herself has never felt embarrassment towards nudity, but to shift from tending to an injured bird’s wound to standing in front of a strangely humanoid, naked woman requires perhaps a different approach than to get out the food she has, indeed, brought home. And she hopes that, perhaps, her posture is open enough – lest the situation gets any more uncomfortable than it already is.

        Too often she experiences shrieking--- some choosing to try and fight her, which is… understandable. After all, this is technically and invasion of one’s home. So to have another so calmly regard her presence despite their surprise, to (of all things) respond in her mother’s tongue, and still offer to help leaves the bird dazed. Uncertain how to react, if not defensively.

    It isn’t Moa that makes things uncomfortable between them. Instead, it’s Ravenel’s stunned, awkward silence that seems to linger on while she contemplates the offers given to her. Feral, she’d had no problem being in the nude--- often felt it was natural for a beast. But in the city? It’s safe to say naked on the streets wasn’t look upon favorably. Though fairly certain dark hair covers up most of what the woman has to hide aside from her breasts, she reasons to think about her company’s sake, more than her own.

    Sharp ribs poke against thin, olive skin as the fae breathes a reply, “ Si vous avez des vêtements qui pourraient me convenir, jeserai heureux de le porter. ”

    It’s not so much the size that worries her, but rather the impossible length that makes up her limbs. Jokes, “ Je sais que ce n'est pas beau à voir. “

    It’s almost as if Rav’s afraid to ask for the help. Used to licking her own wounds, so to speak. Feathers and their down that line the back of her scalp, neck, and upper back appear to twitch as she rolls her shoulders, again hearing clicks or pops as her body reacquaints itself. She out stretches her wounded arm, splaying long fingers, observing it with a wince.

    “ Tout ira bien, pour l'instant. Il vaut mieux laisser la plaie respirer un peu. “ Letting the arm fall to its respective side, black eyes find a matching pair. “ J'en suis sûr... “

    There’s an apprehensive step forward, thinking that by her presence alone she may still frighten the other off. Places the hand of her uninjured arm upon her stomach to keep her nerves at bay, “ --- Je suis... terriblement désolé d'avoir pénétré dans votre maison comme ça. “