pandoras-boudoir - Tumblr blog

[pandoras-boudoir]

Like this for a starter from Bookworm!

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I have a powerful need to write Clarice

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Giving Adam a new face

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Need some new blog recs plz

[pandoras-boudoir]

PINTEREST QUOTES WITH POTENTIAL

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS pulled from various quotations I have seen on Pinterest while creating boards for my muses.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ Who’s a heretic now? ❜

❛ If I stay here, trouble will find me. ❜

❛ What’s it like to be so free? ❜

❛ I watched the whole world fall apart. ❜

❛ I am teaching myself how to be free. ❜

❛ The only solution is to stand and fight. ❜

❛ There’s something tragic about you. ❜

❛ You were never a saint. ❜

❛ To be a woman is to perform. ❜

❛ l speak in verses, prophecies, and curses. ❜

❛ Now I know what I was born for. ❜

❛ There’s a light in all of us, trying to get free. ❜

❛ There is nobody innocent here. ❜

❛ Look who’s digging their own grave. ❜

❛ Come a little closer, if you dare. ❜

❛ Family defines you, even if it demands sacrifice. ❜

❛ History does strange things to dead women. ❜

❛ I can’t believe the things I’ve done. ❜

❛ Hubris is a bitch. ❜

❛ It’s all in your head. ❜

❛ I keep my visions to myself. ❜

❛ We could be heroes. ❜

❛ Take my hand, and I’ll protect you. ❜

❛ Open your eyes. This is the revolution. ❜

❛ I am so much more than they told me I was. ❜

❛ Let me be your muse. ❜

❛ I’m not just a pretty girl. ❜

❛ Your fear of looking stupid is holding you back. ❜

❛ I wish I could be the perfect daughter. ❜

❛ I am not who I was before. ❜

❛ I won’t just be a puppet on a string. ❜

❛ If I can still breathe, I’m fine. ❜

❛ Straighten up, little soldier. ❜

❛ Am I a monster, or a victim myself? ❜

❛ This isn’t the way normal people live. ❜

❛ Your impression of me is wrong. ❜

❛ I wish I could let all this anger go. ❜

❛ I wasn’t born to be soft and quiet. ❜

❛ If I hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have met you. ❜

❛ Maybe there’s a hero in me after all. ❜

❛ I am happy anywhere that I can see the ocean. ❜

❛ They should be terrified of you. ❜

❛ I have seen the future. ❜

❛ Let go of the illusion that it could’ve been different. ❜

❛ My father is a good man. ❜

❛ I went to war with myself for you. ❜

❛ I care too much in a world that cares too little. ❜

❛ If it makes you happy, then it’s not a waste of time. ❜

❛ Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes. ❜

❛ You make everyone around you feel seen. ❜

❛ If you feel nothing, then why are you shaking? ❜

❛ Let’s run somewhere far away. ❜

❛ You carry your last name like a burden. ❜

❛ You are at war, even in your dreams. ❜

❛ We met for a reason. ❜

❛ I designed my own catastrophe. ❜

❛ You and I are the same thing. ❜

❛ Never let another soul tell you what to fear. ❜

❛ I have always loved the sea. ❜

❛ I didn’t say I liked it — I said that it fascinated me. ❜

❛ You will never be forgiven. ❜

❛ No one ever really dies. ❜

❛ Your son is gone. ❜

❛ Death must exist for life to have meaning. ❜

❛ Your mouth is full of white lies. ❜

❛ Loving me is a death sentence. ❜

❛ There is a thunderstorm inside of you. ❜

❛ Beauty is a weapon. ❜

❛ You haven’t even seen my bad side yet. ❜

❛ How do I stop the guilt? ❜

❛ I am a victim of introspection. ❜

❛ Love is what gives me strength to survive. ❜

❛ There is nobody innocent here. ❜

❛ You’ve seen too much too young. ❜

❛ I am not of mortal men. ❜

❛ Tell me what it’s like to conquer. ❜

❛ I like who I’m becoming. A lot. ❜

❛ I don’t believe in promises anymore. ❜

❛ Parents kill more dreams than anybody. ❜

❛ You are woven into my veins. ❜

❛ You are a diamond. They can’t break you. ❜

❛ I must not hope. I must not cry. ❜

❛ It’s no wonder that you can’t sleep — you’re haunted. ❜

❛ You are made of destructive magic. ❜

❛ You are so unique. ❜

❛ I myself am a haunted house. ❜

❛ You comfort others with the words you want to hear. ❜

❛ You’ll find love, kid. It exists. ❜

❛ You talk like a book. ❜

❛ You are one of God’s few mistakes. ❜

❛ I’m not capable of saving you. ❜

❛ Curiosity often leads to trouble. ❜

❛ I have crossed oceans of time to find you. ❜

❛ I can do this. Even if I can’t, I have to. ❜

❛ I can’t go back there! ❜

❛ Forests have secrets. It’s practically what they’re for. ❜

❛ Can you remember who you were? ❜

❛ Are you proud of who you have become? ❜

❛ I see in you an old soul with young eyes. ❜

[pandoras-boudoir]

ATTENTION

I will no longer be writing for Dead by Daylight. I will be removing all Dead by Daylight muses, I will be keeping my horror muses but will not write a DBD verse for them.

Thank you for understanding.

[pandoras-boudoir]

Cautiously, Carmina pads into the room. What strikes her the most is that it's full of books, just like her own library. Her head bobs, trying to get a better look at the titles.

She's always found meetings to be awkward, preferring her agent to do the talking for her. Taking the chair that's been set out for her, Carmina sits as gracefully as she can manage. From an old leather bag, left from her previous life, she pulls out a book; a peace offering.

Atlas de Anatomia Humana by Frank H. Netter, M.D. It's a book she used in her life as an artist, a way to study human anatomy. She places it on his desk carefully, she hopes it will make up for the crows pecking his shirt.

When he isn't in trials, the doctor's activities range from the scientific to the mundane. Presently, he's somewhere in between -- sitting at his desk, jotting down notes he'll later place in yet another manila folder boldly labeled CLASSIFIED. Accustomed to various strange and mechanical noises in Lery's, however, he almost doesn't look up when Carmina's cry comes echoing through the hallway beyond his office library.

After a brief quiet pause, through an overhead intercom speaker some-odd meters to her left, his voice warbles like an old timey radio.

"Is that you, Ms. Mora? I hope you've come for more than portraiture. Join me in my office, won't you? I'll prepare a chair and some coffee."

[pandoras-boudoir]

It takes some time before the birds calm down, even after the doctor is long gone. Carmina huddles in her inky nest, the crows whispering sweet words of protection and comfort. But the seed of doubt has been planted, and it's begun to sprout.

When the crows leave for their patrol, Carmina seizes her chance. It's rare she leaves, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have ways of getting to other part of the Fog.

Inky feet pad along the floor of the doctors domain. A soft caw calls out to him, she hopes he's still willing to help her.

Unfortunately, Herman lacks a bit of context -- but that's not to say he doesn't understand. Damaged nerves in the scar tissue that cover his arms and legs make taking the blows from the oncoming birds a bit easier, but he'll still have to disinfect the resulting wounds with something. Which is a bit of a hassle. Swatting at the onslaught, the arc in his hand rapidly expands into a sudden explosion -- not entirely intended -- that narrowly misses Carmina as it shifts from an alternating to direct current, shooting forward in a linear pattern.

Between that and her shrieks, the crows seem at least momentarily occupied. With a loud exhale through the nose, Carter straightens his waistcoat and pokes a finger through the fresh holes in his sleeves.

"Well. You think on it, then. You know where to find me."

What a disappointment.

It seems if he wants to keep himself occupied, that hurting will be more available than helping.

As usual.

[pandoras-boudoir]

Her eyes widen at the sound, it's just like her. With slow movements, she approaches the doctor; a hand reaching for the sound. It would be nice, so very nice. Would it sound anything like he old voice?

Birds dive at Herman, pecking at him; trying to drive him away. The Entity has a vested interest in keeping Carmina reliant on it. If she can communicate, she won't be alone. If she's not alone, she won't need the crows.

Carmina pulls away, screaming at the birds.

Herman might have to let her come to him.

Hands still clasped pleasantly behind his back, Herman's disposition is a patient one, no pun intended. He waits with pinned-open eyes following her strange, birdlike movements, flicking here and there with the bobbing of her head. It's actually almost difficult not to tilt his own in mimicry.

He laughs, dismissing the notion and her skeptical gaze with a gesture of one hand.

"Now, now, before you go Hitchcock on me, I noticed that you and I have a similar problem." With two fingers, he indicates his own throat, scarred and burnt. "I can't speak either. What you're hearing isn't my voice."

With thumb and forefinger pressed together, he draws them apart slowly, generating an arc of bright white electricity that, for a moment, audibly hums. As the arc vibrates and undulates, the humming turns to buzzing and the buzzing then turns to -- a sound not at all unlike Carmina's own avian shrieks and cries. A remarkable replication of what he knows her voice to sound like. With a bit of the imagination, he even bids the arc to say hello in Carmina's own tones.

"Of course, it would require me to implant an electrode behind your left orbital socket, inside your frontal lobe. But that's purely incidental. Really -- don't focus on that part. You have no idea how many frontal lobes I've operated on. It's practically my specialty."

They always get hung up on the brain surgery. Always. Which is ironic, considering most of them are as good as lobotomites anyway.

"Also, I've been theorizing about your... is it ink? I may be able to approximate sensation in what you've been using for hands. If you let me run some tests, of course."

Asking permission. This is what the Fog has reduced him to.

At least he'll be helping a fellow artist in this case. If she lets him. Killers are so much more difficult to wrangle than survivors for nonconsensual surgical procedures, after all.

[pandoras-boudoir]

perhaps isobel

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Not me thinking about writing a bg3 individual

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Black eyes watch him from high above. The crows had told her of his arrival. While English isn't her first language, she can still vaguely tell what he's saying.

He's looking for her.

Inky hands dig into the stone of the tower. She hates visitors, she hates being seen. The crows circle above him, ready to dive and peck at a moments notice. A screech lets him know her position. Leaping from the tower, she splatters on the ground in front of him. Head bobbing, she tries to discern just why he is so eager to find her.

plotted with @pandoras-boudoir

He doesn't make a habit of leaving Lery's -- though by no means is he a recluse. The ambient static in the air there has become somewhat of a comfort for him, televisions crackling and old recordings of test subjects looping on death rattles. But there's science to be done on this particularly fine morning in the Fog, motivating him to select a tailored red shirt and waistcoat for today's endeavor. One must present nicely when soliciting for the resources for a new experiment -- especially in a place like this, where they can't be simply taken or manipulated into being his.

With a cloth measuring tape -- the metallic ones spark in his hands -- he arrives to the Forsaken Boneyard with naught else but a clipboard outfitted with some paper and his old fountain pen (pieces of brain matter removed from the tip, of course).

His old voice expired long ago, cooked into nothingness alongside his hair follicles and the whites of his eyes. Instead, it modulates out of tiny tongues of electricity that spark all over his body -- a human tesla coil.

He does his best not to laugh. But it is quite difficult, when he is so utterly giddy.

"Ms. Mora?"

His 'voice' is shrill, vibratory, and unhindered by the lack of movement in his jaw. With his clipboard and measuring tape held in his hands, clasped behind his back, he bows slightly at the waist to look around a corner, hoping to see a mop of inky black hair or a canvas with still-wet paint on it.

"I'd like to discuss an idea I've had with you. Have you the time? I think you'll like what I have to say. The idea involves you, of course. In fact, I couldn't do it without you."

That should be all she needs to know that he won't be giving up simply by being told she doesn't have the time. That this level of politeness is only the first stage of angling to get what he wants.

However, despite the apparatus on his face, one can be quite certain: his smile is absolutely genuine.

[pandoras-boudoir]

Should you ask him, Oswald would not admit to being skeptical. However this is far from the truth. You will find no one is Gotham City with bigger trust issues than him.......or Batman.

"Still, I am pleasantly surprised you came."

❛  i can't believe you actually came.  ❜ (from Penguin for Roman)

" Why not ? I like to think I'm open minded . " Frankly he was far from it , but if shaking hands with others lead to attaining his goals faster than he was more than willing to make those ties -- or at least hear them out . " Besides who am I to reject an invitation ? " Offered with a grin and sway of head .

[pandoras-boudoir]

*flops in here* whats good fam, ya boy has been so busy but i want to write

[pandoras-boudoir]

Mikaela currently has a metal nose resting on her shoulder as she does what she's been doing. The Red God seems to be content with the company for now.

It was hard for her to not know when he was approaching, given the sound of his footfall. She'd been going through her book, looking for new ways her magic could help them when the cold metal rested on her shoulder.

"Hey big guy," she says affectionately, a hand reaching up to pat his head.

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"Hm?" he lifts his head from the papers one of his employees had brought him, only for him to break into a smile. He allows himself to be pulled by the tie.

"Leave it to you to find that damn thing," he smiles.

🌿🍒 @pandoras-boudoir (I’m on my other blog, it’s for oz)

He volunteered to help decorate. It's really the least he can do to pay back Oz for... literally everything the man does for him. He shuffles through the box of decorations a moment, looking for more ornaments to hang up, when a bundle of something catches his eye. He snatches it up and hides it behind his back as he pushes past lounge staff to find the owner

"Ozzie!" He chirps to get the man's attention, holding the bundle of mistletoe above his head with a playful smirk as the other turns around. Though before Oswald can actually respond Edward's grabbing him by the tie, gently tugging him closer for a kiss.

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" Ozzie, why haven't you decorated the Iceberg Lounge for the holidays yet? You're running out of time"

"Edward there are decorations up, just because they aren't extravagant doesn't mean they aren't there."