#Museless Imagine

[themuselesswriter]

Imagine: You are in a love hate relationship with Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

“What do you want?”

“Can you stop being a little puta for a minute and hear me out?

“Why are you here Spooky?”

“I heard you were in trouble so I brought the homies to help”

“I told you to stop following me around”

“Lay your hands on me ever again and i’ll cut them off”

“Welcome home papi”

“Happy anniversary, through hell and back, ain’t it?”

[themuselesswriter]

In chaos, they shall thrive.

They became the King and the Queen of Broke Jaw Ranch.

And God help anyone

Who disrespected the Queen

@themuselesswriter

[sunburstsandmoonshadows]

Mentopolis OCs time, baby.

Lore below:

EDIT: SORRY I CHANGED HIS NAME. Roman Entic is now Romeo Entic. Because he has to be. Proceed.

Two artists residing in the mind of Elias Hodge; one a sculptor focused on form and feeling, and the other a strict Romantic in both senses of the word as well as an amateur poet. They're frequent collaborators (though often have their own solitary projects as well) working for the Daydream Workshop in the Hippocampus' Imagination Gallery, which has always struggled with funding under Mayor Logic and has received so many budget cuts come the Big Guy's new job that they've been promoted from merely hungry artists to starving artists. The only people still well-funded there are the Nightmare script writers and stage crew, who've been writing that show for decades now.

Moneyless and museless, the pair of artists wait out their days in hopes that the Big Guy gets a promotion that makes him relax and start thinking about others again. Or at least that he finds his interest piqued by a co-worker in some fashion--both are willing to cheer for the other.

Dee is a friend of Dan Fucks, as their tasks are closely related--he provides the desire to fuck, and she figures out who the Big Guy wants to fuck. She used to have her sculptures set up at Shuga's, but always has them removed after a while once the passion for the muse of that period wears out. With the dry spell regarding muses or any fun at all, she hasn't provided any new works after taking back her old ones yet.

Rome does not care for Dan that much, they get along best as co-workers who meet only when the time is right. He does move in the same circles as Imelda and Anastasia and had to deal with them loudly debating whether the Big Guy should "go for it" while they check out his paintings before their falling out. Anastasia also interviewed him for the article about the smiling woman that got canned.

Other details: --Rome constantly uses pet names for everyone. "Dear" and "darling" are the most common. --It's not very visible here, but Rome has a painted hand pressed to his heart on his shirt, for romantic gestures. --He also has large "rose-tinted glasses" :) --Dee is very touchy-feely, though she doesn't really mean anything by it. --While Dan Fucks, the active desire to fuck, is dressed for success in deep v-necks and fine pants, Dee, the passive observation of attractive people, is much more casually dressed. She represents a low-effort sort of sexiness that Dan does not. --Romance puts people on cloud nine, so Rome is surrounded with 'em. Dee is steamy all the time. I'm sure you can piece together the joke.

[9w1ft]

There is a question that keeps bugging me. Will Taylor ever reveal her relationship with KK and the kids? Or this will just stay forever the way it is now. The world will never know about the greatest loves of our time. This is not a random private relationship. It inspired art. Art of the Artist of the Decade. I can't explain how culturally significant this is in history, not just queer history. Of course museless queer interpretation is nice, but when you know the muse and the story it becomes more special. But it's sad that this will never be discussed among general people, in glorious pages of queer arts and history. It will stay within a minority group who are bullied to death everyday and called crazy invasive conspiracy theorists.

Ps. I know they want and deserve privacy. They do not owe us any revelation. Also privacy and secrecy are different things. I respect their decision and just want them to be happy.

sometimes i think about how much taylor is into historical figures and antiques and such.. and i imagine she is treating stories that are important to her in such a way that they will stand the test of time.

i just feel very lucky to have been able to perceive their lives in this way.. and as it’s immortalized in art, it will be passed down.

[pyrobled]

❝ are you going to join me? ❞

                 meme      /      @serirosea

‘     i’d      love      to .       ’      voice   rough ,   syllables     breaking      around   edges    the   hybrid’s   eyes      BURN   HEAVILY     as   they    settle   on   her   form  ;         her   delicate    skin ,      delicious    curves   a    stark   contrast    against    the   dark    bed    sheets .     (    SHE   WAS   BEAUTY ,    SHE   WAS   ETHEREAL                         A       CELESTIAL   LIGHT      TRAVELING   THROUGH   THE   COSMOS ;     )       ‘    . .    is   there   an   occassion  to   celebrate . .  ?       ’        ask   burning   on    tongue ,       indigo     drink     in   her    sight       &       drown   in   the    display   of    flesh      &        lace .        fingers   working    his   uniform   open ,        tongue      wetting      his    lips    he   couldn’t   take   his    eyes   off    the   sight   she   made ,             the    temptation        she    was .            fire      burning        underneath   very   first   layer   of    skin ,             the   paladin    EMBRACED       THE   INFERNO     about   to    break    free                       teeth   growing   even      sharper . 

‘                     you’re   so     beautiful .         ’       he   sat ,       uniform   pants   still   sitting   snug    on    hips   but   the   shirt   gone   as    palm    curves    ADORINGLY       around   her   cheek  ;       thumb    resting    underneath   her    eye    drawing    small    loving     circles .        naked   love      displayed     in    his   whole    mimic      &     the   depths   of    hues    hybrid   bend    to     STEAL   A   SEARING   YET   TENDER   KISS   ;        breathes     mingling     as    words    cut   through    heavy   atmosphere   once   again                            words   a   mere    growl    now    though .      ‘      i’ll      show      you   how      beautiful      you   are . .      ’        promise     DANCING     through     indigo  ,          fire   setting     them    ablaze  ,             teeth   ache      as     her    he    thought    about    the       mesmerizing         curves   of    her    neck    &    thighs                       hunger   AS   OLD   AS   TIMES      bleeding    from    his    very     being :      born   from       unhidden   want . 

[lodbrokson-blog]

.

[childoftimeandmagic]

Prompt! Klaus is returning a Christmas gift at the store where Caroline works and she feels the need to share her opinions.

Christy!!!!! Here you go and I hope you enjoy it. @misssophiachase

AO3

After the holidays was the most bizarre mix of slow and hectic that Caroline ever dealt with. Rolling her shoulders she glanced around her store front. She hadn’t seen a soul in hours, not since Elena Gilbert had walked in complaining about the status of men in the world. Flicking her wrist up to place the bill back on the door she sat back down. Opening a bookstore wasn’t considered a normal pursuit for a witch; but sitting in her store the candles lit and gently filling the air with sweet perfume of winter nights. Caroline couldn’t imagine something she’d like to do more.

Shrugging and reopening her book she leaned back in her chair. As she allowed her mind to be reabsorbed into the adventures of Nancy and Ned, the bell  above the door went completely unnoticed. Sighing happily into her book she refused to be pulled from the chapter for even a paying customer. After all what was a single customer who was probably just going to browse and leave to a good mystery.

As she turned the page she took the opportunity to sneak a peek at the person who’d entered her store from her vantage point by the counter. He was beautiful, tall, blonde and stylish. Something about him was dangerous though. A monster in human form. Now this wasn’t super helpful because he could just be one of a hundred supernatural creatures who called this town home. So it didn’t bother her.

Unlike Bonnie or Elena who were considered more powerful. Running one of the most popular supply and herbalist stores in the City of Mystic Falls, Caroline’s powers were more passive. Pointing out to her what someone desired most, or what they were hiding from themselves and the world. So the coven had left her to run her business without requiring a tax. Magic users were required to pay a percentage of their profits to the Coven which went to protecting and managing the local magic school.

Still her powers were passive enough that she was able to run a very nice business making sure that her customers got exactly the book that they needed. Not always the one they wanted, or thought they’d enjoy, but they trusted her and took the book that she found them. Hidden desires and empathy were her greatest assets in the store so she trusted them implicitly.

As the door closed quietly behind the man who had just entered a rather peculiar used book shop. The books were arranged alphabetically, by date, and genre. The oldest books were on display and honestly they were worth more. As he turned around the store opened up to reveal a grand room with a single counter in the far back with a fireplace and a ring of chairs next to it. The space was filled with even more shelves. No one seemed to be in the store except probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Her hair hung in a way that almost belied what she’d look like laying in his bed. Clearing his throat he moved

His assistant had bought him a book from here about his least favorite artist. He could appreciate abstract art, but he was not about to read about Kandinsky. He liked obscure and odd focuses for his art work, but he liked people to be able to understand some part of it. he was hoping he could exchange it. With his siblings running a major city a piece, he’d grown bored and wanted to spend more time on his art.

So he’d left Marcel in charge of New Orleans, and he’d returned to the first home he’d ever known and opened up a small gallery. Going under a shortened version of his name Nik Michaels he’d thought that he would begin to enjoy life again. Occasionally committed a few murders. Instead he’d found himself irritable, museless, and in a city infested with magical and supernatural creatures which made for more challenging patience. Patience he wasn’t famous for having much of in the first place. Walking up to the counter he looked around and felt his anger rising. Who was this woman while beautiful to ignore him. Dropping the book onto the counter he growled, his eyes flashing gold.

“Excuse me, you have a customer,” he snarled, his voice low and rich.

“I also am at the climax of the book, so why don’t you take a walk around and I’ll be with you in a moment,” Caroline huffed, not looking up at the angry gentleman.

“I don’t want to purchase a book, I would like to exchange a book,” he said, his anger rising with each insistence of defiance.

“Sir, on the counter in front of you is a sign. If you can read well enough to be in a book store I assume you can read it as well.” She said waving her hand dismissively towards a small plaque on the counter next to him. In a delicate hand, and decorated with a gold painted frame stated.

                                      Welcome to Perfect Find Books                                Where you always find what you need.                                      No Returns or Exchanges.                                              No Exceptions.

Caroline for her credit, didn’t let the very attractive man distract her from finishing the chapter. When she heard a crash she flicked her wrist and the damage was reversed. While her powers might not be mighty and all powerful like many of the witches in the city, she could hold her own.

“That will cost you fifty dollars, each time you break something I’ll tack on another hundred, think of it like Yahtzee. First one is fifty and the rest are hundreds,” she said, chuckling to herself at the joke about the board game.

“Just take your shity book back, I didn’t even buy it. It was a gift from a coworker, who is unable to return it herself,” he sneered, slamming a vase to the ground again. Only to have to reform in front of him.

“You are the most impatient and entitled man I’ve ever met,” Caroline sighed, standing up from her comfy armchair by the fireplace. Placing her book on the seat, bookmark in place she looked at him arms akimbo.“I will not take the book back nor will I be bullied into changing my company policy. So please take it, your awful attitude and leave.”

No was not a word that Klaus was used to hearing, refusal or defiance. Who did this little witch think she was. Growling he flashed forward grabbing her by the neck slamming her into the stone and brick wall behind them. “Maybe to live you’ll change your policy.”

She for all her credit looked bored, her hands were holding his arm but made no move to push him off or cause an aneurysm. Instead she met him dead on and then blinked a few times. Growling he pressed her harder into the stone, causing gravel and dust to fall along the ground. Still no real fear, like she’d accepted that he’d kill her. Oddly her bravery and refusal to cower eased his anger.

Once he’d released her she stepped about six feet away and rubbed her neck. She then walked over to the counter and wrote something down on a business card. Klaus watched her, eyebrow raised when she took the book from the countertop and the business card.

“Take the book and bring it to this used bookstore across town. They’ll take it. I won’t break my company policy.” She offered him that odd look again. Eyes unblinking then two quick blinks and pursed lips. “When you’re ready to actually buy a book come back and I’ll find you the one. Till then my number’s on the back of the card. Now that’ll be $250 for the tantrum.”

“Are you asking me out?” he asked, eyes bulging. He almost kills her, threatens her life, and she gives him her number. What kind of witch was this. Most would be calling him undead, and abomination and yet she didn’t seem to really care.

“No I’m giving you my number so you can ask me out,” Caroline said, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.

“Let me get this right,” he said, slowly taking the offered items. “I just tried to kill you, I threw a tantrum and broke your vases, and a picture frame. Instead of fighting me with magic, or banishing me from your store. You’re charging me for the broken items which you already fixed, and giving me your number.”

“I’m a witch who specializes in passive magic. I own a bookstore where the desires, wants, and needs of a customer bring me to their perfect option. You didn’t kill me Niklaus Mikaelson, which I am taking to mean you don’t want to, and since I’m still standing with a business and policies in place, it seems foolish to cower now.” She shrugged and looked around her bookstore then back to him. “Will that be cash or card? Oh and since I have to also fix my wall now, I’m adding an additional two hundred dollars.”

Klaus Mikaelson grinned for the first time since he’d opened his own gallery up. She was smart, quick-witted, and brave, all on top of being beautiful. He hadn’t met anyone with those qualities who also knew who he was, and didn’t care in…ever. He would be remiss if he let her just pass him by. “If I’m going to take you out miss, I should probably know your name.”

“Caroline Forbes, and I’m not joking, will you be paying cash or card for the damage?” she asked her cash register already queued up. Klaus laughed and handed her a black Amex. “Charge what you like, I have more money than I can spend in my entire life regardless.”

Caroline chuckled and handed him back his credit card, adding another two hundred for the bruises she could feel forming on her neck. In total she’d taken 650 dollars from the most dangerous man in the world. Winking she walked over to the wall and waved her hand over the body imprint. Klaus watched as it shimmered and then put itself back together, when it was finished there wasn’t even dust on the carpet.

“Come again, Mr. Mikaelson,” she said, picking her book back up from the chair. Without another look at him she reopened her book. As clear a dismissal as anything.

“Have a very nice day Caroline,” he said, his mood higher than it had been in centuries.

Caroline smiled as he walked out of her store, and if someone asked if she liked the view of the oldest most powerful man walking away from her, well she’d never tell. Though for being a person in his thousands, he had a great ass.

[the-cat-sister]

Museless

A long long time ago I had a Muse; a goddess of Inspired Creativity.

Her name was Laurie. Laurie Katrina Maizen.

She once was the Superman to my Clark Kent; the Me I wished to be and imagined myself to be before I went to sleep at night. She was my self-insert into any story I wanted. She was my daydream and I archived her adventures; with a sister, a best friend, a love interest. My secret wishes and desires and the parts of my personality that could only be reflected and represented on paper.

But as I grew into my own self I remembered that this was wrong. I can’t self-insert myself into something; it cheats the life I’ve been given when I wish for it to be something else. Just something copied from another person’s fantasies proposed through the media around. So as I grew into my own self, so did Laurie.

She started off as this independent and powerful woman; a true goddess. Wielding a pen and paper as her weapon, commanding a household of her tenants. Meeting monsters, fighting demons the devil himself, creating a world at her fingertips. Literally.

That still wasn’t right. She wasn’t a goddess. She was a woman. A person. A human being with a story she deserved after years of just being my puppet to play with. So I mapped it all out in my mind. I couldn’t write it; I don’t know if I ever could. But it’s there, a set story of a woman dealing with loss and tragedy from a world that cracked and crumbled at her feet; she has a new chance at life, given to her by someone closer than she expected. Her fragile mind is coping by bending her household, her world returns with new faces and new identities. It is both calming and tragic.

She will recover though. And so will I.

By letting my Muse go and be herself. . . . maybe I too can do the same. Maybe I can finally write the story of Me. Maybe I can be muse enough.

[ravenclawsquill]

I come seeking prompts!

2017 has been a washout in terms of writing for me, but I’m hoping 2018 will be better. In order to dust off a few cobwebs before the new year starts, I’ll be writing a couple of drabbles over the next few days. 

If anyone is feeling imaginative and fancies suggesting a prompt – be it festive, filthy, funny or otherwise – I’d be delighted to have a crack at it. Drarry prompts would be great, but other pairings are welcome, too. 

Go on, shower this poor museless writer with ideas!

[depressingpigeon]

a list of SXSW artists to sort through for my own reference

Ace Tee (Hamburg GERMANY) Aero Flynn (Minneapolis MN) Altre di B (Bologna ITALY) Antytila (Kyiv UKRAINE) Aries (Bilbao SPAIN) Automelodi (Montreal CANADA) Avatar Darko (Seattle WA) Bad Moves (Washington DC) Bad Pony (Sydney AUSTRALIA) Alice Bag (Los Angeles CA) Lee Bains III + The Glory Fires (Birmingham AL) Bajaga and Instruktori (Belgrade SERBIA) Baywaves (Madrid SPAIN) Benin City (London UK-ENGLAND) Dan Bettridge (Bridgend UK-WALES) The Bishops (Austin TX) Blackberries (Solingen GERMANY) Blood Wine or Honey (Hong Kong CHINA) Boogat (Montreal CANADA) Moses Boyd Solo Exodus (London UK-ENGLAND) Brightness (Newcastle AUSTRALIA) The Britanys (New York NY) Abraham Brody (Vilnius LITHUANIA) Marla Brown (London UK-ENGLAND) Buddy (Compton CA) C-Kan (Guadalajara MEXICO) Dylan Cameron (Austin TX) Fabrizio Cammarata (Palermo ITALY) Cape Francis (Brooklyn NY) Castlecomer (Sydney AUSTRALIA) ChihiroYamazaki+ROUTE14band (Tokyo JAPAN) CIFIKA (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Cilantro Boombox (Austin TX) Cirkus Funk (Cali COLOMBIA) C.Macleod (Stornoway UK-SCOTLAND) Kelvyn Colt (Bingen GERMANY) Coma Pony (Chihuahua MEXICO) Crumb (Brooklyn NY) Cursed Earth (Perth AUSTRALIA) Curved Light (Austin TX) Cut Worms (Brooklyn NY) Mikaela Davis (Rochester NY) Jarv Dee (Seattle WA) Helena Deland (Montreal CANADA) Deluxe (Aix-En-Provence FRANCE) Dirgahayu (Kuala Lumpur MALAYSIA) Stella Donnelly (Fremantle AUSTRALIA) Keelan Donovan (Portland ME) Joey Dosik (Los Angeles CA) Draper (London UK-ENGLAND) DYGL (Tokyo JAPAN) El Otro Borges (Buenos Aires ARGENTINA) El Otro Grupo (Santa Marta COLOMBIA) Farina (Medellin COLOMBIA) Fatai (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) FAVX (Madrid SPAIN) Charlie Faye & The Fayettes (Austin TX) Ruby Fields (Cronulla AUSTRALIA) Fis and Rob Thorne (Palmerston North NEW ZEALAND) The Fish Police (London UK-ENGLAND) Flyte (London UK-ENGLAND) The Foreign Resort (Copenhagen DENMARK) Forever (Montreal CANADA) FOXTRAX (New York NY) Francobollo (London UK-ENGLAND) Freedom Hawk (Virginia Beach VA) Fuglar (Santiago CHILE) GANGES (Madrid SPAIN) Gang of Youths (Sydney AUSTRALIA) Nubya Garcia (London UK-ENGLAND) Samantha Glass (Madison WI) William Harries Graham (Austin TX) Grand Analog (Toronto CANADA) Grandchildren (Philadelphia PA) Greenbeard (Austin TX) Grim Streaker (Brooklyn NY) Grupo Rebolu (Colombia NY) Gulfer (Montreal CANADA) Gurr (Berlin GERMANY) Sinead Harnett (London UK-ENGLAND) Hatchie (Brisbane AUSTRALIA) Hater (Malmo SWEDEN) Ashley Henry Trio (London UK-ENGLAND) Higher Brothers (Chengdu CHINA) The Homesick (Dokkum NETHERLANDS) Honduras (Brooklyn NY) Warren Hood (Austin TX) Husky Loops (London UK-ENGLAND) HUXLEE (Los Angeles CA) IAMDDB (Manchester UK-ENGLAND) Izzy True (Trumansburg NY) Jade Imagine (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) Joji (Tokyo JAPAN) JP The Wavy (Tokyo JAPAN) Keith Ape (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Sarah Klang (Gothenburg SWEDEN) La Banda Morisca (Andalucía SPAIN) Manu Lanvin (Lyon FRANCE) Leather Girls (Austin TX) Luna Lee (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Lethal Bizzle (London UK-ENGLAND) Benji Lewis (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) Dean Lewis (Sydney AUSTRALIA) LNG/SHT (Cancun MEXICO) Los Wilds (Madrid SPAIN) Lolo Lovina (Sydney AUSTRALIA) Luneta Mágica (Manaus BRAZIL) The Magnettes (Pajala SWEDEN) Manatee Commune (Seattle WA) Mannequin Pussy (Philadelphia PA) Maréh (Cali COLOMBIA) MARLENE (Stockholm SWEDEN) Anna McClellan (Brooklyn NY) MC Lars (Berkeley CA) Melo Makes Music (Chicago IL) Milk & Bone (Montreal CANADA) Miqui Brightside (DJset) (Madrid SPAIN) Mogli (Hamburg GERMANY) Mothership (Dallas TX) Museless (Barcelona SPAIN) My Life as Ali Thomas (Bangkok THAILAND) Hans Nayna (Mahebourg MAURITIUS) Night Beats (Austin TX) Not3s (Hackney UK-ENGLAND) No Vacation (San Francisco CA) October (Auckland NEW ZEALAND) Nnamdi Ogbonnaya (Chicago IL) Okey Dokey (Nashville TN) ONR (Glasgow UK-SCOTLAND) The Orielles (Halifax UK-ENGLAND) Our Girl (London UK-ENGLAND) The Outer Vibe (Nashville TN) The Outfit, TX (Dallas TX) Jay Park (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Partner (Windsor CANADA) Peach Pit (Vancouver CANADA) Sloan Peterson (Sydney AUSTRALIA) pH-1 (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Phe Reds (Seattle WA) Sara Pi (Barcelona SPAIN) Plastic Picnic (Brooklyn NY) pronoun (Brooklyn NY) Punjabtronix (Bristol UK-ENGLAND) Oliver Rajamani (Austin TX) David Ramirez (Austin TX) Rancho Aparte (Quibdó COLOMBIA) Ratboys (Chicago IL) Gemma Ray (Berlin GERMANY) Lou Rebecca (Paris FRANCE) *repeat repeat (Nashville TN) Jess Ribeiro (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) Rich Chigga (Jakarta INDONESIA) R.LUM.R. (Nashville TN) Lucy Rose (London UK-ENGLAND) Rude Kid (London UK-ENGLAND) RVG (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) Salem’s Bend (Los Angeles CA) Sammus (Ithaca NY) sarasara (Lille FRANCE) Sassy 009 (Oslo NORWAY) Say Sue Me (Busan SOUTH KOREA) Ed Schrader’s Music Beat (Baltimore MD) Shamir (Las Vegas NV) Shopping (London UK-ENGLAND) Sik-k (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Silibrina (São Paulo BRAZIL) Raz Simone (Seattle WA) Smut (Cincinnati OH) Snail Mail (Baltimore MD) Sonars (Bergamo ITALY) SPORTS (Philadelphia PA) SsingSsing (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) Steak (London UK-ENGLAND) Stefflon Don (London UK-ENGLAND) Stonefield (Macedon Ranges AUSTRALIA) Sturle Dagsland (Stavanger NORWAY) Sun Seeker (Nashville TN) Surfbort (Brooklyn NY) Surma (Leiria PORTUGAL) Talisco (Paris FRANCE) Tennis System (Los Angeles CA) Terry vs. Tori (Seville SPAIN) Theodore (Athens GREECE) TiKA (Toronto CANADA) Adam Torres (Austin TX) Totally Mild (Melbourne AUSTRALIA) Touts (Derry UK-N. IRELAND) Uni (New York NY) Us and Us Only (Baltimore MD) Dhruv Visvanath (New Delhi INDIA) VOWWS (Los Angeles CA) Voyager (Perth AUSTRALIA) VVV (Austin TX) Warbly Jets (Los Angeles CA) The Watchers (San Francisco CA) The Weather Station (Toronto CANADA) The Wedding Present (Leeds UK-ENGLAND) Jerry Williams (Portsmouth UK-ENGLAND) Marlon Williams (Christchurch NEW ZEALAND) Wo Fat (Dallas TX) Woodie GoChild (Seoul SOUTH KOREA) “World Music Unleashed” by SIPM (Austin TX) Yemen Blues (Tel Aviv ISRAEL) Yultron (Los Angeles CA) Yungen (London UK-ENGLAND) The Zephyr Bones (Barcelona SPAIN) Violetta Zironi (Reggio Emilia ITALY)

[ezratherobat]

Tagged by: @shybiviolet

Rules: Answer 20 questions and tag 20 followers you would like to get to know better

Name: EJ

Nicknames: None

Zodiac sign: Cancer

Height: 5'3"

Ethnicity: White

Orientation: Pan ace

Favorite Fruits: Stawberries and bananas

Favorite Season: Fall

Favorite Books: The Kite Runner, Ordinary People, and for less academic titles anything by Rick Riordan or Eoin Colfer. And the Falling Kingdom series.

Favorite Flowers: Foxglove, pink roses

Favorite Animals: Cats, bats, and owls

Favorite Beverage: Raspberry lemonade

Average hours of sleep: 7

Favorite Fictional Characters: Izaya Orihara, Lars Van Allen, Kanda Yu, Sho Minamimoto, Josh Kiryu, Flowey, and the list goes on and on.

Number of blankets you sleep with: Right now none. It’s too hot.

Dream Trip: See all the sights in Japan. I’m also super interested in seeing Italy and Greece.

Blog Created: I have no idea

Number of Followers: 493

What do I post about: Pretty much anything that doesn’t belong on my sideblogs. A lot of anime and other fandoms.

Aesthetic: Flowers, old books

Favorite band/artist: Panic! At the Disco, Fall Out Boy, Adele, Imagine Dragons, Halsey, Lana del Ray…

Fictional Character I’d date: I mean I’ve claimed Sho Minamimoto as my husband out of my group of people who like TWEWY…

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Tagging: @skykittywhatchamahcallit @nishinnoyed @anxious-artnerd15 @s-a-r-f @pocketwoman7 @imagiace @trashsquadleader @fandom-united-together @eccentricwearsgoggles @shadow12dweller @andro-bot @crowswag @love-thefanwhocan-t @my-museless @merry-kuroo @steampunkkaneki @vendettabookworm @thehollowkidvg @kinigget @taki-sensei

[themuselesswriter]

Imagine: Being a witch soldier at Motherland: Fort Salem and ending up at the same coven as the Bellweather unit

“You look like hell”

“You don’t look too good either, Collar”

“I’m so tired”

“Well guess what? So is everyone else so suck it up and move on”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I… fell off the stairs?”

“Now what?”

“Now we kick ass”

[castlehead]

I realize now, the only 'it' I have known ever has been the 'it' of GOD. If I believe nothing else I believe in creator/sustainer/what have you, rather than something that amounts to metaphysical poetry, as an abnormal platelet for people to see the wonder in themselves. Give power to the cosmos instead as unfathomable and sexless. Cannot stress that enough. Simply put a denial of this ideal I see as the only fathomable one to me; that is, a comfort in feeling sane for what should have remained a fear without an identity at all. An ultimate, personal meaning is for the namelessness, and if I can learn to separate namelessness from it's paradoxical and outdated ideal, I will have become the most human that I can be. Simply put, I have clogged my head forever with thoughts on---GOD---too much to perceive anything but an 'it' to be manipulated by theory. It has always inspired my imagination; moreover, there is a science there that is always of the words I see as diction. The unfathomable is my only Bible, and will always be. Whatever moral quandary I associated with hurting those around me, or thoughts on the loveliness of this theory of GOD I know I still have, as I am embedded in it enough to feel it's truth always---were only moral quandaries as regards what I, ie, him, did to her, ie the love of his life. Ascribe a sex to anything unfathomable and find that you are way too broad. I referred, to this end, my own personal comfort in the hopes that by giving---namelessness---all my pronouns, except the one I valued much in the 'it' that I left for myself to feel, knowing well, better, a sexless creator, than one that makes way too much of what it is and leaves nothing of it's dreams for what it wants to be, for people to have as their own---in naming what I believe should remain sexless. Add a sex to the diety and you destroy it via mere religious fears of whiplash. Men and women are hims and hers. Any god I could hope to percieve is not human, if but for the respect for those men and women. That I aspired to make the head of god as any sort of relatable muse besides the namelessness i have always needed it to be was and has been what has haunted me. But a personal GOD that one refers to as an 'it' is an utmost token of respect, if the diagram be totally conceived in the head already, which it always has been. No one can beckon GOD, not any system of fucking prayer. Why? Oh, you. Acid inserted the moral 'You' into my mind, maybe to my detriment. This picture of that Rift in the Void so long refused via a religion of assumptions that only in this generation have the possibility to be overcome, in remaining vicious towards that fucking voodoo. In my opinion it is way too moral to think humans are that way, way too horrible to conceive of humankind as being a vast pain of unutterables and confusion 'it' cannot escape from. Acid made the voice of this stranger-god of sorts way too concrete by having it be a literal voice, as in, a crazily imaginative interior voice, and not ever literal voices in my head ever. Deny this craziness and see the retro of societal standards of crazy. I hope you have perspective enough on my thought process and a devotion thereof to see---addressing 'it'-GOD---that that has been my sole spiritual and somewhat theoretical issue since I dropped bombs months ago. a devaluing of my ambition to prove a prouder god in removing 'it's' humanizing form. Whether you are able to see the devotion to a museless idol as being no sort of muse, as needing no muse but the crazy mysteries of time and space and the universe....if you think id need time to figure myself back into a no-human man or woman...well...no, no god, its fine, let this concretion settle, just a psychic hiccup in my head i deferred from a grotesque noisiness to something far more theoretical and worsened and contrived. no god can ever hear us: because all the answers blend, in freaky waves. The diction has always been the honesty and passion I saw in an ultimate expanse and virgin growth of something far the more, that humans would dishonor themselves and their own purity in relating the unfathomable to something human. Religion----is a grotesque, awful misconduct as to the worth of people, who put faith in rituals that empower belief. and that is the humanity for any addict of reliable comfort, one who is strong enough to believe anything, if it be restricted to daily rituals. my daily 'prayers---are ciggies and coffee personally. Anything to stoke the spirit, that's the spirit of the wideness of the universe. That's the wonder of a thing ceaseless in flux. And more than anything, I refuse reliable comfort and always have, and always will, regarding anything that doesn't kill me. But if I see one succumb to drugs for a similar sport, I know where it leads in one's morality, if they have any belief at all in the sustained rhetoric of even the word 'god' that is a perceived wisdom only because it has been accepted for thousands of years. Thousands of years, that is nothing to the nothingness, and Christianity has to be the most furiously squeezed out diatribe i have ever refused to listen to. Too much meaning in too little space, that is a matter of a compression of words, not lives. It's a matter of forming a thought, not a person. My god of thoughts is more one that is and was meant to be totally apart from Dan the Man. I like the distance I name by calling 'it' unfathomable because that's the ultimate scope anyway. I know unfathomable pain, but not the unfathomable pain of everything leading to grief in having no sure way to lead the universe, just myself and my identity. Who I am or who anybody is that I have ever relegated to thoughts on the page has really never had anything to do with them, which I like better anyway, because I know the endlessness of grief as applied only to my short timeline, not an infinite one. I'll feel the rest of death like everyone else, and that's my heaven. Lack of consciousness. Whatever---god-thing---that acid wanted me to see was nauseating banal, and I focused more on indulging the pain of it in indulging what to me acid had made a sitcom: a somewhat wry, crotchey creator----in the attempt to connect the identity of me to the identity of namelessness which I see as no part. Beckett put too much holy trivia in the diction of namelessness as to the emptiness of human life, but this works as an metaphor and nothing more. I see somewhat in How It Is a new birth in perpetuity that whatever IT could only ever not know of creating. And this indifference to the beauty and perhaps lascivious fascination with trivia for the sake of an outdated atom of morals given to man long ago, proves in my eyes that there is an unconscious empathy the universe would have at all in what is a mere hunger for fascinating thoughts that explain ITself. Morality made creator / sustainer / what have you a falsely human concept in assuming it stopped there. Time provides the measurement of value similarly, not morals. Whatever GOD there is I feel would have little problem then with loose ends communicated unconsciously, this ambivalence and chaos as no eventuality but merely on a larger scale---so as to save---something---from something----would become the more of an empathy in a paradigm of inexplicable relations that are the ultimate sonic boom thru the noise of icy cold space and nothingness. No dignity here for humans though. It's either good or bad, how limiting. And I am bound by that as well, the need to rectify so as to make peace with an ultimate fear. That the GOD that is is death. As in, the rest of death, without the rest of remaining an 'it in peace for humans to be blissfully unaware of so that they can give their alms to a 'You' in GOD that in the blink of an infinite eye means nothing but is left if only for the sake of keeping the deity warm, not this sincere, blue sphere of imperfection. So I say to this IT: take the compliment of your ineffability whom I, this dan of sorts, give you, as being my own version of empathizing with the more humanly moral alm-giving, just a diff way to pay respects. Loose ends are the utmost sublimity, and finished work, for a time when I know all the burrs in my head enough to get past every one of those millions of them.

[muse-less-blog1]

The Dance of the Wind

They say that the flap of a butterfly’s wings can cause change. Not in a way that we could understand, but in an ethereal, quantum physics sort of way. To me that’s crazy because a butterfly doesn’t affect anything. We just flit along on our directionless journey, drifting from flower to flower. What most people don’t understand about butterflies is that we are solitary creatures, going only where the wind chooses to take us; and the wind has a mind of its own. We can feel its calling, and its silence disturbs us; and on that day, the wind was particularly quiet. The marigolds smelled wonderful that autumn morning as I sat and waited. Their golden petals glistened in the morning’s first light as the mist drifted through the streets, covering the surface of the world in dew. The silence filled the air as I fanned my yellow wings to dry them. The day had begun with a peaceful sigh; but like all things quiet, this morning had something to hide. The man appeared at the front step of a house across from me. One moment the day was waking, the next it held its breath in anticipation. The man was dressed in nothing, wrapped in a shroud of dreams and imagination. I could see in it an infinite darkness, pricked with the souls of those who have gone. I waited, not knowing what to do, waiting for the wind to guide me. The man stood there for some time gazing up at the old house. He studied the sun-worn blue paint peeling at the seams and the lonely chair on the bare wood of the porch. He watched as a small, white moth left through an open window in the top floor and made its way into the dawn’s light. He stood and studied until he was satisfied. Then he walked up and rang the doorbell. A chime sounded from deep within the house. At the sound, he smiled to himself and walked through the door. As he entered the house, the morning relaxed. The birds began to sing and the tension in the air faded with the fog. Then the wind began to stir. It started as a rustling and grew into a soft breeze. I felt a tugging at my being, a calling that could not be ignored. I left the man to the house and lifted my wings. With a few gentle flaps I took off and made my way with the wind. It took me high above the house, the city and the sea. The sprawling roads and sky scraping towers stretched out into the distance. Below me, threads of green made their way through the concrete walls to a grove of trees in the center of a park. Wind guided me back down and led me to a patch of blue anemones, one of the many flowers lining the path. The fragrance filled my antenna and I gently settled to rest on the fragile petals. The wind quieted to a muttering, content to move the many leaves strewn on the walk in small circles. It was clear the wind was waiting. Wind was not kept long. Soon the man from the house appeared, walking down the path. With him was an old woman. She used an old walker to hobble along, a worn scarf thrown across an overcoat. Her gray hair was untouched by the breeze; indeed, all had gone quiet as the two made their way through the park. The man’s coat shifted as he walked, causing the points light to shimmer and dance in the deep colors of his cloak. The man and the lady rounded a bend and Wind jumped to life, pulling me away from the flowers. I was tossed and tumbled as the wind scampered on. I desperately tried to right myself and avoid being left behind. As I neared a group of daisies, the wind stopped suddenly. Lurching about, I managed to grab onto a one of the pink flowers. At that moment, the man made his way around the corner. With him was a woman. She wore a simple overcoat with a new scarf. Her dark brown hair floated in curls around her shoulders. As she walked she looked about. She watched the trees and the clouds and the leaves. For a moment her eyes lit upon me and we shared a spark. Then she was gone, watching the flowers. Wind picked up once more and I was tossed about. This time I had expected him and managed to keep myself upright. I saw the man in black was walking in between the trees. With him walked a young woman in a bit-to-big overcoat and a thrifty hat. As they kept walking, I noticed a change. He was no longer walking with a young woman. Instead, a teenager had taken her place. The coat was gone but the hat looked new and shiny sneakers adorned her feet. As they passed under the next tree the scene changed again. A young girl now held the hand of the man and laughter filled the silence. Up ahead I could see where the world ended and the sea began. I set down near a patch of wild sweet peas, enthralled. There, at the border, sat a carriage. It was made out of dark red mahogany and the inside was covered with black velvet. The carriage was drawn by four black horses. Though to be fair, they weren’t quite like horses at all. They were nightmares. Their bodies glistened in the border between this world and the next. Their ears and eyes perceived things beyond Earth. Around their feet swirled a mist made not in this word or the next, but somewhere in between. The man came out of the path. With him was a toddler in her Sunday dress. The two made their way slowly done. Soon the man had to pick the child up and carry her. As he approached the carriage, the door swung open. Inside I could see a small cradle. The man took the babe in his hands and gently laid her to rest in the soft, pink swaddles. He then took a single black rose from the folds of his chest and placed it next to the child. He closed the door and the mares began to move. Slowly at first, then faster and faster they ran. They traveled down the beach and on to the water. They kept going, drawing the carriage across the water, easily slicing through the waves. The beasts rode on, until a gate opened in the air and they passed through. After them the doors shut, closing the gap between the worlds. The man in black stood there on the beach, watching the waves crash on the sand. He turned and gave me a small nod before slipping through the folds of the Earth into his own domain. Wind whispered again, drawing me back the way I had come. Leaving the sea to its restless charge I swiftly drew near to the house, Looking for a way in, I floated up to the top window, I entered the old lady’s bedroom. The smell of death drifted with the dust on a gentle breeze. She lay on a cot in the corner, motionless in her passing. From the mouth there was a rustling. Softly she emerged. Her golden wings matched the daffodils in a vase by the bed. I sat with her until her wings dried. Then, when she was ready, we both stretched our wings and fluttered our way into the morning.

o -museless

[themuselesswriter]

Imagine: Dating Evan Peters While He's Acting in American Horror Story

"Can we have one night where you don't act like a total shithead?"

"I've done everything you asked for! What else do you want?"

"We need to kill them... we need to kill them all! They are traitors!"

"For fuck's sake I can't do this anymore"

"So what now? You don't remember how to feed yourself? You don't remember how to drink on your own? you don't remember how to talk full sentences?"

"I'm sorry"

"I brought you this... I know it's been a ride but... I'm sorry, I started therapy, please don't leave me"

"I'd never leave you, you idiot"

[themuselesswriter]

Imagine: Being a Gallagher

“Hey Fi, I’ll get cleaned up and help you out”

“Pack the lunches, and Ian is sick again”

“We have our own plans to do”

“Oh yeah? Fxck you for not looping me in!”

“I hate Frank”

“What happened? I heard screaming”

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“Stop acting like you fxcking care Carl, they were your gang buddies”