Well hi!
I'm either remaking or revamping, not sure which yet. But I'm in general doing an overhaul of the blogs I want to keep and deleting those I'm done with for now - or the characters I only am writing specifically on discord.
I hope everyone has been well and staying safe. <3
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A whisper. An ominous feeling. Which was she? Either way the murderess felt it. The cold creeping across the back of her neck. Lenny.
“Still a stalker I see. No judgement though.”
The words were spoken without her even turning to face the entity.
@shards-of-mortality
"You know how it is." The blonde's voice came before her visage - lurking ever just out of sight, out of mind. Whatever allowed her to minimize being perceived by others. Except this time it was different. Some manner of faint curiosity tickled her insides and it felt atrocious, yet she was inclined to indulge the rare little spark. To chase it and see if it would ignite into something disastrous.
But what did that have to do with Kiki - one may ask? Everything, would be the obnoxiously vague answer. What was a thing like Lenny to do but push the buttons of another predator and see just how they responded. Perhaps this particular murderess was not the best candidate, given she was rather tolerant of the blonde, but all the same this monster knew her competence and therefore she qualified to stay upon her radar.
After-all, if there was one thing the reality warper tolerated it was those that generate negativity and destruction.
Lenny peeled out of the darkness as though she were bending the inky space around herself, appearing before Kiki with the same indifferent expression she so often carried. A look that sat naturally upon her average features and yet the longer most looked upon it, the more unnatural it became. Her wrist rolled as she waved her hand carelessly, "Making sure the knife is still sharp." By knife she of course meant Kiki and her awareness for the blonde's presence - just how keen her senses were even when she had been absent until now. If Lenny was someone capable of genuine emotions, she may have been slightly impressed.
Well hi!
I'm either remaking or revamping, not sure which yet. But I'm in general doing an overhaul of the blogs I want to keep and deleting those I'm done with for now - or the characters I only am writing specifically on discord.
I hope everyone has been well and staying safe. <3
trying to work on things here and over on my multi. lurking and slow but hit me up if you want to do something or chat.
📌 // pin my muse’s wrists above their head .@dna-xenomorph
She could see the tide was trying to turn; knowing how poorly humans handled losing it was easy to predict they were about to take desperate measures against the two of them. Had Lenny not been familiar with this audacious lot already then perhaps she would have allowed the hybrid to continue her rampage - to seek her revenge.
But not everyone gets what they want. She hadn’t survived this long to watch someone hellbent on vengeance jeopardize the long game she had waiting.One could say they both had come too far to fall in the same building they had only just met in.
Surveying the room quickly Lenny decided this would be a fitting place for an ambush - which was good, it’s what she had hoped for from their enemies. Breath ragged from the bones they had broken routinely, from the drugs that weakened her awareness to try and keep the reality warper subdued; she cast the creature a glance of impatience. The good news is that Hex is anything but used to the things she could do. To this creature Lenny must look almost frail, especially in her current state. Onyx blood leaking from various points of her body - something she could have sealed up, had she not been planning on clearing the stage.
The moment Hex’s feet fall to a pause she’d find them stuck, wrapped in a hardened black material that gripped her tightly as it wound its way up her legs further. It’s a momentary distraction so the blonde can clothesline the creature abruptly, more to stun than anything else. Her hands move with experience; following the path of the creature’s arms until she found each wrist. More obsidian oozed out and around the captured limbs as she jerked them above Hex’s head, pinning them into place and pressing the substance into the cold tile flooring beneath them. Locking her arms similarly to how she did her legs - an uncomfortable position but one that wound keep Hex stationary until Lenny cleared away the majority of their foes.
She isn’t stupid enough to lean down low enough for the hybrid’s teeth to find her throat, but she still bows enough to catch her attention - ignoring the way her broken ribs shift uncomfortably.
“Stay. If you’re lucky you may find the one you hate most still alive when I’m through.” It’s a warning; her green eyes gleaming in the dim lighting as she pulled back and forced her body to rise again. As she walked away from the creature a dome from the excess ooze formed and hardened over her - an added measure of containment as the blonde moved away.
Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, watching it with interest before falling back to the door across the way. Souls... she could feel the energy of many rushing forth. With her hands raised she took in a deep and painful breath and got to work; destabilizing the ceiling above them all and further - she’d send this place crashing in upon itself without a second thought.The pain stabbed at her, focusing her onto the present reality of this shithole facility that had the audacity to believe it could hold her. Hold them. She’s hardly sentimental towards Hex but preserving a creature of such murderous intent was something she could bend her usual rules around. This wasn’t for Hex, this was about setting the board again - righting a wrong. Their wrong, their mistake.
It’s a rare moment when their enemies come rushing into the room, guns finding her quickly, that she has the barest hint of a sneer before her intent finds a breaking point - the ceiling bowing before shattering down upon the room below.She’ll watch their souls be snuffed out without any sort of glee, the last thing they would see is her face. Lenny hates it but some things are worth enduring to set a record straight.
working my way back as usual.
gonna be doing small stuff here for now. anyone feel like being bullied by lenny? my zone with her at the moment is nasty villain here to possibly make you regret existence.
I’m still struggling when it comes to being on tumblr and for no particular reason beyond my own depresso espresso brain. You’d think I’d be jumping with the bullshittery of the virus to write a ton and yet here I am, struggling to focus. Oof.
Well in any case, I’m giving it a try on my blogs or lurking idly in between. So I apologize if replies to roleplays or even IMs are still meh. Discord is always available to mutuals, though - for chats or roleplay.
I hope everyone is doing okay out there. Be kind to each other and yourselves. <3
Sorry for the lack of activity on all of my blogs. I hope all of you are having a good new year and have been keeping safe and healthy. Please be good to yourselves and your fellow humans. Thanks for your patience and being lovely. I’m gonna try and pop in more soon.
I’d super love it if some of these reblogs didn’t clip out of their posts on my blog. xD
Anyways I am hosting D&D so I’ll be lurking. I think I have everything drafted? Feel free to hit me up if you’re worried I’m missing our stuff together!! Or to chat or plot. I may be slow going at times but I am still very much working on things when I can. <3 I’ll also be lurking on my multi and am lagging on fixing up Nestor bby. Hit me up there too if you want. I still am running slow on going through and following people on my multi. x_x
" h o l l o w "
Send a 🙌 and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse.@sanguisfulgur
Lenny and the VOICE’s short story is actually centered very tightly around them - it is the origin for everything else kicking off. Good job, Lenny, you’re terrible. But there are a handful that will cross her path that hail from connecting stories. One such individual is named Anthony, who is actually the only other reality warper in the story and becomes the protagonist’s, Nestor’s, best friend.
“Leeeeen... Do you know what it means to be a reality warper?”
“Don’t call me that.” The scathing response comes between the blood she spits out of her mouth from the game he sprung upon her.
“Stop me.” The corners of his lips quirked upwards, baiting her to take action. When she doesn’t move he does, closer to allow his hands to hover over her pale arms. “A reality warper creates and destroys. We make things happen, Len, or we make things not happen. That’s why you’re STUCK. You take and take and TAKE. You DESTROY and you don’t create. You take the balance out of the universe. You’re gonna fuck it all up, Len.”
Her tongue dragged across a sharp molar as she exhaled, breath stale and coppery from the blood he pulled from her. “G o o d.”
Anthony’s eyes alighted at her response; thoroughly amused by the stubborn soul that resided in such a small, withering frame. That’s what he liked about her, the unrelenting force that only knew to fly straight and would break through anything in her way.Except him.She should have listened to his advise.
Smoothie found himself on the pavement, a knife wound to the side, several to the arms, one to the thigh. Nothing deep. Enough to leave him dizzy from blood loss, to need stitches, to make it hurt to stand, but the man had been an amateur; swinging wildly in a panic, surprised he had even managed to wrestle the knife away from his captor in the first place.
He wasn’t in the best condition, but he would live. That was more than he could say for his victim. The man hadn’t done anything lethal. Just enough to leave him injured, unable to pursue, unable to keep the man from escaping.
Smoothie wasn’t sloppy the way his victim had been. Smoothie planned ahead. He’d gotten the information he needed, even if the man had seemingly escaped with only some broken fingers and open wounds.
More importantly, he’d injected him with a serum early on in their play date. He’d be collapsing soon, if not already. The man would surely think it was only the blood loss, until he started gasping for breath, until the stinging pain kicked in. His escape from Smoothie’s grasp had only given him a false sense of hope. No one escaped death.
Smoothie, on the other hand, was formulating a plan. He had his cellphone, but no one to call- 911 was a last resort. He didn’t need to cause a scene. That would be sloppy, that would ruin the low profile he tried so hard to keep. But, then, there was a girl.
He recognized her expression; not worried, not shocked by the sight of blood. Maybe she thought she could finish the job; or maybe there was more to her than that. Either way, he’d lost his upper hand in the situation and couldn’t easily ignore her.
He spoke with a glint in his eyes, not proud, not bragging, but almost offended that she would even ask. He didn’t appreciate being underestimated.
“I always win.”
It’s the way he looks back at her that stays her hand at first; followed by the manner in which he proclaimed his victory, that of someone experienced in the art of murder. She doesn’t detect arrogance or pride - only fact in whatever had transpired that led him to this point. Her fingers flexed subconsciously at being denied their impulsive need to rend flesh from existence, it was unusual to find something that gave her pause.
As she settled into her crouch more she debated just what to do with him. Something stuck out, something about him clicked - a checkbox on the list was finally filled in. Something on a vile level was telling her to wait; delay the culling and save this life instead of giving it to the void. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth but there was no swallowing the knot in her throat that demanded he lived (for now) - the slight rise of irritation that rose with an inhale and left upon the exhale as she came to a decision.
“I’ll stop your bleeding until we can properly close your wound.” Lenny stated as she placed her hands upon her knees, giving way to her own interest as she stood. Her gaze slanted down at him, a momentary warning that he too should stay his hand if he wished to be helped. Moving to the side that was clearly injured she once against lowered herself. Hands empty, despite having a worn down satchel she did not go seeking its contents for aid. Her right hand turned over; the pale and translucent skin suddenly blackening across the limb - swallowing any color until it was like obsidian itself. “With this. Move the fabric.” The blonde waited as she spoke, cautious to make sure he wouldn’t lash out at her unnatural limb.
chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at three am with no coat. platonic hand-holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.
computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friend(s) home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution. looking out of the window of an airplane.
graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jar. wearing a crystal pendant. illusions of spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.
murders of crows. frostbitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. knitted fingerless gloves. sleeping on the forest floor. always finding your way back home.
TAGGED BY: @sanguisfulgur TAGGING: pls steal this
Otto Piene (German, 1928-2014), Roter Sturm [Red Storm], 1964. Gouache and traces of fire on cardboard, 68 x 95.5 cm.
