Perion can now be found at oubliela
INDEFINITE HIATUS
I have been taking a break since Nov 2017 and have actually been enjoying my time away. This blog is special to me, as Perion has been with me for nearly 8 years. I decided to delete many of my other blogs, this is not one of them. I will come back! I’d love to stay in touch with my friends and mutuals so please feel free to add me on Dis//cord ( (screen)writing#4143 ) and feel free to message me. I have a personal blog and twitter I am happy to share if I trust you.
I will come back here or reboot, and make any necessary changes at that point, but I currently feel very grounded working on my screenplay for my IA Project at school and a personal fanfic project. I love all of you and you’re so inspirational to me and cultivating and continuing to grow Perion. I won’t be deleting any drafts I may have, but will decide what to do with them once I feel the creative drive to return to RP.
ooc // i have not reinstated full activity here, but i can be reached on disc//ord.
@abeyantly
“No, I’m done sharing. I’m so goddamn sick of people acting like ‘bumming’ cigs isn’t just taking money from my paycheck. I work for my money, alright? I earn my money and I go to the store and I buy these for myself. Not every guy that passes by and feels like a puff. I’m not some fuckin’ charity – Christ!” Long winded complaint was punctuated by a long drag of his cigarette and a stony glare downward. Anton was in one of his moods tonight – not because of Perion, but she was, nonetheless, an easy target. He blew smoke from his nostrils and muttered, “No common fuckin’ decency.”
“I don’t think it’s THAT DEEP , Anton.” She muses, looking at him with a soft smile. “Sometimes people just need a smoke and their pack ran out.” Perry shrugs. “I don’t think they purposely chose to heckle you for a cigarette. You must have just been the closest smoker around.”
abeyantly reblogged
IC MEMES please? ———— some icebreakers, feel free to send a handful, nothing is off limits, I may save some for a rainy day, but alas I have no drafts and lots of muse rn!
abeyantly reblogged
LIKE for a starter! Lemme know if you have a verse preference. 👀👀👀 @ the mutuals I haven’t plotted/written with yet.
abeyantly reblogged
“ i’m happy to do it —– it gets me out of clay clean up duty, anyways. honestly i should be thanking you for this. ” shoots her a light-hearted smile and falls into step beside her. arms habitually crossing loose over his chest. eyes settling on their feet as uneven ground passes below. “ have you lived so close by for long ? ” it’s odd to him that she could have been in the area for a lifetime and he might simply never have run into her before. feels improbable and yet the feeling is wrong. the people you think you’d remember, are rarely the ones you do.
“Mutually beneficial, that’s good.” Perion sticks her hands into her pockets, walking at a pace that doesn’t suggest any urgency. His question has her thinking, she doesn’t consider this community center to be all that close by, her house is technically part of another neighbourhood, but they’re all within walking distance of one another... “About a year I guess. My friend sort of GAVE ME his house. He lives with his partner abroad, so they said it felt nice to have somebody in it, rather than just selling it.”
abeyantly reblogged
❛ … sorry. don’t know why you’re concerned ‘bout people watchin’ out for you coming HOME. normal people think that’s good neighbouring. ❜ tug the thread you’ve been given, haught. don’t let it slip through your fingers, like an eel on a dock, while you’ve got her. while the report still stands, and while you’ve got an open door. ( she doesn’t quail. she’s got less than a proper reason to, while she’s the concerned sheriff’s deputy. ) ❛ you wanna report some … new, unnatural lighting on your street ? ❜
“I value my PRIVACY , it’s not that complicated.” Bryony rubs her head against Perion’s legs, and she scratches behind the pup’s ears. Perion focuses a sharp look at the deputy, a skeptical expression. “I’d like to be left alone.” She says, trying very hard not to sound as irritated as she’s feeling. “I have nothing to report. Have a nice day.”
"you're going to get yourself hurt."
inbox time with -- @eidetic187
“I do that anyway. The bruises DON’T STAY for very long if I soak in epsom salts and rub tiger balm on them.” She shrugs, as if the nasty bruise on her face hasn’t earned her some startled grimaces, gasps and blanches from passersby.
“I tend not to wear things that show a lot of skin. I have a lot of scars that I can’t answer anyone’s questions about.” Perion tugs on her loose collar and motions at the two small gunshot scars. When she drops that, shows him the brand near her hip. “It’s more shit I don’t remember.”
abeyantly reblogged
“ given the situation , i doubt they would have done any worse . “ wounds heal , bruises fade — injuries scar over with hopes they weren’t deep enough to be permanent . but the mental & emotional scars that were left behind . no amount of denial or booze can make her forget . or heal . without the use of her left arm , that it being in a sling to keep it elevated . she struggled to take off her jacket ; her sides were just about all healed up but any quick twist sent a shockwave of pain up her spin .
she grits her teeth , trying to hide that she was in any pain . but as soon as mia slipped off the jacket she caught it with her hand & tossed it on a near by chair . “ at least one of us looks in one piece . how’s that tongue of yours ? “
@abeyantly
“Looks like a normal tongue, finally.” Perry replies, making a face. “And I can talk.” She sticks her tongue out at Mia. “Only the tips didn’t heal all the way. Now I can move both side by ‘emselves. It’s fucking weird.” Perry levels Mia with a concerned look, reaching across the table she’s sitting at for a small bottle of asprin. “You alright?” She shakes the bottle. “You look like shit.” FALSE. Perry’s pretty sure it’s impossible for Mia to look like actual shit. Roughed up, sure, but the woman’s a fuckin’ goddess, it’d take a lot to ruin that mug.
You know what I’d love? Any thread, any verse. Where Perry learns her blood can help heal people. A circumstance where a transfusion is necessary, but low and behold, not only does it help the other person bc they have more blood, but it also speed their recovery! Bc of Perry’s enhancements.
@herheroics for emily
The hallway smells of sweat and bleach and blood, but none of the smells bother her as much as her pounding headache. She’s holding a small squishy ice pack against her forehead, the in-house nurse had slathered the worst of her bruises with tiger balm and voltaren so she reeks of menthol and eucalyptus. Her body still aches though, the satisfying ache of a won fight. Her bag is heavy with the weight of the 2k she won.
She hears slower footsteps out of sync with her own, and though many people use this way to leave. Perion quickens her steps instinctively despite the aching it causes her. She catches sight of a shadow behind her, just as three fighters how down the hallway -- “It’s the FEDS! It’s a bust!” But before she can react there’s a hand shoving her head into the wall, and a booted foot kicking her knees. She can barely hear the crowd above her thundering heart beat.
Perion screams, a hoarse and angry noise when he grabs her by the hair, further up the hallway toward the exit. She doesn’t pass out, but it’s a near miss. Flickerings of white and black dancing before her gaze as panicked gasps and growls leave her throat-- she’s thrown forward, sure he’d ripped some of her hair out. A kick to her stomach-- had she dropped her ice pack?-- a blow to her face (a boot? a fist), a harsh arm trying to yank her by the shoulder...
The sound of heavy footfalls, people yelling “CLEAR” -- her vision flickers again. He can’t drag her any further, she’s heavier than he expected. She conscious but her body isn’t listening to her, there’s a delay. He tries to hoist her over his shoulder-- but finally her body reacts and she brings her elbow down against his neck and starts clawing at his head and face. He drops her and kicks her again-- her ribs are definitely cracked. She can’t distinguish between the approaching and departing footsteps. Perion tries to yell again, but it only comes out like a deflated groan.
A door slams. The words “in pursuit” process in her hearing. But her ears are ringing, she can’t be sure what she’s hearing.
The sound of distant shouting is a cacophony echoing among concrete hallways. They’re damp, they smell of sweat and bleach and blood; but none of the smells bother her as much as her pounding headache. Perion is already holding a small ice pack to her face, the in-house nurse had slathered half her body in tiger balm and voltaren gel to ease the bruising so the scent of menthol and eucalyptus almost overwhelms the rest. Her body still aches though, the way it aches when she’s won a fight, with her bag heavy with the weight of the 2k she’d won.
Through the haze of post-fight dissociation and migraine Perion hears slower footsteps. Fear rushes through her veins and she quickens her step despite the flashes of pain that the exertion causes. Perion catches sight of a shadow behind her, just as three fighters howl down the hallway “cops cops— fuckin’ feds! it’s a bust!” She’s barely able to react before there’s a hand shoving her head into the wall, and a booted foot kicking her knees. Perion goes down, and only the distant rumble of the crowd can be heard beyond her heartbeat.
She screams, a hoarse and angry noise, as she’s thrown down and dragged by the hair further up the hallway toward the exit. She doesn’t pass out, but it’s a near miss. Flickerings of white and black dancing before her gaze as panicked gasps and growls leave her throat– she’s thrown forward by her hair, she’s sure some has been ripped out. A kick to her stomach– Perion thinks she must have dropped the ice pack– a blow to her face (a boot? a fist), a harsh arm trying to yank her by the shoulder…
The sound of heavy footfalls, people yelling “clear!” – her vision is flickering again. He can’t drag her any further, she’s not as light as he thought she’d be. She’s conscious but there’s a detachment, like her body won’t respond. He tries to hoist her over his shoulder like a fireman’s carry—– but she brings her elbow down against his neck and starts clawing at his head and face. He drops her hard, kicks her again— her ribs are definitely cracked. His heavy footfalls don’t fade away, or is that an approach, is he coming back? Perion tries to yell again but it only comes out like a pathetic groan. A door slams shut. The words ‘in pursuit’ filter into mind, but she can’t be sure.
abeyantly reblogged
❛ so i may or may not have gotten a nuke tattooed to my middle finger knuckle on my left hand and a mushroom cloud on my right middle finger knuckle. ‘cause you know: f-bomb. ❜
“Clever... stick and poke or at a shop?” She holds up her own hand, showing Beth a small tattoo on the right inside of her left middle finger; it reads BELLATOR. “I’ve got this one, not sure why or when, but I think it means ‘warlike’.” Perry reaches out and gently grabs Beth’s wrists to look at her F-Bombs.