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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 3:21:25 GMT
this is my thread for character development n wht nt lil homies
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 3:26:25 GMT
it bit like an animal passing through her body. ran like a small wolf, clawing through her insides but all she did was grit her teeth. ow it hurts, ow, i can’t think it repeats repeats ow the sting repeats what’s happening, ow, ow, ow, ow, i can’t think, can’t think, repeat, oh, did this happen in a novel? oh fuck hell devilish smoke, ow, i can’t, breathe, either. her hands are clumsy at her side and she knows what she’ll see if she pulls them up to inspect. but she won’t pull them up to look she’s just running behind him. these big, dumb, combat boots should be helpful but they’re so clunky. they’re breaking under neath of her - no those are her ankles. her whole body is clunky and clumsy and now, christ, it really hurts to breathe. she’s breathing in the stars and they’re all pointy in her trachea, they dislodged her ability to speak. she’d say his name, clumsy and clunky in a drawn out and painful two syllables, but the time has passed for that and she slows down. she doesn’t slow down to stop, to lay down and curl around her now mangled body, but she slows down because, mark her words, weapon or not, through gritted teeth she will absolutely tear this man apart.
she knows it didn’t hit her right on, but she can feel chunks of herself in her hands and now she’s going to be sick. now her visions swimming and she wants to rip someone’s throat out. now he’s tugging on her hand calling her all kinds of pet names that she’s used to - nothing special. like a prick, nothing special. nothing special, special, special. it’s repeating again, and all at once she regains the ability to breathe but the breathing is unsteady and it hurts, hurts, hurts, her chest is going to explode and her whole body is ticking like a clock and now she admits that it hurts and she would really, please, like to stop and sleep. |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 3:30:38 GMT
well when are you gonna get your god damned act together?
seven mimosas by eight, you're teetering by nine. no one, no one wants to listen to you anymore. you turned into the family member swept under the rug. how does that feel? does it grate against your flesh? good. you like the raw feel of it, the raw feel of the truth. the raw feel of failure. you never became what you so badly wanted to be - accepted. you delight in your madness, in your spiral, but no one delights with you. you're the scum scraped off of a shoe, and you've just realized it.
you don't understand anyone and no one understands you. their words are thick and heavy, spoken in some language you never took the time to learn. now everyone is speaking that way and, my, don't you feel just out of fashion. out of date. you're wearing last season's clothes. you're a sick impression of yourself, like you don't even sound right. you're trying to operate your own ventriloquist dummy but your act isn't up to par.
we can all see your mouth move. |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 3:42:54 GMT
one time, when your dad had a little too much to drink, he tells you that it's all your fault.
you stand there, tight-lipped, cheeks white and eyes sad.
you've come home late and he's probably mad about that, but this isn't home. with your mom - that's not home either. sometimes you feel incredibly stupid for being swept up the way you were, but you were so god damn lonely. and you're only upset that he's said what he said because you think he's right.
it's you who shattered the suburb vision. you personally evicted the family, dug up every white-picket stake and brought the dog back to the pound. you packed boxes and boxes to go two separate ways all because you were so greedy. and now - oh, now best of all - you're still so incredibly greedy. you're probably the reason you have to run. you always just want too much, don't you? god, please, for the rest of us try to be a little more modest alright?
zoey wakes up with a start and racks her brain to get the voice out. the voice that murmurs over her dreams, voices over her failures. it's a dull voice with it's own kind of barb. it makes her feel helpless. she's the princess in sleeping beauty, and she's listening as the narrator says she's about to prick her finger and fall asleep for a hundred years. but she can't stop it.
what's decide is what's decided, and she's only greedy for wanting anything else. |
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2013 4:15:48 GMT
talkin to my hizz-self
⚡ zoey isn't like an inherently sad character - in fact you wouldn't really know she's sad at all!!! she's not even sad!!!
⚡ she just feels like she has a lot to live up to and she's really lost and i guess disappointed in herself sometimes
⚡ but she's not comfortable with letting anyone know that ever because she feels like it'll shatter some illusion that others have of her
⚡ and she just needs to be helpful and necessary and basically a hard ass that everyone approves of like god forbid someone not like her that she wants to like her
⚡ then again she's not starved for approval it's just kinda like... she needs a familial sense of balance and if someone she wants to be part of that doesn't want to be part of it she's not equipped to cope with it
⚡ coping for zoey is literally just putting a brave face on and saying nothing's wrong and then a couple days later she'll have a good sobfest over a solid novel and just say like this is all for the book man none of this has to do with anything everything is peachy
⚡ i guess she is sad who knows i don't
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Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2013 2:38:00 GMT
gdi pidge and boo inspired this in two seperate ways HUFF
virginity
callie ⚡ lbr callie probably lost it at a very young age. she was probably like fifteen when she lost it (most likely to a guy probably a year or two older than her) but it was probably really good and there weren't feelings from either side but at least they were up front with it and cared about each other to some extent and it was probably just a good time for everyone and she and that guy are probably on good terms even now and like text each other on their birthdays but are very separate.
poppy ⚡ honestly i waffle on whether poppy is a virgin or not a lot. i mean i joke she'll deflower amory but she probably is a virgin. that aside i'd say she's done a lot up until recently and then after axel she just went cold turkey until amory. so yeah i think poppy's a virgin hmmm...
sid ⚡ oh god i imagine like a wild romp when she was seventeen with one of primo's best friends. they probably dated over a mutual interest for alcohol and money, but it was a short lived relationship. not without it's romps, of course. that aside this probably wasn't drunken. very friendly and open with each other, etc. another good time more or less but a little more bitter than callie's. you know what i'm gonna go ahead and say that he cheated on her shortly after and sid just decided life was too short flirt with everyone etc.
zoey ⚡ poor ZOE of course she gets the shitty end of the deal. probably round abouts when her parents were getting really sour, she met a boy via the gang who probably told her a lot of pretty lies to get her into bed, and it probably wasn't even that good. dude's all talk and just no substance and so IT'S NOT EVEN A GOOD TIME and the dudes a scumbag and zoe doesn't let it get to her but that's probably the only time she's ever had sex i'd venture.
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Post by Deleted on Sept 11, 2013 6:16:32 GMT
ten reasons to stop being clumsy, she says.
bites her lip, folds her hands.
you could fall off of a fire escape, that's a good one. you try to be lithe, and usually succeed, but when you're clumsy you can fall and split your leg open, cut the whole thing up.
stop there.
you're not physically clumsy.
oh.
you're clumsy in your heart and where you let it land, and that you're full of all kinds of hurt. it's like you've painted a big target on your chest. you painted it in lipstick that's not even your's, in advances that feel like a new and shifting skin on your body.
stop being clumsy, just fess up or swallow it forever. otherwise you're going to be all... hurty like this. a recipe where someone should've added basil but they threw in rosemary instead.
rosemary? ew.
well don't say ew. it's you're fault. you're the one who added the rosemary. |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2013 22:48:57 GMT
ouch, what a mistake, you did it this time. plenty of times they smashed you up against the stair well because you were so greedy, you asked them too. you pretended it didn't happen. you twisted their arms, oh god, you little extortionist. from the ripe age of fifteen you taught boys to listen to you.
but one got under your skin and you're not sure how - do you have skin? you could've sworn the flesh was jsut iron and when you kiss him it's too sweet and it makes your stomach hurt. what a mistake. you can't handle the way he practically cradles you - you want the boys who love you so much they hate you. they hate the way you walk and the way you always ask them to take you out to restaurants.
you deserve to drive into a canal and for your last breathe - a large bubble that will make it to the surface and pop no matter what - it'll be an apology, just for him. oh god, his hands burn when they touch you and, oh god, what a mistake.
you think about kissing in the back of the classroom and looking at dimly light ceiling tiles. you think about how dumb you made everyone out to be.
noémi can say her french on point, she can pronounce english better than a scholar, she can control everything. her life is in her hands. no one taught her to be kind and so she never learned. no one taught her to be rude, but it was a necessity. this boy tried to teach you how to love and care but it was a lesson you couldn't learn. |
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Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2013 0:28:47 GMT
idk if anyone remembers these idiots oh well HERE'S ANOTHER FIC THAT ENDS IN DEATH OR SADNESS OR SOMETHING--
"just close your eyes, pres." it'll be over soon. probably.
he holds her hand tight and she stays silent. she isn't able to wrap her head around the fact that she's done wrong, that this is all her fault. that she made a mistake - technically, they were all mistakes. not even premeditated ones.
he thinks about all the times he's left her alone because he was selfish or a liar, and he thinks about the blood that's on his hands, too. no matter how much thinking goes on between his ears, though, owen is aware that nothing is going to change any time soon.
this is the end of the line.
now she's shaking and he lets go of her hand to rub his hands on her shoulders. "shh, baby, sh." he kisses her on the lips, sweetly, probably sweeter than he's ever touched her. he knows she won't cry but it hurts him to see her like this. he was supposed to protect her, right? he promised her.
now he realizes that was another lie.
there's blood all over her hands and skin under her finger nails. it sickens him to think of the glare she was given before she snapped again, and he wonders if it was a street rat or a politician. then he has to chide himself - they wouldn't be in this situation if it was either.
someone saw her.
when he pulls back to look at her face there is shame written across it, clearly. now there are footsteps around the corner. it's like clarity has hit her in one fell swoop. "oh god, i'm so sorry." her voice is so quiet, so quiet and little. she buries her head against his shirt because suddenly she is afraid in the very human sense of the word.
there's a life she does value, and it's her's.
she remembers telling him about how she wanted to be a trapeze artist, she remembers everything and kissing him and the few times she smiled and he smiled back and it all rushes to the forefront of her vision and suddenly her legs get all weak and she's slack against him. the silent sobs have left her body in full shivers.
he just plays with her hair and squeezes his eyes shut. he hears the yells and he knows they're almost there but as his last testament, his way to atone for every lie he fed her willing ears, he will refuse to let her go.
and in the morning, though their bodies are unidentifiable and pulped and bloody, they are wrapped together like two vehicles in a deadly crash.
so there's at least one promise he kept. |
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Post by Deleted on Oct 31, 2013 3:44:17 GMT
hah...
you shouldn't love me.
it's a waste of time.
i'm a jigsaw puzzle (i'm sure you've noticed) but what you haven't noticed is i have a million pieces, and one hundred thousand are missing. they're not in very extravagant places - i'm not that damaged. one is swept under the rug, another hidden under a vase; stuff like that. little stuff. i've lost myself in small, inconspicuous spaces.
so even if you found all the pieces (and it would take you years) don't even try to imagine the time it would take to put me back together. lifetimes, ages, eons. you'd probably already have lived and died several times, loved and pined after me for millennia before i can tell you that i love you.
it hurts, and it's easier to think that i love you because you're stuck. you can't hurt me from a wheelchair, you can't hurt me when you're so cheesy and in love.
the worst that'll happen is you leave - you leave or you die. and i mean, that'll hurt. now it hurts, my chest hurts. i'd rather you die than leave me - then i can pretend you didn't choose.
i'm really awful, please give up.
give up because if you do this, if you tell me that you love me one more goddamned time or that i'm beautiful, or beg me to kiss you then i'll have to slap you. i'll scream and pull on my hair.
don't make me love you, please. i can't take that, i can't take that lovesick stare of your's. i can't take your shaking.
you're too much, leave me alone.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 27, 2014 7:22:48 GMT
https%3A//a.tumblr.com/tumblr_n01b5mLTUE1t07oxno1.mp3Sun filters through a window and she sees it through his hair. Kisses him, kisses his eyes and his cheeks and his lips and he says that he loves her. She wants to hear it again, and again, and again. I love you, not the shape of your eyes but your heart and he touches her skin, her perfect skin but his touch is hot and she's burning paper.
That's why she's pale, she's parchment and perfect. No ink has touched her and no story is written here but kiss me again. He tastes like cigarettes and her lips are waxy from lipstick. There's lace here and his finger tips are under the taut elastic of it.
How did this happen, why are her dreams suddenly fluffy and cloudy and full of him. This angle, that. She understands what he means now by small shots, something artsy. Except she can touch, and that's the true hell of it. She touches and touches and arches and wishes and kiss me again, kiss me again.
When she wakes up she touches her lips and wonders what she did to deserve that.
The answer is obvious - she probably made him feel this way to begin with. The hunter became the hunted, not in so many words.
Kiss me again.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 27, 2014 7:35:13 GMT
https%3A//a.tumblr.com/tumblr_mvsayxP0AY1sxwq15o1.mp3The dress is by Vera Wang - it's a mermaid cut, tight until the bottom where it ruffles into a thousand ethereal roses. It's a little out of date (Fall 2013) but Ella guesses it'll do. The makeup is from Dior 2014, and it frames her face like a heart attack. Her hair puts any mermaid or siren to shame, as long and beautiful as it does. White roses frame her face prettier than any veil might - her idea, too. Proud of it. There's a single feather amongst the menagerie and only she and Malachi know who lent it to her.
It's truly a sight and there's a few photographers here because this is nearly a magazine cover. She is a pillar of all you could imagine and it's by design. It's by her own fucking design because she's gotten her greedy little hands in everything and hasn't fixed it but merely covered it up.
Sh, she's walking down the aisle now and it's no time to argue about why this or why that. She smiles, and her nose begins to bleed.
Crimson set off by the palor of her skin, a sick game of connect the dots on the freckles between her nose and the arch of her lip.
Sorry.
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