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theaterism · an hour ago
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“The kingdom under the ground is a fractional place, a liminal place, a fictional place, a territory devised and ruled by its own mythologies. Its citizens are coalescences, the way a person coalesces in their memory - impressed and compacted into the quintessence of themselves. A thing with wings, a thing with teeth, a gust of laughter, a bundle of twigs. This is a nation haunted by its fictions, just as it is reliant on them (for what do we eat, if not history? What feeds our engines, if not fairy tales? What keeps the fires of us burning, if not the stories we tell ourselves?).”
— Mabel, Episode Thirty-One: The King Speaks written by Becca de la Rosa and Mabel Martin
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theaterism · 3 hours ago
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Art Nouveau Enamel, tortoise shell, and diamond “Bluebird” hair comb by Lucien Gaillard. c. 1900
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theaterism · 5 hours ago
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once again i am awoken at 4am by Cat
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theaterism · 6 hours ago
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shoutout to writers who:
have chronic fatigue or brain fog
have memory issues
experience chronic pain
have focus issues
experience frequent malaise
have anything else that may make it difficult to type, come up with ideas, and/or stay motivated & working
you can do this, you belong here, and you deserve to treat yourself with kindness and care
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theaterism · 7 hours ago
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deathforhire​ :: josie
Being someone who doesn’t like wasting time, always quick to make herself useful no matter the situation, Josie wastes not even a second in following Olive’s directions. A short trip to the aforementioned sink, she proceeds to wash away the blood from her arm after plucking the gloves from her hands, and silently wonders if any other patron like her had experienced the same, strange mishap from moments before.
Not like it’s any of her business. Josie soon shakes the cold water from her scarred hands, and uses a fresh towel to carefully dry off, paying special attention to the still weeping cuts in her arm. The towel wrapped around her tight and acting as a temporary solution until Olive’s return, she wanders from the sink until she finds an old wooden chair to take a well deserved seat on.
“What a day, huh…” Her nerves could benefit from some nicotine right about now, though, she wouldn’t dare attempt to light a cigarette in here even if the shopkeeper didn’t mind the smell of smoke. To at least make herself a little more comfortable, she pulls the hat from her head and begins to fan at her face. All the roughhousing from earlier had caused her to sweat a bit. “Sorry, miss, I haven`t even introduced myself yet. The name`s Josie. You can just call me Jo if you fancy, though. Heh.”
Olive, as usual, wasted no time either. It only took a few minutes for the assistant to retrieve what she needed. She returned with a small box in her hands, a little bag and a water bottle balanced atop it.
She pushed aside some potted plants (unmoving ones, thankfully) on the counter beside the woman to make room, then set down her supplies. She cast a glance at the other’s makeshift fan and pushed open a window nearby to let in some cool air.
Chairs would make things easier. She appreciated that the customer had already found one of her own. Carefully sidestepping the blood on the floor, Olive grabbed a chair for herself and carried it over to Josie. “Olivette. Olive is fine, though.”
She sat in front of the other and tugged the gloves from her own hands. Countless scars from blood magic marred her hands and arms. She cleaned both hands with an antiseptic wipe from the small box, then held her right hand toward Josie, palm upward and expectant. “May I see your wrist, please?”
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theaterism · 16 hours ago
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heartfledged​ :: avyra (?)
Oh, how strange this new life felt. In many ways, this world was like Volucris, but in others… it simply wasn’t. The people, for starters, weren’t anything like she’d ever experienced before, nice as they were.
Dewey had been the kindest of all in such hectic times, letting her and Nimbus stay at the bookshop. Instead of making them find their own place, he was generous enough to let her help with the ins and outs of the shop. She didn’t know how long it would take her to truly find her own living space in this town, but having a real roof was a relaxing fact.
He’d told her she was meeting with one of his friends, Edward, at the diner down the street. He was in charge of constructing the new space for her, and while Avyra was still confused as to what that meant, she trusted Dewey’s judgement on who he hired. Plus, it didn’t seem like there were many options.
She spotted a man who looked similar to someone he described sitting at one of the outdoor tables, and she walked over, a slight hesitance in her step.
“Edward?”
Edward had always wanted to unfold the bookshop. It had such potential. He’d even sketched out some ideas over the years, but he could never muster the courage to ask Dewey whether he could try them out. They were friends, yes, but what an awkward question. I rather like your shop; would you mind terribly if I added onto it? Rude. Unthinkable.
Now, though… now, he finally had the chance to work within the bookshop. To construct a space for someone named Avyra. It would limit his creativity a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Meeting Avyra sparked more anxiety, though Edward was trying not to dwell on it. He focused on the notebook resting on the table instead, reviewing his notes. His pencil drummed a quick rhythm on the page.
At the sound of his name, the architect looked up. A small woman with long brown hair. “Ah,” Edward stammered, his thoughts stuttering. He half-stood, reconsidered, sat back down, then reconsidered again and stood fully. “Yes, that’s— that’s me.”
She matched Dewey’s description — and she knew his name — though nerves still leapt in his chest at the terrible possibility of misidentifying her. Even so, albeit hesitantly, Edward offered his hand to shake. “You’re, um— Avyra, right?” His voice slowed on her name, careful to pronounce it properly.
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theaterism · 22 hours ago
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i love to call things beasts. what isthat? some kind of beast i assume….
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theaterism · a day ago
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theaterism · a day ago
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i think olive is like,, physically incapable of relaxing
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theaterism · a day ago
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deathforhire​ :: customer
And sting it certainly does. Though, it’s only a matter of seconds before she’s able to free herself from the plant’s deadly grip; as shocked as she is, Josie’s mouth remains ever so slightly agape until the other’s voice snaps her back into reality. Just her luck that a quick, in-and out errand would turn into much, much more. Clearing her throat then, she inspects the perfect little holes left in her arm from the ivy’s thorns. “It ain`t your fault, darlin`. Shit happens, right? I`ve had worse, anyways.”
So as to not leave a trail of blood behind her, Josie plucks out the handkerchief she keeps handy for situations like these from one of her pockets. She places it over the worst of her wounds, and the white cloth is near instantly stained red. Lips pressed into a pout, she decides it best to accept, tentative feelings aside. “I hate to be a bother, but I think I`ll take ya up on that offer.”
Regardless of whether it was her fault, Olive knew she should’ve been more watchful. She pressed her lips together and gave a soft, noncommittal hum in reply, her brow creased. Part of her wondered how many worse things the other had experienced.
The handkerchief stemmed the blood dripping to the floor, which solved one problem, at least.
When the woman agreed, Olive nodded decisively, steadying herself. “Right.” Stay professional; prevent any other problems. She set the spray bottle on the front counter, flipped the sign on the front door so ‘CLOSED’ faced outward through the glass, then pointed toward a corner of the shop. “There’s a sink back there. If you could wash the blood from the cuts, first, that would be helpful. There are clean cloths in the cupboard above the sink to dry off. Don’t worry about getting blood on them.”
Olive had walked to a door at the back of the shop by this point. She caught her breath and met the other’s gaze. “I just need to fetch some things. I’ll be right back.” With that, she vanished through the door.
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theaterism · a day ago
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deathforhire​ :: customer
From nasty rashes caused by poison ivy, to pulling out the painful needles of a cactus, plants never seemed to treat Josie with much kindness wherever she went. She shouldn’t be so surprised now that this one decides to take a bite the very moment she has her head turned. “Oh, you bastard…!!” Josie hisses, clenching her hand into a fist as the thorns dig in deeper still. Blood begins to drip from her freshly open wounds, down onto the hardwood floor below in small puddles. She’s certain the owner isn’t going to be happy about the stains - but, cleaning is hardly a priority right now.
Before she’s able to reach for the pocket knife tucked in her back pocket, Olive’s warning causes Josie to rethink her actions. She does as she’s told, and stays as still as a statue. All she can do is spare a glance over at the assistant… Whatever’s in that bottle, it better kill the damn thing that only continues its quest to cause her pain.
Good. She held still. The plant didn’t relent, but its thorns didn’t dig deeper. Olive approached swiftly. “Close your eyes,” she ordered. “It may sting a bit.”
Not delaying a second longer, she spritzed the vines. The substance smelled like saltwater. With a hissing sound, the ivy recoiled, thorns retracting and tendrils slipping free from Josie’s wrist and hand. The liquid sizzled on its vines as though burning it.
Olive exhaled a soft breath of relief. She narrowed her eyes at the cowering plant, spray bottle still gripped tightly like a weapon. “Awful thing,” she muttered. Her gaze fell, and she clicked her tongue at the blood stains. She’d just cleaned the floor that morning.
Priorities, Olive. Shoving her annoyance to the back of her mind, she focused on the customer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—” The wounds were quite deep, she realized. The plant had certainly done some damage. Olive should’ve reacted faster. Her voice snagged. She pressed on anyway. “I can heal that, if you’d like.”
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theaterism · a day ago
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Person A: I wish you’d just admit when you’ve made a mistake.
Person B, stirring their coffee serenely: I prefer it with salt.
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theaterism · 2 days ago
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me, wearily: it’s 6am
my cat: no it’s time for Pets
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theaterism · 2 days ago
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Exhibition quality German hunting knife with chiseled silver mountings and sheath, stag handle. Late 19th or early 20th century.
from Rock Island Auctions
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theaterism · 2 days ago
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☆ @desertfragments // for Red.
Charlie needed to investigate.
She had tried to continue painting and minding her own business — really, she had — but that meant ignoring the sounds from nearby, and the longer she ignored them, the more her curiosity grew.
Eventually, she could no longer resist the urge to explore. She abandoned her supplies and canvas and ventured through the shared studio space toward the noise, until at last she found the artist behind it.
Maybe… she could simply watch him and try to stay unnoticed. But… no. It would be rude to just spy on him, wouldn’t it? And she wanted to ask questions.
“Um— hi!” she said, a bit loudly in hopes of catching his attention. Still wiping paint from her hands with a rag, she offered him an awkward smile. “Sorry. I just heard you, and I got a bit curious, and—” Rambling! Though she longed to look closer, she hesitated at a distance, not wanting to intrude without permission. “Um. D’you mind if I ask what you’re working on?”
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theaterism · 2 days ago
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theaterism · 2 days ago
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deathforhire​ :: customer
A mere hum in response, Josie continues on with her curious observations. It was rare for her to enter shops like these, after all, only really doing so to help out one friend in particular. Distracted as she is, she nearly jumps at the sight of the leafy appendage coming towards her. “What the hell…” She squints in disbelief and mumbles to herself, though decides to take a chance anyway and pokes at the magically animated ivy.
Olive’s next question finally earns her a proper response, and she glances back at where the assistant sits. “Oh, uhhh… Go ahead and just gimme some of the flowers. I`m sure it couldn`t hurt.” And just as Josie returns her attention to the plant, she finds a few of its tendrils have begun to loosely wrap themselves around her hand and wrist.
“Is this lil` guy always so friendly?”
Lil’ guy? Olive’s thoughts stuttered. “What?” She raised her head to look. Unfortunately, too late.
Friendliness turned to something else in a heartbeat. The tendrils abruptly tightened around Josie’s hand and wrist, once-invisible thorns digging into her skin.
Olive stood quickly, the inventory journal forgotten, all her attention now focused on the customer and the clinging ivy. Her mind raced to catch up. This plant wasn’t meant to be in the main shop. The assistant could guess how it ended up there.
“Don’t move.” Direct and firm, her voice steady. Olive grabbed a spray bottle from beneath the desk. Clear liquid swished inside. “It’ll only grip tighter if you do.”
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