grimfate

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good lord where have i been 

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@solitarysurvival​ :  ‘ why do you care ? ’  / for survivor carter mb?! 

      it’s  never  been  in  his  nature  to  give  up ,   to  turn  tail  when  the  cards  don’t  fall  in  his  favor.    even  now ,   after  the  teeth  of  a  rusted  bear  trap  have  torn  through  tendons  and  ligaments  and  left  a  bloodied  mockery  of  his  leg ,   he  will  not  stop.    not  when  the  throes  of  life ,   weak  and  fragile  as  they  may  be ,  still  cling  to  his  teammate.    to  his  friend. 

      he  can’t  help  the  groan  that  rattles  its  way  up  from  the  deepest  parts  of  him ,  the  way  normally  strong  limbs  shake  beneath  jake’s  additional  weight.  his  body’s  been  ravaged  quite  thoroughly ,  the  masked  killer’s  cleaver  making  short  work  of  his  thick  skin.  he  can  see  the  exit  gate  in  the  distance ,  open  and  beckoning  for  their  escape ,  if  they  can  only  make  it  there. 

     ❛❛  i  majored  in  psychology  . . .  because  i  wanted  to  help  people ,  jake.  ❜❜      one  step  turns  into  two ,  and  soon ,  they’re  shambling  their  way  towards  the  exit.  left ,  right ,  left ,  right.       ❛❛  i  care  because ,  if  we  stop  trying  to  help  one  another ,  we  forsake  a  major  component  of  what  makes  us  human.  and  our  humanity’s  about  all  we  have  left  in  here.  ❜❜

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john diggle appreciation 2/?

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@solitarysurvival​ :  ‘ try to stay awake.  talk to me. ’ 

      their  final  moments  are  never  pleasant ,  least  of  all  when  they  know  they’ll  be  thrust  right  back  into  one  of  these  seemingly  endless  trials ,  fighting  to  escape  a  bloody ,  painful  sacrifice  at  the  spider - like  tendrils  of  an  unnamed  and  brutal  entity. 

      light  is  fading  fast  as  blood  pours  from  his  abdomen ,  wrought  open  by  a  hungry ,  whirring  blade ;  pale  fingers  tremble  in  futile  attempts  to  press  his  innards  back  into  the  gaping  incision ,  slick  with  blood  that  spills  forth  with  each  ever - slowing  beat  of  his  heart.  his  consciousness  is  fading ,  and  with  it ,  his  sight ,  the  omnipresent  fog  encroaching  on  the  edges  of  his  vision.  

      he’d  spent  so  long  in  the  outside  world  contemplating  his  own  death  that  the  thought  no  longer  fazes  him ,  even  brings  a  sick  sense  of  relief  —–  but  the  entity  has  other  plans ,  and  with  each  sacrifice  comes  the  moment  when  his  eyes  open  and  his  lungs  once  more  gasp  for  breath ,  limbs  coated  in  a  thin  veneer  of  sweat  as  he  awakens  by  the  campfire.

      does  anyone  even  miss  him?  does  anyone  even  know  he’s  gone?  unremarkable ,  unmemorable.  he  assumes  they’ve  all  just  moved  on. 

       when  the  day  comes  that  the  entity  finally  extinguishes  that  last  glimmer  of  hope  in  his  stubbornly  eager  heart ,  he  wonders  if  the  others  trapped  in  this  nightmarish  realm  would  remember  him ,  or  simply  move  on  as  well. 

           ❛❛  i’m—  i’m  okay.  i’m  okay.  i-i’m  okay.  ❜❜   the  words ,  meant  to  be  reassuring ,  are  anything  but ,  more  of  a  nervous  mantra  in  the  face  of  defeat.  tears  stream  down  his  bloodied  cheeks  as  he  abandons  his  injuries  and  grasps  helplessly  at  jake’s  coat ,  bloodied  fingers  finding  weak  purchase  and  leaving  red  stains  behind.    ❛❛  r— right?  jake ... ?  ❜❜ 

      he  doesn’t  bother  trying  to  stifle  his  sobs  as  he  grunts  and  gasps  for  air ,  his  slim  frame  gradually  slouching  against  the  dusty  wooden  paneling  and  eventually  growing  still ,  glossy  eyes  left  to  stare  blankly  out  into  the  dark  mist.  

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i love when girls kill everyone who ever wronged them. more girls should do this

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      reposting a few notes on carter from his old blog, and also because i Do Not adhere to that shit-kicking fuckfest they mistakenly called lore in the tome: 

     –  he does not wear the facial equipment of his own volition.  much like the wires running through his arms, the entity sought to twist and shape his body as it saw fit, deeming the appliance a befitting punishment for the countless lives he ruined at Léry’s.  his eyes eventually burst from the heat and pressure of the electricity, and while one was pinned shut, the other is prosthetic, a gift from the entity to aid him. 

     –  Carter’s shoulders and arms are inwardly laced with wires and tubing that allow him to conduct and charge electricity at his whim.  over time, the strong, repeated voltage has severely damaged his flesh and muscles; from his biceps downwards, the damage becomes more and more severe, with wires now jutting through the split, cracked skin that exposes the bloody and charred muscles that aren’t given ample time to heal.

     –  he was barely 19 when his education at Yale was put on the back-burner in lieu of CIA interrogatory research.  his initially good intentions quickly became twisted and macabre, his ever-curious and formerly empathetic mind unable  ( or unwilling )  to grasp the horrors he was committing on a daily basis.  he gradually detached himself from their cries of pain and pleas for mercy, and eventually, his interest in the human mind became an obsession he was unwilling to abandon.  

     –  his final act before fleeing Léry’s was exacting revenge on his mentor, Mr. Stamper, by forcing him to participate in the same “interrogation” procedures that he’d taught to Carter.  were it not for his guidance, Carter  ( and his ideals )  would never have been so irreparably damaged  –  but, he realizes, he would never have attained such progress, either.

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@renalyra​  says :  ‘ come on, give me a hug. ’ 

     when  he’d  heard  the  botanist’s  scream  cut  across  the  open  expanse  of  the  cornfield,  a   chill   had  taken  hold  of  his  spine  and   twisted  hard.  heart  pounding ,   he’d  continued  to  fiddle  with  the  generator  before  him  with  shaky  fingers ,   his  only  guidance  the   brief  stint   at  the  mechanic’s  he’d  put  to  such   great  use   back  home.  despite  the  distance  between  them ,   he  could  still  see  her  –  strung  up  like  a  piece  of   uncured  meat ,   dangling  lifelessly  from  the  hook  jutting  through  her  shoulder  –  and  nobody  else  was  taking  the  bait.  

     teeth  grit ,   he’d  given  a  helpless  groan  and  reluctantly  abandoned  the  generator ,   pistons  firing  rapidly ,   to  sprint  across  the  field  and  help  her  down.  they’d  been  given  little  time  to  run  afterwards ;   the  roar  of  a   chainsaw   announced  the  killer’s  presence  as  he  charged  at  them ,   his  makeshift  face  an  impassive  mask  of  stitches  above  rotten ,   jagged  teeth   that  parted  with  an  inhuman ,  almost  pig - like  roar. 

    he’d  shoved  her  forward  –  just  go,  i  got  this  –  but  his  efforts  to  distract  went  unnoticed   ( or ignored )   as  the  giant  fixed  its  sights  on  her ,   bloodied  apron   rippling  with  each  step.  in  a  moment  to  catch  his  breath  behind  an  unfinished  wooden  wall ,   he  saw  the  girl  fall  with  a  sickening   crack   from  the  cannibal’s  mallet.  

    brown  eyes  had  widened  as  the  chainsaw  was  shoved  through  her  sternum  with  little  resistance ,   dragging  upwards  until  the  gurgling  of  blood  in  her  throat  was  silenced  by  the  chains   tearing  through  her  skull.   his  stomach  gave  a  familiar  churn  just  as  the  alarm  sounded  to  signal  power  returning  to  the  exit  gates. 

     the  next  few  minutes  were  a  blur ;  he’d  managed  to  stagger  through  the  gate  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth  and  ended  up  wandering   away   from  the  campfire  rather  than   towards   it.  guilt  settled  in  his  gut  and   ate  away  at  him   from  within ,  nagging  him  for  having  not  done  enough  to  save  her ,  for  not   trying  harder.  

    when  he  next  approaches  the  fire ,  to  the  turning  of  several  heads ,  he  looks  ill.   worn  thin.   it’s  renato  that  stands  to  approach  him ,   arms  spread  wide   in  invitation.  normally ,  he  avoids  contact  like  the  plague.  but  anyone  with  a   keen  eye   can  see  the  initial  brimming  of  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  staggers  forward  and  all  but   collapses   into  renato’s  embrace ,  face  buried  in  the  young  man’s  shoulder  and   weary  arms   encircling  him  from  behind.      i’m  so  tired  of  this  shit. 

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@mshtix​  says :   ❛  just face it, you’re stuck with me now ― whether you want to or not.  ❜   to  dwight.   🖤   she  tease  him. 

        the  punch  that  lands  on  his  shoulder  is    playful ,  he's  learned ,  so  unlike  those  of  his  peers  back  home ,  with  hands  capable  of  inflicting  nothing  but    pain,  whether  by  their  own  merit  or  assistance  from  the    lockers    lining  the  walls.    he  likes  to    (  learned  to?  )    joke  that  he  spent  his  schooling  years  as  a    walking  bruise.    and  even  then ,  he  wasn't    playing  the  victim    right ,  couldn't  help  but    chuckle  nervously    instead  of  cry  and  beg ,  trying  to  talk  his  way  out  of  whatever  humiliation  he'd  be  subjected  to  that  day.  

        looking  back ,  there  isn't  a    whole  lot    he's  done  right  in  his  life.    from  ruining  parts  at  the  auto  shop  to  repeatedly  crashing  his  bike  while  delivering  pizzas ,  he's  done  just  about    everything    wrong ,  and  everyone  knew  it.    everyone ,  including  his  fellow  survivors.    when  they'd  first  arrived  in  the  fog ,  he  was  little  more  than  a    detriment ,  unable  to  hold  his  own ,  and  it  was  only  through    repeated  trial  and  error    that  he  discovered  his  true  affinity :  utilizing  everyone's  strengths  for  the  betterment  of  the  team.    it  wasn't  much ,  but  it  was  just  enough  to  start  slowly  earning  their  respect.  

        nea  in  particular  was  the  hardest  to  wear  down ,  a  certifiable    lone  wolf    if  he'd  ever  met  one.    whether  out  of  pity  or  frustration  at  seeing  his  lack  of    physical  prowess ,  she'd  offered  to  teach  him  how  to  traverse  the  various  realms    more  efficiently ,  how  to  use  gravity  to  his  advantage  when  evading  a  killer.    he  was  thankful  for  her  patience  and  understanding ,  and  told  her  so  as  an  aside  when  they  returned  to  the  campfire ,  knowing  she  wouldn't  want  such    sappy  shit    being  said  amongst  the  others.  

        he  didn't  mind.    he  still  doesn't.    they've  shared  several  heartfelt    (  albeit  fleeting  )    moments  together  in  their  continued  quest  for  survival ,  and  he's  come  to  consider  her  an  invaluable  member  of  their  team.  

        ❛❛    i  can  think  of    worse    ways  to  spend  a    hellish  eternity.  ❜❜         the  smile  that  tugs  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  is  boyish  and  genuine ,  and  he  even  goes  so  far  as  to  give  a  very  gentle ,  playful  punch  to  her  shoulder  in  return.        ❛❛    seriously ,  though.   i'm  glad  you're  with  us.  you've  been  a  big  help.    ❜❜  

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URL  SONG  CHALLENGE .

make a playlist using every letter of your url ! 

G .    GUNS FOR HIRE     —    woodkid.

kiss  your  perfect  day  goodbye  ,    because  the  world  is  on  fire.    tuck  your  innocence  goodnight  ;    you  sold  your  friends  like  guns  for  hire.    go  play  with  your  blocks  ,    and  now  you'll  pay  when  these  walls  come  tumbling  down.  

R .    REQUIEM FOR MY HARLEQUIN     —    poets of the fall.

this  is  a  requiem  for  the  harlequin  ,    the  great  pretender  crashing  down  with  style.    here's  to  the  fall  of  man  ,    fame  to  dust  ,    fortune  to  sand.    the  great  surrender  ,    finally  arrived!    this  is  how  the  requiem  loves  the  harlequin  ;    wake  up  -  your  chains  are  porcelain.    like  a  phoenix  from  the  ashes  ,    we  will  rise  again. 

I .    IRON SKY     —    mo jamil.

we  find  gods  and  religion  to  paint  us  with  salvation  ,    but  no  one  ,    oh  ,    nobody  ,    can  give  you  the  power  to  rise  over  love  ,    over  hate  ,    through  this  iron  sky  that's  fast  becoming  our  mind.    over  fear  ,    and  into  freedom.  

M .    MARCHING ON VERSAILLES     —    ad infinitum.

this  was  your  final  chance  ,    a  chance  you  didn't  take.    like  the  lightning  ,    we  will  fall  on  your  golden  wealth.    this  was  your  final  dance  ,    your  final  reverence  ;    now  on  the  horizon  ,    you  can  see  our  torches  burning.    no  turning  back  -  our  army  will  attack.    your  dynasty  ends  tonight!    we  are  the  army  of  silent  cries  ,    marching  on  your  denial.    we  are  the  justice  for  those  who  died  for  the  glory  of  versailles!  

F .    FEBRUARY SONG     —    josh groban.

sometimes  it's  hard  to  find  my  ground  ,    'cause  i  keep  on  falling  as  i  try  to  get  away  from  this  crazy  world.    and  i  never  want  to  let  you  down  ;    forgive  me  if  i  slip  away.    when  all  that  i've  known  is  lost  and  found  ,    i  promise  you  i  ,    i'll  come  back  to  you  one  day.  

A .    AT THE BREAK OF DAWN     —    arion ft. elize ryd.

close  your  eyes  for  just  one  time  and  lose  your  paradise.    all  we  had  is  gone  ;    it  must  be  sacrificed.  and  i  know  we  have  to  let  it  go  ,    escape  before  we  lie  on  ocean  floor.    and  i  know  ,    when  all  the  hope  is  gone  ,    we  have  to  run  before  we're  at  the  break  of  dawn.  

T .    THE KILLING KIND     —    marianas trench.

if  madness  overtakes  us  both  ,    then  nobody  would  be  alone  ;    the  ghosts  of  us  could  linger  here  ,    forever  not  to  disappear.    stay  ,    stay  near.    oh  ,    stay!    we  could  be  together  here  ;    forever  we're  together  ,    bound  in  madness.  

E .    EATER OF WORLDS     —    everyone loves a villain.

we  are  gods,  we  are  monsters  ;    we  create  to  devour.    not  for  love  ,    but  for  power.    what's  a  life  worth  in  the  end?    look  at  what  you've  created  -  a  creature  so  cruel  and  defeated.    i  am  the  eater  of  worlds  ,    and  i'm  looking  for  someone  to  feed  me.    can't  imagine  the  violence  ,    the  rage  and  the  love  in  my  madness.    i  am  the  eater  of  worlds  ,    and  i'm  looking  for  someone  to  feed  me.  

tagged by:  i stole it, tee hee. 

tagging:  @timethehobo (just for kicks) ,  @ubcs ,  @alphateamsfinest  (lol good luck) ,  @godblooded ,  @idolpyre ,  @mysticwrit ,  @stardustvein  and whoever else is reading this. 

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@renalyra​ says :   [ 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ] ― sender whispers something in receiver’s ear ( specify what )  //  perhaps for dwight fairfield ... renato keeping his voice low like, let's move quietly so we don't get found mid-trial or smth 

        it's  been  an  exceptionally  long  and  arduous  trial ,  with  two  fellow  survivors  gone  in  the  blink  of  an  eye.    escape  doesn't  seem  likely    —    not  with  the  nurse's  telltale ,  breathless  shrieks  piercing  the  night  air ,  and  not  with  the  injuries  they've  sustained  and  can't  tend  to ,  lest  they  give  away  their  hiding  spot.    his  hands  are  shaking ,  back  pressed  almost  painfully  against  the  crumbling  brick  wall ;  if  nothing  else ,  he  can  buy  renato  enough  time  to  find  the  hatch ,  maybe ,  but—  

        you  think  running  will  help?  

        he  blinks  at  the  sudden  whisper ,  focus  contorting  pallid  features.    he  won't  allow  renato  to  take  the  fall  for  this.    certainly  not  for  the  likes  of  him.    it  was  only  due  to  his  fellow  survivor's  stamina  that  he'd  been  granted  enough  time  to  complete  a  second  generator.    had  their  positions  been  switched ,  they'd  both  be  dead  by  now.    his  stomach  twists  with  anxiety ,  the  dawning  realization  of  what  needs  to  happen  for  the  most  favorable  outcome.  

        ❛❛    no ,  i  don't ,    ❜❜      he  says ,  in  a  voice  that  he  hopes  comes  across  with  more  confidence  than  he  feels.    ❛❛    but  i  don't  think  we  have  much  of  a  choice.    listen ,  i'm  not  —    ❜❜      a  shuddering  breath ,  shoulders  deflating.      ❛❛    i'm  not  that  fast.    i  won't  make  it.    but  ...  i  can  get  far  enough  that  she  won't  catch  you  in  time.  ❜❜  

        without  waiting  for  an  answer ,  he  shoves  himself  off  the  wall  and  onto  his  feet ,  long  legs  working  overtime  to  carry  him  towards  his  fate.

[grimfate]

@p0ssessed​ says :  ‘ where are you taking me? ’ 

        this  isn't  like  him  ,  and  it  nags  relentlessly  at  the  back  of  his  brain  ,  reminds  him  that  he's  always  flown  solo.    this  island  has  become  his  sanctuary  ,  a  comforting  home  he  always  seemed  to  lack.    to  let  someone  into  its  depths  ,  to  reveal  the  secrets  he's  spent  so  many  years  and  so  much  money  trying  to  perfect    —    it's  dangerous.    unpredictable.    and  he  doesn't  like  unpredictable.  

        perhaps  that's  why  he  developed  such  an  obsession  with  animatronics.    if  he  were  ever  featured  on  one  of  those  dime  a  dozen  true  crime  specials  ,  one  might  theorize  that  he  felt  more  at  ease  around  robotic  ,  computerized  parts  than  living  beings  ,  all  because  they  were  predicatable.    barring  any  glitches  or  defective  parts  ,  you  always  knew  what  to  expect.    no  irrationality  ,  no  erratic  movements.    no  violent  mood  swings.  

        but  that's  a  theory  for  another  day.    at  present  ,  he's  questioning  himself  with  every  step  he  takes  further  into  the  depths  of  his  castle  ,  the  young  woman  in  tow.    normally  ,  he  might  have  a  little  fun  with  her  ,  or  if  he's  feeling  merciful  ,  kill  her  on  the  spot    —    but  there's  something  about  her  that  bothers  him.    something  in  her  eyes  that's  strangely  familiar  ,  an  emptiness  filled  by  someone  else  entirely.    an  unseen  entity  that  consumes  waking  thought  and  dreams  alike  ,  moves  your  limbs  like  a  marionette.  

        he  stops  rather  abruptly  in  a  dimly-lit  room  ,  walls  lined  with  shelves  and  boxes  full  of  scrap  metal  and  electronic  bits.    a  corpse  is  propped  up  in  a  doctor's  chair  ,  seated  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ,  its  flesh  torn  and  jagged  atop  bits  of  exposed  wiring  and  plating.    it's  the  first  time  he's  come  across  someone  that  he  feels  might  understand  his  work.    perhaps  even  appreciate  it.    and  if  she  doesn't?    if  ,  after  this  enormous  leap  of  trust  he's  suddenly  heaved  onto  her  unwitting  shoulders  ,  she  should  find  it  alarming  and  try  to  run?    well  .  .  .  her  death  would  be  far  from  swift  ;  he'd  see  to  that.  

        dark  eyes  study  her  intently  ,  a  predator  simultaneously  observing  its  prey  and  waiting  for  its  approval.  

[grimfate]

        the  news  of  natalie’s  death  came  when  he  arrived  home  after  class  to  find  his  parents  ,    red - eyed  and  somber  ,    waiting  at  the  dinner  table.    their  faces  should’ve  told  him  everything  ,    but  he  wanted  to  hear  it.    he  needed  to  hear  it  ,    or  it  wasn’t  true.    seconds  seemed  to  pass  as  hours  with  each  word  his  mother  spoke  ,    detailing  natalie’s  downward  turn  that  led  to  her  final  hours.  

        in  the  moments  that  followed  ,    he’d  felt  a  rage  unlike  anything  he’d  ever  known  ,    bubbling  up  from  his  stomach  to  his  chest  and  ready  to  spew  like  poisoned  bile  from  his  lips.    they’d  known  how  much  natalie  meant  to  him  ,    and  they’d  let  him  trudge  through  his  day  as  though  nothing  had  happened.    he’d  lost  everything  ,    the  most  important  person  in  his  pointless  life  ,    and  he  hadn’t  even  been  there  to  comfort  her  ,    hold  her  tiny  hand  ,    as  she  passed.    she’d  died  thinking  her  older  brother  ,    her  entire  world  ,    hadn’t  bothered  to  show  up.  

        he  didn’t  speak  a  word  to  them  afterwards.    his  anger  was  channeled  into  tearing  apart  his  room  ,    yelling  and  throwing  anything  he  could  get  his  hands  on.    he’d  screamed  his  throat  raw  ,    and  when  his  energy  was  expended  ,    he’d  collapsed  to  the  floor  ,    lean  body  curling  in  on  itself  ,    and  openly  sobbed  until  grief  gave  way  to  a  fitful  sleep.  

        he  didn’t  cry  at  the  funeral.    he  had  no  tears  left  to  spare.    he  had  very  little  to  spare  these  days  ,    emotionally.    condolences  from  people  who  would  otherwise  have  never  given  him  a  second  thought  fell  upon  deaf  ears.    i’m  sorry  for  your  loss.    it’s  just  so  tragic.    she  was  a  wonderful  girl.    he  wanted  to  bash  their  faces  in.    see  how  well  their  meaningless  words  sounded  through  a  caved  skull.  

      none  of  it  mattered  anymore.    nothing  would  bring  her  back.  

        some  exploration  might  provide  a  welcome  distraction  ,    he  finally  decides.    august    (  august  ,    now  ,    never  again  augie  )    finds  himself  sneaking  into  a  long  -  abandoned  convenience  store  ,    fresh  from  the  bar  where  he’d  been  blowing  through  cash  nearly  every  day  for  the  last  week.    the  familiar  acrid  ,    metallic  stench  of  blood  invades  his  senses  almost  immediately  ,    and  he  follows  the  scent  to  its  source.  

        his  normally  anxious  ,    miserable  expression  is  serious  ,    strangely  calm  ,    as  he  pulls  out  his  camera  and  nudges  the  door  open  with  his  foot.    two  freshly  mutilated  bodies  lay  strewn  across  the  room  ,    filth  -  caked  tiles  slick  with  crimson  pools.    his  pulse  quickens  for  the  first  time  since  nat’s  passing.  

          ❛❛   holy  shit  ,   ❜❜      he  mutters  hoarsely  ,    already  feeling  a  warm  twinge  in  his  stomach.    

@grimfate

A pale woman with eyebrows so plucked they were barely visible, her red hair snagged and twisted round into an unmanaged bun sat atop her charmless expression. Her company was as disheveled, a spindly creature teetering on puncture marked limbs. Knock-kneeing past the hazards of the floor, crunching liquor bottles bravely beneath the rubbery bottoms of flip-flops so wornthin that the print of her step was permanently cast into the soles. The two joined each other in a mirror streaked with a web of cracks.

The imagination had to stretch to picture the building's original all-white interior. Decrepitude had eaten all clean things. Human filth and the obstinate mother nature reclaimed what were once aisles and aisles of products. Picked naked, now rusted in service as shelves for the belongings of the squatters: heavy clothes and blankets to combat the unseasonably late winter cold, drug paraphernalia, and a number of spray paint cans.

The pair of their voices were bonedry and thin. Speaking the same plea of "Candyman" without rhythm, without unity, awkwardly attempting to align the speed of their tongues and never finding each other. Incompatible, but determined, they stop at their respective fifth chants.

Walls barely-lit by yellowed floodlights read sweets to the sweet looking wet to the touch. The smell of the acrid aerosol gets stronger towards the building's bathroom.

And copper. An eye-stinging amount of copper. Wet burbling is overwhelmed by a sharp yelp, an ecstatic cry belting from behind the ajar bathroom door. To each plunging pound that lands, an unwieldly and dripping type of music, she harmonized with curses of desperation. Quieter, and quieter. And when she longer sang, her martyred body was heard colliding into the sink.

[grimfate]

     honestly one of the saddest things about the rpc is when, for whatever reason and through whatever series of events, you fall out of contact with old writing partners and have no way to get in touch with them.  they just sit there in the back of your mind as fond memories and all you can do is idly wonder how they are and if they’re okay.  if they still enjoy the character(s) they wrote with the same passion.  if they ever, by some stroke of luck, think about you, too.  

[grimfate]

new tags, pt. 2. 

[grimfate]

new tags, pt. 1. 

[grimfate]

        —  if  there's  a  universe  ,    even  one  reality  ,    where  i'm  enough  for  me.  

        #GRIMFATE.    a  horror  -  based  multi  ,    by  cole.    highly  private  &  selective.    est.  nov.  2022.    18+  only  ;    minors  are  blocked  on  sight.  

          a  study  in  :    lamenting   who   you   once   were  ,    unpopular   and   often   unethical   decisions  ,   enacting   your   own   form   of   justice  ,   trauma   that   isolates   you   from   everyone   you   know  ,    learning   to   deal   with   blood   on   your   hands  ,   and   choosing   to   live   when   death   would   be   an   easier  ,    often   welcome   choice.  

        links.      carrd.    promo.  

[grimfate]

That's disgusting İ'd never- *starts touching myself*