sheriff-t-money - Tumblr blog

[sheriff-t-money]

⋆ ⁺ ₊ ⋆ ☀︎ showing affection.

add [ reverse ] to change sender and receiver's roles.

[ arm ] sender links arms with receiver.

[ back ] sender pats receiver on the back.

[ blanket ] sender wraps a blanket around receiver.

[ cheek ] sender kisses receiver's cheek.

[ chore ] sender does a chore they know receiver hates doing.

[ cook ] sender cooks for receiver.

[ feed ] sender feeds receiver a bite of their food.

[ flowers ] sender gives receiver some flowers.

[ forehead ] sender kisses receiver's forehead.

[ gift ] sender gives receiver a gift. specify what.

[ hair ] sender brushes receiver's hair.

[ hand ] sender kisses the back of receiver's hand.

[ picnic ] sender takes receiver out for a picnic.

[ ruffle ] sender ruffles receiver's hair.

[ take ] sender takes receiver's hand.

[ takeout ] sender shows up to receiver's place with dinner.

[ tea ] sender makes receiver a hot drink.

[sheriff-t-money]

There's an incredulous look on his face. "I don't look sad," he protests. Grumpy, he could accept. Because being grumpy meant he looked intimidating. And that wasn't a bad descriptor to have when you were the sheriff of North Kill--or any town, really. No one respected a sheriff, or police officer, who was a pushover.

"And this situation is," he gestured around her apartment with his hand that still grasped the drink, "uncomfortable. I didn't think you were still in town." And she was in town. This wasn't a mere visit. She'd be in a hotel if that was the case. She was living here.

Travis knocked back the drink, holding the burn of the drink in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Setting the empty glass on the table beside him, he felt the wave of the heat pass from his throat to his stomach to his brain. That was it. No more for the night. He had a job to do.

"Mm, I've seen enough of these types of situations to know better than leaving. Overdoses and alcohol poisoning are two of the main causes of death in this town. Aside from cancer and old age, obviously," he waves it off. "So, I'm sittin' pretty until I'm satisfied you're gonna make it through the night."

@theaspiringvet

@theaspiringvet from here

There's an awkward pause. "Actually, your neighbor called. Noise complaint." He was here on official duty. Hell, he hadn't even known she was living here.

His gaze finds the bottle in her hand. Oh, he knows that lure. That was his go-to coping mechanism, too. Chris had had his cigarettes. Ma had her religion. Pa had a mix of everything. Bobby, sweet Bobby, didn't need anything. Himself? He had turned to the bottle.

But carefully. Hackett liked to consider himself a functional alcoholic. When he imbibed, it was in measured doses. He couldn't afford to be drunk on his shift, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Is this a celebration?" he asked, nodding with his chin toward the bottle. "Or are you throwin' a pity party for yourself? Thought you had better things to do. Like goin' to school and saving animals out of trees or somethin'."

[sheriff-t-money]

Once her hands were in place, he made quick work of securing them within the cuffs. Satisfied, he unlocked the cell door and briefly stepped into her cell to remove the toothbrush from the sink, pocketing it. Prison Rules 101: Never leave a possible weapon with a prisoner.

Then he gripped the chain of the handcuffs and nodded for her to follow him. He didn't pull, instead walking at her own pace, but he kept his hand snug on the cuffs. Kearney usually didn't put up as much of a struggle as Brinly. But that didn't mean he trusted her.

"Interestin'," he murmurs when she claims a mutation is possible. Rabies, itself, may not have a cure. But what if a mutated version could? Or maybe it'd make finding a cure even more impossible. Travis was desperate for some sort of solution. The huntin' wasn't going anywhere.

For all they knew, Silas could have left town for good. He could be terrorizing even more people in Canada or down south. They needed to look for other solutions if they wanted to save Chris, Kaylee, and Caleb . . . and now Brinly.

But before he could venture into that territory, he needed to get her on the same page. They reached the showers, and he unlocked her cuffs, nodding inside. "10 minutes," he tells her. "No funny business."

It was the same spiel he always gave. Travis kept guard just outside of the bathroom, sitting on a bench against the wall. He played with the handcuffs while he waited, opening and closing them with a thumb. It was the full moon tonight. She'd see. She'd finally understand just what kind of shit show she had landed herself in.

@densofyarrow

@densofyarrow from here.

It was honestly amazing how fast this young woman before him could increase his blood pressure. He'd responded to overdoses, suicides, and broken up more than his fair share of bar brawls. Her? She tested his damned patience like no one and nothing before.

Before he can tell her just what she can do, she lists off a number of things not currently relevant to her situation. That blood pressure continues to climb. It causes him to grit his jaw tightly, the pressure making his jaw pop audibly.

When she suggests something actually plausible, he gives a slight shake of his head. "There ain't no way in Hell I'm giving you a portable camp stove." He let the sentence hang for a moment. "But maybe I can," he glances down at the tray with the messy sandwiches on it, "change up the menu."

She didn't know, after all, that this was coming right out of his pocket. No taxpayers were funding these meals. Money was tight at home, but . . . he could think of something. Cut back on his own dining out . . . show up for dinner at home more.

The thought made him uneasy. One of the perks of earning his own income, a decent income as far as he was concerned, was the ability to use it to put some space between himself and his family. Space was good when you had a mother like Constance Hackett.

As the gears in his mind worked, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip in thought. Decision made, he straightened and pulled out his notebook and pencil. Tapping the tip to his tongue, he pressed it to the paper.

"Any allergies I should know about?" he asked, loud enough for Brinly to hear, too.

[sheriff-t-money]

“Could you please just stand only over the light of the flash’s range? It’s crucial that I get quality footage if anyone is bound to believe us.” Because, yes, Emma had full confidence that they would be able to make it. And after all was said and done, she had to have it all recorded and ready for upload. “This is why I keep saying you guys totally need to install some wifi over this wasteland.”

There's an awkward moment where Travis gages just where the best spot to stand is. He should be better at this. Hell, he's done more than his share of press conferences. But that doesn't keep him from making some form of uncertain shamble that gets him in half-light and half-darkness.

"It's called a forest," he grunts. "And do you know how expensive that would be? It's a damned miracle we even have electricity out here. When I was kid, if the power went out, we had to take baths in the lake and draw water from the well like it was the fuckin' 1800s. And it'd sometimes be a week or more before the power company made it down here to fix the problem."

Before he can continue to go off on his tangent, the light from her phone catches something. "Bring that closer," he gestures to her. Travis kneels on the forest floor, squinting at a muddy rock half-buried in the dirt. Brushing the pine needles from it, he sees what looks like . . . claw marks.

Big claw marks. Pressing his hand to the marks, he swears under his breath. No way those came from a typical werewolf. The scratches were too far apart and far too deep and long. Something big was out here.

@h-a-unted

[sheriff-t-money]

In the Mood by Jerdess

[sheriff-t-money]

THE QUARRY (2022) dev. Supermassive Games

[sheriff-t-money]

SHOOT TRAVIS || Travis will kill you.

[sheriff-t-money]

"Does this look like the god-damned Harbinger Motel to you?"

[sheriff-t-money]

Ted Raimi as Joxer II

Hercules: The Legendary Journeys 4x5 ⚡︎ "Stranger in a Strange World"

[sheriff-t-money]

Quick portrait of Travis Hackett

[sheriff-t-money]

their opposite aesthetics are compelling

[sheriff-t-money]

Early morning on North Douglas

Juneau, Alaska

[sheriff-t-money]

AYOO??

[sheriff-t-money]

Hey, everybody!

So, I've been seeing quite a few posts about people having an interest in RPing. I thought I'd write a quick little guide to help those interested get started! This is not, by any means, an exhaustive guide. Nor is it rules. It's guidelines, folks, so you can take and ignore whatever you want. It's mostly just to cover the sort of etiquette that has developed within the roleplay community over the decades.

First, it's a good idea to choose a character you feel connected to or have a deep interest in writing. That might be a canon character (someone who actually exists in the media, i.e. Travis, Jacob, Ryan, Emma from The Quarry), or an original character (OC) who does not exist in the media but who you develop yourself. Canons do tend to get more love in the roleplay universe, but there are writers out there who are happy to write with OCs, too.

Second, once you've decided on a character, it's time to make a blog! Most RPers won't write with you if you're writing on a personal blog. It tends to be a personal preference. I don't care, myself, but if you want to make headway in a fandom, then you might want to consider making a sideblog, at the very least, for your character.

Third, the trickiest part is finding people to write with. Fandoms ebb and flow with activity as time goes on. Old fans leave and new fans discover it and join. You can search Tumblr tags for a particular RP fandom (i.e. "Quarry RP") or look through the various tumblrs devoted to RP hunting and requests. You can even submit your own requests.

Four, after you found a few blogs, it's a good idea to check their tumblr for rules. Some people will make a pinned post (people who are much better at tumblring than me, for example) while others will have a link to the rules post on their actual tumblr profile. Look them over and make sure you're a good fit for that person. A lot of adult writers, for example, will not write with writers who are under the age of 21 or 18.

Five, if the rules check out, then it's time to make contact. First, follow the blog and wait for them to follow you back. If you get a follow, then that's a sign that they have an interest in writing with you. This is where having your own blog for your character helps. Most writers won't follow back personal blogs.

Six, if you get a follow back, then it's time to discuss plots. There are usually two methods for this. The easiest is to simply send them a message. Let them know you're interested, see if they want an interaction, too, and if you really want to show them you're motivated, perhaps suggest a few possible storylines. Nothing too involved, just basic ideas. If they say no or don't respond, then try not to take it personally. There are some characters that just don't interact well with other characters in the sense that it can be difficult to think of organic interactions that they might share. The other way is to send them a prompt or meme through their Asks. Double-check the rules to ensure they're okay receiving those without prior interaction.

Seven, after you've plotted, it's a good idea to determine who is going to write the starter. For some plots, it might more sense for one character to start things off than the other. If the other writer tends to be busy, and you're not, then you can also always volunteer to write one. Often, the hardest part of getting a story going is simply starting it.

Eight, when it comes to formatting, Tumblr is the wild west. You'll find most veteran writers formatting their posts in some way. They'll pretty up the text and use some stylized icons. You can do as little or as much formatting as you want. I keep things pretty basic because I just don't have the time or energy to devote to making my posts look aesthetically pleasing. You're more than welcome to make yours as gorgeous or as plain as you want. Most writers tend to care about the quality of the writing over how pretty it looks.

Nine, and that brings us to quality. Writers all have their own standards. I'm old and I've been writing for almost two decades now, so my standards tend to be on the higher side. Others are a lot more lax. And some have standards even higher than myself. The quality of a post comes down to a few things. The first is authenticity of the character you're portraying. If you're doing things wildly out of character for no reason, then that can be jarring. Secondly, is how well you engage the other character. For example, the best writers tend to be able to give something for the other writer to build on. It may not be possible for every post, but in most cases, if you're only giving one-worded sentences that don't drive the action, then you're making it harder for the other character to interact with you. What's keeping them from just having their character walk away from yours, for example? Thirdly, grammar. As a professional writer, I tend to be a grammar whore (although typos are totally fine, I do them all the time). How a person formats their posts might interfere with some rules of grammar. For example, it's standard practice to write dialogue with double quotation marks, but some writers might use single quotation marks because of how they want to format their posts. That's totally fine. If English isn't your first language or you struggle to write well, then I have the trick for you. Chat GPT. Get a free account, copy and paste your reply in it, and then ask it to edit the post for you. You have yourself a--mostly--error-free reply!

Ten, have fun. Roleplaying is two-parts fun. The first is interacting with others but the other is really developing your character yourself. Think of headcanons, develop playlists (both songs ABOUT your character and songs they might listen to themselves), write little ficlets, read fanfiction, explore fanart, and just enjoy who you're writing.

If you have questions, feel free to hit me up! As always, this is just guidelines! Take what you will and enjoy this lovely bit of escapism with the rest of us.

[sheriff-t-money]

15%. He didn't like those odds. But what was his brother, anymore? His niece? His nephew? They weren't humans anymore. Not in the strictest sense, anyway. They healed up fast. They'd never gotten ill since the bite. What if this particular infection had similar attributes to rabies but without the lethal consequences? To the host, anyway. Plenty of lethal consequences for anyone close to the host when it manifested.

But these were big ideas. And he didn't have a mind for it. Hackett was specifically good at the things he had been trained to do. Both from his parents and the academy. "You can't trust everything you read on Google," he waves her off. "Better to go to the source. Hands, please, ma'am," he gestures for her to put her wrists through the gap in the cell. "You know the drill."

Hackett removed the handcuffs from his belt, metal grinding as the cuffs open. His thumb brushes along the curve of it thoughtfully. It was clear he was still in deep thought about what she had said. Especially the bit about a vaccination.

"So, let's say a person gets the vaccination. And then they get bit by a creature with rabies. Does that person die? Or are they um . . . immune?" he asked. "Or is there a possibility for it to mutate or somethin'?"

@densofyarrow from here.

It was honestly amazing how fast this young woman before him could increase his blood pressure. He'd responded to overdoses, suicides, and broken up more than his fair share of bar brawls. Her? She tested his damned patience like no one and nothing before.

Before he can tell her just what she can do, she lists off a number of things not currently relevant to her situation. That blood pressure continues to climb. It causes him to grit his jaw tightly, the pressure making his jaw pop audibly.

When she suggests something actually plausible, he gives a slight shake of his head. "There ain't no way in Hell I'm giving you a portable camp stove." He let the sentence hang for a moment. "But maybe I can," he glances down at the tray with the messy sandwiches on it, "change up the menu."

She didn't know, after all, that this was coming right out of his pocket. No taxpayers were funding these meals. Money was tight at home, but . . . he could think of something. Cut back on his own dining out . . . show up for dinner at home more.

The thought made him uneasy. One of the perks of earning his own income, a decent income as far as he was concerned, was the ability to use it to put some space between himself and his family. Space was good when you had a mother like Constance Hackett.

As the gears in his mind worked, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip in thought. Decision made, he straightened and pulled out his notebook and pencil. Tapping the tip to his tongue, he pressed it to the paper.

"Any allergies I should know about?" he asked, loud enough for Brinly to hear, too.

[sheriff-t-money]

He looked awkward as fuck? "You ever consider maybe that's just my face?" he remarked dryly. But he knew what she meant. Awkwardly hovering near the door was . . . well . . . awkward. Tucking his notepad into his shirt pocket, he clicked the pen closed and hung that on the pocket.

A careful survey of the room helped him consider the different seating options available to him. Which one was casual but not familiar? He opted for the armchair on its own closest to the door. Comfy but not too deep into her personal home to make it appear like he wanted to be a frequent guest or something.

If Travis looked awkward standing, then he looked even more awkward sitting. Trying to look . . . not that . . . he sipped slowly at the drink she had offered him. At the very least, the bite of alcohol helped burn away his own discomfort about being here.

But he isn't prepared for the news that she hits him with. His eyebrows raise in surprise. "He . . . left you," he repeated. "After you murdered someone for him." Well, that was a hell of a surprise. He didn't think Max had the backbone to leave anyone.

He was an idiot and clearly a product of his times, but Hackett had been sure the two were solid. You didn't kill for just anyone, after all. Unless you were a serial killer, anyway.

"So, is that why we're--?" he gestured to the two of them drinking. "Mournin' young love?"

@theaspiringvet from here

There's an awkward pause. "Actually, your neighbor called. Noise complaint." He was here on official duty. Hell, he hadn't even known she was living here.

His gaze finds the bottle in her hand. Oh, he knows that lure. That was his go-to coping mechanism, too. Chris had had his cigarettes. Ma had her religion. Pa had a mix of everything. Bobby, sweet Bobby, didn't need anything. Himself? He had turned to the bottle.

But carefully. Hackett liked to consider himself a functional alcoholic. When he imbibed, it was in measured doses. He couldn't afford to be drunk on his shift, after all. He had a reputation to uphold.

"Is this a celebration?" he asked, nodding with his chin toward the bottle. "Or are you throwin' a pity party for yourself? Thought you had better things to do. Like goin' to school and saving animals out of trees or somethin'."

[sheriff-t-money]

You're the one who shot me? I'm telling mom.