#ohshadow

[kxllerblond]

@ohshadow / sc

❝ Don't give me that look. No one actually keeps cookies in these things. ❞ he clucked his tongue, gently reached to take the cookie tin filled with a variety of sewing supplies. He replaced the lid and set it back where it had come from.

❝ My mother didn't even keep sewing supplies in hers. She kept trinkets and little polished rocks and the sorts like some sort of crow. ❞ fondness leaked through his dull tone despite himself.

[thekavseklabs]

Ok i think we all know the routine by now @ohshadow posts a meme image and i rush to draw it without even glancing at a reference because drawing for mutuals makes my brain happy

[lunarscaled]

@ohshadow replied to your post “"People either want to kill me, eat me, or treat...”:

"you an' me both."

"Okay, alright, hear me out---"

"We write the romance novel, and we base the protagonist on you. People love that stuff."

[the27percent]

@ohshadow

There had been something about drifting around late at night that was keeping Atieno occupied. The activity of the night time was a prime place for them to hang out...A crash surprisingly close to them had them stumbling on their own walk, jarred out of the the stroll that they were taking.

"Damn, talk about .. getting thrown off-kilter." They muttered, just glancing around to see what could have been .. going on.

The creeping feeling of being watched didn't seem to help matters either.

"...Hey there?" They are back on their guard, gathering their bearings and continuing to look around even more intently ... they had spoken, if only to see who else might have been out here.

[rose-from-ashes]

Starter for @ohshadow

"Fancy meeting you again." Y'shtola spoke quietly, mindful of their place in a library, and sat herself next to Sliske at a table. She had a stack of books in hand, which she set down, and plucked the top from the stack to open and start reading. Quiet while reading may be preferred most times, but the man had been a good conversationalist before, and she was in an amicable mood, even if they only ended up reading silently in company. "How goes your reading?"

[bothfeetinthegrave]

| @ohshadow :: from here |

Even though he couldn't see in the traditional sense, Eden usually considered himself to be pretty good at recognising when there were others in the area - even if they were being quiet. Humans were noisy, in ways most were not even fully cognisant of: they breathed, their stomachs grumbled and made noise, their lungs and other organs and blood moved - living just had a sound that he could recognise as absent in himself and pick up in others. That's why the feeling of being observed with no evidence of anyone around gave him pause.

He blamed this on old, vestigial fear from when he had been alive. Considering the way his life had ended, it was reasonable to be afraid of running into danger without warning, was it not? Most people couldn't even see him.

Still, he froze dead still at the next empty intersection in a particularly quiet part of town, blurry and barely there, remaining eye reflecting faintly in the early morning low-light. His voice, carried on breathless lungs, was scarcely above a mutter.

"... What the fuck?"

[apexulansis]

waiting is too long and his tired, veiled head drops, bobs, and comes to a final resting place upon talon’s shoulder. óuò

The sudden gesture is a somewhat unexpected, and Talon's initial lack of reaction is only because he always felt a little more at ease in Sliske's presence. The cloaked frame is still as eyes dart down to his closer company, as if he expected sulfur-colored eyes to be staring back at him — but the Reaper's eyes were closed, his expression seemingly one of peace. Something that didn't come easy to either of them. In fact, he seemed to recall Sliske saying once — peace doesn't really exist for me. It contradicted the relaxed look on his face.

Talon's eyes study him a while longer, thoughtlessly narrowing from a fond smile. Without further thought, he takes a handful of his cloak in one hand and drapes it over his companion, the other reaching around Sliske's back to take it, holding it over the Vhrosevphæl like a blanket.

❝Rest well, ohht ruure xekœruun.❞ The Zahhan leaves his mouth before he can think to stop it, but for once, he doesn't feel worried.

[mslangermann-a]

continued from here

"Shit," she hisses, her hand brushing over her forehead for fingers to run through hair mussed from sleep. The panic thumping in her chest is far from subsiding, but she opts to think rationally for a moment. Only none of this is rational. Perhaps the boogeyman shouldn't have a British accent, perhaps the boogeyman shouldn't exist at all. And yet here she is talking to @ohshadow lurking in the darkness, neither human or animal.

This only serves as a reminder of her bizarre encounters since the horrors of Temple Gate. As if the world around her has opened up and lost all sense. Slowly, carefully, she expels a shaky breath.

"... They're dead. All of them. I think..." She racks her memory, though thinking back to Temple Gate always results in a hazy projection. Like a photo out of focus. "Some were attacked in the mines... The others were just lying there. Dead. Outside of the church. I had to crawl over them, but I don't remember if anyone..." She'd looked for the face of her husband in those bodies too, but she never found him.

Lynn swallowed back her fear and looked at the being in her doorway.

"... Who are you? Why do you want to know about the cult?"

[recitedemise]

"With that number of midwinters you've seen in Faerûn, I imagine a man of your scholarly appetite yearns for something new, invigorating and novel. Waiting untapped." Yes. Oh, the very mention of it — Gale, eyes alight, seems to glow, a fire in his belly and rumbling in the pit of his soul, glowing and sputtering like a flint-struck hearth. He comes upon his shadowy companion then, footsteps hastened with thinly-veiled excitement, and perched on the fallen tree by their campfire's crackle he seems, just then, plainly alive. Pure creation. He gazes unto Sliske, the famed god-killer, and this lover of a goddess spreads his hands. Take the plunge. Open your mind and you need only but dream. "What if I told you that with but one whisper off my lips, I can take you someplace magical. And believe you me, as you well know, that is no word I use lightly."

@ohshadow liked for a starter.

[shecharm]

*  great distances does the sound of voice travel  ,  a soft hum layered in volumes  -  perhaps belonging to many yet resulting in the discovery of but one single woman.  a fox  ,  those five tails laying around her prove so.  it has been some time since her forest or shrine received any visitors  ,  her usual awareness was null within her current state of relax.

‘tween fingertips is a flower  ,  stem covered with the presence of light frost.  tall ears atop her head suddenly flick  ,  the sound of footsteps . . how unusual.  humming comes to a halt as eyelids part  ,  amethyst gaze slow in its movement to find them;  “ . . forgive me  ,  have i disturbed you?”  people often find her shrine for peace  ,  not to listen to any song.   ||   @ohshadow​​

[chateautangerine]

@ohshadow asked: 009.   a run-down (or abandoned) motel room .lost in the tangerine while talking heads’ once in a life time is playing. probably. and you may ask yourself, "well, how did I get here?" :)c 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 (accepting)

A piano twinkles. 

A feeling hangs like legs from a gallow. The rug muffles his footsteps. Floorboards whinny beneath. Here, music drones long and slow and keening, and it moans the way a song oozes down the cold linoleum floors of an abandoned home, the building entirely alone. The building entirely jilted. 

He turns the corner of the hallway. The music shifts.

He returns to the start of it.

Lost. Watched. Something settles within the gaps of his spine. Cliff catches himself in the passing mirrors, his reflections turning just a second too late before dimming black, and too much and too little swirls in his brain to resolve into anything so distinct as words. The lights behind go off with every step. Talking Heads croons distorted.

“You're playing with me, aren't you?” he wonders delicately and to no one, maybe the air. The hotel itself. He lays a hand gingerly against a wall, and the mouth of the shadow looms behind him. It waits. “I'm scared" —Cliff looks around, face unchanging— "and I don't want to be alone."

[phantombs]

“can you teach me how to make bún riêu? — i have a thing for soups.”

"Teach you?" he crows. "Huh. You're trying to be discreet about it, aren't you? You're sitting there thinking you can cook it better." And how preposterous a thought. It's an idea that strikes him fanciful at best, as fantastical as elves and honey-hungry sprites, but it's bold, he'd admit, if not a lot a bit foolish, and cocky and daring and comically smug. Of course, however, that's how Cường, cheekily overdramatic, sees it. He doesn't look up, his delicious soup bubbling. He stirs it with his ladle, and the fragrance swims. "Hm. Well, what's the problem here, exactly, you little devil? You don't want me to cook for you anymore?" Impossible. "How dare you." He scoops some bún riêu, and without preamble, without but one word of warning, Cường whirls himself about, a spoonful -- no, a challenge, prawn balls generous -- waiting for that mouth. "Fine. Go ahead. Savor it." His brow flickers, but his eyes -- dark, the taunting below the low kitchen lights -- remain still as stone. "It'll be the last time."

[lunarscaled]

@ohshadow replied to your post “"---What the fuck is a babygirl." -> They just...”:

sliske vc: me. it's a condition, sorta.

-> They have their journal out, pen to paper.

"Can you explain further."

[kxllerblond]

🔥? slinky leaning down intently.

SEND “🔥?” AND MY MUSE WILL ADMIT WHETHER THEY FIND YOUR MUSE ATTRACTIVE OR NOT.

Clark glanced elsewhere under such scrutiny, the tips of his ears BURNING. He feels juvenile in the way he reacts to such a query. It was such a simple question with such a simple answer and so why did he find such difficulty in answering. ❝ Obviously. ❞ he tries to scoff to hide how warm he feels.

❝ Your standards are as high as my own. You're fashionable. Intelligent. I'd be a fool NOT to. Physically...it's objective, I think. Of course I do. I'd be an idiot not to and I'm HARDLY an idiot, as you know. ❞

[rose-from-ashes]

[natterghast]

@ohshadow continued from here

Sliske squints, faced with a hard truth, no matter how sugared Solar puts it. He'll go to the grave with his secrets, thank you. He's a closed mollusk, only opening when he saw fit, working to steer away from coming face to face with his secretive yet charming nature. "You gonna float away or something?" He plants his knuckles into each hip while gazing up for once at their feet.

What kind of colors—? He closes his eyes as if blindfolding himself from a canvas to think. Vhrosevphaels could see colors unnamed beyond most people's perspectives and wavelengths. Rarely did he get to tap into that. "Art has no rules," Sliske states before picking his pallets carefully, "Iridescent. Like soap bubbles. Light purples. Pastels and vivids that together yet match well without clash."

unable to help it, she bursts out in laughter. this reaction is further spurred on by their upsidedown view of sliske standing there, bemused as he was. solar laughs so much they fall over — gently, like a bundle of feathers. “ — only figuratively ! why, I barely ever keep my feet on the ground.”

with their arms splayed out on the ground, solar redirects their attention to the sky above them while sliske contemplates. for this short moment solar is still, seeming content to watch the clouds pass.

the answer given instantly puts life back into zem. she pops straight off the ground and onto her feet to clasp one of his hands in hers. “oh, what !! I appreciate that — I mean, what lovely imagery ! ” their beaming grin mellows back down to a smile, although with no less feeling; always with great feeling. “and, you know, personally I think being unfinished is great. we keep making new strokes.”

“ — or we meet people that leave impressions on the canvas ! ” solar lets go of his hand and frames their own face to accentuate their largest smile yet, sincere to their last. “you know ? ”