⠀ ⠀ ☾𓃦☽ ⋆ ᐟ⸝ ⠀ ⠀⠀𝐼𝑇𝄒𝑆 IN 𝑌𝐸𝑅 𝐴ʳᵐˢ 𝓦𝑬 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙⠀⠀⠀ ‥. 𝑯𝑂𝑀͟𝐸 ﮼، ﹙ @UNTOMBS . ﹚ ⠀’ ⠀
﹙ TBA ᐟ s—hiatus ﹚
Joined May 2020
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“ 𝑜ℎ . ” most anticipatory. another step taken into abode. “ n’ the 𝑝𝑢𝑝 ﹖” gloves get plucked with the use of incisors, then shoved into thigh pocket. “ .. hit the crib, ah hope . ” a lie. she never liked the quiet.
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whether babbling, giggling, or even crying, rosemary was still the sound of 𝗅͟𝗂͟𝖿͟𝖾 between these four walls. sometimes the only innocent thing beyond rusty borders that ever made sense for men who left everything behind. it was known, dion argues to get first-watch.
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⠀ 𓂉 𝓥illain ;;
hi. i haven't been here for a long time, so i don't know who i can bother with interactions ... (& i'm too shy to reach out to anyone, save for discord moots 🐭) so ... just know i'm here, open for connections.
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it's sufficient indication, canine finds. the non—verbal cue. a few more seconds offered while she makes way around the house, beyond the porch. large, masked, and out of place. nothing domestic. harsh on the eyes next to everything beige and inimitably soft.
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usually pays the bills in ethan's name, thus naturally aware of what mail comes and goes. her avoidance will be brought up to the former, at some point. now here to switch patrol with lobo, a knock given to the window, muffled by tactical gloves.
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ᅠ 𓌜 * 𝕮ᴬᴰᴬⱽᴱᴿ 𓂃 ᅠ ⁽𝖓𝖚𝖒𝖊𝖓⁾ ... 𓌴 retweeted
John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836–1893), perhaps the greatest painter of the night
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was . 𝘪𝘴 . [ old habits die hard . ] something 'bout commitment and comfort zones . after a while, hittin' the gravel—road at dawn turns out ta be better than wakin' up te four walls closin' on ya, trust .
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