#vihilum.
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@vihilum , ❛ did you hurt yourself? ❜ for nancy wheeler.
he almost feels affront at the question on automatic. had she asked it first he'd have no qualms, but as it stands she's sixth and everyone previous has set an awful, unfair precedent so far. journalists sure are one goddamn rotten lot... yet her voice is kind and searching, and he holds no grudges against friends so all she gets is a horribly tired smile. she just wants to know, no holds barred, as she always does.
and while the answer would be 'not quite', he can't articulate as much with a tube stuck through his neck, so he just shakes his head. gingerly; mindful of all the cables criss-crossed around his hospital bed. the expectation that she'd believe him is frail; he wouldn't blame her if she didn't.
he looks mostly unharmed on the outside, after all. no signs of foul play. his cheekbone stings from an unfortunate meeting with hard concrete but he knows there's no bruise. there never is. it's always made lying that much easier for patricia when there's no proof of the contrary, and he's in no mood to try and convince anyone otherwise. the hawkins' post has swung round already, looking for a very clear-cut headline. 'teenager tears his own throat open, more on page 3'.
he gives her a surreptitious glance - room empty, habit unshakeable - and reaches out one unsteady hand to her bag. a small gesture makes the intent clear - pen and paper.
#➻ 𝐂𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐄 —《in character.》#➻ 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 —《vers. 3 - stranger things》#vihilum . nancy wheeler#vihilum.#about two weeks late but hi i'm excited#/injury#/hospital
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. * ✧ ❤ — @vihilum said : ❛ mouth the words to me so we can keep things quiet and I’ll still know exactly what you mean ❜ — kate
quiet eh ? she wanted to keep things quiet ? group of masked miscreants dawdling around all in a little circle, waving their guns in the air all chuffed and excited and she thought they might be able to find a way out of this with hand motions and mouthed words. even if she understood him, he didn’t think he would be able to know what she meant.
he pulls out his phone, waving a hand animatedly in front of her face before pointing down at his phone, rapidly hitting his fingers across the screen and mouthing “look at your phone”.
kate, hello, i think we should have a better plan that involves more than mouthing words. i do hope you remembered to silence your phone, that would be awkward, we’d have to just bolt out of here hah! right, anyways, let’s discuss. thanks — steven
he reads over the message just once and tilts his head, yes, i think that sounds rather nice. with an impassioned tap, he sends the message, only for his eyes to widen when he hears a loud DING from kate’s pocket.
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adam's instagram, featuring katie kate (@vihilum)
#edits.#aes: adam.#visuals: adam.#re: adam/kate.#vihilum#ignore the fact that he only has tattoos in the one photo#consistency? idk her!
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📞reed
send me 📞 and a ship and i’ll tell you…
your muse’s contact photo in mine’s phone:
your muse’s name in mine’s phone:
mine
your muse’s ringtone in mine’s phone:
nyc baby by karen o
how often our muses text:
every second when they're not in the same room.
what our muses normally text about:
alice sends him the names of movies, he gives her a brief review, tells her whether or not to skip. a lot of 'i miss you' texts even though they saw each other an hour ago. a lot of alice saying 'i hate it here, come save me' - doesn't matter where she is. audio files of her compositions that he gets to listen to before anyone else. sexting (that felt obvious but needed to be said).
our muses’ last few texts:
(sent to: mine) you didn't tell me this movie was going to be sad. i hate you.
(sent to: mine) make it up to me. or else i destroy you emotionally.
(sent to: mine) i put on paddington to cope. i like you again.
#vihilum#vihilum / reed.#* ic answered.#* and if i breathe you‚ will it kill me? / re: reed.#pic of the theater instead of his face. close enough
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@vihilum
Pensive man, what are you thinking about, what's on your mind? Dark room drenched in thick smoke, pile of cigarettes by his feet, he looked so big when he was all dressed up with his chest puffed out, but when all of that was removed, he looked frail. All bunched up, ash flicked on the floor, as he absently picked hairs out of his leg. Morning light ate into the darkness at the edges of the window, he wanted to get back out there, wanted a drink, maybe a coffee with some whiskey in it, a blunt, a line, wanted a lot of things, but he couldn't move, he was frozen, watching her sleep.
What had to be done was never far away, he had clambered out of bed, stirred by a bad dream etching into reality, shapes shifting in the darkness, hadn't slept long, maybe only an hour or two, red lines floating in the darkness told him it was seven AM, but that was a while ago, surely, how long had he been sat there, perched like a gargoyle on the cold seat.
What had to be done was never far away, the bad dream, about something that happened recently, jumbled mess, people that weren't quite right, looking at him, staring at him, and they were there, in the room with them, shapes rising in the shadows. No. No sleep. They were waiting for him. He would sit right there.
What had to be done was never far away, as the morning wore on, as the pile of cigarettes at his feet grew, he pondered what his day would be like. What shit he would get into, once Sadie was awake, once he would allow the wheels to be set in motion, once he could start drinking and snorting and fighting and killing. He knew who had to go. He thought about them, as he watched her sleep. Thought about what had to be done, and how much it would cost, and whether or not there would be another weight on his soul once this all shook out.
#this isn't so much a starter so much as it is a portrait#i have no idea why i did it like this but#what even is this im sorry hes literally just sittin#hes just chillin thats the starter#vihilum
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@vihilum // riley
"I'm sorry!"
He chases after her, tries to grab at her arm.
He is so, so —
"I'm sorry."
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🎞️!!!
SOCIAL MEDIA MEME. — accepting.
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@vihilum said: "this place does bad things to me." bestie leaves one mess to find another on old stomping grounds CCL with tommy
leland shoots a look up — quietly curious, at tommy's back; ❝ … you never tried to leave? ❞ he'd been meandering, somewhat clumsily after him through the woods, watching his step through the underbrush. now he stops a few feet back, scanning into the trees that shift unexceptionally in the breeze. he wondered if the jersey woods felt to tommy as the backroads of muerto county felt to him. like a mouth, like being watched. like a gravesite. to leland, tommy seemed lonely. like a lighthouse keeper watching a rocky, unforgiving shore. like someone who knew, if he didn't keep that light on, no one would.
maybe it's a silly question, now that he thinks on it. why had you stayed in texas so long, even after your friends had graduated, moved away? because you didn't know how to leave, how to follow them, or what to do, with the unending wreckage inside you. it's strange — cathartic in a selfish way, to see the very same reflected in someone else's eyes.
leland clears his throat, concentrating on the forest floor instead; ❝ i'm... real far — from what happened to me, ❞ he choose his words slowly, cautiously. ❝ but, turns out — it doesn't much matter where i go. i think, maybe, i'll always be dragging that place behind me, y'know? ❞
#holding 2 final boys in my hands: just think they're neat#enjoy this golden retriever u have inherited thomas#vihilum#( ☆ ) ⸻ MISC. / verse.#( ☆ ) ⸻ THE FILM WHICH YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE... / ic.
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@vihilum sent 📞tomkits
your muse’s contact photo in mine’s phone:
your muse’s name in mine’s phone
tommy j.
your muse’s ringtone in mine’s phone
air supply by sweet trip
how often our muses text
infrequently, since they're constantly facing the horrors. but when they do it's meaningful and intimate.
what our muses normally text about
movies, mortality, and music. sometimes sex. she prefers talking to him in person.
our muses’ last few texts
[to tommy j] i'll be in town for the next few weeks
[to tommy j] i really want to see you
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Mohan smiles the smile of his, meant to be playful and friendly, but there is a malice hidden behind his teeth. " You look like you carry a heavy secret on you. I love secrets, @vihilum's reed. "
#vihilum#*mohan; convo.#(your writing gives me life so i am very excited! <-3)#dynamic; mohan x reed.
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❛ you want a sprite? you look kinda green. ❜ surprise me. For reed.
the bear.
there is a long history behind this, on that she isn't ready to speak of. shattered mirrors and ripped photos and the expectations all broken with them. nobody else struggled like her in this, a streak that her parents had simply contributed as her being the youngest of many, an anomaly in an already abnormal family. she could not learn to play her part, and so she had left (ran) to the other side of the states.
here, where it should not have happened. here, where she hurries along, sick to her stomach. here, where her reflection catches in the window, and it's the only thing that makes her pause. a check over her features, that it was still all her after shifting back, down to the last blemish of skin. ( years and years and years, and she had said she would never take anyone's face ever again -- )
" -- i'm fine. " attention snaps back, and her expression clouds once more into something guarded and moody. " -- it's fine. "
#MARIA; WALKED WITH THE WOLVES & IT HAUNTS ME.#ANSWERED.#ANSWERED; MARIA.#ANSWERED; VIHILUM.#vihilum
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Her eyes go wide as she catches a glimpse of him. Ellie had a hunch that something is not quite right when Tommy went all silent on her, the look confirmed it.
"Do you want me to stop? Are you dizzy, @vihilum?" It could be motion sickness, Ellie guesses, or the fact her car looks like straight out of a horror movie. Blood, black bags, tools and etcetera everywhere. She has not cleaned it yet.
The last thing she is missing is a vomit on her dashboard, her foot hovering over the brake.
#vihilum#v. main.#(hope this is alright! perhaps shes giving him a ride to...somewhere...#also ellie imagines things so maybe tommy doesnt even feel bad theres another reason...UPT O YOU OF COURSE<3 excited to write with you agai
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⭐️ reedjude bonus feature
for each “⭐️” i get, i’ll write a headcanon about our muses.
jude almost kissed reed once. they were still teenagers, goofing off at a house party. while they were sitting on the porch outside and sharing a joint, the thought crossed jude's mind. he held back on it and didn't try anything after. this was right before they got distant and stopped hanging out, before reed disappeared from his life altogether.
when they're adults and jude visits reed at the theater during his shifts. he brings food usually, they sit and watch whatever movie is playing.
at some point, jude gives reed a key to his apartment. says it's for him to crash or bother him or whatever, but really jude just likes him close by.
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i'm liddel's #1 fan [holds up a banner] ❤️
what a coincidence because you're actually her favourite fan. (probably something to do with the fact that she thinks your boy reed is cute)
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@vihilum liked xoxo
Frying pan spat hot oil onto his bare stomach, hand idly itched just under the waistband, ash from the smoke jutting out the corner of his mouth fell off, into the pan, "hungry?"
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@vihilum // tommy said on the phone: ‘ i’m always here for you. ’
It should be the other way around, Weston feels — it should be Weston supporting Tommy. Weston being strong. Weston being reliable.
It was Tommy who needed a place to crash and found himself on Weston's couch, allowing Weston to feel a rare sense of control over his own life. Weston got to be the competent one, for once. But somehow, this dynamic has become just like every other dynamic in Weston's life. His relationship with his parents, his sister, his other friends — he's always taking, needing. Like a little boy, a child.
He frowns at his phone, feeling a little sick and disgusted. By himself, of course — not by Tommy.
"Cut the — cut the — cut the bullshit, man," is what Weston says instead, eager to create distance between his current self and the pathetic, whiny version of himself that Tommy so clearly sees.
"I've already got a therapist. I don't need you to — to — t-to pick me apart." He sighs. "Or whatever it is you're tr-tr-tr-trying to do." No thank you. No you too. Weston feels proud of how he's handled this, though. Good job, Weston. Way to push people away, way to ensure you'll be alone forever!
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