1. outofherhead replied to your post: Al Capone’s country house on the Dupag…

    somehow it’s much smaller than I remember, I mean imagined. ;)

    you are so cute, i mean clever  ;}  <3


  2. as solicited, before bedtime, in request

    The storyteller had been living with humanity for so long now, she knew her mate all too well. Even such a fickle lover had their favorites. The standards, the scary story serving as an ever convenient excuse for spooning, the fairy tales with their transformative endings, the alternative versions, the inside out of plotting, the absolutions, the reassurance, the cozy dark, the fearsome light denounced. The shape shifters and the multi-lingual, the legends, the natives, the old tales, the archetypes, the magic of immortality and the effects of the fountain of youth sprinkled out in clouds of fairy dust. The animals speaking wisdom like no mere human ever could. 

    The storyteller arrived home late that  night, that day, that time it was already…tomorrow. Tomorrow’s here, she whispered. As she pulled in the driveway she bumped the horn on purpose sent the electric garage door up and down twice to be sure the human was rousing. She hated to sneak up on a sound sleeper without warning. Pulling into the garage and opening the car door she heard the tail of the faithful dog pounding the side of the vehicle. She grinned as only a storyteller might do in the dark before any audience is listening. She scratched behind the beasts ears and hissed near its collar so the dog would smell of her breath.

    She kept whispering but she was not quiet. This storyteller gave both members of her  audience a bedside preview as she spoke to the dog in a low tone exploring all her options. She mumbled: You always love to hear about the monsters and all the ways they get you. There’s the wolf with the big bad case of PTSD and the red-capped nurse who cures him, there’s the ass-backwards Peter Pan thing with the Capricornish fairy growning younger with age and the boy’s timeline scrambled worse than a humpty egg. Both of those come with options for comedy, thrills and/or dramatic tragedy. Or…

    I could just hum a lullaby, she murmured, thought, coo-whispered quiet as she lifted the covers and climbed in soft. A slip shift tension wilting moving like a wave against a damp sand floor…her body warm, in close next to yours, breathing slow and murmurs that no longer make any, unnecessary, sense. 

    Goodnight, my love. She promised, see you in the morning….


  3. oh my gosh…

    imageoutofherhead replied to your post: soft withers

    the horse she fell from was no higher than her fears…

    Allison! thank-you. <3 jc


  4. thanks!

    outofherhead replied to your post: do it again ~ exactly different

    I really like this one, a lot. :)

    confession? me too ;} 

    Tagged #outofherhead