Insidious Realities

❝What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it's almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed - fully understood - that...

[inboxmemethings-deactivated2015]

Dexter Sentence Meme

[absumortis-blog]

All you can do is play along at life, and hope that sometimes you get it right.

Anybody can be charming if they don’t mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying.

Don’t you have to have a soul before it’s in crisis?

I am unlovable…I have tried to involve myself in other people, in relationships, and even - in my sillier moments - in love. But it doesn’t work.

I dream I’m floating on the surface of my own life, watching it unfold.

I know what I am and that’s not a thing to love.

I suppose killing someone with my bare hands in a men’s room was my way of working through the anger stage.

I’m not sure what I am. I just know there’s something dark in me.

I’ve never had much use for the concept of Hell, but if Hell exists, I’m in it.

In the land of predators, a lion never fears the jackal.

It was almost enough to make me feel emotion.

It’s a miracle I graduated without killing anyone.

It’s said that everything is connected to everything. The butterfly-effect.

Just when you think you’ve answered all the questions, another one smacks you in the face.

Keeping the truth from the people closest to you is how you’ll survive, and how you’ll protect them if anything ever goes wrong.

Lovely evening for a dismemberment, isn’t it?

Normal people are so hostile.

Now I know what it is like to feel like a total idiot.

Sometimes it sets my teeth on edge, other times it helps me control the chaos.

Taking a life is one thing, but the care and feeding of it is another.

The idea of sex is no idea at all.

The mind picks some very bad times to take a walk doesn’t it?

There are no secrets in life; just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface.

What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?

What, in all very seriousness, the hell is going on?

Whatever made me the way I am left me hollow, empty inside, unable to feel. It doesn’t seem like a big deal.

Why couldn’t you just leave me to do my work in peace?

Why’d you have to go and ruin everything?

[beholdingslut]

LOOK TO YOUR KINGDOMS | a mix for Lara Croft [listen]

[abcitycake]

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[absumortis-blog]

Because you'd know all about dogs wouldn't you? You make me sick, I can't even look at you, I can't believe I used to associate with you, scum of the earth, come down from your high horse see yourself for what you really are. Nothing. Knock Knock anyone in? The lights are on but there's no one inside, you're just a pretty face, but you're rotten on the inside. Just you wait, that face of yours will crack, people will see you for what you are, and I'll be so happy when that happens.

                   Lovely.

[absumortis-blog]

What happened to that pretty little mouth of yours? Cat got your tongue, or are you too busy shoving it down someone elses throat

               Heel boy, you're barking up the wrong tree.

[absumortis-blog]

don't lie, you're a filthy little whore.

            Yeah, sure, whatever you say love. 

[absumortis-blog]

       Despite the unforgiving circumstance she         found herself in, Ara  was still a y o u n g        girl, with the rest of her life ahead of her.        She thought about old friends, and new ones        thought about her sister, good food, oh and        boys too.               “You like Mathias Jr don't you Nara “      Her accusation posed to her sister behind a       cupped hand, not to let her solarii brethren hear.

[liberances-blog]

✄ - - BLOODY VALENTINE - -

[liberances-blog]

No. Yes. NO. YES-—- His body moved before he could settle a consensus on not to touch her, hands dropping the scarf and only holding onto ornament that would wrap around her slender throat. That sweet and perfectly bare neck, clear from anything except a few tendrils of her hair that weren’t caught by her.  His breathing hitches, voice caught in his throat as fingers graze against the bare nape. It took every ounce of control, every fiber in him not to grab hold of it.To see his fingers choke the life out of her, those dark eyes finally…NO! NO! NO! NO!  

A blink and he was back to where he should be, in the present. Finally he adorns her with the collar, styled to her liking. With her back still to him, he is able to fix it and clip it securely around her. From her neck hung the bones of those who didn’t get to live another day, of those they honoured by using every part of the, “Utterly beautiful.”

[absumortis-blog]

   Whilst waiting she has to fight the urge to show her impatience, has to root herself to the ground to not tap the toe of her heels against the floor. If her fingers werent tangled in her hair, keeping it up, she would have had to cross the length of her arms across the expanse of her chest to calm her racing heart. She can never tell with him, never knows. Every time she presents her back to him could be the last, he could squeeze the life from her if he wanted to, and it sets her on edge. But he doesn't. And for a moment she's not sure if she's happy about that.

     It fits the column of her neck, snug, like a glove. She knows he's put effort into it, knows he's taken his time, and it's paid off. It's beautiful and she loves it but she won't tell him that, won't say a thing, won't give him the satisfaction, and so silently, she turns to face him, hair slipping through her fingers to fan out over her shoulders and down to the small of her back, Arabella lifts a brow. His words are, unusual to say the least, but she agrees silently.          Ah, but the spoon on the floor reminds her she has something for him too, something that should be set right about.... now. "My Blood sweat and tears went into this so you'd better like it"  for most others it's just a saying, but Arabella means it, well, the first bit at least. Stepping around him, she moves to the fridge, pulling it open to reveal a crimson stained box, complete with a small black bow keeping its contents hidden. 

[liberances-blog]

✄ - - BLOODY VALENTINE - -

[liberances-blog]

It goes unnoticed by him that she was anything but composed or maybe it’s an oversight he makes willingly because what they have is ‘normal’. It’s ‘safe' and there is no way it would be anything more than that, unless it has to be. Unless it meant one of them crossing over to a side where only one of them could linger without the other.  But he continues the charade, the act of two people able to coexists without one being  d e v o u r e d. 

”Yes, I do.” I want a lot of things, but this will suffice. It’s unsaid, it held too many strings attached and would tangle. He gives in to easy words, to easy actions. A step is taken back, or two (who’s counting?). His hands needed to be busy, busy, busy. Shoved into his coat pocket, pulling out the scarf that encircled her actual gift. This time around he does not meet her gaze, instead it is focused upon what was in his hands. 

Focus. Curling fingers around the cloth, being mindful not to allow to drop the contents onto the floor, he dangled it towards her. “For now take this, ‘else it’ll go to waste.” With urgency now threatening to be heard, they needed to be distracted. Till they were back outside, then he couldn’t care less of what was said or not said. What was done or not done. Only that they would strike, that they would destroy and that they were ‘together’.

[absumortis-blog]

      He didn't have to answer, she knew he wanted. Of course he wanted it. He was a boy who wanted the world, and everything he couldn't have, and she was a girl who would do everything she could to give him everything she had. She steps closer, but he steps back. It cracks a smile across crimson painted lips, shocking in contrast to her porcelain skin. "Let's not play cat and mouse just yet" she mumbles, but allows him another step.

        Eyes busying themselves with his appearance, Arabella toys with the tips of her hair, spinning stray tendrils around her little finger, just how she'd like him. She only stops when he presents something so beautiful, so breathtaking, so ethereal.. Body motionless, words stolen from her throat, all she can do is stare. and stare, and stare until finally, finally she turns, albeit slowly, and gathers her hair away from the nape of her neck, a silent gesture for him to crown her with the bones of the dead.

[liberances-blog]

✄ - - BLOODY VALENTINE - -

[liberances-blog]

“Delectable." The word slips out, dripped in hidden connotations that only she would be able to understand. Taking one last intake before a noise pricks at his ears, his attention now captured. The soft notes of a familiar tune surrounds him like a familiar blanket, it springs forth warmth and memories. It’s a tune he knows well, knows by heart. Lids droop, his face mirrors that of one in rapture. The same same expression only ever seen late at night when crimson scores his face in splatters. 

”I understand—- ah? It’s not like you mind, right? What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine.” That’s both a lie and the truth, both were far too greedy to share much with each other yet they still did when they had to. Like now he was making her home his own, it would be dirtied in moments if she left him. A single arm outstretched, fingers long to destroy and discard. Twitched and twitched as they brushed against the furnishing of the home as he followed after her. 

A haphazard curve now touches usually frowning lips, leaning close to her and the distance almost minuscule. “Want your gift?” It’s pride that blooms in the crevices of his chest, pride because he knew that his gift was to die for. A tribute of unknowing devotion and he loves it for it represent everything she would like, or what he hopes she likes. 

[absumortis-blog]

      Delectable he says. She smiles small. One day he'll say the same thing about her. At least she hopes. Perhaps she'll not be able to hear it, not in body perhaps no, but in soul, she'd watch as he licked his fingers clean of her, as he set her body free. He'll uncage her one day, she hopes, but not tonight. No. Tonight they'd paint the town red together. Hand in hand.         "Hm--" it's more like what's yours is mine, what's mine is mine, you are mine, these are mine, everything is mine. "Something like that." she let's him have it because he can't have her. Her smile twitches, and curls wider, a brow piquing at the smell that beckoned them both towards the kitchen. She's reminded of the mess she'd left due to the way he'd raked the mountains of his knuckles against her front door. She doesn't want him to see, and so stands in front of it, and turns to glance over at him from over the slope of her bare shoulder.  "Wood will splinter" a comment directed to the way he brushed his fingers along her belongings. "Metal will rust." a sorry excuse for the stink of copper.

     But then he leans in, he leans in and she forgets to breathe. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing? She keeps composure. Shoulders held high, chest forward, chin up. The rise and fall of her chest only resuming once he speaks, Soon after, she follows. "Want yours?"     

[amaranthinhe-deactivated2020032]

♦

Send me a "♦" for the first word my muse thinks of when your muse is mentioned.

                                      D E S T R U C T I O N

[ingeniovsarchive-blog]

 Arabella had an intimidating gaze, one that made her, as he stated earlier in a playful tone, hot. It had been a mistake to tease her like that, however he didn’t regret. She wasn’t threatening to him, even if she tried. She surely wasn’t someone to fool around with, but neither was him. “I will.”, his words came out in a whisper, without any hesitation. Despite the meaning it had to the female, it was just a box after all. It was easy to fix it. BUt of course, he would not tell her that. 

There was no need for her to keep threatening him, as a matter of fact, it began annoying the engineer. He already understood her and agreed to fix the item, so why pushing him against a wall? Ah, anger. Something even the most rational people sometimes couldn’t control. When she released him, he fixed his collar and nodded. “By tomorrow I’ll return it to you, Arabella. Don’t worry.”

[absumortis-blog]

     It takes a moment for Arabella to compose herself. Slender fingers comb through the flaxen streak in her hair and pushes it back, and behind her ear in the same time it took for him to readjust his collar. He nods but she does not. Because although most of her anger has melted away there's still a smidgen hidden beneath the surface. That box wasn't just any old box, it was precious. It belonged to Anabelle.      He speaks and all she can do is give the smallest of nods, because with each moment that passes she begins to feel bad about her actions, so, so bad, but so, so good. She wants to try again, this time to curl her fingers around the column of his throat, but she doesn't. Not to him. "Yeah-- not worrying."

[vvoobxn-blog]

It had been a while since Woobin allowed himself an extra slip of beer; and honestly, he doesn’t regret it one bit as the thick liquid courses through his throat. And as he feels his finger run through the thick skin of the back of his hand, he couldn’t help but turn to ask, “Mind driving back? I don’t think I’ll be able to—”

[absumortis-blog]

       And just like that, she takes the role of        designated driver. Most others would        have whined in disappointment, would        have refused and opted to call a taxi-cab        but Arabella doesn't mind. Not at all.                  "Sure, it's not a problem "

       Delicate digits graze against her glass         but she does not lift it to drink, she was        never much of a drinker anyway.        " Drink as much as you like——- "

[vaticameoz]

❝Ｉ’Ｍ ＮＯＴ ＧＯＩＮＧ ＨＯＭＥ…❞

[tiruasimati-blog]

'            “you shouldn’t say that you know,” he murmurs, head tilted back to rest as his eyes close momentarily. the winter breeze brushes past his skin and he tries not to think too much about how warmer it’d be if they found shelter inside a building. “witches would kill to have your soul and gain your youth and beauty.” 

[absumortis-blog]

     "I wouldn't mind too much about the loss of youth, or beauty, but taking my soul..." she pauses, arm extending in front of him, a not-so-subtle signal for him to stop in order to let a car pull out without hitting them. "That's a no-no" she shakes her head, and her forefinger. "But hey, who's to say that I'm not a witch myself?" again she pauses, giving him a few short moments to think about it. 

[hanarichinspiration-blog]

quirks my muse habitually has.

[absumortis-blog]

Writers, bold all of your character’s regular truths.

1. Smoking: the action or habit of inhaling and exhaling the smoke of tobacco or a drug. 2. Binge drinking: the consumption of an excessive amount of alcohol in a short period of time. 3. Drug abuse: the habitual taking of illegal drugs. 4. Nail biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 5. Lip biting: a common body language sign of anxiety/tension. 6. Night Owl: a person who is habitually active or wakeful at night. 7. Early bird: a person who rises, arrives, or acts before the usual or expected time. 8. Negative attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with criticism and pessimism. 9. Positive attitudes: a philosophy of approaching life with optimism and confidence. 10. Swearing: the use of offensive language. 11. Superstitious: an irrational belief that an object, action, or circumstance not logically related to a course of events influences its outcome. 12. Inspecting fingernails: a common body language sign of boredom 13. Scratching your neck: a common body language sign of uncertainty. 14. Foot and finger tapping: a common body language sign of stress/impatience. 15. Nose touch: a subtle body language sign of deceit. 16. Flipping hair: a common body language sign of craving attention. 17. Twirling hair: a common body language sign of flirtation. 18. Cracking knuckles: a common body language sign of readiness. 19. Hands behind back: a common body language sign of confidence. 20. Finger pointing: a common body language sign of authority. 21. Hands on hips: a common body language sign of readiness. 22: Hands in pockets: a common body language sign of mistrust/reluctance. 23. Frequent touch: a common body language sign of warmth/familiarity.  24. Throat-clearing: a common body language sign of rejection/doubt. 25: Jaw-clenching: a common body language sign of hostility. 26: Eye-rolling: a common body language sign of irritation. 27: Head-tilt: a common body language sign of interest. 28. Whistling: to emit high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole between one’s lips or teeth; usually to a tune. 29. Humming: make a low, steady continuous sound like that of a bee; usually to a tune. 30. Perfectionism: refusal to accept any standard short of perfection. 31. Photographic memory: the ability to remember information or visual images in great detail. 32. Paranoia: a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution, unwarranted jealousy, or exaggerated self-importance, typically worked into an organized system. 33. Exaggeration: a statement that represents something as better or worse than it really is. 34: Intuitive: using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive. 35: Quick-witted: showing or characterized by an ability to think or respond quickly and effectively. 36: Interrupting: breaking the continuity of a conversation with one’s own statements. 37: Doodling: to scribble or make rough drawings, absent-mindedly. 38: Irritable: having or showing a tendency to be easily annoyed.  39: Gambling: to play games of chance for money; bet. 40: Travel-sick: suffering from nausea caused by the motion of a moving vehicle, boat, or aircraft. 41: Sensitive: having or displaying a quick and delicate appreciation of others’ feelings. 42: Melancholy: a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause. 43: Chewing gum: the exercise of chewing flavoured gum which is not intended for swallowing. 44: Fidgeting: to make small movements, especially of the hands and feet, through nervousness or impatience. 45: Skeptical: not easily convinced; having doubts or reservations. 46: Neat-freak: compulsively obsessed with cleanliness. 47: Gossiping: divulging personal information about others. 48: Prim: feeling or showing disapproval of anything regarded as improper; stiffly correct. 49: Abbreviating: Giving others nicknames/shortening names/giving pet names.  50: Having a catchphrase: having a sentence or phrase typically associated with a specific person.

[absumortis-blog]

have you and your rose fucked?

     There are nights when she can’t keep herself asleep. Nights when the air seeps in through the window, thick, like the smell of desire lingering on pristine white sheets. Nights where she feels time chime among her aching bones.This just happens to be one of those nights.     Cold air claws at her skin, exposed from the tattered, torn dress her body adorns. It curls around the column of her throat and pulls her out of the darkness, and into the light. Only the light isn’t white, it’s a dull crimson. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust, and another for her to push herself up into a seated position. Note the breath that hitches in her throat, the ache in her bones, the red that taints her once porcelain skin.      She doesn’t want to look, but she knows she has to. The moon hangs low in the sky, its light whispers it’s okay. Gives her the strength to glance over the slope of her shoulder, but instead of an empty bed, instead of pristine white sheets she sees him, laid out beneath a sea of red as if he was always meant to be there.  fuck, fuck, fuck.      Her imagination paints images in her mind, and she can’t discern whether her memories come from her own recollections, or those gathered by the mist from the dead. From his dead, their dead. She rubs her ring finger, its bare, skin dry in the spaces betwixt her fingers.      She is constantly caught unaware by the destruction he wreaks. He has known her for a while, he has seen where she has grown, where she is most powerful, and so he knows where her soft spots are. Knows where she doesn’t have roots strong enough to shield his strikes of lightning from burning her heart. It burns, it always burns, it catches, and she is left with a wildfire that chars the roses in the garden of her heart, it leaves white petals, once pure now singed black around the edges. But it’s just a game. It’s always a game. An exchanging of words, an absence of actions.     She rises from the bed, and lingers over his body. The candle they’d left burning flickering now, the wick burning too hot. “Never—” hushed she grips the sheets between the tips of her fingers and peels it away from Hwan, revealing his fully clothed body.                                      Her body is a piano, but he never learned how to play