MAD AS A CUT SNAKE

"a harsh mass, carrying stygian routes within his optics & the scent of loss upon his flesh. be wary he posses not a heart rather a loose snarl attempting to contain a paroxysm of sentiment, that if not properly recuperated stems a conflagration."

[acutsnake-blog]

@-​ stinky cat stinky cat, it’s not your fault.

“ yo FROG- MAN, you like to fight ?”

[acutsnake-blog]

fiistfull:

BUB

                TELLING WAS CERTAINLY the right word. it seemed each emotion was etched into fine, flesh coloured clay by a skilled hand & a fine , sharp needle. the youth muster a soft smile, a gentle shrug. already he’s preparing to refresh the man’s drink, pouring amber liquids into the pale glass, before pulling away.             ❛    yeah, i guess y’could say so.  figured i’d ask, y’know? sometimes talkin’ to a perfect stranger ‘bout y’shit makes it more easier t’handle.    ❜  it also helped that noel was an avid listener of all stories, his ears welcoming homes for secrets & nonsense alike.

                        ❛     but hey, i ain’t pushy. you enjoy that drink, an’ lemme know f’you need anythin’.    ❜

“ what should one do when they’ve been destroyed.”

         each t a s t e of the potation  unlocks his lips, & forces his HEART upon exhibition . would this stranger come to abhor him when it allows for more to be exhumed??  such concern  stands for but a second, before his being  turns  GLUTTONOUS , shaping itself tautly against the aid.  “ when four years become dust??” he p u s h  e s his glass back for another, a long glance of ANGUISH attempts to play-out a dire need. 

[acutsnake-blog]

i know i owe replies. but i am just really uninspired lately. will hopefully get them done by this weekend. sorry for the wait. 

[kermitarchive-deactivated201610]

                                   THIS WAS YOU, NOT ME.

[naragun-deactivated20161113]

I highly recommend you follow the person I reblogged this from.

[acutsnake-blog]

ask me questions,about pommie,

[outsidelost-blog]

                              Ache, ache, ache, my bones like you’ve                               never been ache-less in your LIFE. 

[omyt]

[renlybaratheon]

Killing must feel good to God too; he does it all the time.

[wnq-writers]

Most days my demons are silent, but when they talk, oh, God, how they scream.

writersblockedmind (via wnq-writers)

[acutsnake-blog]

fiistfull:

BUB

              A CURT NOD is given to the other, a small smile quickly wiped away, like a child sweeping the crumbs of his secretly eaten cookie from his lips – must not be seen, must not be known.  he’s careful with the crystal glass in his hand, & even more so with the bottle of aged, smoky alcohol. practiced digits pour the amber liquid over gentle, supple mounds of ice.  

               the young bartender is particularly circumspect a he sets the beverage upon a worn, rumpled GUINNESS coaster.  ❛    on the house,     ❜  noel murmurs, exhausted by the day of work he bears in his bones, by the weight of words settled on his head & shoulders.  ❛     rough day?     ❜  the brunet attempts, innocence in his viridian-kissed, hazel eyes.  a polite conversation, he felt, could perhaps alleviate the weight of both their burdens, if only for a few short minutes. 

ACIDIC laughter froths against the other’s inquiry.  

“ my face is a t e l l i n g bastard ain’t it.”  he swiftly stomachs  the drink, p u s h i n g it back for another.  rough, was an understatement,  tempestuous fleshed it better.  what occurred was the catching of SECRETS,  the fathoming of his own defects.& the twist of ire. maybe it was thought he would forget as well, & therefore  m o v e on to better circumstances. yet how could that be THOUGHT of him. when his sentiment carried a soul. “ HAVE another ready, on the spot kiddo.” 

[acutsnake-blog]

send me character questions, so i can do something here because i don’t have the power to do replies today. sorry :(

[acutsnake-blog]

outsidelost:

&& . a c u t s n a k e .

MECHANICAL APPENDAGES & GUTS FILLED OF TITANS 

                   How many times has he found himself looking the same? You see this a lot in the bad parts of the city; a lot of people use the curbs as their bed but this isn’t typical drunk behavior. Alan approaches cautiously, hands twitching into fists in his pockets. A rubber toe reaches out to gently nudge the less fortunate’s leg.                       ❛ Hey. Y-You okay? ❜

‘  i am GREAT’

 pulsed by the crooked relish of desire he can sentiment the onset of SICKNESS, a factor keeping  his cranium resting., yet his TIMBRE attempts to fortify it’s acerbic coverings. WHO gave this man the right to question his melancholy? & why did his simple touch feel like a BLUDGEON. 

[acutsnake-blog]

THERE IS NOTHING TO THIS WORLD BUT THE HATRED OF GOD.

‘ ya ready to DIE? you fuckin little bitch?’

      |to OPPOSE  him is the same as opposing a conflagration.| he stood before a bubbling mass, twining a blade against his throat.| to OPPOSE him is the same as courting the devil.| coarse language falling   q u i c k l y , his vacant hand curls, & takes itself against the man’s STOUT visage. ‘ ya think your so clever don’t ya?’ to his process there is no thought only instinct,  only the voice of his gut, p u l l i n g him to RASH decisions. |to OPPOSE  him is the same as dancing with quietus..|

[acutsnake-blog]

fiistfull:

         EMERALD IRISES PEER through thick, dark lashes. whatever thoughts had plagued him, had gnawed at his brain & scratched the inside of his skull, son departed with the arrival of a stranger. the man brought a STENCH with him – salt, cologne, steel & D A R K N E S S . it’s an odd scent, alluring & grotesque all at once. 

          he musters a tight smile, dry, plump lips cracking with the weight of false mirth.  noel straightens his posture, neon lights hissing bove head, causing pale befreckled skin to appear ghostly, almost sickly.  

                                                                  ❛      what can i getcha?     ❜

               the question is obligatory; the bottles of alcohol & the drunks around him, forcing him to play the part of jolly bar keep.  trapped between a cherrywood slab & a booze lined walled; protected, yet othered. lithe digits feel for a glass, anticipating the other as a bourbon man; a certain amount of class to compliment the grey clouds storming in his eyes.  yes, he seemed like a bourbon man, with too many woes to count, & too many questions to ask.

               @acutsnake

he v e n t u r e s his fevered sentiment to the bar. 

    with dismissal’s choler taut upon his VISAGE,  he orders liquor of deleterious potency. ‘a  bourbon .’ certain that by night’s end he’d be liberated in stupefaction’s  black EMBRACE. there isn’t m u c h  to this  instance. he’d tired something, but failed. where tenderness, was to be, there was the overrun flesh of his hand & the GNARLED face of loss laughing against his ear. FOUR years had become nothing, & he didn’t know what to do. ‘ can we get s o m e t h i n g loud PLAYING in here??’  maybe that would combat  the foolishness of himself.  WHAT was she , that  he wasn’t ? simplicity, approved by society or beautiful? 

[sgtsully]

[dgct2-deactivated20181231]

Sullivan Stapleton as Damien Scott in S3 of Strike Back.