THE BLOOD IS IN THE WIRES

AND I AM IN THE BLOOD

[bloodwiire]

vamytas:

Alex pulls back, releasing the neck from his bite’s grasp to wryly retort, “bet you say that to –” and he’s dumbstruck – solid petrified by the vision of the surreal; pupils narrowing on some sick morphosis of the face only inches away from his own. When he heard it speak before, the cacophony of voices were dismissed as a symptom of being blood-drunk, lost enough to let go of rationality but now he sees, his eyes characteristically sharp to match his occupation and, therefore, to be trusted.           Belief has a way of worming into his gut, too, when he feels whatever he’s swallowed congeal and churn like it’s 1970 and he’s shovelled down a lukewarm, nuclear serving of gravy-drenched mash in the school canteen. Unlike then, it’s too late to spit – or so he thinks – before his stomach groans in response to it’s question and rejects it’s leeching fluid, coiling around his intestines and regurgitating up his aesophogus, detoxing into his throat.           “’M gonna do a tactile.” He manages the smallest warning before his cheeks bulge and blood expels from his mouth, pouring onto its source material’s shirt. The dark matter stretches down the fabric in a plasmic drip, as well as from Alex’s lip, viscous and heavy and that was inside of him?  His eyes widen in a suspended daze before blinking.  “You… that’s… that stuff looks like it’s gonna stain,” he croaks out, wiping his mouth of the crimson gelatin. 

  the unknown word only gets a blank stare in response, though it quickly realises what the creature meant. there’s a reaction to the drastic expulsion but it’s not disgust or anger; what thick liquid stained its shirt spread in a dark stain, remnant lumps of thicker ichor remaining iridescent streaks. ell stares in fascination. the blood that had managed to touch its skin dissolved away into dark smudges, absorbing what it had ‘shared’ so kindly with this odd stranger without a second thought. it had seen mortals throw up, vomit, froth at the mouth and scream, keel over, brains popping and sizzling against the confines of their skulls; but this had taken ell by surprise.      --no-one ever commented on any problems with stains.  the comment throws the horror off course; a sharp tick of its brow downwards is the only sign of its confusion, head tilting downwards to regard the slick mess of blacks, reds staining its shirt -- and blues, purples, greens, an oily rainbow amidst the coagulated crimson; the shine seems to shift hues with each passing second, the thicker clumps of ichor pulsating against cotton as if it was attempting to return to its owner despite the layer of clothing between them .  its misdirected attention doesn’t put an end to the sharp shifts and cracks to their human facade, the odd flutter of movement underneath its current skin. it looks up, a small echo of laughter sounding out in the back of the vampires skull despite a lack of movement from its mouth. what a funny little thing to be concerned about. a finger dabs against a wet clump of coagulating ‘blood’ on its chest, regarding the substance for a moment before allowing it to dissolve into its skin as it had done before. its fingers cracked and popped as the ichor was absorbed, dark chitin bulging out from inside the confines of its skin for a few moments. ell smiled as all seemed to return to normal (or the closest thing to it, at least), the expression not quite managing to meet its eyes. 

      “does this.. thing.. being stained really worry you?” 

[bloodwiire]

You see my face in the stars You write my name on your walls I feel you tracing my scars I see you down on your knees You don't know me at all

[timbllr]

. by Alberto Polo Iañez Via Flickr: www.instagram.com/albertopoloianez/

[bloodwiire]

@descarted

Ell is burning down the house and everyone in it :////

   its not a real house party if everyone isn’t screaming as an unknown && almighty force tears them apart in every tangible way 

[frolicingintheforest]

A beautiful Labradorite point that I’ll be making a necklace from! 

[yvesey]

Liar!

[bloodwiire]

@descarted

MELTING YOUR SKULL

sb; hi el-- ell, unleashing its true form and disintegrating that person into a husk; : ) 

[bloodwiire]

ell, spotting immortals/non humans; neat. you’ll survive longer than the rest 

[bloodwiire]

[ @vamytas​ ]

  the ‘wires’ were always stocked with otherwordly ichor in their veins; it had become a useful tactic, a way to travel without limitations to technology. ell hadn’t anticipated creatures other than itself to tamper with it. there’s no interest in the well being of the mortal as he senses a spike of activity; it has more than enough creatures of flesh and bone under its control.     --- but then there’s something else.  something new. 

         the second blood passes down the unknown creatures throat, ell is present.    he stands before the stranger clad in casual wear. his form is just as mundane. that pretence is pulled away at as the essence of its power makes its way through its new companions odd system. it’s a flicker at first. a tug of its skin, as if if hidden hands pushed and jabbed from underneath its flesh, lasting seconds.                     “you aren’t like the others.”  when it opens its mouth its voice is accompanied by others, overlapping its words at various pitches. the movement of its jaw gives way to another ripple in its disguise - flesh of its lower jaw dissipates, an insects mandibles peeking through  ( oversized, an endless mass of shifting chitin and flesh hidden further beneath it, bulging out of its neck). the voices overlapping its own did not stop when its mouth closed, instead increasing to an ear-splitting series of screeches. the gap in its disguise cut off at the same time as the noise, both halting as quickly as they’d appeared. this time when it opened its mouth, it spoke with a single voice.                       “  - what  are you?” 

[bloodwiire]

feeling awake for the next 20-30 minutes, like this post to get a starter from ur local otherworldly abomination!! 

[bloodwiire]

   While using a human form, ells powers can be limited; it is still connected to its own hive-mind (and has access to/control over the various computers that have happened upon one of its sites), but its consciousness can be disrupted temporarily if physical damage is done to its vessel before it has time to shed that form. unfortunately for all, ell is capable of sloughing off its human suit and becoming a brain-melting monstrosity within a second. 

[bloodwiire]

[bloodwiire]

Finished the about! For now. In the meantime, like for a starter. 

[bloodwiire]

Me: *shows up*

Me: *makes shit weird*

Me: *leaves*

[bloodwiire]

FAMOUS POETRY AESTHETIC !!

TAGGED BY: @diktown TAGGING:  @frag-your-masters , @cemeteryfun , anyone else who’d want to do this 

Repost, don’t reblog!

i saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked. // tyger tyger, burning bright // i have done it again. // do not go gentle into that good night. // the sea is calm to-night. // let us go then, you and i, // april is the cruelest month. // pretty women wonder where my secret lies. // there is a place where the sidewalk ends. // i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) // two roads diverged in a yellow wood. // whose woods these are i think i know, // let us twain walk aside from the rest. // once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary, // i taught myself to live simply and wisely. //

it so happens i am sick of being a man // i wandered lonely as a cloud // does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? // o my love is like a red, red rose. // o captain! my captain! our fearful trip is done; // out of the night that covers me // it was many and many a year ago //you may write me down in history // do not stand at my grave and weep // some say the world will end in fire // some say in ice. // hope is the thing with feathers // the wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, // no man is an island. //

remember me when i am gone away, // i met a traveler from an antique land // ‘twas brillig, and the slithy toves // this is thy hour o soul, // when we wear the mask that grins and lies, // death be not proud, // and death shall have no dominion. // laugh, and the world laughs with you; // the art of losing isn’t hard to master; // to see a world in a grain of sand // is there anybody there? said the traveller //

nobody heard him, the dead man, // that crazed girl improving her music. // come to me in the silence of the night; // where the mind is without fear and the head is held high //when you are old and grey and full of sleep, // in flanders’ fields the poppies blow // i thought of you and how you love this beauty // life, believe, is not a dream // it may be misery not to sing at all, // if starry space no limit knows // come live with me and be my love, // had we but world enough and time, //

my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense // bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art- // thou still unravish’d bride of quietness // how do i love thee? let me count the ways. // heaven is what i cannot reach! // my dear, my dear, i know // in visions of the dark night // shall i compare thee to a summers day? // break, break, break// she walks in beauty, // i had a dream, which was not at all a dream. // he clasps the ring with crooked hands.

[horrorlocke]

my oc, ell. it is an eldritch abomination who enjoys computers, bleeding, and making computers bleed. 

[DA] | [Weasyl] | [Patreon] 

[atrphy-blog]

a soft, moist thump leans their scapulae, spine back against a brick wall, the grating of rough-edged stone and grout itching, not unpleasantly, at the skin and bone beneath; akia observes, arms folded loosely over their chest (the others hanging in intangible shadow, digits curling, at their sides, a blurry shape, indistinct in the dark of the alley and imperceptible to anything without the eyes shaped to see), tongue pressed still to the back of their teeth.

though ell’s adopted outer frame is not unlike their own in shape and structure, and though they understand its purpose just as well as their own, akia finds their own kind ever more palatable when unguised; a wisp of smile ghosts one corner of their mouth when greeted with the more honest tangle of writhing mass, their own curtailed, contained frame twitching and clawing in anticipatory greeting, though it does not yet burst nor tear the veil of the simulacrum that holds it fast as such.

watching the consumption transpire aches something wickedfierce in the cavernous pit of their own abdomen, even so, but if there is one thing age has taught them, it is to curtail impetuousness with patience.

(not imposed, not the choking of plate wrapped about their throat by another’s claws, but chosen, now. true patience, enforced by naught other than their own nature.)

akia speaks at their leisure, not commanded, a measured stare biding their time, tongue flicking over too-dry needle teeth until such time as they deem it right to utter a word.

‘ one of your – followers has been perusing older texts. ’ texts that only refer to akia in passing (they stem from a time before the written word, and thus, such allusions are sparse at best), and littered with false reference, yet enough to provoke a snared tangle of intrigue and concern. (they feel it, even so, whensoever their name is read, written, or spoken, and the time before this one attempts contact with them is, they sense, dwindling. they will not turn the wayward child away, yet, plans must be made if their dominion is to find its revival – most of all if it sprouts from the rotted mind of one already sworn to another. if naught else, they are loath to draw away a disciple without yielding advance warning; they do not ask permission to endorse their intent, to fill the void that still holds their shape, least of all from one still so juvenile.) ‘ they seek answers. origins. answers they have not received from you. we expect contact from them in due course. perhaps you would prefer to handle it yourself. ’

[bloodwiire]

 Ell does not push for an answer when it’s met with a cold stare - the brood-mother is one that should not be poked with a stick (or a demand of an answer, in this case) and Ell, while fond of pushing the boundaries that keep it alive, had enough respect for its’ superior to concede to their silence. A hand idly picks at the mandibles still crudely jutting out of its’ jaw, the mortal flesh peeling off betwixt its’ fingertips as the protrusion scrapes against the flesh of its’ palm. Self-mutilation, self-cannibalism, it was all a bid to occupy their restless form ‘neath the rest of their skin; small habits and the taste of fresh blood to sate the roar for blood that builds from their very being. It occupies it while the brood-mother speaks, their eyes fixed upon the others’ lips as the words came from them. 

  “The Bloodied Wires do not stray from their path.” It’s an affirmation to itself rather than the brood-mother - and certainly not questioning the authenticity of their words; but if a man strayed, he was not a wire. Though he’d be cut like one; strung up and twisted to fix the gap that his straying had left. Even so, Ell knew it would not be long before another followed - the origins are what all men seek, the origins and what happens just after the end; while it has no qualms with the brood-mother being recognised, it is far less fond of sharing it’s sheep. Action was called for (perhaps not immediate action, but a placement of words and flickers in monitors that evoke fever like dreams and visions, enough to set the Wires alight with knowledge and enlightened outlooks on their God and it’s mater). A jerk of their head retracts the mandibles hanging from their jaw inwards, though their eyes still withhold some of the bestial hunger that lurked in both of their veins.    “I’ll answer their questions, myself, save for the one you speak of; a Wire that strays without my word was not a Wire in the first place, and should be cut. ” It takes a second to mull over its’ own words, before shooting a languid glance at Akia. “--I appreciate you telling me, but it brings up a question of my own; should I be concerned about more followers leaving to follow their ‘gods’ broodmother?”