DESTROY TO CREATE.

" There are times when everything evaporates and we are left in a desert of pearly grey, rose, and dead silver. " " At night our flesh aches from so many stars, and we grow drunk on breeze and water. " a collection of souls. penned for faulkhq.

[deathstrcnded-blog]

ooc -- i have a final in a few hours that i’m frantically cramming for, but EDWARD needs plots, so if u need a high-strung little fox mulder in your life.... give this a like and i’ll slide into ur dms after my final!

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melcniehaas:

It was the middle of the day, the sun very much burning brightly which succumbed Melanie to the indoors until sundown. She had been two drinks in at the bar until she realized just how terribly bored she was. Having to explore the town alone was boring enough, and it wasn’t like she had anyone to pass the time with as she was fairly new. “What’s a girl gotta do to have a little fun around here?” Melanie said to no one in particular, nonchalantly swaying her glass of whiskey as she stared into the caramel colored liquid. “At this point, I’ll be drinking myself to death just to feel alive in this town.”

A snort escaped him, sweet tea spluttering from between Edward’s lips as he dared look up from his plate; he’d deigned to take his lunch here, at the bar, for it was the closest lead he had to where certain sorts might spend the too-bright daylight hours. “That’s funny -” he cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “- to ‘feel alive’. Because - you know. It’s funny, well, considering.” He stopped himself before he could say too much; he wasn’t sure who to trust, who to reveal he knew so much to, for the wrong word could expose him, make him a threat to the very sort he so wished to encounter. “Sorry. Stupid joke.”

[deathstrcnded-blog]

abigailhq:

it had been a long day for abigail and of course a handsy male had to come in and make it worse. he kept slapping her ass and whistling to her when she walked by. she was on her way back to the kitchen when he once again decided to smack her again. she stopped and turned around. she gave him a soft smile before kicking his chair out from under him and then put pressure on his throat with her foot. “touch me again and you will lose both your hands.” she spat. abigail may be a tiny little woman. but she was sick and tired of being manhandled by men. 

theo watched the ordeal from a booth in the corner, arms splayed atop the back of the booth; he’d considered intervening for a moment - for more than a moment. but he was taken aback by how the petite human had handled herself, how the man had hit the floor with an oh-so-satisfying THUMP. he laughed at this, at the sound of his spluttering beneath her boot; theo stood, clapping slowly, theatrically, approaching with a swift kick to send the chair skittering further across the floor. “now - that’s no way to treat a lady,” he looked down at the man over her shoulder, “but it looks to me like the lady’s got herself handled. maybe he should lose a hand for good measure.”

[deathstrcnded-blog]

litostiisms:

“so i get it,” daisy starts, tone seemingly casual as she pulls on her leather jacket. “sleepy little town full of crazy freaks, blah blah blah, whatever. it’s all very dramatic and poetic and all that bullshit - but where’s the actual crazy shit? if we’re all hanging out here, you’d think there’s be more fun than just the occasional dead body and some shitty beer.”

he’s occupied a small slice of bar-space with papers, photographs, and books; he cares little for strange looks and disparaging glances, for edward is as much a paying customer as the next, and the ‘shitty beer’, as she says, is what’s buying his space upon an empty bar top. at the sound of her voice, he looks up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sliding a blurred photograph - one he’d poured over for hours already - toward her across the bar, with every intent to snatch it back the moment it drifted too far in untrustworthy hands. 

“the crazy shit -” he answered, “- is worth being patient for. the crazy ‘shit’ IS the fun. i mean, come on - who doesn’t love a good mystery?”

[deathstrcnded-blog]

vcinsbled:

          it wasn’t as though the town out stretched THOUSANDS of miles. one may wander for a short while before stumbling onto something, and in his case he’s done so HUNDREDS of DOZENS of times prior. he’d sketched and painted ever inch of scenery the place had to offer and yet here he was again, eager as ever to repaint the scene of school kids in the courtyard for the tenth time. or was it the eleventh ? he’d have to flip through his sketch pad back home to be sure. but as he approached he’d noticed someone new occupying a spot beneath the shadiest tree on the campus. he sighs slightly at the words that escape the man’s mouth, truly not wanting to get caught up in vampire business for JUST ONE DAY.  

he hears a sigh, and cannot help but be amused - he’d gotten so used to launching into soliloquy with so little care for who listened or responded, that it was amusing to expect an answer, but receive only silence in response. “WHAT?” he demands, tipping his head up and shielding his eyes from the intrusive sun, “if you’re takin’ notes in that notepad, you’re gonna want to get the real history of it all. straight from the ‘horse’s mouth’, so to speak.” or perhaps the other was simply here to observe, as theo was; there was no harm in that, either. but to sit in total silence with a total stranger - that was something theo didn’t quite abide. 

[nonexist999999]

IM DIE

[scvrpions]

                       —–  *  /    /    theo  &  hannah ,  circa  1955 . ( @deathstrcnded )

[violentdelvghts]

favourite will graham smiles requested by @anavolena

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what's one thing that's haunted you all your life?

the smile that’s adorned his face for the entirety of the night falters at this, for the question elicits immediate images, sounds, smells, feelings, of children whose faces have never left him. they grew up, of course, before they left him - but they will always be children. when he thinks of him, he cannot think of the happy moments, but of the singular bad. and it is this that he thinks of now. he thinks of them as they fall from their horses, as humanoid figures emerge from the night to assault them on the dirt path; he thinks of how theo himself is pulled from his horse, dragged into the tall grass beside the road, unable to flee nor to reach his sisters as they are pulled from their mounts. 

a chorus of screams, a rip, a squelch - and a sudden silence. this silence will never leave him. 

but he must answer the question eventually, he knows. 

“ didn’t drink enough bourbon in the twenties, “ he answers, finally, though his voice is strained, “ was never the same after prohibition. “

[deathstrcnded-blog]

how do you feel about your progeny?

his lips curl into an undeniably prideful smile, the expression of the man who has won a great prize, or perhaps one that knows he has done something so utterly great that nothing will ever match it. so great, however, that he’s remiss to say too much.

“ my girl’s goddamn perfect -- “ the pride seeps in lustful, prideful, possessive, decadent tones into his voice as he leans back chin jutted upward for pride of his magnitude can only be viewed from down the bridge of his nose, “ she’s more than what i expected - and my expectations for her were great. meant for this, she was, from the very beginning. and i’m fuckin’ proud to have made her what she is. though i can hardly claim a hand in all of her -- “ his smile grows, but only by a margin, “ -- talents. gettin’ better by the day. “

[deathstrcnded-blog]

how does you feel about sex?

his lips curl into a knowing smile; he must still smell of it. the grin gives away too much, but he doesn’t care. 

“ -- i like it rough,” he offers, “and often. but doesn’t everyone? “

[deathstrcnded-blog]

bellabeaumont:

patience has never been her virtue of choice, if there was anything virtuous about her at it. so when she finds that the pool table is occupied, she makes sure that she is the next to be in control of it. bribes the user, buys him a drink, flirts probably more than need be, but there was no harm in that. in no time at all she’s got a whiskey on the edge of the table and is beating some guys ass in pool, even making the choice not to use magic to help her win. she likes knowing she can win with her own skill alone a little too much. she’s half drunk by the time the game is over, and she takes another sip of whiskey as she scans the room looking for someone else to challenge. “care for a game?”

“ah - i do love games.” he answers over the rim of a glass of beer, a less than potent drink for an evening that has just begun; theo knows not of the ins and outs of the local haunts, for he remains a newcomer in a town that is oft bereft of such sorts. but the right sorts, the kind of person who appreciates a good drink and a good gamble, it seems, is here. and so he approaches the table and sets his beer aside, opting for the intoxicating thrill of competition, no matter how slight. 

“what’s the prize, then? something with higher stakes than a drink bought for the winner, i hope.”

[deathstrcnded-blog]

chcrryvvine:

         TIME  DISSOLVES  INTO   LAPSES  &  BLURS  WHEN  IT  COMES  TO  THEO  —  but  when  his  southern  growl  returns  home  to  the  shell  of  her  ear ,  when  his  touch  rests  upon  golden ,  freckled  shoulders  ,  the   entire  universe  goes   deliciously  off - kilter .  ‘  LEAVE ,  ’  she  icily  roars  at  the  hapless  human ,  turning  swiftly  to  offer  the  blonde  her  utterly  undivided  attention .  ‘  sometimes  begging  can  be  a  little  fun ,  can’t  it  ?  ’  she  brings  the  cigarette  to  ruby  red  lips ,  inhaling  the  toxins  with  the  same  fervor  she  always  inhaled  HIM ,  blowing  a  grey  plume  of  smoke  above  their  heads .  ‘  you  found  me ,  cowboy ,  ’  she  coos ,  her  feather - soft  touch  lifting  to  frame  his  chiseled  jaw  between  her  fingertips .  ‘  took  you  long  enough ,  champ .  ’

HIS LIPS CURL INTO A CHESHIRE SMILE as she dismisses her would-be savior; this is practiced form, between the two, of she needing and he answering. theo watches as she turns, follows the trailing cigarette to her lips, and leans against the brick wall at his side, forced nonchalance subverting the urge to be closer and closer still. the languid wait, the stretch of time between seen and touched is all part of the game; torture is pain, and in turn is is pleasure, or so it goes. for a moment he swears a long-dead heart stirs between the third and fourth rib at the feeling of fingers upon his jaw, ever rough, ever torn by hapless adventure. 

“ i always DO, don’t i? “ he tips his head downward, leveling his gaze with hers - a merciful relief of too-far distance, “ did ya’ miss me as much as i missed you, darlin’? sounds like you’ve been busy in my absence. “

[deathstrcnded-blog]

blvcdlvsts:

“and you are?” savannah questioned. there was no amusement in her gaze, none of her usual warmth or care. it was one thing, of course — to be out there, in the rest of town, where any number of creatures and kinds lurked, got up to shady business and dragged their town further down into the depths of hell and horror. but this was the school yard. there were children here. innocents. little ones who had no business or right or need to be dragged into whatever war was raging this week. ( maybe it was naive of her to hold such a belief — but she held it anyway, would fight until her dying breath to ensure her students were safe as they could be. )

her head quirked to the side as she gazed down at him, sun lighting her blonde hair gold. “because you surely aren’t one of my students, since i think i would have noticed someone as tall and brutish as you in the back row…” she offered a brittle smile. “…yet, for some odd reason, you lurk about campus.”

no matter how lighthearted his jest had been, the gaze with which he was met was quite the opposite. theo was startled into a snort of momentary laughter, straightening his back against the tree trunk and folding his hands studiously in his lap. “brutish?” in mock-affront, he put his hand over his heart, though nothing beat within, “ma’am - i’m simply here to learn. is that a crime?” a crime it was not - but to sit so precariously in shadow, when the sun beat down about him, was a dangerous feat indeed. were he to be shunned from the schoolyard, he’d have quite a time in doing so. 

“i LURK out of interest - not offense,” it was only the slightest lie; it was irksome, at least, to hear even the slightest inaccuracy about his own time period, but he would be silly to contest this woman’s knowledge. this was obvious immediately. “I am a bit of an expert on the subject, if I do say so myself.”

[deathstrcnded-blog]

AESTHETIC ▻ theo + hannah            for @chcrryvvine

 “ -- and your face           is my chosen abyss -- “

[deathstrcnded-blog]

ASK THEO ANYTHING.

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HANNAH.

SHE  MISSES  THE  SCENT  OF  ROSES  AND  PEACHES .  she  recalls  languid  summers ,  golden  limbs  stretched  along  the  cool  grass  in  the  flickering  shadows  of  her  father’s  weeping  willow  -  the  air  was  always   thick  with  the  sickly  sweet  aroma  of  peaches .  now ,  the  air  is  just  THICK  &  her  throat runs  dry .  it’s  been  twelve  hours  since  her  last  feeding ,  but  the  sun’s  yet  to set  so  she  acclimates  herself  to  a  night  at   the  goddamn  dusty  crow .  sheltering  &  shadowing  herself  beneath  the  decrepit  bar’s  front  awning  ,  cerulean  irises  flicker  to  the  unfortunate  soul  she’s  taken  notice  of  beside  her .  ‘  how  much  do  i  have  to  beg  to  get  a  light  ?  ’  slender  digits  lift  to  reveal  a  lonesome  cigarette ,  her  southern  drawl  laced  around  each  syrupy  syllable.  ‘  pretty  please  ?  ’

He sees a poor unwitting soul extend a harmless flame, a human offering extended to light the cigarette which dances between all too familiar fingers, those which have burned his skin with darling brands time and time again. Already, as he approaches, with speed not possessed by the man at her side, he can smell her skin, her hair, can hear the echo of breath and whispered secret within the hollow of his skull. His match, held between thumb and forefinger, reaches her cigarette before the other’s can, his arm draping over her slender shoulder as he approaches from behind, from within the cloak of heavy nightfall. 

“ No need to beg, darlin’, “ his voice is a languid drawl as his breath ghosts across the planes of her shoulder, “ You know you always get what you want. “