December 6, 2012

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
occasionally subtle

#extradirty
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titsay

Janaina Medeiros
will byers stan first human second
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

Love Begins
ojovivo
hello vonnie
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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i don't do bad sauce passes
Sade Olutola
cherry valley forever

izzy's playlists!

oozey mess
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@elijahxalexander
December 6, 2012
"What, you can’t keep your cock tamed?" the brunette retorted as she straightened herself up from the bent position in which she previously was while picking up her cup off the ground. She’d allowed herself to enjoy the rhythm of the drums, lowering the beverage so nothing would hold her back and now that the vivacious melody was over, she wanted to satuate her thirst. Of course a male pig would find themselves bothered by the uncovered skin of her long legs and arse hugged by nothing but the short leather skirt she wore. Shifting on her feet, she turned to face the man behind with the expression of an abyss behind her doe like eyes.
"There's plenty of other places for you to show yourself off, sweetheart, but I'm not interested." He flashed her a sardonic smile. Of course she'd make it into him being a sexist pig, not that he was. The only girl he ever thought about was a girl who frustrated him beyond in, in many ways then way. The woman he saw before him did nothing for him, not even with her tiny skirt or those fathomless eyes.
[listen]
Bloody Shirt by To Kill A King // Iron by Woodkid // No One's Here To Sleep by Naughty Boy // Everyone Wants To Rule The World by Lorde // Weight Of Living Pt.1 by Bastille // Heaven Knows by Pretty Reckless // I See Fire by Ed Sheeran // Psylla by Glass Animals // Sandman by Hurts // The River, The Woods by Astronautalis // Beautiful Pain by Eminem.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Violet Moore’s heart was leaping out of her throat as she scouted the woods for whatever had been following her. She had caught a glimpse - it seemed like tall, dark-headed man- but it’s scent was something foul and unknown to her sensitive nose. He could have just been a hunter, but it didn’t seem that way. It acted surprised when she sent a fearful growl towards him. It failed to deter him from continuing the chase though, it’s deep steps refusing to be drowned out by the pulsating in her ears.
S L I C E.
Something caught the back of heels in a swift motion. It was a blade of some form, metallic but not silver, still painful enough for her to fall to her knees. She didn’t have the time to scramble back up, or even the courage to turn her head around to see what had captured her. It was grabbing on her ankles now, dragging her deeper into the woods, a part that she didn’t like to visit due to the revolting smell of sewage that run beneath the wood. That was all that was infusing her nostrils as her body rubbed against the floor. She was powerless to break herself free, her only weapon her claws that she was trying to dig into the mud, but the ground was too sloppy and wet for her to get a good grip into anything.
She was considering her death when the movement stopped and the grasp on her ankles loosened. This had been the third time in a very short period that she had been attacked. Maybe it was bad luck, maybe it was something more. Either way, she remained firmly on the ground as she listened to the struggle that was taking place behind her. When it sounded like it was over, she let out a small whimper and lifted herself onto her knees, turning her head as she did so. The man she was looking up to was not the one who had grabbed her, she could tell his heavily bleached hair and scarred skin. Though he had potentially just saved her life, she couldn’t get comfortable, not now there was a new threat. She could tell by just looking at him - h u n t e r.
If he had someone that cared about him, they'd say his obsession with demons was unhealthy, and he might've agreed, too, if he cared at all. But he didn't. There was something satisfying about being able to get rid of something so filthy with his bare hands and a few ancient words that rolled off his pink tongue almost as easy as breathing. To him, demons were an addiction, something that made his hands shake at the mere thought of them, had his heart racing. After all, if he didn't have them, what else did he have? Just a scarred body and an empty mind that had no memories to cherish what so ever. What sort of person would want to be left with that? With nothing.
The fact that this demon is chasing a pretty little thing doesn't even register in his mind, not at first anyway. The smell of sulfur permeates the air like a the sicky smell of bile, and the moment it burns his nostrils, his body is in a mode he can't get out of. What he does next is out of instinct, body memory even; he doesn't know how he remembers, he just does. Black eyes are wide, looking surprised for a damned thing, and there's a moment where he's shocked to hear this one say his name like he knows him. The demon's mouth doesn't open again, but there's this look in those soulless eyes that tell him everything he needs to know. 'You're a damned one, Elijah.'
Fingers gripped tight, teeth bared, he yanks the thing from off the girl and kicks him back into the ground. There's a struggle, and the blade that the demon holds in his hand cuts through sensitive flesh like it's air, but Elijah's blood is pumping too fast for him to notice, the adrenaline coursing through him and feeding into his desires. He doesn't care about not harming the body, because from what he saw moments before they clashed, there was a bullet wound already embedded in his chest. Even if he managed to get the demon out successfully, whomever owned this body before would be long gone by now.
The holy water burns the demon, and oddly enough, it stings Elijah more than usual. It's just water, he has to keep reminding himself. There's no reason for it to burn. But it does, and for some reason, it angers him. Whatever thought there was at preserving the body out of some respect to it's previous owner, is gone with a flash of rage, and the demon's lying bloody on the ground. The words come out of his mouth, thick in Latin, heavy with passion, the demon lies on the ground writhing and shrieking in pain as it's violently ripped from its host. His hands start to shake again, blood beneath his fingernails, in the crevices of his palm. He bends down just once, takes a deep breath to steady himself, and brushes his hands down the eyelids of the now empty body to close them.
It's only then he really hears her, breathing heavily and shifting above leaves like an injured animal with nowhere to go. When he turns to look at her, he has some vague understanding that she's not entirely human, or at least not a human who was as clueless to the supernatural world around them. She would be a lot more frightened than this, probably hysteric.
"You alright?" he asks, nonchalantly wiping his hands on the dead man's coat and then shoving his hand into his pocket, where he takes a firm grip on the worn bible. "I'm not gonna fuckin' hurt you if you don't come after me, got it? So, get up from the floor, there could be more of them."
Demons didn't usually travel in packs, but it wouldn't be the weirdest thing to have happened to him.
He says the words quietly, but there's a firmness to it as he glances at the person next to him. He's not one to be bugged normally by something a stranger does, he's patient enough to ignore it, but there's always that one thing that sets him off. The jazz music was loud and it drowned out a lot of the voices in my head, but it big crowds really weren't Elijah's greatest desire at the moment, or really ever, let alone drunk idiots that didn't watch where they were going on the street, or care for what they did in public.
The music reminded her of home. The music that played in her house and the music that she danced to with her parents. And as nostalgic as it was, Rhine couldn’t help but feel the music in her. Standing on the lawn space, Rhine moved her hips, swaying to the jazz music that played and, in a way, lost herself in it. “I heard it through the grapevine, not much longer would you be mine,” she sang, rocking out in her own little world.
He was surprised to see her, let alone find her singing and even dancing. She looked lost in her own little world, like a girl high off in the clouds. She didn't seem like the type to pop pills though, but then again, he didn't know shit about her either. Kicking his feet back and crossing his arms, he leaned back against the wall behind him. It was probably terrible of him, to poke at a sleeping dragon, but it wasn't as if he had anything to lose really. He was a blank slate, might as well make the new record an interesting one, even if he came out as a bit of an ass.
"Well, and here I thought you were just that type of person to hate just about everything on this Earth, but I guess I was wrong. Having fun?"
Sweetheart. That was a nickname Harlow felt she didn’t deserve, even if it was used casually. Her heart was far from sweet, it’d been tainted and darken with each passing thought of war. Her heart was far from sweet and it was turning sour, despite her actions to keep it pure.
Harlow watched with careful eyes as the man spoke with the woman. Almost hiding behind the bookshelf, afraid the woman would cast a hateful glance her way but he was charming and she removed herself from sitting. Her kids rushing out the door with her behind them.
”Yes, thank you.” She smiled, “I’m afraid I have a thing for approaching people. I’d just rather not. Sorry to have forced your hand in that…”
"It's alright. But if you have a problem with something, it's not going to get solved by just standing there." She had even hid behind a shelf, he had noticed that. "Otherwise, people are just gonna take advantage of you, ya' know?"
\
Strange. Huh, at least the word was better than freak, he liked this word so much better. It wasn;t as strong as the ones he was used to, and for that he was thankful but would never show it. “Do you?” Avoiding the question seemed like the best route of action here. He had nothing to give away, nothing to hide, but he still didn’t want to answer a question that could hold weight like that one.
His brow raised when the kid threw the question back at him. "Well, we're run off the stuff, so yeah... I come in contact with it often." He gave the younger blond a sardonic smile, wincing just a little as one swipe of his head, a bit of an ache knocked into him.
"What are you doing out here so late? Don't you know homeless people come out this late and pick of scrawny, young blond kids like yourself? They're secretly cannibals, you know."
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right?"
He wasn’t rude or overly hostile, behaving far more pleasantly than he should have, but the detachment in the man’s voice and expression told her the doe-eyed trick hadn’t worked.
“You dropped it…” Felicia had to contain the urge to grin while handing him the wallet, but soon abandoned the strategy of playing innocent. She had no guarantee that he wasn’t dangerous yet. There was a coldness to him, and although the same could have been said for her, the slight curl of his lips could very well have been the anticipation of something worst. Treating him like an idiot was not a good option.
“Often enough. ” Since she could control her human fingers enough to wrap them around something that didn’t belong to her. The barely contained grin finally twisted her features. Her thieving skills, simple human manifestations of her ability to remain as quick and agile as she truly was as a fox even in the body of a young girl, were the quality she was most proud of, the one that made her useful to the shapeshifter pack in the first place and had saved her and her brother from starving to death before she ever found them.
“Have you ever done that?” Perhaps he had been a pickpocket. It would explain his awareness to the theft, as she was not used to being caught by the average mark.
'You dropped it.'
"So, you decided to take it and run off with it then? Very chivalrous of you, kid."
He feels himself smirk despite what had just happened. She stole something from him, but it wasn't as if it was a great big deal. He knew how to get money by other means; he had to know, otherwise he'd be out on the streets homeless and without money to buy damn food. Her grin is proud and fox-like, she doesn't show much regret for getting caught. There's some stupidity in that, as well as something he can respect. She's determined, but she knows when to call it quits. At least here.
"Don't you have parents?" he asked genuinely, even though he knows an orphan when he looks at one. He's simply asking to make sure. His fingers fiddle through his wallet, prying out the only cash he had stashed away in his pockets before handing it to her within the tips of his forefinger and thumb. "Here." He looks her in the eye, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Went through all the trouble to get it, might as well be given something at the end."
'Have you ever done it?'
He had done it, he was sure of it, and in a way he even did it now. But it wasn't why he caught her. His awareness was more to being highly aware of those around him, than experience of doing it himself. "Once or twice," he frowned lightly. "But it's harder for a grown man to steal from pockets as nimbly as you just did it."
He doesn't really know why he cares, but maybe it's just because he's always been a sucker for the lost ones, like him. She wasn't lost really though, she took some pride in the hunt, he could see that. "Are you alright? Do you not have enough cash, or you just doing this for shits and giggles?"
Be running up that road, Be running up that hill, Be running up that building. If I only could, oh...
River doesn’t care about what others think about her. She’s already spent a lifetime being ostracized. She hardly ever had friends growing up. She left her friends behind when she skipped grades. Everyone in her class hated her when she aced exams and they did a mediocre job. River learned to be calm and relaxed. She preferred the dead than the living. The living were cruel and the dead were generally more peaceful. The ones who weren’t peaceful, River tried to help. “Surviving is something to be proud about,” River replies. They tried everything to help her, and they did by putting her on various medications. The medications stopped her communication with the dead, but not without a cost.
'Surviving is something to be proud of.' He hated that, and it showed on his face. "Sometimes a person doesn't wanna survive," he says simply, voice near raspy as he turned away from her.
Marius stood in line at Kaffeine to get his coffee. The beverage was the only thing that would keep him going, one more hour of staring at his computer without caffeine in his system and he would explode. It didn’t help that the potions he’d been taking to stop or at least regulate his visions had as a side affects some pretty nasty albeit sporadic migraines. He was on the phone with Alona and the woman had been babbling on about the younger witches of her coven and how she could have used his help, if he could come and speak with them once a week. He stopped her as she referred to his visions as premonitions. “Precognition, Alana. I’m not fucking Phoebe Halliwell from fucking Charmed for christ’s sake!” He took his coffee in hand and paid heading towards the station where the sugar, cinnamon and other extras were kept and as he turned around was splashed with scalding hot coffee. “I’ll call you back. I have to go commit murder” he let out, as a mean smirk appeared on his features.
"Really?"
'I'll call you back. I have to go commit murder.'
It would've been funny had it been any other time, but it was his coffee that was dripping down this haggard looking man, and that smirk on his lips didn't help any. If any, it just irritated Elijah more.
"That's what fuckin' happens when you turn around fast without paying attention, man. Watch where you're going."
He doesn't want to get into an argument, especially not over coffee and some guy already in a heated talk with someone on the phone over... What was it? Precognition. He had to be a witch or something, or just... Possibly another Medium. It was possibly, he had already met another one at a bar a few nights ago, but it hadn't gone down well. In fact, it was awkward, and she made him uncomfortable talking to ghosts in public places like that.
"Look, I'm sorry. It was an accident. But you know, if ya' did have precognition, you probably should've foresaw that, right?"
love me cancerously, [past!dylan]
The smoking was going to catch up to him eventually, that's what everyone had said to him when he had one right after the other, like he was breathing in fresh air. But at least it would be a death by nature, something that had taken a hold of him, rather than what he had done so long ago with a razor and an empty room, a drunken father in the next room. It had started with a cough that wouldn't go away, a continuous pain that only grew and worsened as time moved on. He began to feel lightheaded, pain in his chest and back, an ache in his bones. He'd cough up blood, at random, in the middle of a exorcism.
When his work began harder to do, when it became an actual struggle, and he failed here or there, he decided it was best to just go check out a doctor. He hadn't expected what they told him, lung cancer of all things. At first he had just stood there when that nurse and the doctor told them, just staring at the pristine hospital flooring until he gave a faint nod. It felt like death was an old friend he hadn't seen in a long time, and so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing him again, he couldn't speak. A part of him wanted to cuss and yell, especially at the doctors for just standing there so stupidly, but at his father, at his mother, at his brother who never had a chance to live. Maybe, he thinks, he was doomed from the start.
His father blamed him for his mother's death, and his brother. It was unfair to blame a young child, but his father did it anyway. Blaming someone, after all, took away some of the pain. At least this way he had someone to hate. Elijah always thought it was because he was born from the death of two people that he could see and hear things others couldn't, it was the easiest way to explain it. And while others claimed it to be a gift, it had only caused him more pain, until eventually he couldn't take it anymore.
He saw Hell, he saw what he'd be suffering for the few minutes that he was dead until he was shocked back into breathing, pumping blood into his veins and flushing his system of any drugs he may have consumed. Killing demons, he had imagined, would cleanse his soul. He was getting rid of the filth of the world, wasn't that what God would've liked? But it seemed God did not care about someone as small as him, no matter if he tried. His reasons were selfish, after all. And because God did not care, it would explain why each day there was something new to ruin Elijah's day, like cancer. Like cancer.
Did God hate him, he wondered, because he had given up on life? Why should he care, if he did nothing to ease Elijah's pain? It was Elijah's life, it was his life, why did God get to decide whether he kept going or not? If Elijah wanted to end it, he should be able to, shouldn't it?
There was a nurse that kept coming at him, the one with long dark hair and honey coloured chocolate eyes. She kept pestering him, until he snapped at her and ordered her out of the room, angry enough that even the doctor had to pull her away. It was so pathetic the way he curled up into himself after, hands in his hair and just letting himself cry. He was tired and sore all over, he was exhausted with this life, with the fighting. And like a man placing a bet on something so precious, he decided to just take the chance and let the cancer overwhelm him, and if he died and hell's fires greeted him, then at least he could comfort himself with the knowledge that he had tried to do something about.
He came back every now and then for some medicine. He didn't want proper treatments, but medicine could at least prolong it until he got some shit in order, like visit his alcoholic father who threw a beer bottle at him the minute he walked through the door, or keep that nurse (who he knew now was named 'Dylan.' Who the hell names their girl after a boy?) from stalking him as she came to do.
She was determined, he had to give her that, but he didn't see why she cared so much, and so with each phone call she punched in, he got angrier. Why did she have to care so bloody much? He swore every corner he turned, she was there smiling and waving, running after him until he turned away and stormed off.
Today was no different either. The sun was nearly going down and the cars of the town sped by fast, like bullets, their lights blinding him. His head ached and his vision blurred, as one car honked so loudly it surprised him into a coughing fit, and when he stopped to grab at his throat, he felt someone slam into his back enough to cause him to lean forward and grab onto a pole for support. When he turned to look at whomever it was that ran into him, he froze and then glared.
"Are you stalking me?" The words rip out violently, and he tears himself away from her. He hardly notices that he has to hold the pole to keep himself upright. "Look, I don't want to do any treatments, I really don't—and... And isn't it illegal to be doing this?"
Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling for W October 2010, Photographed by Inez and Vinoodh