somnambulistic inertia,

it is dark and you are under my skin; tell me, are you made of flesh or nebula?

[freerenata-deactivated20180915]

reblog if you are...disgusted

[on-poetry]

Sometimes we need to bury ourselves to understand the bloom.

7-weeks​//Excerpt from “Lighthouse”

From my poetry book “4:41″

(via 7-weeks)

[insomstasis]

 INSOMSTASIS               1307HRS: A WISHLIST. .   faces wanted :  ash stymest, bang sungjoon, byun baekhyun, jessica jung,                                jung eunji, kendall jenner, kiko mizuhara, kim sangwoo,                                kim taeyeon, kristen stewart, kwak jiyoung, lee soohyuk, oh sehun,                                nicolas ripoll, sebastian stan, sen mitsuji, son wendy, zoey deutch.                                ( as or against ; does not matter – also any gender pairing ) .   plots wanted :  based on halsey’s castle lyrics, the mortal instruments spinoff,                               modern hades & persephone, late night trips, post-apocalyptic,                               tron legacy futuristic setting, wolverine / male mcu crossover.

[insomstasis]

             back to the 1x1′s community and currently seeking roleplaying partners. i am:               .   into dark and mature themes, and also a lot of angst.               .   a sucker for non-slice of life plots. mythologies, dystopian, mutants; hmu.               .   not that big into fluff but also write it sometimes; plot before romance though.               .   does not mean i won’t do occasional lighthearted school plots.               .   of age but not too into smut; sensual imageries only.               .   willing to play any ships but i tend to be the girl in heterosexual relationships.               .   my forte is m / m, but i’m willing to explore anything !               .   face wise i’m open to both western and poc, up to discussion.               .   there are faces i’m not willing to rp as and against, so again, let’s discuss.               .   a sloth; i write depending on my mood. but yes. slow but i will reply !               .   experimental writings ! lots of spaces. i love lowercase and tsum tsum.               .   for the rest, here is a page of my guidelines. the poop thing is a joke.

i’m flexible but i write mostly paras ( not novella, usually below 1,000 ). seeking partners who are willing to spazz over the ships and torture the characters with me. xx.

[insomstasis]

"Then finish it. Because I'm with you to the end of the line."

⤯      a reply to @grouchywrites​  !

ruins come in the form of remembrances: as the effect of the ‘clean slate’ wears off, it’s like the aftermath of his missions with smokes clearing up ( and usually, him disappearing before the fumes were gone ). except this time, he has nowhere to run. except this time, he has nobody to reply to. mission report to none but himself.

                     mission failed. mission failed. mission failed,           drip drop of the water – and his gaze fixated for the last time on the captain’s face.                                                       complete failure: target is still alive.

                                ( complete failure: he shouldn’t have left. )

at the end of this road comes the promises made to himself, fog slipping out of the interstices and away from his memory. bucky barnes; was going to protect steve rogers, until the end of the line – and every other blurry passage written in smudged letters, about their friendship, about his feelings. he can’t remember it all but he started writing in a notebook, piecing the jigsaw together. and at the end of this road, would be steve’s words, resounding in his head like broken cogs, over, and over and over.

                                “then finish it.”                                                                                                  mission. mission. mission.

he did not. he did not finish it. but he remembers every bang                                                                                                      bang                                                                             bang                                                                                        bang.

he remembers each rattle of the bullet, going through the captain’s limb, and eventually, stomach. he remembers each contact of the fist, knuckling against the captain’s face, and again, and again, and again. he remembers.

                                “you’re my friend.”

          he remembers the shield falling. he remembers the defenseless man.                                                                  ( just standing there, waiting for his demise. )

and now, when he has just more than enough time to trace the lines of his palm, he remembers this: he used to be a young man who fell into this trap called feelings for a man who held his heart in his palms, handing it for his country for the freedom of men. he remembers how he used to laugh. he remembers how he used to hurt. he remembers how he used to protect.

                     distant, but there. it’s like peeking into someone else’s past.

except not. except he’s sure it’s his because there’s something foreign awakens inside him. something foreign that told him to dive into the water body. something foreign that infuses the throbbing in his chest ( and it won’t stop – and it hurts in ways that he doesn’t understand ).

it’s the kind of hurt in which if he could reach into his heart and fist it, he would bleed purple with the stains coming from a victim’s name;                                 a victim from what’s hopefully his last mission.

                                          and still, it haunts his dreams. mission failed, but                      bang bang bang bang – still, his bullets, through steve’s flesh.

bang bang bang bang – still, his feelings, through the decades.

[romanoba]

ready to comply.

[insomstasis]

arrhythmia,

⤯      a starter for @grouchywrites  &&.  the unspoken history. - - -

he remembers his face.

augmentation: he learned it shortly after he embarked on a run, identity tantalizing before him. his memory is a blank slate since his last cryogenic state, and with it comes a greater span of chambers of restoration. he began to recall the alphabets of his history, written all over the museum ( ‘james buchanan barnes’, existing around the captain america himself, relations almost immutable ). his fingers retracing a face that’s too much like him, someone asked him if he was james barnes’ son. and he said yes, watching as the person’s complacent back disappearing at a turn.

in the pinch of the momentary granules, knuckles still stained with the soot of impacts made on the captain’s body, he thinks of what it might be, between him and the captain. steve rogers. it felt like picking at an old scar, hearing that name. and the scar is amidst the ones he’s kept hidden – or well, hydra kept hidden – and locked away with the keys thrown into the pit of the ocean. now it’s salvaged, all bloodied and battered, covered in rust. he is trying to wipe away the embossed letters along the suture, which sends him to an address tattooed on the back of his mind.

he remembers his face and it feels like an omen. it feels like once he finds him again, there’s a resurrected world awaiting his arrival; atlantis embodied in terms of memories, with all its empire glory. and all of it, the map that leads to it, is kept at the base of the captain’s tongue.

so there he is, hood covering most of his face, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie.

there he is, in front of the captain’s door. tentative; it says a lot about the synapses of his memory when it pertains to the legend. tentative; and that’s how he pulls a hand out to knock on the door. once, twice. he waits for an answer.

[littlemusingthings]

❝  I’m determined to find the joy in our lives. In the small things. In everything…❞  

[phoebetonhkin]

Zoe Deutch photographed by Isaac Sterling

[insomstasis]

&.   is anyone interested in playing underground-centric m / m with a setting based on post-apocalytic world, and dictatorship is the main plague that causes the new era to suffer. it’s almost like thg’s setting with the riches being very wealthy and the rest of the people work to support their lifestyles, and in the lower class the urban setting is more or less plagued with decadence ( night clubs & bars, mafia ruling underground, gang fights, etc. ). they’re in this renegade group that works underground scheming to overthrow the government, basically. one of them is the strategist and the other is in the offense department, which is exposed to danger most since they’re the ones executing the plans. so tl;dr underground renegades plot loaded with possible angst.

[insomstasis]

requiem for the smothered,

             ‘ devour your kings. ’  – salma deera, letters from medea.

             this is not always remembered from the birth;                          for once, this starts at three in the morning. cold water in bathtub, ankle deep ocean.             she shivers, counting her ribs. skin is a garment of mortality.

and mortality is the abstract syllabus, everything that she is not.

this story begins in the extraction of deicide from the stomach of urban decay, when her throne no longer overlooks the rivers coursing, their streams carrying the weight of the weeping death.

             conventionally, however, she carried too much flesh and wore smokes as heart. she reminisces over growing up by the varying shades the rooms exuded. her parents’ bedroom spilled too much sillage, appa a dusty memory on cold wooden floor and umma a weary inkling in pristine bedsheets. the living room contained the hollow mouth of a familial affair, the air almost synthetic with the chemical touch of scrubbing. the guest rooms often cloaked in the ghosts of footsteps; missing the pressures of foreign bodies on the beds. hallways were bound in leather fisted sighs, the echoes bloodhound against the rattle of windowpanes.

            her bedroom: a collection of question marks, engraved on every sinew of it.                          also a witness to dreams of afterlife. an illusion of a safe haven; travesty scattered but nobody was laughing. a reminder of halmeoni’s fingers, fisted around her wrist.

her bedroom eventually smelled like the dining room, where all seeds of finery bloomed in every season. this was not what it meant, to be born with silver spoon in her mouth. instead, it was golden spine that structured her posture; sit straight, chin up, gaze fixed. halmeoni crushed liberty with bare palms until the shards drew blood. threw a lit matchstick after pouring gasoline to imbibe the flamed innocence. stained glass a portrait of women with crowns implanted into their throats. they swallowed ruins of empires for dinner and dreamed of personal colossuses.

                                      ( halmeoni did not teach to forgive or forget.                                         halmeoni did not teach to bend or kneel. )

            inevitably, her ribcage became the amphitheater for both                          tragedies and carnages.

come hither. this story is about                                       destruct and deconstruct.

             and just as girls were tied in ribbons of secondhand throne ( post-survival by the hands of savior ), she built her body on fairy tales. fogged meadows at dawn and tonal festivity at dusk. but there would never be any prince to slay the vultures in her head for her; and there would never be a right-hand side verses for her.

her being was architected to conquer the ocean and its shores, their topography the scriptures of her soft violence.

            she came into the barren land with no church in sight but she prayed for god’s death.                                      a funeral held in the silence caught between her teeth.

commandments were for women stringed to patriarchy. her knees were never scraped for men.                          romance is sometimes made of calloused hands of the guillotines in the morgue.

women like her only knew how to love with her knuckles, and how to consume with her monstrosity.

             sleep comes in splinters. flashes of history. first, the faceless man that holds her hips like a chalice. second, the forgotten endings of rigor mortis made memories. and third, how everything fades in particles, not at once but slowly, gently.

                         everything is a blur.

she travelled cities trying to spin familiarity into reality,                                       devouring the frayed fabrics of dreams in hopes to be full.

she was left parched, starved.

there is no story if it is not sutured by her, she decided. she will devour all kings and stand above their corroding remains.

                         ashes to ashes,                                       glory to glory.

[impressionistes]

Storm’s coming, you turn your back to the fog rolling over the trees in the distance and when you look again it’s right at your door.

[psych-facts]

“At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.”

(via viciously-yours)

[insomstasis]

i am a stain in the sovereign of godless men.

sic, confessions of a haunted mind: ii. on a belief.

[maliara-deactivated20200409]

[insomstasis]

and i am nothing, if not this                                bulletproof vest letting shrapnel sleep in my flesh,              thinking: “ this must be how it feels, to be a messiah. ”

sic , confessions of a haunted mind: i. savior.

[insomstasis]

Words to describe someone's voice

adenoidal: if someone’s voice is adenoidal, some of the sound seems to come through their nose

appealing: an appealing look, voice etc shows that you want help, approval, or agreement

breathy: with loud breathing noises

brittle: if you speak in a brittle voice, you sound as if you are about to cry

croaky: if someone’s voice sounds croaky, they speak in a low rough voice that sounds as if they have a sore throat

dead: if someone’s eyes are dead, or if their voice is dead, they feel or show no emotion

disembodied: a disembodied voice comes from someone who you cannot see

flat: spoken in a voice that does not go up and down. This word is often used for describing the speech of people from a particular region.

fruity: a fruity voice or laugh is deep and strong in a pleasant way

grating: a grating voice, laugh, or sound is unpleasant and annoying

gravelly: a gravelly voice sounds low and rough

gruff: a gruff voice has a rough low sound

guttural: a guttural sound is deep and made at the back of your throat

high-pitched: a high-pitched voice or sound is very high

hoarse: someone who is hoarse or has a hoarse voice speaks in a low rough voice, usually because their throat is sore

honeyed: honeyed words or a honeyed voice sound very nice but you cannot trust the person who is speaking

husky: a husky voice is deep and sounds hoarse (=as if you have a sore throat), often in an attractive way

low adjective: a low voice or sound is quiet and difficult to hear

low adverb: in a deep voice, or with a deep sound

matter-of-fact: used about someone’s behaviour or voice

modulated: a modulated voice is controlled and pleasant to listen to

monotonous: a monotonous sound or voice is boring and unpleasant because it does not change in loudness or become higher or lower

nasal: someone with a nasal voice sounds as if they are speaking through their nose

orotund: an orotund voice is loud and clear

penetrating: a penetrating voice or sound is so high or loud that it makes you slightly uncomfortable

plummy: a plummy voice or way of speaking is considered to be typical of an English person of a high social class. This word shows that you dislike people who speak like this.

quietly: in a quiet voice

raucous: a raucous voice or noise is loud and sounds rough

ringing: a ringing sound or voice is very loud and clear

rough: a rough voice is not soft and is unpleasant to listen to

shrill: a shrill noise or voice is very loud, high, and unpleasant

silvery: a silvery voice or sound is clear, light, and pleasant

singsong: if you speak in a singsong voice, your voice rises and falls in a musical way

small: a small voice or sound is quiet

smoky: a smoky voice or smoky eyes are sexually attractive in a slightly mysterious way

softly spoken: someone who is softly spoken has a quiet gentle voice

sotto voce adjective, adverb: in a very quiet voice

stentorian: a stentorian voice sounds very loud and severe

strangled: a strangled sound is one that someone stops before they finish making it

strangulated: strangled

strident: a strident voice or sound is loud and unpleasant

taut: used about something such as a voice or expression that shows someone is nervous or angry

thick: if your voice is thick with an emotion, it sounds less clear than usual because of the emotion

thickly: with a low voice that comes mostly from your throat

thin: a thin voice or sound is high and unpleasant to listen to

throaty: a throaty sound is low and seems to come from deep in your throat

tight: a tight voice or expression shows that you are nervous or annoyed

toneless: a toneless voice does not express any emotion

tremulous: if something such as your voice or smile is tremulous, it is not steady, for example because you are afraid or excited

wheezy: a wheezy noise sounds as if it is made by someone who has difficulty breathing

wobbly: if your voice is wobbly, it goes up and down, usually because you are frightened, not confident, or are going to cry