MAGMATIC

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐂𝐌. .

[kalixus]

  𝐊𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐗𝐔𝐒  —— 

     moved to    my 𝐨𝐜 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞 multi .

[kalixus]

hiya ,  i graduated and moved and summer came a little too quick.  but i think i’m ready to write comfortably without much strain, however there are are a few changes to note : 

i’m archiving this blog & kalix is moving to my oc crime multi , @demottcm​​ .           it’s still under construction but imma focus on the multi more this summer so that I can work on developing some of the other ravens & characters involved in ilias’ story.

this blog , kalixus, will become a free-writing blog.            all that means is that i’ll probably be writing short stories or chapters here.  i really want to write about his past and i think it’d be pretty rad to get them all out here while also archiving all the interactions he’s had over the past year or so. so this blog will most likely have just ... visuals and long ass text posts . like  long  ass text posts. 

with that feel free to unfollow /softblock if you don’t want to interact anymore. i will follow peeps on my multi linked above, but no hard feelings either way.  i’ll also be dm’ing people i owe starters for on my multi to make sure that y’all are still interested but otherwise ? 

[lukaskyle-moved]

ALTERED CARBON | 1.03 “In a Lonely Place”

[without-ado]

Kevin Pages l  Fagradalsfjall, Iceland

[jamesandrewcrosby]

[kalixus]

𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐤​   ,

                            𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃,        𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄,       𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃;        how many decades will it take,        how much time will it demand be mustered,        how many breaths of pain and pangs of the heart before they realize?       who should reap down the axe and conclude this ceaseless tirade first,       and how much more of their suffering will ira be under the behemoth mercy of before they each decide to submit their expenditures to this draining,      freezing,      bitter  lost cause ?        he has no stomach for it.       ira can’t swallow the thought,       can’t chew on it without it exciting some long buried glimmer of his blood-craving anger,       and submit himself a warmonger again;       there is something indelicately pathetic to these ghostly pleasantries,     but much as he wishes otherwise,      he can’t ever feel himself rid of them completely while he wields each of their despondencies with such haplessness as to how to fix them.       had it been ira’s decision,      they’d each have buried ilias centuries ago,      abandoned the parasite to pool in his own despairs and suck the life from something else,      drain the sun in some other corner of the world they won’t touch.        after all,     is it not  selfish  to hope for more in a man so clearly fragmented;       is it not ignorant to demand his involvement regardless of his scraping and his screaming otherwise?          and yet still.       still,      irrespective of his arguments otherwise,       still they ache for him,       still they yearn for him.      still he discards them like a petulant child,      dissatisfied with it’s toys.       ira feels nauseated.

but he listens.        he listens to the   𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐇   speak,       watches the way the words form themselves on his lip and spill out quietly with as little regard to the subject matter as if he were merely explaining how to light a fire,       like the souls that tremble for him and pray for as little as a sign from him mean little in his grander scheme.       i’m happy for you,       and it holds as little warmth as ira might have come to expect from him;       the deep freeze of winter’s chill just beyond that door seems to have made it’s way like splitting water into his eyes and at last claimed ilias to spoil himself where he belongs.       isolated,     and as swallowed by uncaring land and sea as feasibly possible.       still,      ira listens.        ever still the whispers of violence about him seem to fester just beneath the flesh surface of him.        ever still can he feel his own heart tremble under the weight of the pain ilias causes even now.

while it consumes every available nerve in him not to rip the letter apart,       offer it to miska to shred with her bear hunting teeth,       it is double so the effort not to spit some volatile,       unsavoury remark.        if only they heard you say that,      ira thinks;      if only they could see that you are the black death,      the bubonic plague,      a collective of poisonous frogs in some famine sent by God to reap the world of any real,    lasting joy.      if only they saw you how i see you.

“ no, ”         he returns with eventually,       his gaze stalwart and unshaking,      so tightly sunk into the other’s skin it might be the image of some bird of prey with marble talons;       something burns like bleeding inferno in him even still.       but overwhelming this,     a great presence helping to snuff out his brutality,       is his pity.      “ i don’t believe you are either.  -  …   yeah here we are. ”

“ you didn’t want a family.  that’s fair enough.  but whether you like it or not,  you have one. ”        be cautious,      winchester wight;     don’t let your rage cloud your better judgement.       under the belly of a deep,      dissatisfied sigh,     he sips his coffee,       at last stealing his gaze away to fester itself elsewhere for a moment of reprieve.     it might be a world almost murderous beyond the wooden walls after the cover of deeper night,      but even trudging through thick snow and losing his fingers and nose to indelicate frostbite seems preferable than spending any longer than necessary in the breadth of the viking’s company.       still,      he remains seated.      his tone deepens,     quietens beside the fire.       “ they ache for you.  they love you regardless.     i’m sure you must realize that i wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t important. ”

a gaze that returns to his opponent.       nightmarish ghoul,      leave my loved ones be.      let them at last have peace from you.     let me be rid of you at last.      let me finally digest this weight on my heart,      this corrosive flickering in my chest i feel for you,      much as though you may never believe me,       much as though i wish it to disappear.        “ come if you wish.   stay here and rot if you prefer.  it’s all the same to me. ”

                      𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐄     for ilias to even consider mending what’s already been lost.  in this solar system and the next.  here they sit  ,  great immortal beings who have died   thousands of deaths   who would willingly cling onto anything they can muster as a reason for prolonged life.  otherwise  ,  they’re bound to eternal solitude. there is no puzzle for them to solve and he is not some missing piece.  all the aching and the longing and the love  ;  it dissipates.   give it time and it will disappear  ,  everything does.          despite ira’s efforts  ,  all ilias manages to hear is that haunting persuasion.  the old prince mentions  aching  and  love  regardless of what the past decrees  ,  he reminds the retired viking that there’s a family regardless of his resistance  ,  and yet in all this —— there is no mention of   why  .

                     why the fuck was there a universe where a prince and a viking sit across from each other?  well — across but hardly facing each other because they can’t stand the sight of the other.  and they can’t stand the sight of each other because of a few reasons that are best left in the dust of the byzantine empire’s decline and the mediterranean sea spray.  some of it was jealousy  ,  some of it was principle  ,  most of it was bitterness because they were just too goddamn alike.  by being alike  ,  they saw how different they could be.  in some respect  ,  there could have been a universe where they could have been each other where the prince was the bitter old piece-of-shit and the viking was the bitter old, but very much in love, piece-of-shit.   

                                          but that universe sure isn’t this one.

                     ilias slowly began to move  ,  despite miska’s disgruntled protest  , he stood to his feet and his fingertips hovered over ira’s letter.  he waited a moment before finally picking up the paper with a newfound delicate touch for stone-pressed paper.  after running a fingertip along the refined edge , he moved towards the fireplace —— letter in one hand and his tin of handrolled cigarettes in the other.  standing in front of ira  ,  he made sure to derive enough eye contact to portray the most sincerity he’s ever presented to a lick of royalty in his dirty long-ass life.   “  you , of all people , should know for a fact that i want nothing more than to rot alone in my puddle of sopping pile of bitterness and bile.  and that most of what i say , is horseshit.  ”  

                     kneeling down,  he held two cigarettes to the fire and puffed on them both before holding one out to ira.  ilias took a long drag from his own and opened the letter once more  ,  the reflections of the flames flickered against ivory white and black ink.   “  i get that i’m causing some aching by keeping away  ,  but you have got to understand that my showing up for twenty minutes —— that , it won’t do anything on popped champagne and hugs.  so —  ”    ilias shook his head and tapped ashes into the fire and admired how beautiful ira’s signature was  —— yet how feeble his own name looked in the handwriting of the winchester wight.  

                     ilias smiled softly and ran his fingertips over the creases to refold the letter ,  he sighed and nodded once.  his free hand reached for a book that sat atop the mantel and nodded again.     “  yeah.  alright  ,  princess.  i’ll think about it and let you know two weeks prior to the date.   maybe two days  ,  or two hours.  ”   he opened the book and slid the letter between the end of chapter 4 and the beginning of chapter 5 , slid the book back onto its dusty spot on the mantel , and promptly turned around to roll down his sleeves and to slide his feet into his boots.  ilias reached for his coat and gloves ,     “  i can drive you back to port tomorrow morning.  i need the provisions anyway.  ”    ilias did not spare another glance at ira.  he wouldn’t be able to handle those eyes after promising that he’d consider a reunion after four centuries.     “  you’re free to use anything you find here  ,  i’ll pull out the cot for you tonight after i get more firewood.  if you sit on the floor for a few minutes ,  miska — she’ll warm up to you fast , uh —  ” 

                     he leaned over and reached for the throat of an old axe.  “  and ira —  ”  he looked over his shoulder for a moment.  the pause lasted a little longer than he wanted it to , so he opened the door.  “  —  thanks.  ”   he paused again  ,  unsure exactly what he was thanking him for.    “  never calling you brother-in-law  ,  though.   fuck that.   ”    and with that  ,  he walked into the tundra to chop wood for twenty minutes.   because that’s how long it took to wash out the fact that he just thanked prince iræ of wessex.   

[typewriter-worries]

All About Love, bell hooks | Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken

[kalixus]

𝐛𝐫𝐨þ𝐨𝐫​   ,

It  was  barely  a  promise,  but  for  the  moment  it  was  enough:  such  generous  offerings  bestowed  upon  him  on  his  wedding  day,  all  he  could  do  was  revere  his  good  fortune  and  get  well  and  truly  drunk  on  it.  His  brother’s  concession,  perhaps  procured  under  duress  but  procured  all  the  same,  he  rewarded  with  a  glowing  grin  and  a  kiss  on  the  mouth.  "Tonight,  I  am  the  happiest  man  alive!“,  a  proclamation  bold  and  exuberant,  meant  not  only  for  the  entire  room  but  earth;  too  happy  to  question  anyone’s  intentions,  too  happy  to  address  Ilias’  obvious  unease.  Seeing  it  didn’t  mean  he  had  to  look.  Seeing  it  didn’t  mean  he  couldn’t  try  and  celebrate  it  away.  This,  tonight,  truly  was  his  night  –  and  whether  he  deserved  it  or  not,  he  would  seize  it  with  the  entire  might  of  his  millennial  body.

                                Even  still,  possibly  sensing  that  for  once  his  time  was  limited,  he  stuck  by  Ilias’  side:  deluging  him  with  disconnected  recounts  of  the  last  few  centuries,  asking  questions  that  remained  mostly  unanswered,  and  yet  continuing  to  speak  and  laugh  and  drink  until  he  was  roped  away  for  his  hundredth  dance  tonight.  Surrounded  by  them,  all  of  them  at  last,  he  could  feel  something  within  him  finally  unwind.  He  could  feel  himself  float,  content  and  heavy,  he  could  glide  into  his  husband’s  arms  and  breathe  wordless  thanks  into  his  neck.  Later  he  would  ask,  later  he  would  ask  everything;  but  his  mind  was  too  light,  too  sparklingly  bright  right  now  to  bother  with  practicalities.  He  was,  indeed,  the  happiest  man  on  earth.

                                "Hope  you  realise  the  immensity,  min  broþor”,  breathless  not  from  the  ascent  up  the  stairs  but  the  last  five  glasses  of  champagne,  breathless  from  having  to  smile  so  much,  "of  me  following  you  up  here  when  our  Maria  had  just  managed  to  get  Frida  to  dance.  It’s  a  sight  for  the  centuries.“  Despite  knowing  the  look  he’d  caught  across  the  room,  suspecting  he  knew  where  this  would  be  going,  he  refused  to  let  go  of  this  jovial  bearing.  He  would  not  let  his  soaring  heart  sink  until  Ilias’  gravity  proved  undeniable.

                                The  tone  of  his  voice  could  not  expunge  Severin’s  lingering  smile;  his  words,  however,  did  the  job  just  fine.  Not  I’m  sorry  I  didn’t  come  earlier,  but  I’m  sorry  I  can’t  stay.  His  disappointment,  magnified  by  the  heights  of  merry  dance  and  alcohol  still  on-going  downstairs,  was  palpable.  "You’ve  only  just  arrived.”  From  the  crease  of  his  brow,  muddled  confusion  of  a  man  well  and  comfortably  drunk  twice  over,  it  was  clear  he  did  not  understand.  "What  is  it?  Are  you  in  some  sort  of  trouble?“  In  crossing  the  room  to  touch  Ilias’  elbow,  he  was  all  too  earnest,  all  too  sincere.  Would  he  not  allow  him  a  chance  to  repair  everything  lost  between  them?  This  could  not  be  the  end  quite  yet,  he  was  not  ready  to  let  go.  "Tell  me  what  keeps  you  from  staying  here  and  I  promise  I  will  fix  it.”

                    𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄.    severin couldn’t imagine anything going wrong  ,  but that’s what was happening.   ignorance was a beautiful and joyful bliss but ilias was choking on air  ,   caught dry in a sandstorm when severin was left to his own devices in a balmy paradise.    who was he to put a veil over it all?   ira used that word before  :  selfish  .  even now  ,  as ilias watched severin’s smile melt into a look of worry.  for once , it seemed that alcohol was on ilias’ side.  he was working with the haziness and a slowed heart rate to attempt to buy  him some more time to convince this man that it was simply delusional to believe in a peace offering.   this was not concession  ,  this was simply an act of cowardice.  apologies would get them nowhere  ,  it would simply tie a bow that would slowly loosen over the years only to be tied again and again until the ribbon wears thin.                        it was the lingering smile that made ilias freeze.  it was the same look  ,  the exact one that he woke up to one day in a cold sweat after seeing ira — clad in silver chain and iron armor , soiled with clay and blood like true royalty.  he could still see the way severin silently asked ilias if he could see him yet  ,  if the dreams began to speak and for weeks   ,  ilias  lied  until the dreams haunted him.  until ira’s face was laden into the back of ilias’ skull.  it was a gut reaction  ,  a selfish reaction ,  one that would spark a seemingly molecular reaction to serve him 400 years of exile.     all it took was a look to bring him into a mild panic.   this was temporary  ,  a moment for the sake of allowing severin to feel happiness for once despite all the things that went unsaid.   after all  ,  ilias was the failed attempt.   maria was a chance in the making  ,  she even got fides to dance.                      ilias winced at the memory of ira’s expression as he reluctantly handed over a curated invitation to a moment in paradise.   selfish  ,  the word sizzled and seethed because severin’s smile finally fell.   “  i  —  i know  ,  it’s not —  ”   ilias shook his head and mustered what little he could provide in reassurance.  “  no  ,  there’s no trouble.  ”       what keeps you from staying here?       ilias shook his head again , that was still a conversation nobody was ready to have.   “  i just can’t stay very long  ,   i —— i have people waiting for me.  back  home.  ”   if severin and ira found comfort in a veil  ,  then ilias would find his comfort in a lie. 

                     he put a palm out and pressed it against severin’s cheek  ,  gently in concession.  it was nice to know the warmth was still there.  even if it was clear that but the silence began to settle and his fingertips began to burn.  he resorted to moving his hand and firmly grasping the back of his brother’s neck in camaraderie  ,  from one wounded warrior to another.   “  i just wanted you to know that i’m happy for you  ,  really —  i am. ”    he shook his head one more time in quiet disbelief.  his hand fell to his pockets and ilias mustered a boyish shrug.   “  i’m sorry  ,  too.  “

                     ilias took a step back and met severin’s gaze once  ,  maybe twice but not in succession.  “  i couldn’t bring myself to send you a — uh , a postcard. like a promised.  i’m sorry.  ”

[fernandabarrera]

Hanna season 1, episode 3 “City”.

[kalixus]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 ?

LOVE AS VIOLENCE ——

[  love as bloodshed, crimson as a knife slipped between your ribs  ] when ocean vuong said    “ to arrive at love. then, is to arrive through obliteration ”    and when franz kafka said    “ you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love ”    and when ada limon said     “ how do you love? like a fist. like a knife ”    and when richard siken said    “ sorry about the blood in your mouth.    i wish it was mine. ”

tagged by : @dadukos​

tagging : feel free to steal

[kalixus]

»    @surdelafrontera​  𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩   :           [ DISCOVER ] — for receiver to find sender at the end of a trail of blood.  from pat!                via  injury memes  (  accepting  ) .

                     𝐍𝐎𝐖 ,  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒?   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃.   granted it had been nearly a year since he last receieved a text from pat.   a simple sun emoji.  because  apparently  ,  he got a little too eager the last time he requested a meetup  ,  encrypted texts rendered themselves utterly useless when pat finally got a hold of him in a local holding cell in reno.  it was clear that the southwest didn’t like him very much ,  so her request for his services was a surprise.  but when he left new york and arrived in   sunrise manor ,  las vegas  ,  nevada   at exactly   5:55 AM   ,   she left him hanging.

                     that wasn’t like pat.  she had a way of taking larsson by surprise ,  sure.  but abdication?  that wasn’t an option.  and now , his watch read   9:02 AM  , still with no word from her.   with a crisp   CLICK   of cold metal  ,  larsson turned the corner and peered around the warm browns of earth and sun-kissed concrete.  scattered 9mm shells glinted in the morning sun and led him three blocks south.  no bodies  ,  only glock cartridges and shells.

                     before the blood ,  he saw a single gold earring —— smeared in red.  after wiping it clean with a balled up used kleenex from his pocket  ,  his careful steps hastened until he finally saw her  :  sat next to a dumpster with a hand-fashioned tourniquet around her leg.   “  so sorry i’m late ,  ”  well aware that his sarcasm was unnecessary ,  he tossed the earring onto the ground and turned to look over his shoulder  ,   “  wasn’t aware that i was being invited to a surprise party.  ”   he took a few steps back  ,  stepped over her legs and kneeled beside pat with his back facing the dumpster.   

                    larsson began to look over her for more wounds ,   “  you good?  ”

[kalixus]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓​  ,

𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑      .   .   .       𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘌   𝘋𝘖𝘞𝘕𝘓𝘖𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘋       :     @kalixus​​     /       nonverbal prompts    (   accepting.   )      ‣       ❝               ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ cellar in 20. lose the bodyguard. otherwise, i wouldn’t bother sleeping tonight if i were you. ] &. then if it fits , maybe add in ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back !! for the potential assassination scenario 🤡                 ❞  

scrap  of  worn  paper  is  turned  over  and  over  again  betwixt  manicured  digits.  brows  drawn  together,  pressing  work  strewn  across  her  desk  forgotten,  heart  pounding  in  her  chest,  the  forty - fifth  president  of  the  united  states  weighs  her  options.  who  would  have  the  gall  to  threaten  her  in  the  oval  office?  who  would  possibly  think  that  she  could  slip  away  so  easily?  every  president  in  united  states  history  would  relax  their  security  detail  if  it  were  possible.  she  hasn’t  taken  a  step  on  her  own  in  months,  not  since  she’d  traded  in  the  title  of  virginia’s  junior  senator  for  the  highest  office  in  the  land.  

it  comes  to  her  in  the  final  moments  before  the  godforsaken  note’s  deadline.  she’d  learned  a  few  things  in  the  two  terms  she’d  spent  serving  as  first  lady.  she  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  this  place,  every  last  entrance  and  exit.  and  so  she  allows  them  to  trail  her,  to  wait  diligently  outside  the  room  she  supposedly  tucks  herself  into,  door  locked  .  .  .  before  retreating  into  hidden  passages  to  meet  what  she  expects  to  be   a  familiar  face.  a  familiar  face  she’s  got  a  few  choice  words  for.

the  assailant  is  there  before  she  has  the  chance  even  to  get  a  look  at  his  face,  descending  from  behind  -  seemingly  from  nowhere  -  to  seize  her  right  arm  in  one  quick  motion.  the  president  gasps,  porcelain  features  distorting  in  discomfort  as  he  locks  her  into  a  more  secure  position.  “  if  you’re  here  to  kill  me,  know  that  you  will  not  make  it  out  of  here  alive.  i’ve  already  been  alone  too  long;  they're  going  to  realize  that  i’m  gone.  “  hushed  threat  comes  low,  breathy,  fast  -  audibly  panicked.

                      𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒.   but  ,  at least it worked.   getting a president to lose their security was like asking a turtle to lose its shell  ,  it was just against the laws of nature.  this was the main reason he hated playing with the government   :  the white house had tunnels with eyes and ears  ,  the tunnels leading to the tunnels to the white house had ears and teeth  ,   the roads leading to the tunnels that led to the tunnels to the white house were perfectly paved for the public.  it goes on  ,  and on  ,  and on.

                     larsson continued to complain to himself as he waited.  he waited to hear echoes of a door lock  ,  careful steps of a pair of flat colored high-heel pumps ,  and  —— the gasp.  his arms move quickly as he steps out of the shadows to twist her right arm behind her back  ,  whilst keeping his eye on her left.    “  i mean no disrespect  ,  ma’am.  ”  his voice came out hoarse  ,  something about the humid washington d.c. air never sat well with him.  “  but you’d be well-advised to do as i say  ,  answer a few questions  ,  then after that you can get back to doing ——   whatever  the fuck it is that presidents do.  ” 

                      he released her and pushed her forward  ,  only slightly to create space.  cold gun metal pressed against the small of his back as he crossed his arms.  she was shorter than she looked on television  ,  though it was a pleasant surprise that she didn’t drown herself in chanel no. 5.  the bitterness that settled on his tongue was mostly due to the fact that breaking into the wine cellar of the white house was not worth the result or the pay.  though  ,  perhaps this was about the most   exciting   thing that’s ever happened to president mellie grant.  it would only be a matter of time before he’d learn why the forty-fifth president of the united states was his next potential target.  poe usually gave him a rundown  ,  simple protocol before a mission about a target.  so that made it all a little difficult to determine what the mission actually was.

                     nonetheless  ,  larsson  then pointed at her jacket pocket and motioned to her hands.  with a tired sigh  ,  he nodded at her and kept his face hidden within the shadows.   “  drop the phone  ,  all jewelry  ,  hair pins  ,  belt  ,  and lose the shoes.  ”  he pulled out a box of cigarettes and stepped forward into the light  ,  blinking slowly like a cat that was beginning to lose interest.  he had three minutes and forty-three seconds  ,  at best. 

                    “  you smoke?  ”

[kalixus]

𝙆𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙓𝙐𝙎     :     “  𝘰𝘩 . . . 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 ,  𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳.  ”

[dadukos-arc]

exactly one year ago, a man under the name of kal anderson entered st. peter’s inquiring about jobs in the ashford area, and one way or another never left. exactly one year ago @kalixus and i began plotting a story that seemed like a harmless, random plot at first, and became much more — one year later it’s redefined fred as a character, led me to rewrite her whole story, gave me a lot more insight into her that i could’ve possibly gained in any other way, and built a whole universe i am hopelessly in love with, so rich with characters and backstories and plot twists and symbolism that i simply can’t seem to ever get bored of it. it pisses me off daily that there is no movie, no actual way for me to see this whole story unfold if not in my imagination: but soaking in the writing of it, in the worldbuilding and all that came with it, that alone has been a little miracle. and this is my modest attempt at making it a little more tangible than real. happy one year of noir vibes, red and teal contrasts as a metaphor for fire and ice, sad songs alternated by really fucking cute ones, idiotic wire convos alternated to really fucking heartbreaking ones, unlikely friendships forged at the mouth of hell, more hades and persephone allegories than any human is allowed to have, and two broken idiots who decided to save each other, over and over again ♥

[leneemusing]

even more injury memes

[ FOLLOW ]  for sender to find receiver at the end of a trail of blood.

[ DISCOVER ]  for receiver to find sender at the end of a trail of blood. 

[ SEE ]  for sender to look towards receiver after a battle and realize they’re bleeding. 

[ TELL ]  for receiver to look towards sender after a battle and realize they’re bleeding. 

[ SHIELD ]  for sender to take the brunt of an attack for receiver. 

[ COVER ]  for receiver to take the brunt of an attack for sender. 

[ SHOCK ]  for sender to find receiver covered in blood and delirious. 

[ AID ]  for receiver to find sender covered in blood and delirious. 

[ CONCEAL ]  our muses haven’t had time to slow down so receiver has been hiding a serious injury which sender finally uncovers. 

[ REALIZE ]  our muses haven’t had time to slow down so sender has been hiding a serious injury which receiver finally uncovers.

[ ATTEMPT ]  for sender to intervene in a fight receiver is in but receiver has already sustained an injury. 

[ LATE ]  for receiver to intervene in a fight sender is in but sender has already sustained an injury. 

[ FIND ]  for sender to rescue receiver after they’ve been tortured. 

[ LOCATE ] for receiver to rescue sender after they’ve been tortured. 

[ CHECK ]  for sender to show up at receiver’s house because they haven’t been heard from in a while only to discover receiver is recovering from major injuries. 

[ FOUND ]  for receiver to show up at sender’s house because they haven’t been heard from in a while only to discover receiver is recovering from major injuries. 

[ SAVED ]  for sender to rescue receiver from a dangerous situation but reveals they’re injured afterwards. 

[ SUCCEED ]  for receiver to rescue sender from a dangerous situation but reveals they’re injured afterwards. 

[ LOSS ]  for sender to attempt to rescue receiver only to be stopped by a serious injury. 

[ FAILURE ]  for receiver to attempt to rescue sender only to be stopped by a serious injury. 

[ MELTDOWN ]  for sender to witness receiver being hurt which causes them to go into a murderous rage. 

[ VENGEANCE ]  for receiver to witness sender being hurt which causes them to go into a murderous rage. 

[kyberpank]

“The personal, as everyone’s so fucking fond of saying, is political. So if some idiot politician, some power player, tries to execute policies that harm you or those you care about, take it personally. Get angry. The Machinery of Justice will not serve you here – it is slow and cold, and it is theirs, hardware and soft-. Only the little people suffer at the hands of Justice; the creatures of power slide from under it with a wink and a grin. If you want justice, you will have to claw it from them. Make it personal. Do as much damage as you can. Get your message across. That way, you stand a better chance of being taken seriously next time. Of being considered dangerous. And make no mistake about this: being taken seriously, being considered dangerous marks the difference - the only difference in their eyes - between players and little people. Players they will make deals with. Little people they liquidate. And time and again they cream your liquidation, your displacement, your torture and brutal execution with the ultimate insult that it’s just business, it’s politics, it’s the way of the world, it’s a tough life and that it’s nothing personal. Well, fuck them. Make it personal.”

—    Richard K. Morgan, Altered Carbon    

[lemonworldmp3]

ragnar + his obsession with death

i cannot stop thinking about death. death intrigues me. the death of children. the death of friends. but my own death continues to elude me.