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@moriibund-blog
hiatus / i’m really hype to write again, but with my course load being really tedious rn, getting on this account between now & the end of the term is really unlikely?? so i’m just gonna go ahead with a hiatus until the 10th of may.
if i still owe you, can you like this post or just let me know please. my activity is Not Working
osheunic.
SHE TAKES COMFORT in assurance – a smile taking the place of wariness, scarred arms tucking to her stomach. “ i suppose only you could do that —- ruin my impression of you, that is. “ and as long as he wasn’t planning on adding to her scars, that was quite a hard thing to do. “ so failing kidneys are all that’s saving me? “ in pale eyes, the glimmer of teasing amusement
a smile of his own blossoms upon seeing wariness shed. ❛ good. because, otherwise, i wouldn’t have stood a chance. ❜ candor’s latent in his quip; he and his cousins are, after all, a calamitous bunch with ruination-inducing abilities stored in bones. however, cerberus strives to be benevolent, using violence only when warranted. he does try. unflustered jocularity’s ingrained in the way sabled brows arch and feign contemplation. it’s ingrained the way he speaks. ❛ mm, so far, yes. why, is there something else i should take into consideration? come on, the failing kidneys are your saving grace. ❜
Max Krubsack
alouxtte.
“ i thought that was more a job for humanity,“ she gave a listless smile to the darkness. “ —- well, doesn’t it bother you? “ she says, settling into her blankets at the soft croak of his voice. it was strange how she found a voice rattling around in her head so —- comforting. “ i’m actually in your head. and you’ve never met me or even seen me before. have you? “
a hum of a chuckle emits, soft and quiet, ghost of a grin upon lips. ❛ sometimes. but, if i let it bother me, i don’t.. think i’d be able to stop it. from consuming me . . i guess. i try not to think about it much. — but it bothers you, doesn’t it? ❜ and he thinks, she’s not someone to forget. ❛ somehow i feel like i’d know if i have. ❜
todrain.
Figure engulfed within shadows –he who was heir of the realms where dead ones rested paying light attention to that one tall silhouette he’d follow, with his ethereal silhouette clouded by those layers of dusk enough to make him nothing but a flared mirage and a heart lightly faltering, lightly letting emotions simmer while mind would bring back small things of a past now gone.
That person was a piece of it, a part of it so important but that at the same time he had to push, to cast away from himself because… of so many reasons overlapping onto each other and only causing huge migraine followed by that nostalgic desire to bring that sweet memento back where it belonged.
« Perhaps it’s one, perhaps it’s the other. » Cryptic his reply like everything within his fragile being, small steps being made but not a single sound coming from them, not a single shade lowering to reveal his juvenile visage. It was something to do within a safe range –so that he wouldn’t be hurt more than he already was. « I wanted to see if it was true… that you forgot everything. »
the arcane riposte embitters him all at once, enough to halt movement and grasp reluctant attention. fingers pull muted headphones away from ears, and eyes, scrutinizing darkness, fail to locate the source of this voice. this isn’t the night speaking with him and him crooning back; the night, cryptic and soft, is no stranger to inviting him for slumber beneath the moon, or enticing him with chilled zephyr caressing cheeks. this surely isn’t her doing.
and his head has never manifested a voice like this, no.. however, given the absence of feet padding against pavement, the dearth of humanistic attributes, of a person beyond shadows, self-doubt blossoms betwixt ribs. it’s hardly impossible that he’s fabricating this encounter, that, perhaps, he is truly alone and unwell with deception-adoring voices rampant in his precarious mind. it’s just.. there’s this feeling permeating, the gentle prickle of a nearby presence, like a hand ghosting skin. felt, but not seen. he thinks, someone must be there. because, otherwise, he’ll have to look to himself.
he appears phlegmatic with scraped hands tucked into pockets of jeans. as if he is not here, in the midst of a desolate night, conversing with a well-concealed, interim stalker or a self-forged voice, phlegmatic. like unease isn’t marinating his bones, phlegmatic. like muscles haven’t tensed, or he’s yet to choose between fight or flight, phlegmatic. ❛ i don’t know what you’re talking about. ❜ of course he, the hypothesized amnesiac, wouldn’t. dubiety strikes and flees, replaced by indifference and the desire for the warmth of home. ❛ but now that you’ve seen it all, you think i can go home without the extra set of eyes? ❜
(by David Uzochukwu)
emmorte.
HALF THE DAY HAD VANISHED . a long awaited break splitting the day in half , & in the span of a few hours they would greet the last of their customers , eventually closing shop in the patient wait for the next ensuing dawn ― for the aberrant man , there came contentment in this trivial cycle of his , never quite grasping the adolescent grousings of his young secondary.
he simply hums in agreement , it’s a hymnal sonance , near melodic / albeit only half - listening , the greater part of his attention occupied with a mystery novel by a young , up - and - coming author. it was quite good. ❛ i suppose we did , though not all were GREAT . . . ❜ with an index finger betwixt two pages , he folds the book ― a honeyed gaze meets the younger boy , a phantom of a smile etched ‘pon his deathly brims , reassurance. ❛ still , i’m sure you could agree what we have now is far more enjoyable. and less , weighty. ❜
❛ ― I AM OLD cerberus , and so are you. we’ve done nothing wrong , we simply grew up , silly boy. ❜
legs are plagued with uncomfortable numbness, tingling, loss of feeling. he’ll shift by a stiver, only a stiver, refusing to jostle the cat and give her a reason scurry. a smile, faint but benign, graces corners of his lips, gaze lowering. ❛ that was to be expected. ❜ if all adventures lived up to expectations, surely they would find themselves less appreciative. to have experienced the substandard, the mutually unspoken of escapades, and downright godawful feats allows clarity in deciphering the good from the bad, and gratitude for the better. ❛ it is — and i’m grateful. ❜ while sincere and respectful, lyric hangs as if there’s an argument to be made, a contradiction.
the reminder of his old age is not unpleasant. rather it’s an unwelcomed, often spurned, truth. must we act like it? ❛ you more so than i. ❜ sabled brows arch, interjected accusation waggish. not once has he shackled himself to his age. he behaves naturally, often meaning he’s encompassed by / emanates a lethargic, but rather youthful vigor, accompanied by restlessness, the desire to move, to do something, to be of use. ❛ i suppose. ❜
❛ but . . . you don’t ever find this monotonous — at times? ❜ rare hesitance is latent in timbre, suffused in eyes. he considers that he shouldn’t listen to ruminations insisting he pales in comparison to his younger self, and diminishes self-worth, but there’s great difficulty in disregarding them. perhaps his nostalgia is foolish , he doesn’t know.
elmagc / emiliano.
he has to take a pause, he cannot afford to reply right away and risk losing the only person that had managed to stick with him through all of this, the only one that he didn’t run away. in that moment the tornado within him picked up again. harsh winds traveled in all directions of his mind as his two halves conflicted each other once more, argued over which way way best. on one side was the lightness, the image of him when he was a young witch who had both his mother and grandmother teaching him the craft. on the other side rested the darkness, the same darkness that pushed his mother over the edge and into the realm dark magic. while trying to find a middle ground he clenched his fists, fingernails digging into the palm of his hands, and took a deep breath of the air that he felt like he was being robbed of.
only when he feels his own emotions simmer down can he open his eyes again, looking over at cerbeus. what a shame that someone so powerful, so well connected, was wasting his breath on a witch like him.
❛ i know that she’s gone… ❜ that was all that he could say before he felt a familiar lump forming in his throat, a weight push against his chest as tears welled up in his eyes. it was grief, even before he felt it on his own he had already experienced the sensation, but nothing prepared him for dealing with this type of grief. emiliano un-clenched his fists and finally rested his tired hues upon cerb’s figure. he had given the male two options, either he go to the underworld with him to visit his mother or he would bring her back from the dead, yet he knew that both options were reckless and beyond idiotic. he couldn’t start a fight over this, over what everyone kept calling his mother’s destiny and her fate, but oh how he wanted to. how he wanted to push cerberus away like the others and continue on with his ritual, how he wanted her alive again.
selfish. that was the only word that could describe emilio as he stood there in the center of the mausoleum. the smell of fire and smoke overwhelmed his senses. five candles burned in a circle around them and three bouquet of roses burned in front of his mother’s coffin. how dare people bring the flowers she despised most to her funeral ?? how dare they insult her even in death by not knowing her ?? now he was the one doing the insulting. emiliano focused on the roses, extinguishing the fires with a mere thought before putting out the candles as well. he walked away from cerbeus, turning his back onto him almost as if that would make it easier. ❛ the only place i see her now are my dreams. i can’t even talk to her spirit. they don’t think i’m ready for that, they don’t think i can handle it. i suppose they’re right, i suppose you’re all right. ❜ oh and how he so badly wished they were all wrong.
maybe this was how it’s supposed to be, maybe in order to grow he had to understand true lost, but he wasn’t going to cope any better understanding that.
while regretful of his delivery, he thinks, without dousing words in sugared honey, maybe em will hear him this time. however, the pause — the absence of the witch’s voice enriching atmosphere, the inability to gauge the impact of his minimally considered words, to gauge whether he’s singlehandedly severed their bond — weighs heavily ‘pon sinewed shoulders. years of life to the hound’s name and this is, perhaps, his first time experiencing an all-consuming, hazy headed, world-gets-brighter crush. the kind that juvenile souls discuss whilst sitting upon serrated floors, and elderly souls fondly reminisce about despite how embers so closely encircle them.
they fail to mention the excessive worry that accompanies caring for a worldly being. the restless nights spent trying to ease their mind. how, at times, one may find it necessary to piece shattered glass heart with bare hands, help them be whole. or the mortality. all of which, he has comes to terms with. but he tires of the apprehension that wracks limbs and suffuses him when thinking of emiliano, often fearing that he will find the lamented boy with blood marring skin, consciousness flickering in and out, head on the verge of implosion because he cannot resist godhood when the prospect of saving his mother tempts him so. cerberus doesn’t blame him. he knows that he, too, would fight for the spirit of a loved one, he is. he’d be unforgiving of himself if he allowed this sorrow to seize em by ankles with spindly hands and tow him to an early grave.
fragrance of charring petals and melting wax accumulates in this enclosed mausoleum, envelopes his being and twines within his throat. with cadmium stained finger tips, tobacco a ghost upon lips, and his mouth, a timeworn ash tray — lungs have borne harsher scents, and still unease festers within ichored veins and rouses his stomach. ❛ i shouldn’t have — ❜ he starts, but cannot finish. pheromones emanate, distract him, and grief becomes palpable. every piece of him aches to be of comfort to him somehow.
even as fires dwindle, uncertainty swells. for a moment, just a moment, he debates approaching, and soon finds himself beside his companion despite tentative ruminations. fingers swiftly lace with em’s, thumb gently caressing skin. timbre, quiet and soft, emits. ❛ i’m sorry. ❜ because he knows there’s little he can say to offer solace. he’s witnessed death in all its forms and phases: i. forsaken elders with busy children, disinfectant on your tongue, catheter connected to and synonymous with veins, dependency ‘pon life support. the unexpected deaths. the “goodnight” that hints at slumber and doubles as farewell. carcasses left in forests for moss to engulf and putrefy. ii. the discovery. the uncovering of hidden bodies. bodies that appear deep in slumber but don’t respond to stimuli. the clamor for inheritance, the family’s grieving, woebegone, and funerals back to back on cloudy days. iii. the spirit, arriving at gates of the underworld, confused whilst charon rows them to their new home. cerberus is fortuitous in the sense that he’s yet to personally experience overwhelming loss. even so, he empathizes, knows his words mean very little. he is sorry. and he’s sorry because he could, perhaps, transfer small notes; act as a messenger between the deceased and the mourning, but he doesn’t offer. won’t offer. because he agrees. wholeheartedly agrees that emiliano is not ready, he can’t handle it at this point in time.
❛ that doesn’t mean you can’t change that. you can be ready. ❜ not now. not right now.
Les Misérables, 2012.
prcdigiums / hades.
hues of pure onyx remain fixed upon her ever faithful companion, skeletal phalanges still lingering against the warmth of her brow, smoothing away the wrinkles of worry forming between gentle brows. ❛ if you believe so, perhaps…lead the way, sweetling. i have little energy to navigate today. ❜ how unlike the stoic deity, to admit any weakness to a subject; the action spoke volumes of the heartache settling deep within age old bones.
limbs move with an aching slowness, beatific dress ( fit for the queen she was ) falls with a rustling of silk as she stands at her full height, head held high; the deity able to maintain regality despite the vehement ache betwixt her lungs as her heart seemed to break more with every beat. ichor slowing in her veins as if the loss of her beloved slowed her life to little more than an existence. fingers smooth over the fabric at her front, dark curls cascading down her back as hand is offered to assist cerberus from her perch at the foot of the throne.
❛ i do. ❜ she assures. her exuberance steadily blossoms despite finding difficulty in combating grief within. for a moment, she manages it, slips ill-feelings into drawers and shrouds them beneath clothes like disgraced toys. however, the deity’s admission of weakness ruptures her heart, and rouses searing in hues. this.. strain of anguish runs deep in the goddess, seems to straddle / blur lines between genuine ailment and heartache. what is it called when mental distress becomes physical? when misery seems perennial and it aches to breathe, to live, to be? is it still just a tear of the heart, or will it ameliorate to a malady, an incurable disease of both mind and body? she’d hate to discover. refuses to, in fact. perhaps she’s a shell of herself now, but the queen will heal in time.
returned from ruminations, a smile, feigned and honey-dipped, ghosts lips whilst calloused fingers gently grasp the offered hand, using it for leverage. appreciation parts lips. once she’s upon her feet, the seemingly eager girl has found herself many steps ahead. though, simply, this is to ensure the goddess does not overhear when cerberus recruits a helper to dispose of withering flowers while they’re away. and when that is done, she circles back for hades, vigor in steps. ❛ forgot about the lack of energy, let’s go this way ! ❜
a movie plays as if eyes are fixated on it, though, in truth, dialogue’s become white noise to him, attention fleeting. from afar: sabled hair’s unkempt, hands tucked into sleeves of his hoodie; his head rests upon her lap, and worn eyes have fluttered closed. upon further inspection: breaths are languid; a gentle curve kisses corners of his lips; muscles have unwound so drastically that transcendence nearly feels palpable, and warmth nestles him / embraces limbs. scent of roses emanates, soft and dulcet, like he’s there in fields with blossoming flowers and grass compressed beneath him. comfort makes his acquaintance. / @lostiisms.
osheunic / cy.
“ i’ve met your cousins. they were… unkind. “ pale arm stretches to display the teeth marks left on her forearm, long faded by time. her fingers press nervously to the bumpy flesh. “ you don’t bite, do you? “ / @moriibund, sc
❛ i’m sorry. i hope they won’t ruin your impression of me. ❜ he’s got ivories of a predator, parents feared even by olympians — his cousins pale in comparison to what he could do / has done. ❛ i imagine if i did, you’d be displeased, i’d have failing kidneys, and we’d both suffer for it. ❜ he jests. and a gentle smile’s offered. ❛ i wouldn’t dare. ❜
it’s dusk. it’s dusk, and exhaustion wears him so inconsiderately. tonight’s attempts of slumber warrant vivid, malformed dreams. bruise-kissed hand covers sleep-seared eyes, frame splayed atop tangled blankets. ❛ you’re back ❜ he doesn’t need to look to know; who else appears in the midst of restless nights? with lethargy so deeply infused in bones, he’ll shift, offer space ‘pon the bed for his companion to participate in habitual misery, ❛ what’s new? ❜ / @dreamtaled.
The Greek Godly Parent Quiz
Your godly parent is Hades, The God of the Dead and Wealth, Lord of the Underworld.Children of Hades usually are isolated and used to doing things alone. Your solitary existence makes you susceptible to being very wary about strangers, and while you appreciate and crave kindness, you might feel offended as you believe you don't need any special treatment. Children of Hades appear calm and quiet, but can be passionate with joy, love, or rage when situations arise. Because Hades oversees law and conduct, children of Hades tend to have a set definition of acceptable morals, and require a lot of help to change their perspectives. You are extremely protective of the small circle of people that you trust, and any insult against them is an insult to you, which you will not forget anytime soon. Despite being honorable, misunderstood, lawful, intelligent and hardworking, children of Hades can have a darker side too, warping these traits into cunning, ruthlessness and deviousness. More often than not, the good rules over the bad, and children of Hades operate in grey areas to ensure that they achieve their end result.
Qualities
Solitude, intelligence, diligence, protectiveness, honor, lawfulness, bitterness, cunning.
TAGGED BY: @lostiisms TAGGING: tbh anyone who wants to do this !!
gerard lacroix is a minor inconvenience. he is: the guy that’s had his hourglass reconstructed with bare hands, and sand replenished with gilted specks; the man that’s been kissed by death and reemerged thriving. the problem: his grave is already marked, headstone planted amidst putrefying earth, but his soul refuses to vacate despite it rightfully belonging to the underworld. at best, the guardian of hell is vexed.
❛ if you had the option of a painless death, would you be more inclined to take it? ❜ he’s standing there with sinewed arms folded across his chest, an air of nonchalance encompassing him. he asks, in part, because this harvest could be easy. and, in part it’s because if the answer is no, if his offer of peaceful surrender is refused, there’s no calling uncle. there will be no stopping cerberus if abraded fingers must wring gerard’s neck just to bring him home. if that's what it comes to, he won't apologize. / @strikefed.
