there will be blood

mumu indie loved by lil. mun is 28 and only writes with people 20+. triggers are tagged.

[rxtualistic]

— trespassers will be eaten.

selective, low-activity, angst-driven indie blog penned by lil ( 30, she/her, gmt ) focusing on narratives surrounding the horror of being alive, the trauma of growing up, and the devastation of being left behind. refrain from interacting if you are under twenty, a discord-based blog, or only write white, heterosexual, young, cis-gendered muses.

disclaimer — there will be blood! this blog will contain depictions of violence, gore, horror, and (in some cases) smut not suitable for those faint of heart.

currently seeking partners interested in world-building and headcanon-heavy interactions.

rules — banned — muses — open starters.

and on my resources, muse, and ship inspiration blog ( @rupestrex ):

wishlist — wanted opposites — wanted ships — wanted fcs.

[recklessbarbieklaus]

friendly reminder that even if i take ages to reply, i still want to roleplay with you

[rxtualistic]

huh. does anyone wanna plot valentine's stuff?

[aslutsdiiiary]

yea just so we’re all very very clear on this blog.

Fuck ICE

Fuck Nazis

Fuck Zionists

if you disagree you can FUCK off!

[rxtualistic]

tw warnings under the cut

so my dog died a couple of days ago and i am still figuring out how to go from here. which means i will likely be around because this is how i cope with misery.

[rxtualistic]

cliché winter plots??? (maybeeeeee even a mumu??)

[rxtualistic]

i started a book and it has taken over all my free time but i promise once i'm done with it, i shall return!

[tiehua]

Time froze the moment it left his mouth, engulfing her in a spiral of the words he just sputtered. Love? There was never any love in it for Min-ji, in any of it. She was trained to pull a trigger without question. Her life was better as a solo act, or at least she'd convinced herself of it. " 사랑? " she breathed—like a f–cking curse—still perfectly poised and unmoved over him. The three words had never entered her body before, nevertheless exited it. — And they weren't going to start just because the man she had spent months working suddenly decided to profess his love to her. A woman like Choe Min-ji was not made to feel—but to kill. And yet, there was hesitation. Instead of twisting the knife, she forced pressure around it, knowing no crimson color would start obnoxiously spewing if she just held steady.

"What could you even love about me, 여보?" she asked coldly, glaring back into his eyes, and daring him to answer. It was then she knew she might have shattered every sweet memory they ever shared, confessing to her sin of layers in lies. — Except, well, just how much of it was indeed a lie? "We don't fight for the same thing, Mal. We never have. You knew this, so what the f–ck are you trying at right now?"

@rxtualistic ⸻ Mal Chin

[rxtualistic]

The world was starting to fade around Mal-Chin, darkness engulfing his peripheral vision. But Min-ji's image remained at the centre of his dying conscience. Her form surrounded by the purest, brightest light. Maybe nothing but the last attempt of his slowly shutting brain at keeping him alive. It was the most beautiful thing the assassin had ever seen. Her words filled his ears but it took him time to process the meaning, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He chuckled, not darkly, not amused, just... decaying. "Trying?" He repeated, the words carrying some incredulity to them. "I think we both can agree I'm in no state to try mental games with you, Min." There was no ill meaning behind the sarcasm. He couldn't blame her for reacting that way, even if it hurt more than the blade currently sheated in his flesh.

Nothing the lethal woman had said was a lie. Their story was doomed from the beginning — too different and yet loyal to their causes in similar ways. It was a Greek tragedy. A destiny they couldn't escape. It was always supposed to end like that; with one killing the other. "It felt important to say," he coughed out, watery eyes searching for hers. "If I am to deliver my last words, it felt mandatory to tell you." It didn't change anything but it changed everything.

[thedevilsbckbone]

Sergio always thought that Lorena had a bit of flair for the dramatic, watching as she threw her hands up in the air and having to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her as she then moved to get in his face, jabbing at his chest. He was used to it at this point, all the back and forth, the disagreements and the dramatic. He swatted her hand away with his own, not being too rough about it. "Right, of course I'm not and of course you could," he said sarcastically with a nod of his head before he leaned down a little so his face was mere inches from her own as he continued. "Yet here you are anyway." He leaned back again, giving her a smug smirk. That's how this always was with her. One minute she seemed to hate his fucking guts and then the next she was asking him for favors, and like a sucker, Sergio always eventually gave in because in the end he knew there was always something to gain through all the headache. And sure, maybe deep down, he still in some ways cared about her and craved being near her - no matter how much of a pain in his ass she could be.

Then of course there was the prospect of her proposition. Sergio wasn't any kind of thug or hardened criminal by any means—he dealt weed on the side to help keep himself afloat—but he wasn't exactly a model citizen either. He'd cheated, gambled and stolen plenty in his life. It was a dog eat dog world they lived in and sometimes to survive you had to do some less than morally sound things. Sergio couldn't deny that the offer was tempting. With the marijuana industry growing, the market became much more saturated and his clientele had dwindled over the years. Pills though, that was always a hot commodity. He could make a good profit if the supply was high enough. That gave him pause and he looked at Lorena as he weighed the offer. "And how exactly do you plan on robbing the medical station?" He quirked a brow, curious now on how she planned to pull off such a plan. | @rxtualistic

[rxtualistic]

If there was one thing for sure between the two, it was that they were going to annoy the other to no end. Sergio had the quality to drive Lorena nuts. Considering she was a woman who tested her patience daily for a living, his ability to bring out the worst in her could be defined as a useless talent. Even when she promised herself that he wouldn’t be able to get under her skin, he still found ways to twist her nerves. Their similar stubbornness and egos made for a brutal collision. Mouth forming a big, outraged O at the way he rudely pushed her hand away, it snapped closed as the distance between their faces reduced to mere inches. Lorena tried to school her features, force an indolent expression on her face. But it was too late; her reaction had been vivid and loud, the shiver running through her spine too visible. The only thing left to do to save the remnants of her dignity was to pretend it had never happened. Damn Sergio and his stupidly handsome face. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she spat, eyes narrowed into two thin lines. “I want to get this over with soon. That’s the only reason I am knocking on your door.”

She wouldn’t have been able to hide the smug, triumphant smile as he gave in even if she had wanted — which she did not. Cockiness radiated from every pore of her body at the personal victory just achieved. Or, at least, what she perceived as such. “Do you really think I am that stupid?” Immediately raising a hand, she rushed to speak before he even had the chance. “No, don’t answer that.” Giving ammo to the enemy wasn’t her style and yet... “I’m not going to tell you my plan so you can go and do it by yourself.” A pause. “Plus, the less you know, the better. That way, if you get caught, you won’t be able to chat like a parrot.” Looking around them as if scrutinizing the area, she continued. “I just need you to drive. Do you think you can get your hands on a random car before the week is over?”

[ancmalous]

"boy  i  can't  hear  you."  she  responded,  having  heard  just  fine  the  matter  he'd  uttered  to  himself.  as  if  she  wasn't  present  and  ready  to  walk  out  the  door  and  rip  that  asshole  a  new  one.  tanya  did  not  date,  well,  it  wasn't  an  active  choice  so  much  as  ridiculously  high  standards  no  living  person  could  possibly  meet  --  and  still,  she  had  more  than her  fair  share  of  relationship  drama  through  plain ol'  osmosis.  sometimes  she  could  not  sleep  at  night,  worrying  'bout what  some  dick  or  the  other  might  be  up  to.  this  was  no  different.  "okay."  she  waited  for  the  rest  to  come,  and  when  it  did  not she  just  shrugged,  forming  assumptions  on  crumbs.  "right  so,  he's  jealous.  thinks  you'll  drool  over  some  sweaty  ass  dude  in  the  shower?  that  it?"  eye  roll  was  instinctive,  she  wanted  to  scream.  "tell  me  love,  which  do  you  think  is  more  concerning?  his  insecurity?  or  the  lack  of  trust?"

[rxtualistic]

oliver dropped his gaze to the floor almost instinctively. he knew what it looked like, how bad it sounded. but it wasn’t that bad. it really wasn’t. “it’s not like that.” he shook his head, hoping that would help clarify the tangled mess that were his thoughts. “he is not jealous like that...” the half-finished sentences were doing nothing to help cast some light on the situation. and now not only did she think he was a coward but also in a relationship with a man that couldn’t stand him. talk about lasting impressions. “we are not together. he just...” he sighed, now looking at the woman. “he just doesn’t want me in the football team. because i am a threat. to his position as captain.” the admission sounded more conceited than oliver had intended, and a furious blush made its home on his cheeks. “that’s what he thinks. not me. i don’t think i am a threat to anyone.”

[rxtualistic]

closed starter for @younqdrunk

There were few people in Leonardo’s life he considered acquaintances. Even fewer were awarded the privilege of being called friends. Many would call the carpenter a misanthrope, a hermit, or just a loner. Untrusting by nature, his aversion to people had been forged by a childhood of tragedy and a teenagehood filled with responsibilities that preceded his age. But despite everything, he had managed to form long-lasting friendships during the turbulent years of his adolescence. Life, as it often did, had meddled between them, then, with distance and time slowly unraveling the bonds they once shared. Leo had chosen one path, and his friends had decided to take another. There was no one to blame. Just the emptiness of knowing you were slowly losing someone you had once cared about.

He had made a home in the woods — far away from everyone and everything — that rarely left. Most days, his only company was his dog, and the occasional member of his found family that dropped by unannounced. His surprise had been massive when, during one rare outing downtown, he bumped into a familiar face from the past. Small talk turned into an improvised coffee, and the evening ended with an invitation to a barbecue the upcoming Sunday and the promise to be there. A promise he was starting to regret as he awkwardly stood in the middle of the backyard, party full swing around him, and a half-empty plastic cup of beer in one hand. Turning to leave, he felt his body collide against something much softer, much smaller. “Sorry, I —,” Dread washed over his expression upon the realization that the contents of his beer were no longer in the cup. “Shit, sorry.” Grabbing a handful of paper napkins from a table nearby, he all but shoved them into her chest. “Here.”

[thedevilsbckbone]

A couple of days, Evan had told her after they had parted ways. A couple of days for her to stew in her anxiety trying to figure out what the hell had happened and further more what was going to happen from here on out. She was left in the dark, unsure what to do or who to talk to, not even venturing further than the hotel lobby for fear of who was watching her. She'd left her phone off per Evan's suggestion, having to use her laptop once her things were dropped off just to be able to try and keep in contact with people back home and work. She felt like she was in some kind of witness protection or something. Only Evan had insisted in not having the cops involved.

She tried keeping her mind occupied with continuing to get her parents' things in order, trying to arrange for her mother to be cremated so she could take her back home once all was said and done and still getting the house in order to put up for sale. However, that only served to put even more stress on the blonde as her father's debts and grievances only seemed to continue to accumulate. She felt like she was going mad. The only thing that really seemed to keep her from completely breaking down was the lavish soaking tub in the bathroom that Evie spent at least a couple hours in each night before laying down for a restless sleep wondering if the next day she'd finally hear from Evan.

Then three days later, a knock came to her door and Evie padded quietly over to the door to see Evan standing on the other side. Instantly her heart began to quicken at the sight of him, the undeniable relief that came over her making her rush to unlock the door to let him in. Only he wasn't alone she realized, seeing the worker pushing a tray of food behind him. She looked between the two men with a quizzical look before Evan was speaking, mentioning how she wasn't eating. She frowned, wanting to argue that she had, just that she hadn't done it on his dime. It hadn't felt right so she had gone down to one of the hotel cafes and got herself a couple of sandwiches and pastries to snack on. In truth though, she knew she hadn't been eating as much as she should but the stress and anxiety had really hindered her appetite.

Evie moved further into the room, standing awkwardly as she watched the worker set the various plates onto the table. Her eyes met Evan's when he brought up her eating again and she gave a small shrug. "I haven't been very hungry all that much. Been dealing with a lot of stuff." She said, trying to brush off his concern. "I've been fine though." She lied, unconvincingly even to herself. She watched as he tipped the worker, catching once again that it wasn't just a couple of dollars, before they were left alone together. Still feeling a little unsure, Evie didn't move from her spot until after Evan had sat and poured himself a glass of wine, telling her he'd answer her questions if she sat down. So, finally she conceded, moving to take a seat in the chair he'd pulled out for her and reaching over to pluck a french fry from one of the plates, taking a bite. She raised her brows at him as she chewed slowly —There, happy? —Her expression read.

The most frustrating part, the fry was actually pretty damn good and it was at that moment that she realized how hungry she actually was. She tried to think back to the last thing she ate, realizing she'd had nothing but coffee and water over the past few hours. It was a little irritating to realize that he still caught on to these things with her after all these years. She popped the rest of the fry into her mouth after finishing the first bite, starting to reach for another.

She'd come up with so many questions over the last few days, had planned out whole conversations in her head on how best to approach all of this. Yet despite all that effort, Evie still found it hard to figure out how to approach this asdelicately. She realized though there wasn't really anything delicate about any of this and if she really wanted answers, she was just going to have to be forward, as anxious as it may have made her. Then again, being left in the dark felt even worse.

Which elephant should she address first was the real question. The turn of phrase was almost ironic as Evie thought about it, since she was sure the room they currently sat in was probably big enough to actually fit an elephant in. "What kind of work do you do?" She finally asked, meeting his gaze. "I mean all this—" she said, glancing around the room as she waved her empty hand around in the same general direction. "—it's kind of overwhelming." Not bad per say, just nothing like what she'd ever been used to before. "And then you have people to watch over me and everything is so hush hush. I feel like I'm being kept out of the loop of something but what that is exactly? I don't know." She said with a small sigh, shaking her head. "What is all this Evan?" She asked, brows knit together softly, eyes pleading for him to help her make sense of everything. | @rxtualistic

[rxtualistic]

Three days. 72 hours. 4320 minutes. 259200 seconds.

An eternity.

In the grand scheme of things, three days were nothing but the blink of an eye. A long sigh. A blurred memory. A coffee going cold on a forgotten desk. For the average person, three days just marked the ruthless pass of time. A few hours closer to that date circled over and over on the calendar. A step closer to death. Three days, continuity. Nothing relevant was supposed to happen during such a short period of time. That was not how life worked — at least not in people’s minds. Humans weren’t programmed to accept that change could be ( and often was ) sudden, drastic. Brutal. It was unbearable to think that everything you had spent a lifetime building could disappear in a day. In a minute. In a second. One moment be there and the next... boom! Gone.

There was nothing as cruel as time.

Evan knew this well. He had watched his whole world crumble in front of his eyes and had been denied the time to properly process the changes. Grief had been pushed aside, forgotten in favour of more productive emotions. Much like it was happening to Evie now, things moved too fast, too soon, too suddenly. And by the time he could sit down and reflect, the damage was already done. Grief had been overtaken by anger. A protective anger. One that hid vulnerability. One that didn’t allow pain to be bothered.

It had taken exactly 70 hours longer than intended to knock on the door of the expensive hotel room. The plan had never been to leave the blonde alone, with no answers and just her thoughts to fill the blanks. But, as it often happened, life had gotten in the way.

Evie had reacted like he had imagined — stubbornly refusing to admit that she was hungry, downplaying her own needs. As he took a long sip of the wine, god he had needed that, his eyes fixed on the woman in front of him. Her reticence to just dig into the many dishes to choose from elicited a chuckle from the confines of his soul. Some things never change, no matter how much time passes. “Very.” The reply to the question drawn on her brows was nonchalant, and yet, there was an underlying amusement to each word impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes as he placed the now-empty glass on the table between them without tearing his gaze from Evie’s blue one.

But the lightness didn’t stay long. Shoulders squattering, back stiff against the chair. One leg crossed over the other, then uncrossed as the man shifted his position. Jaw clenching, he finally laced his fingers, leaning over the table some. That pep talk he had given himself on the drive to the hotel had boosted his confidence, convincing him that sharing the truth would be easy. But now, looking at Evie’s eyes and the veiled suspicions behind her pupils, the urge to lie resurfaced like a tidal wave. But, deep down, Evan knew she already knew the answer. Evie had always been brilliant, and it wouldn’t be hard for her to put two and two together. It wasn’t answers she was seeking, it was confirmation. And lying, even by deflection, would only lacerate what little trust she might have in him. “The kind of job not many people are willing to do.” Sighing, he broke eye contact. “I’m not a good man, Evie.” His gaze returned to her, lips curling into a self-deprecating smirk. “But you’re safe with me.”

[rxtualistic]

closed starter for @innxcentfaces

it had become a sort of routine between the rwo. he would make a post and a few minutes later the dreaded beep notifying a new comment would fill the thic, barely breathe air in his room. then he would reply to her comment with something sneaky and, in his opinion, incredibly witty. to what she would have something to say, not as great but good enough for him to shot back. of course she wouldn't keep quiet and... you get the idea. liam wasn't sure why she wasn't already blocked. maybe because then he would have to give up trolling her comment section and there were certain things one just couldn't do. little pleasures that one needed, no matter how high the price to pay.

there was something different about today. he had posted about half an hour ago and the comment insulting his jersey choice had not come yet. as liam saw it, he had two options: he could worry about it or shrug and keep going with his day. which wasn't that great of an option either because he happened to have lunch with his parents at their exclusive country club. a lunch to which he was already late. unpunctuality, what the smiths loved the most.

it was proving to be a great day already. the best of his life. and then the immaculate doors of the club opened to reveal the familiar silhouette of the last person he wanted to see. "i see you're graduating from online stalker to physical stalker. what a great achievement. i should congratulate you but i don't feel like doing so."

[rxtualistic]

you know what i kinda miss? purely platonic friendships with lots of teasing and playful flirting and stuff like that.

[rupestrex]

[rxtualistic]

closed starter for @thedevilsbckbone

In the nearly six hundred years Vincent had existed, he had never been particularly troubled by matters that did not concern himself. Even when he had been technically alive, he had shown little capacity for considering others. Vampirism had only amplified the narcissism, vanity, and flamboyance that already defined him, raising them to dazzling new heights. But what else could one expect of a spoiled French noble, born into one of the most decadent eras of the old empire? Vincent was a product of his time — and of many times. So many centuries. So many wars. So much ruin. And through it all, he had watched from his high marble tower, always above the people below.

The trail of victims that followed him wherever he went surprised no one who truly knew him. The police had always been, and would always remain, utterly useless. As for those few beings — human or otherwise — capable of ending his long life, he considered them beneath his notice. Hiding the bodies had never been an activity he deigned to partake in, nor did he bother to disguise the marks left upon his meals. Time itself had become a forgotten concept. Vincent sought only excitement, moving on whenever monotony set in.

Months, years... such things ceased to matter when one had eternity.

His lair was more private than hidden. Situated in the upper quarter of the city, it occupied the entire underground level of an apartment complex. Red velvet draped across nearly every surface, a striking contrast to the dark wood panels that lined the walls and floors. Clad only in a pair of silk boxers, the vampire lay sprawled across his velvet sofa, a thick crimson liquid swirling lazily in the golden goblet he held. The sharp noise should have startled him, but it earned only a curious lift of his brow. “Well, would you look at that,” he murmured, amusement lacing every word. “Come now—don’t hide in the shadows. You’ve come all this way down here; the least you can do is say hello.”

[rxtualistic]

will i ever stop asking for things? likely not. but i haven't been able to stop thinking about this, maybe with some forbidden love as a side???