#* ic.

[fatisornata]

@piorgan: ❛ you revel in my torture . ❜

oh projection, such a human concept for someone who insists they abandoned that the day their lover vanished into the reflection of the moon. typical puppets thinking they can have emotions, typical tools thinking they have other uses than their forged one. yet there it stands, determined to be seen as more despite their so called equality in their title of sinner.

time shakes his head, of course the conductor revels in their symphonies, what a boring thing to speak into the world. he turns, facing death's blasphemy itself and that same, cold smile that graces his lips upon that dark revelation all those centuries ago. vedrfolnir revels in knowing fate is his, rerir is correct, but what the other doesn't understand is how far he will puppet the strings to be the only winner in the end.

"and the sky is ever masquerading, ever condescending to the truth. what hope do you wish to have achieved, bringing such an obvious statement to me. sight and i may no longer be acquainted, but even i know your face now... you want more, you hunger it. speak it."

[sorsrenuo]

Ms. Briar better pray she never catches herself alone out in the terrarium..

[dracochrysalis]

❝ shadowmere seems to have taken a liking to you. ❞ the beast seems right at home in the marshy landscape of morthal. shadowmere butts her head against din's hand as he reaches out to her, her glowing scarlet eyes alert and discerning. with a quirk of his lips, fehn continues: ❝ you will have to forgive her unnerving appearance. i assure you that she is quite gentle. ❞ / @warplanet (for din), sc.

[sommersong]

GLIMMERING DAYS AND SPARKLING NIGHTS – THAT IS THE WAY MOST THINK SIMEON LIVES. he cannot pretend as though some of it isn't true, of course. his world has been far too large for him since he was far too young, and despite appearances, he's never discovered how to truly balance it all. it's simply that he's always been good at pretending, particularly with the attention of a room upon him as it often is. rarely has he the luxury of existing along the fringes in any circumstance. he has been entirely visible all his life, his every move open to public scrutiny, the most private details of his world flashed on the front page of magazines everywhere. half the time he tells himself he should be grateful, that it is the price he pays for his dreams ; the other, he wallows in resentment.

it's why he appreciates the occasional place like this, dark and a little dirty and off the beaten path, a hole in the wall in uptown new orleans he visits whenever he's in the city. live music, relative anonymity, a crowd who does not care enough about his genre to even recognize him ... despite the thick hang of smoke in the air, it feels like a breath of fresh air, always. he can simply observe, and observe he does – particularly the musician two seats down from him who'd left the stage minutes before, after a performance both stunning and somewhat different than the other acts tonight. perhaps sim would be jealous of the man's talent if he weren't so intrigued

" put his next one on my tab, " he tells the bartender in a low voice before casting his gaze to his right, tilting his head just an inch like a curious bird. " you know, " he says a little louder, addressing the musician in his typical tone of good humor, ever imbued with his engaging charm, " usually they wait until after midnight to put on the particularly emotional acts. think there's at least five people outside calling their exes right now after your set. "

@disvelocitys as orpheus : 019.   the shady bar of a noisy , dark club . / starter call.

[eneaid]

CHCK! multicolored claws pop from underneath her nails and plunge into the wood of her school desk, scraping splinters across the top of it as well as shredding the papers of their research paper -- and enid gasps, retracting them immediately as her hands pull back to her lap, cheeks flushing fuchsia. just because she'd gotten too lost in her thoughts, letting her fingers tap an idle, frantic beat until @hawkgyrl barely touched her shoulder for her attention, resulting in . . . this. what an adolescent mistake. the young wolf tucks her lower lip between her teeth, feeling the entire classroom's gaze gradually pull away from her as the professor continues. it's just the time of month, is all. “ kendra, i'm so sorry, i'll -- i'll rewrite the whole thing, you don't have to worry about it. what -- what were you asking? ” ugh, this could not be more embarrassing.

[banalrasaaa]

✦ 𝓠. “don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.” @sorrowsick. fel.

Fel is a flare of violence at the corner of their eye, the cracked mirror in which they refuse to look at themselves. They stand there now, burning at the edges of their awareness as they pretend not to pay attention, not to notice the new bandages that adorn him. His own violence lashes back at him, as if he’s trying to claw at themselves before the world has a chance to turn its knife on him, the way it always does. The way it has always done.

They can’t really blame them for it, they too shred themselves in less visible ways, chop pieces off in order to survive, sometimes to escape ghosts that aren’t even there. The map of scars of their own doing is as invisible as it is endless, a wasteland of past lives, past selves they killed with their bare hands. Watched life drain from their eyes as if it could somehow set them free.

“Do you know what I want so clearly then?” Their smile is amused, teasing, playful. But it’s just an act, another act, not even a good one. The problem is that they do know the answers, and they still don’t want to. They rather have denial, to play pretend and believe their own masks for once. But Fel never lets them, he tears at their lies and little fantasies with the ease of a knife. Sees them as clearly as they do, carving into the grimy depths of their darkness. And they still keep their pitiful act, is all they know how to do. “Don’t get cocky.”

[nyt1ba]

     They had made another sanctuary within the abandoned,   a small house at the outskirts of Xion,   untouched by machine nor Naytibas,   a small space he had meant to turn into a temporary resting place that was now better furnished with what Elektra would bring and what he could scavenge from the old world.   He's sitting on the new rug,   [   still clean despite the sand that would slip through each storm   ],   with various parts laid out before him as he attempted to fix his latest finding,   an old record player,   worn by time but not beyond saving.   Free hands work their way through assembling the old thing,   comfortable enough today to do without gloves and roll up his sleeves,   a casual display only seen around her during better days that spoke volumes of trust.        ❛❛   Ah !   It's working !   ❜❜        he announces as soft music began to play,   a faint hint of pride in expression as he watched the record spin.   Elektra was beside him,   no longer reading at his interruption.

  The book now completely discarded as she stands and offers a hand in invitation,   Adam blinks,   smiling a tad despite his confusion.        ❛❛   I don't   ...   dance.   ❜❜        he doesn't even remember how                 not that he was the partying kind in his old life,   they would have to tear him away from his seat if they wanted him to participate in any way.   But much to his dismay,   Elektra seems persistent,   his awkward refusal ignored as she reaches down to take his hand and pull him up to his feet.   He groaned at the pull,   but made not to attempt to flee.        ❛❛   Alright,   fine,   one dance,   that's all.   ❜❜

@stilettaux // some cute because they deserve it :3c