#bcdelia

[reigningwiidow]

@bcdelia liked

“I’d say a storm is coming.” Just judging by the rapidly darkening sky. The chill in the air further proves her point. “Might be a big one, too.”

[realityrot-a-blog]

@bcdelia // Continued.

                   ‘ My face huh? ’ Dominant brow raised in question with a craning neck to view her masterpiece better. There’s a notable scoff, eyes rolling back and he attempts to hide the growing amusement by rubbing his mouth. ‘Not stupid enough.’ His own pumpkin? He stabbed it a few times, left the blade of the knife slashed through the head of the pumpkin. He shrugs.

[lizardsbrain]

“I can’t reason with you when you shout like that.”

@bcdelia

           Dexter did not consider himself to be an angry person. He didn’t consider himself to be a person at all, now that he thought of it. Not one that was emotional beyond his basic needs. He was not foreign to the idea or probability of being overcome with feeling but when the sudden rise of heat reached his brain it was hard to ignore. Rage was a peculiar sensation, especially since he mastered the look of calm (he was often pent with eagerness, anxiety, and excitement). It was both relieving and addictive and so incredibly unfamiliar that when it washed over him so suddenly, he didn’t know whether to swallow it down or grab it and hold onto it until everything was scorched to pitch.

          ❝ I’m sorry. ❞  He settled, body seeming to become liquid except for the rigid and expressive features on his face. Don’t mistake the usually calm exterior as pleasant prosperity - it was likely he was relaxed in his own macabre monologues. Relaxed in not feeling anything at all...   ❝ I don’t like to be unreasonable. It’s not like me... ❞

Anger Management Starters // ACCEPTING

[lecterofthelambs-blog]

would u stop being a cannibal for like 5 minutes I need some affection.

         i’ll start u off with three, what do you got

[lecterofthelambs-blog]

(squishes his cheeks between her palms)

         [licks her hand] dont touch the merch

[pulsates-blog1]

bcdelia:

                                                 gentle arrogance ; a practiced twist of lips in amusement && the woman watches him with certainty before she speaks . a spoken WARNING that does so little to inspire , a flex of her fingers && she’s leaning f o r w a r d s .         ❝  or what ??  ❞               it is reckless && she feels vague concern churn within her stomach ; but for a single moment she does not care , for what does she have to fear now ?? a woman built upon TARNISHED shores , toppled from her kingdom with blood on her hands && face , no she does not FEAR much these days .              ❝   you do not hold COMMAND over me , do not think yourself possible . ❞

he cracks a smile, feather-there, eyes on what he’s doing. the forestock is pulled back firmly, ejecting an empty shell from its chamber. he breaks open the firearm, reloading the chamber, keeping totally at ease despite the climbing unpredictability and erraticism of the situation. her words encourage the part of lips, the break of a sported exhale. cute. the barrel snaps shut with a powerful, almost bloodthirsty, click.

             ‘ or i unload this remington the way it was meant to be unloaded. now i don’t know about you, but a simple warning doesn’t quite resonate as a command t’me. but hey, then again, what do i know? people don’t find it easy tellin’ me what to do. ’  pretty sure it’s a different case for her. and despite such polite, threatening statements, my voice lacks malice. should be a clear enough indicator that she’s the obstacle, not the target.

[realityrot-a-blog]

Well, that is what you get for /smashing/ a bottle last night.

@bcdelia

               ( I deserve this ) Amusement plays on features unwilling to show them. Tense brows ease, and he’s holding back the urge to laugh at the woman standing before him with her fine posture and cold expression. There’s a turn in his chest that feels like a fist around his heart with the memories of their past. 

A slender leg is exposed from beneath the sheet to interlock with his own. He’s propped against the wall, pillows folded and bunched at the small of his back and he’s hunched forward packing tobacco into a small paper. A single brow raised, attempting to focus on the task at hand as smooth skin glides along his leg, arms extending in excitement as she goes on about something he can’t quite remember because as his head raises and Hazel eyes lock on her he’s mesmerized by the wide smile that’s playing on her lips and the vibrant movement of her body as she speaks.

A deep inhale of her perfume, eyes locked on hers as he reaches out to cusp her cheek, thumb ghosting over pale pink matte. ‘ Where did your smile go? ‘

[realityrot-a-blog]

(spills wine all over him) oops.

@bcdelia

               ( Grant me the strength.) A moment is required as eyes fall shut, lips tight, brows knit and he’s frozen in place for composure. Red wine had been purposely forwarded onto a white shirt. His police uniform no less, if he had been wearing anything other than his uniform he would have shrugged the entire action off as if it were nothing. Hell, he’ll still shrug it off, but only after a moment of silence as the cool liquid absorbs and his stomach tightens as if to escape the spread as damp clothing clings to his skin. A teasing tongue that mocks her, the tone of his voice contradicting the words that slip passed thin lips.

‘ You’re wasting wine Delia. ’