#constantwar

[undonesarc]

“i’m just, like, not really vibing with it right now, like, maybe this just isn’t the film for me, you know?”   @constantwar​

[wanlidas-archive]

“I’M SORRY I HAD NOTHING TO SAY THAT NIGHT.”

with all the back and forth,  she has to wonder whether or not her words are genuine.  she never thought she would see her again,  and she had found a way to accept that  ----  but now that she was here,  back in her life somehow,  she doesn’t know how to feel about anything.  she doesn’t know what to think,  what to trust,  what to expect  ----  and it’s getting under her skin.  ❝  getting used to it,  ❞   she mumbles,  arms crossing over her chest as she looks back up to her.  she’s tired of the act of deflection from her  ----  ironic,  since she’s usually so good at it herself.  ❝   -----  so?  what about now?   ❞

↺ @constantwar

[hienous-blog]

“  you know, we’re not that different.  ”  ace says as he slides into the seat beside her, a smirk pulling the corner of his lips, knowing the comparison’s an insult. before she can argue, he continues.   “  saw what you did to that nemesis kid. kind of stupid, all things considered.  ”  though judging by the state of the boy when ace saw him last, he’d guess that it’ll be another week or so before he’s even able to retaliate, if mikayla even cares.   “  can’t really give me shit for being a violent asshole, can you?  ”  she could, because he’s sure the nemesis boy had done something to provoke her, whereas ace has the tendency to act on urge along, regardless of whether his victim deserved it.   “  i think the only real difference between us is i’m not afraid to admit i like girls.  ”      

[strikier]

HIS BREATH BARELY REGISTERS,  chest hesitant to rise and fall. the scent of blood is still slick on his palms, smell of burning flesh still clouding his nostrils, though he knows his mother is merely dust and bone. flames still lick the twisted metal frame of the once-car, and neil --that’s his name now, he has to remind himself-- digs his teeth into the innards of his lip ---- biting back the tears and the vile taste of bitter fear. there’s nowhere to run. sand stretches for miles and he isn’t familiar with the woods that border the beach to the north; getting lost beneath its canopy of braided leaves isn’t the way he wants to die, so he stays put, digging the heels of his hands into the sand, shuddering with the urge to pull a knife from his pack, be his father’s son, kill this guy before neil’s the next body in this unending war ----

but he doesn’t, he can’t, a rigidity like rigor mortis tensing his shoulders at the blinding red thought:  i can’t.

he flicks his eyes upward, blinks furiously at the dryness of his contacts, hoping that it’s steel that sets his expression and not fear. “walk the fuck away, before you don’t have the option to.”  //  @constantwar

[grieveously]

“ it’s kinda nice here. ” felix’s tone is uncharacteristically guarded, heavy with what, typically, mikayla’s presence would strip away, not entirely hesitant but just short of. he eyes her through his peripheral; his thumb rubs in circles along the blazing sun tattooed into his wrist, the ink mixed with celestial bronze to ensure its longevity, but diluted enough to not create any adverse effect.

along the cobblestone roads of new rome, purple-hued lares float; in pinched expressions, felix can see disapproval, but there’s nothing hateful spat at them. demigods give a cursory bow of their head in acknowledgement; some with equally strained features, though some with lighter, breezy smiles, the kind you can’t really fake. felix drops his hand, attention shifting from his wrist to hers, fingers curling together rather naturally. he gives a comforting squeeze, moreso for his sake than hers.

“ we should’ve came here a long time ago, ” he continues, slowly easing himself into a tone that’s less reserved; he feels wonder rising in his throat, syrup-thick, in a similar vein to what he’d experienced upon discovering camp half-blood, but amplified a thousand-fold.  “  -----okay, i should’ve agreed to. ” // @constantwar

[ptrodactyl]

❝  you know,  you have really crap timing.  ❞   /   @constantwar​

[undonesa]

disdain is circumvented by necessity,  but mistrust still burns like his fire in his dark eyes,  as harsh and deadly.  across fingers,  a minuscule flame dances,  too inattentive to be threatening;  something like a compulsion,  its presence offering comfort.    ‘    i don’t wanna be here,  dude,    ’    he starts;  it’s dull,  befitting his admission.  franco’s hand curls into a fist,  the flame stretching to surround it---  it burns bright for a beat before extinguishing itself,  reduced to curls of smoke.    ‘    but all my fr-riends are preoccupied,  so.    ’    “friends” is synonymous with siblings,  each of whom are busied with prior engagements;  there’s a sour look in his eyes at the thought.

‘    i’m not sss-stupid enough to break the law on my ow-own.  you’re stupid enough to h-h-h-help.  so.  want to?  help.    ’    /    @constantwar,  ace.

[undones-a]

there’s still the smell of blood and bullets clinging to his senses; the soft-yet-sharp dinging of ammunition finding a home in metal and flesh; the dulled, lifeless faces of the dauntless, his family, drained of their free will and made into killers. the steady motion of the train does not knock these thoughts free of their entrapment in his mind. the soft cries of the survivors - sounds that, in the heart of the compound would be met with a sneering disgust, now only elicit arms around shoulders, hands against hearts, barely-whispered absolvements of blame - it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t you, we didn’t do this.

four’s teeth are gritted so tightly, he fears they might crack. he’s glad tris is at the rear of the train, watching from the open doors the city below. he doesn’t want to remember the gun to her head. instead, his attention directs to ace - unwillingly, he pictures him in the training center, snickering with eric. four’s jaw clenches even more, somehow, an ache springing to life in the hinge.

‘  you didn’t go with him?  ’  it’s flat. void of emotion. the rest of his expression mimics that, his body slackening into a blank mask. it’s a stark contrast to the white-hot rage that billows from his heart like a volcano.  ‘  are you going to fight with us?  ’  /  @constantwar.