#fouracts

[illud-divinum-insanus-blog]

fouracts

  [ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ]

OH MY FUCK I N G GOD DALA IM G O ING TO SMOOCH U!!!!!!

uh excuse,

not if I smooch you FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!! O:<

[scholaroftheoccult]

fouracts replied to your post: i kept seeing this everywhere so i wanted to fill...

:eyes:

u kno whats up

[venomtouched-blog]

the webs she weaved were not without beauty. the droplets glinted like small stars, part of a grand constellation. a single finger traced a single string (how curious). 'how wonderful...'

Elise entwines her spindly, pointed fingers together and beams with delight. It was a very small and secret practice of hers - but she could make little displays with webbing and tiny spiders with bio-luminescent bodies. 

It is something she has only ever done to amuse herself for short periods of time (or long - she forgets to note the passage of time quite often. Minutes become hours and hours become days before she notices.) and she is excited to know that someone finds them beautiful. She is pleased beyond measure.

“It is but one strand. Behold.” Look, look, she means to say. Curious indeed, how a normally grave and dangerous entity like her can sometimes be so childlike. It is a given, however, that she likes to show off.

She weaves a perfectly octagonal web together with strings that braid themselves. She winds repeating shapes into patterns between her claws and stretches it wide by opening her arms just a little bit - spiderlings the size of dimes skitter across the lengths of her forearm.

They find a place to lounge on the strands, on the vast and ornate web that glistens lightly, with their needle-thin legs and faintly glowing bodies. There are exactly four. She does not do it on purpose.

[jeonmuui]

[ text; ] 'i don't drink coffee,' i say, before chugging an entire pot of it

[ text to: xX_arth03_Xx ] are u ok omg

[ text to: xX_arth03_Xx ] ik finals are close but thats excessive oAo;;;

[ text to: xX_arth03_Xx ] did ahri-seonbae talk u into this

[ text to: xX_arth03_Xx ] just bc she can drink 35 hours worth of red bull doesnt mean u should too =_=

[holyfervor-blog]

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

questions from 10,000 years ago

30. Are they holdingon to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

Dude, Kayle fucking lives in the past.

Her mind is plaguedwith thoughts of how it all used to be, and how it will never be that wayagain. There is an image of perfection she projects on the past, and eventsthat were out of her control tore that image apart. She hadn’t believed herselfresponsible for it for the longest time, pinning the blame on theseimperfections on others. Now she spends her every free moment agonizing overthe smallest of details, trying to puzzle out how she went wrong.

And this whole timeshe had been unable to forgive those she thought responsible. It is only recently that she realized she cannot forgive herself.

[bloodynumberfour]

❤

[prompt]

❤ Have they ever been in love? 

No, Not yet.

[masteredshadows]

cont from x. // @fouracts

as a performer, it was expected to listen— to truly understand the pain and hardships of the muse.

   but as a person, he found it his duty to listen.

the pristine porcelain mask lay at his side, cast away by its owner. his face– his true face remained bare before the shadow master (as he opted to bare his soul before jhin). he thought it fair.

  as a person, he found it so difficult to understand the actions of others. the why.

he could imagine it— the destruction of a family, cries of loss and agony. it signified not only the end of a life, but the beginning of grief. truly, such a sin would be unforgivable in the eyes of man.

but zed sat before a monster, confessing his darkest deeds to the abyss itself.

   as a performer, he was expected to listen— to understand the motivation behind his muse.

                                  ‘how is it that you felt, as you did this?’

no rancor. no whimsical facade to be found. no animosity– indeed, his question was as innocent as that of a child, who knew not of the wickedness of his action.

     “powerful beyond measure," he whispered, but hesitated.

     no. that was wrong.

     “--killing a man is thrilling. you hold the power of a god in your hands, the ability destroy an infinite number of possibilities in the space of a moment. you choose whether one lives or dies, whether or not they will ever have any impact on the world again, but...”

     (of all the people to admit this to. a serial killer, a murderer, an enemy, the worst nightmare of countless of people. a man zed would see suffer for hours an hours on end; a man who deserved worse than any who had come before him.)

     “when you see their faces--”

     (“what have you done?” she shouts.)

     “--it hurts.”

     (the silent horror from him is worse than any of the words hissed at him over the coming years.)

     “it makes one understand how men become demons, how demons become monsters. when you do things like this... well, who could survive such misery without learning to enjoy it?”

[jeonmuui]

black: grieving

talk about a time you were…

It was a custom in the village; they were small, knit closely like the first few rows of a woolen scarf crafted on brand new needles. Every person in need would receive aid from everyone, for everyone is family, and family stays together in hard times.

It was a custom in the village; they were few, hanging together by the end of the thread whose pulling was at the mercy of the demon in the pit, kept at bay by the servants and guardians of the temple. Every body would be honored, individually taken to the nearby burial grounds in a procession that could last hours at end. It was a lengthy waste of time, and everyone honored it.

It was a custom in the village; they were afraid, huddled together under a single rattan roof that should not have had to hold so many terrified souls under it. The conquerors had come, and she was there with them, cowering and quivering, a tear or two rolling down the side of her arms (not hers; it was the mother beside her, cradling her baby like it was their last day together). Every person prayed in earnest to the listening gods, and she was there with them, until she decided she was tired of it all and turned the proverbial knife on her people.

Now she is the only one left, and she mourns that she is unable to rub tradition out of her bones, even as they burned like the bile that comes from swallowing poisoned fruits. There is no family to stay with, no procession to waste her time on, no gods to deliver prayers to.

She mourns.