#nxcro

[bloodiisms-a]

“If I burn, you will see The fire in your mind when you sleep And if I rise up in smoke around your eyes You'll know it's me.”

Emilie Autumn-If I burn

[natussaevire]

continued from |x| @nxcro

     “Now, now love, easy on the language. Besides, fucking you would be MUCH more fun.”

[diestimme]

@nxcro

Anselm studied the slender guitarist, those green eyes delving into the dark eyes of the other. Something was so off about this child, it was almost as if she was watching him as closely as he watching her. She seemed to pay almost no mind to Pietre, yet consistently Brandt would look up only to see Jack turn away from his gaze. It wasn’t like it was romantic inclination or sexual attraction. He never saw it in her eyes. No, it was SUSPICION. She knew something about him, or thought she knew something. 

It was shocking to feel unnerved by this. To feel uneasy about being observed this way. It got to the point that Anselm would take frequent cigarette breaks just to be by himself. This paranoia reached its climax as he pulled away from those x-ray eyes.

There he was again this day, leaving his microphone to exit the studio. He ignored his partner’s begging, slamming the door behind him. He lit his tobacco, tucking his lighter into his leather jacket. Green eyes lifted up to the sliver sky, his lips taking a heavy drag of his cigar. To escape those damn knowing eyes. He hadn’t even uttered an excuse or apology. Simply left Pietre and Jack in the middle of a recording. 

A sigh was released as he ran a hand through his hair. Stress tightened his jaws, those lips a taut line. What did she know about him? What did she know that he couldn’t handle? These things he consoled himself with. She was in so much danger if she continued to dig, he told himself. She simply had no clue!

[vionant-blog]

❛      pretty sure the light at the end of the tunnel is a train.       ❜         bone - bred fingers unpick a twist of peeling rope, head canted to one side in bored concentration. his eyes are dull as is his voice. a raw grate to a smooth death, resting uneasy like one BURIED ALIVE in the howls of his throat.

@nxcro​

[l8l6-blog]

{ @nxcro }

“Can you...tell? Do you know about me?”

[bogisms-blog]

@nxcro wanted monster Bo

The thing that was leaning against the wall hardly seemed human. Taloned hands were scratching against the brick structure, flaking off the leftover residue from old concrete. They were black as pitch and the darkness was tracing up pale skin slower and slower. 

The beast was hungry and pity be on anyone who stumbled upon him in this form.