Busy as a bee!

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@themidnightsiren
Busy as a bee!
It is a fate you we can never escape. @princess--ofthedamned
Death lingers around them, around her, sometimes even swirls around her fingers, red liquid laced in red tips.
‘Red for Christmas?’ Her nail stylist once asked her, a question that earned the questioner with a plain chuckle, followed by a soft curve of her lips, which, by the way, was painted the same color as her nails. ‘No.’ was her plain reply.
Red is the color of sweet, sweet death.
And red is screaming in neon bumper lights, in hands tightly grasping on steering wheel, and in the vessels of her eyes.
Red is screaming at the sight of liquid swirling around one’s body - a body all too familiar for her – a body she had known since its birth.
Samantha.
Leave “Red String of Fate” in my askbox.
I’ll generate a number from 1-77 (YES SEVENTY SEVEN OPTIONS!) to see what is in our muses’ destinies, then I’ll write some drabble based on the number generated.
NOTE: This meme was originally posted by frommemetoyou, which has since deleted, breaking the read more. Further notes on that at the end of the read more.
Keep reading
in her heart, there was an empire of corpses –– growing and growing .
He who comes back for a monster | @destructiveurgxs
Emptiness is embodied in her.
And she should have known. Oh she had known it well, back when everything in her life fell down in a one simple bite, two scars and two lives. The fact that her existence is a bane is enough for her to accept the hollow being that was her.
Lorraine is a void. She knows it. She knows it all too well.
What made her forget about it?
What made her realize again how empty she is?
Simple
A home void of one’s presence. And a fear of losing that one.
kiceun replied to your post:
I see these cute bbs on the dash and it...
im the cutest tho
oh look at this cute little bb. of course you are!!
themidnightsiren ; )
✖ Send me a url and I’ll write some positivity for it. @themidnightsiren
Uh… seriously? u_uI have nothing good to say and you know what? Do you just want me to expose you to everyone?Honestly… talking to them is so easy. They have this skill to make you feel at ease and conversations with them flow. Talking ooc can be difficult for me, but I never had to think twice about it with them and it helped a lot with plotting and writing. Oh but don’t even get me started about their writing… like seriously they would write a 5000 words essay as a reply to three lines. I just can’t with them. It can be quite overwhelming to reply to them, because I would always worry about writing something even quarter the quality of what they write. Truth to be told, writing with them is fun especially angst.
✘✘✘☠☠☠♣♣♣
sometimes, it is personal and malicious in its intention. here, we are not talking about death. death has no prerogative. it’s always a result of something else, or someone’s decision.
chance does not belong in a business exchange. so, it was not chance either.
it was his hands around her throat. his gun digging into her temple. her death as the result of a pulled trigger. while she haunts his dreams and lives with the intent of revenge, he does not remember the way her life drained from eyes, wide and brimming. free from terror. his eyes void of guilt and hands leaving no room for hesitation, he killed her this way.
far too simple.
<< REWIND
Send ♣ for a drunk message
>> [ 1 missed call ]
PLAY VOICEMAIL MESSAGE?
[ YES ] [ NO ]
“I think…”
His fingers are curled tight around his phone. His breath snakes out between chapped lips like smoke. The night is cold. His nose is red. He’s not wearing a coat even when it’s a record low temperature in Seoul. As a kid, he would stand outside in the rain for hours. Then under snowfall. The ice under feet only protected by the thin layer of his socks. Cold never really sinks deeper than beneath the first layer of skin. It’s not the type of danger he fears.
“I think you’re working for him– my uncle.” It makes the most sense– that this woman would appear in his life. Again, and again. Sometimes a vision in a dream. Distorted and unreal. Other times in his daily life. A solid representation of something he cannot piece together.
The cigarette between two fingers burns down to the filter as he stands in silence. His hand is shaking, and it’s not from the cold.
“Get the fuck out of my life.”
FAST FORWARD >>
Send ✘ for an unsent text
[ txt: Lorraine ] You should be more careful about the company you insist on keeping. I know for a fact most of them aren’t out for your best interest.–[ txt: Lorraine ] You don’t terrify me, you never have. –[ txt: Lorraine ] There are moments I think killing you was a mistake.
Send ☠ for a threatening message
[ txt: Lorraine ] Death is a form of mercy. It’s an escape.[ txt: Lorraine ] I’ll make sure a bitch like you never knows mercy again.
eloquent-nightmare:
“Yes,” Adrian says with a shrug. It’s not like he’s lying to her either. He really has no idea what’s going on and what exactly he’s supposed to be hiding. “Listen, noona,” the honorific bitter and heavy against his tongue. “I would tell you, or you’d have some way of finding out whether I’m lying or not.” Lorraine always has a way of knowing, and it creeps him out. He makes a face at her, one that she would expect from him. “Oh yeah, don’t ask me about what’s happening here, because fuck do I know. I’ve been in Toronto for the last few years and just got back here to fix whatever mess is going on here.”
The term felt like poison leaving on his lips, dripping onto her ears and it did not sit right with her. It could have been better to call her Miss Lee, for bitterness lies with the actual truth that maybe hiding behind that word. Noona. So Lorraine dismissed the thought, raised an eyebrow over the younger instead, skepticism drawn all over her face. “I do, but it would be better to know the truth from the person itself, right? Because really, my dear, I hold grudges on people who lie to me.” Her arms crossed over her her chest, annoyance clearly budding. “What a mess has happened when I was away? I thought I could rely on you, but you left the company in the hands of my pretty little sister who knows nothing. Such disappointment.” In Samantha. In Adrian.
❛ at the very bottom of my soul i feel grateful to all my misery ❜
NeitzscheSentence StartersStatus: accepting! | ↳ @abscondos
Misery is a villain, the anti-hero toanyone’s story and to anyone’s life that it twists and turns and transformspeople in the ugliest ways possible. It is inconspicuous and it can easilylinger and dwell onto one person, stretches long and sears deep into the bones.
Misery is a tragedy in itself, andmisery can be a bullet one could use to protect oneself.
That is how Lorraine uses her miseries –a reminder to the burning fuel that keeps her alive. A prompt to the ugliestdemons that these miseries awakened at its occurrence.
It is a tool that she used – void ofany emotions but only of her demons – to prove herself, and prove the bringers of such, of what huge mistake they have doneto unleash her monsters within. Yetto be grateful for it is something that Lorraine wouldn’t even consider.
Why would you be grateful for somethingthat gradually destroys you?
It is through a gentle voice that theweight of its words is heavily dropped, allowing Lorraine to ponder througheach word in a quirked brow – eyes set on the skyline that boasts its dullestof yellows and oranges – to purples and dark blues, ready to surrender to the dark. The early autumnair preserved the warmth of the passing summer; it pricks through her skin, asthough the summer aims to leave its unwanted heat behind. Much like misery in itself.
Iwill never be grateful, for it is how I changed to be someone I loathed myselfto be. I will never be grateful, for gratefulness is defunct in a being without a soul.
“Gratitude is too kind to be bestowedupon something that brought you toyour own misfortunes and sufferings.” She starts, peeling her eyes away to takea glance at the younger lady, hand slinking to cross over her chest. Acuriosity, perhaps, but it may probably be the absurd statement that urges herto oppose the other’s statement, to convince her otherwise. “I wonder howyou were able to say that.” The disbelief in her tone says ‘you shouldn’t.’
‘You should only despiseit.’
At what cost does Lorraine wants to twistthe other’s thoughts? Nothing.
But as cliché as it may sound, misery always love a little company.
ROLEPLAY CHARACTER STATS SHEET !
Repost, replacing the old information with your muse’s information. pass it on to your mutuals for a better understanding of their muses.
Face claim: Kim Jungah ( former member of After School ) Name: Candice Lorraine Lee | Lee Jungah Age: 34 (stopped aging at 24) Gender: Female Nationality: British-Korean Birthplace: London, England Birthday: August 2, 1983 Star Sign: Leo Residence: Gangnam, Seoul, South Korea Marital Status: Single Alignment: Lawful Evil.
LIKES —
Drink: Vampire’s Blood, liquor, coffee Food: Nothing in particular Day or night: Night Song: Classics Quote: "She was a lion’s roar, broken glass, and a thousand tiny paper cuts: frightening, beautiful, and very, very cruel.” Pet: None Color: Red, black, royal blue
LOOKS —
Body type: Ectomorph Eye color: Brown Hair color: Naturally black, currently dark brown Body reference: one two three
TAGGED BY: @eterneli ( thank you! ) TAGGING: idk who else hasn’t done this yet. i’m always late for the party. tags ppl nonetheless. (for multimuses, your muse of choice <3) @amanikables , @eloquent-nightmare , @destructiveurgxs , @pxlimpsest , @somecrazylads , @stcgnant , @ksung , @ketaminhcl , @kmortale , @pandemxnivm , @eruvos , @cxntrxctkiller
jong-ki:
“no and although I love your straightforwardness, It’s still a jab to my ego knowing that’s the first you want from me.” he chuckled. Joon wasn’t upset at the realization since he was used to people wanting to be close to him only when it benefited them and he cautiously entertained the behavior if he liked them. Lorraine was one of those people. “I will accept your suggestion after discussing with my colleagues. Unfortunately, I can’t make all the decisions alone so I can’t give you a definite answer.”
It is a quirk of both a brow and her lips that responds to the other’s reaction, something that she has expected – from men overall and it’s suffice to say that he is part of the general, of men and their egos. Lorraine easily criticizes this, how fragile these are compared to how virile they present themselves to be. Yet Lorraine herself is one who bears such a chauvinistic ego. And to stroke someone’s ego is something she wouldn’t even think of doing. “Oh, were you expecting something then?” A playful tone overlays the slight jeering, snickers in between lips. One leg crosses over the other as she eases onto her seat, contemplating on desserts or perhaps wine, or to whether to stretch the dinner that is about to end. “Alright. I understand, and I’m really hopeful for a positive response.” I trust that you will. “I’m willing to return the favor, Joon-ssi. This is how important it is to me.”
taken from the book ‘ the gay science ’ by friedrich nietzsche
❛ their whole nature fails to persuade ❜ ❛ they have never remained silence about any of their good deeds ❜ ❛ he always carries a biscuit for cerberus ❜ ❛ either we have no dreams or our dreams are interesting ❜ ❛ let those who have ears, hear ❜ ❛ before the effect one believes in different causes than one does afterward ❜ ❛ anyone with a very loud voice is almost incapable of thinking subtleties ❜ ❛ the purpose of punishment is to improve those who punish ❜ ❛ the sacrificial animal does not share the spectators’ ideas about sacrifice ❜ ❛ our eyes are also intended for hearing ❜ ❛ the mistrustful speak empathetically ❜ ❛ how can one constantly admire without constantly feeling contempt? ❜ ❛ is that not a blasphemy against your ideal? ❜ ❛ in applause there is always a kind of noise ❜ ❛ they are running away from people ❜ ❛ one hears only those questions for which one is able to find answers ❜ ❛ they know how to make things simpler than they are ❜ ❛ this is by all means a matter of taste, nothing more ❜ ❛ i’d sooner have people steal from me than be surrounded by scarecrows & hungry looks ❜ ❛ thoughts are the shadows of our feelings ❜ ❛ all voices sound different in solitude ❜ ❛ who has had the most convincing eloquence so far? ❜ ❛ i spoil the taste of their party for everyone ❜ ❛ some people need open enemies ❜ ❛ they are in a bad way ❜ ❛ we are always only in our own company ❜ ❛ in a moment they will be ready with a lie ❜ ❛ in the end one finds more than one might have wished ❜ ❛ why not be defeated some time too? ❜ ❛ all is lost if we fall ❜ ❛ you have no idea what you are living through ❜ ❛ to have a virtue one must really wish to have it in its most brutal form ❜ ❛ happiness is not nearly so contagious a disease ❜ ❛ even one’s thoughts cannot reproduce entirely in words ❜ ❛ there is no selflessness in my soul ❜ ❛ you are beyond all embarrassment ❜ ❛ i do not want to have people imitate my example ❜ ❛ no victor believes in chance ❜ ❛ what we do is never understood ❜ ❛ those who have greatness are cruel to their virtues ❜ ❛ with a great goal one is superior even to justice ❜ ❛ you shall become the person you are ❜ ❛ what do you love in others? ❜ ❛ i still live, i still think ❜ ❛ we were friends and have become estranged ❜ ❛ few people have faith in themselves ❜ ❛ there is yet another world to be discovered — and more than one ❜ ❛ at the very bottom of my soul i feel grateful to all my misery ❜ ❛ i have given a name to my pain ❜ ❛ one must learn to love ❜
pxlimpsest:
you can’t.
how dare you make a sanctuary feel sacrilegious?
the water bottle - still completely filled - is in hand when she faces the woman again, bag readily slung on a shoulder. a subtle warning, anxious hands rubbing the material of her skirt between lithe fingers, nails digging into the fabric. “here you go.” a step forward, just enough to leave the bottle on the pew closest to the other. there’s a tight smile on pale lips which she politely offers.
“i really can’t stay long.”
the truth.
lying is not her forte, has never been. but centuries have taught her to twist truths in a way that her pupils remain still, eye contact steady, when the words finally slip from between her teeth. “walk with me?” she says instead. “outside,” she continues, words then coming out in a sporadic manner, jumbled, much like her thoughts. “there’s food outside. i’ll pay.”
this, the woman’s, existence should count as blasphemy.
( aeri should be no different. )
there’s a refusal to acknowledge the existence of another creature much like she is. a creature that embraces the darkness within instead of trying to grasp whatever light is left in her heart. aeri doesn’t want to involve herself in a feat that’s evidently much too dangerous even for the likes of her. just the way the woman’s looking at her - as if she’s prey - is enough for aeri to wonder:
can vampires taste their own kind?
to be sure, she extends a hand in offering. her eyes see through the other, landing on the open church door instead. there’s an eerie breeze that enters, the hem of her skirt swaying in the process. “please,” she says. finally, their eyes meet. “come along.”
outside.
Can’t stay long. Why? Is it shame? Conscience? Or does the sacredness of the place sears into her? If so, then why is she here in the first place, donned in a garb like those of servants to this church as they call it, with a wooden crucifix as a pathetic excuse of a god, or a reminder of its presence despite the unknown. The hilarity is seen in the irony of this whole predicament, and it takes Lorraine a lot to swallow down the scoff that wanted to escape from her lips.
They’re quivering from thirst. Swift hands take the bottled water, letting the tasteless liquid run on her aching throat, and it does nothing to quench the urge inside her. Never has it, even if she has chugged half of its contents in one go. Lorraine looks at her, the palpitations throbbing against her sensitive ears and the thought of the woman’s blood running through her throat instead of the water is enough to entice her.
Enough that she sees no sense in dragging this longer anymore. Control is out of the question as her gums ache once more, eyes webbing its veins in crimson. There’s no food outside, but you will pay.
I’ll make you.
Suppressing has remained futile – it may be the effect of the serum injected, or of the loss of humanity and control that made it so. A witch’s herb has its own boundaries of its effectivity, and much like anything that is suppressed, it throttles back at you in full force. It does, in the way that she has craved for this kind of feed than the other, and especially this woman’s. The allure of its scent is beyond her own comprehension and she had lost interest in knowing – only to make the instigator of the experiment pay. Unfortunately, the woman has to become a sacrifice. Actually, anyone could.
She was just at the wrong place, at the wrong time – but Lorraine’s perfect time.
“But…” Another sliver of silence separates her words from her next, dark orbs seized by nothing but the prey in front of her and it is feigned pondering that she keeps a few seconds of stillness in furrowed brows and pained expression before a hand rises. The abrasions faded as easily as they have been inflicted but smears of clotted blood remains, smudging onto the other’s palms as she lays her hand over the other.
It started with a gentle graze, palm over palm, until thin fingers slowly curl and trap the smaller hand onto her grasp. And then tighter, and tighter. A deplorable face easily transforms into a wicked smile, shedding off the fabricated weakness to impose her sternness over the other.
“I already told you, right?” Her hands now grasp tighter onto her wrist, skin slowly paling in pressure.
It only takes a fraction of a second to break all mask, swiftly pushing the smaller woman against one of the pillars, a hand on her pulsating neck as her body towers over the other.
“I’m hungry.”
“Stay.”
No one goes out of this place alive.
( we’re both dead anyway )