✝ I was born sick ✝

Forget what you know about angels with filthy souls and demons who only craved a loving hand. {Independent rp blog for Abaddon, the Angel of Destruction. Unaffiliated with Biblical text/lore and the show "Supernatural.".} written by lauren

[x-exitiumarchives]

Major reconstruction/blog move in progress. Hope to see you all on the flip-side!

[catmonocles-blog]

Circe (Greek Mythology Series) (asked by p0is0n-ivy)

the sun drops luridly into the west; darkness has raised her arms to draw him down before the time, not waiting as of wont till he has come to her behind the sea. (x)

[aseaofquotes]

Rebecca Donovan, Barely Breathing

[izyurfimenipaflanyant]

[x-exitiumarchives]

Maelstrom Delights

[sifwarmaiden-blog]

    Let the music flow through me. Let me become one with it, allow it to give me peace. For peace and serenity are what a goddess of war needs. 

Sif paid the bartender for her drink and downed it in an instant. When the bartender asked her for another, she simply told him to make it two, then headed to the dance floor. Before she reached the bodies, however, she had already finished them both, tossing the cups behind her in jest. Midgardian beverages did nothing for her, but she enjoyed the taste anyway. 

Wading through the bodies to reach the mosh pit was like wading through a sea of sex and sweat, smoke and steam. She smiled as she inhaled the scent, the aroma of the nightlife ripe and ready for the picking. As she reached the pit, she began to feel the music, her hips swaying with ease and her eyes closing. It wasn’t until she felt her face being tilted that her eyes opened, 

    Well she is not either peace nor serenity, but she will do just nicely.

Sif let out a sultry giggle as she kissed the woman back and placed a hand on her hip, swaying to the music with her. As her breast was touched, she bit her lip and quirked a brow. this woman is phenomenal. 

Words could not describe her taste, nor could they describe her beauty and the feel of her body against that of the goddess. She moved her lips to the other’s ear and bit softly before whispering. “What is your name?”

[x-exitiumarchives]

The entire world was drowning in a shallow grave of their own making. The populace was full of mendacious desires and smeared souls but there was beauty, somewhere, in the simple touch of a shared embrace, prompted by not wanting to go home alone, of wanting to do anything to dispel bitterness.

Beauty, then, came from the sheer act of desperation, tipped with the poignancy that was human nature.

It was maddening to reach for something that could make this existence fulfilling and come up empty-handed, but if you happened to clasp a fleeting amount of warmth, it made the selfish act somehow worth it.

At least, that was part one of part one-thousand of her hard thought-out philosophies that she’d stored away in a journal somewhere once.

What mattered was a sudden halt in thoughts and in focusing all of her attention towards what was happening before her eyes. To ground herself in the present moment was something that was direly needed.

“I have so many here,” Ethel replied, her eyes never leaving her kissing partner’s. “Jewel, Babydoll, and sometimes, Michelle but for you,” she added, leaning in to press the edge of her mouth along the woman’s ear, “it’s Ethel.”

Knowing someone’s true name would hold a significant amount of power over them, or so some novel had told her once.

But in a night of liberation, there was nothing more to do than simply act and push away any and all thought of consequence.

“Come,” Ethel said, taking the woman’s soft hand in her own. “Let’s dance.”

And kiss more, if that was what the woman wanted, for she did just rob her.

[isxariot-deactivated20160803]

"Brother, huh?"

The barest hint of a quirk in the corners of his lips could be seen, one would mistake it simply as a wrinkle or stress line were they not in-tune with the human body. But no, it’s there.

Pride.

Despite his lazy façade, there was a shred of enjoyment. A spark of life that rarely found itself kindled beyond mere smouldering - the flow of alcohol would, in time, exacerbate this spark into flame, though likely no more than a flicker.

A candle’s worth of light for the man so reserved.

"Protector of the Dead and Embalming."

Anubis was not one of his favourite Egyptian deities though the display for Anubis was one of his favourites, if only for the quality of work he’d demanded in a recreation of Anubis’ head - a headpiece to be worn, in fact.

"Got many siblings?"

[x-exitiumarchives]

There were not many people who could make her this uncomfortable and most of them were either fictional, Nordic musicians, and some audio-book voices.

She knew nothing about him but a name and a handful of facts and still there was that subtle tug that made her dig her nails into her leg whenever he breathed more than a handful of words. Her calves trembled and she felt as if she wore circumstantial goggles for this man, strictly due to the beautiful nature of his voice.

Don’t stop, her skin pleaded. Don’t stop talking.

“No,” she replied. “Just Mikey. So you can imagine how excited he got about Anubis. He even checked out books and everything.”

This wasn’t about bolstering this man’s pride more so that it was a gathering of truth to reveal to someone who was obviously a man of few words and a lot of cigarettes how he had impacted someone, somewhere.

That loss of genuine human contact was hard to come by these days and she was no saint but when she could be, she’d tell the honest-to-God truth.

“I always thought of the Egyptians as being very radical. There’s the goddess who weighs your heart and something about the worship of cats, but that’s about all I know.”

She would be happy to let Jonathan go on about history, but only if he wanted.

[xpromisestokeep-blog]

Oh. Oh. It was like her blood had been replaced with lava. It sang through her veins heatedly at the first tentative touch of tongues and caused a low whimper to break free of the back of her throat. It was a strangled and somewhat surprised noise, one that made her fingers twitch before winding themselves more securely in her partner's hair. 

The thought I don’t want to remember anything but how this feels passed lazily through her head like driftwood caught in the tide. 

She’d kissed people before. But never because it felt good, or she liked it. Doing as she pleased was a whole different animal. 

It was only the need to breathe that forced her parting. Ignifer — not Subject Delta just Ignifer — pulled a little away, still close enough for their foreheads to touch. 

That, and the fact that she had to remember. That this was dangerous. That this wasn’t allowed.

"Thank you," she said, voice low and more emotional that it had been in a long while. "Thank you but I have to stop."

[x-exitiumarchives]

Sometimes, people did not dare to touch her. She was not arrogant for there was an absence of genuine intent in the world these days, and among the few, there were those who sought to use beautiful and intriguing people for their own purposes.

She was one of those people, for everyone was using someone, everyone was lying about something, and someone, somewhere, was hiding a secret that would never be exposed due to the nature of their hearts.

That was why the sudden p u s h of fingers through her hair made her lips purse and her heavy heart sunk further into her bones, prompted forward only by the thought of desire.

If this beautiful woman wanted sex, then she would give it to her. If she wanted to leave now, then she would let her leave.

It was as simple -- as shallow -- as that in this achingly human world.

When the woman pulled away, she found herself licking her lips and nodding, her stomach heaving as the warmth of the kiss was met by the loss of heat from her partner.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Ethel replied, batting her eyes a few times to dismiss the gloss of arousal from her gaze. “We don’t have to go any further; hell, you don’t even have to tell me your name. This is fine.”

Fine. Fine. Fine. It was all fine.

Her partner’s voice trembled with emotion and she wondered if hers had done the same, but she no longer knew what her voice sounded like to her own ears.

“Though, if you’re ever in the neighborhood again, don’t be a stranger,” she breathed onto her kissing partner’s skin, her hands sliding into something of a half-pat and half-massage on the woman’s back.

[raiisedinthewiilderness]

Atlanta was the cunning kind, black cat smiles and wicked eyes hidden behind a sweeter-than-candy demeanor. Trust came easily thrust upon her, she looked the type to be no less than kindly. No less than an easy pushover. Tiny, simple, weak. What they didn’t know was that she was everything but.

A heavily boot clad foot was pressed into the concrete, the other pressed against the wall she leaned against. Talon nails were tucked into her jacket pocket, hidden form the brisk coldness of the night. The hunter’s dark hair was coiled back into a tight ponytail, leaving her face bare to the cold, skin tinting as blood rushed to the surface with the desperate need to warm her.

A smile came to her lips at the other woman’s words and delicately she shook her head, putting on the coy demeanor; innocent. "No, that’s fine. I’m merely enjoying the cool and the quiet." she hummed with a sugary smile. "Sounds like y’all are having a nice time in there? So what dragged you out here?"

[x-exitiumarchives]

Once, she’d gotten a group of people inside and when she returned the following Friday, they had all reserved a bottle of wine for her. It was cheap, it tasted like sour grapes and cat piss, but it worked just the same and it didn’t keep her from drinking the liquor.

Favors were unexpected in the midnight world.

The woman’s words registered but she took a moment to consider them. Why was it that she’d left? Was it really time to go? Or was she back to her old stupid habit of looking for something that did not want to be found that was acting up again?

She believed in nothing but she so desperately wanted to find something that was more than some drunk, or a couple that was fooling around by the garbage cans.

And so, Ethel kept her ears and eyes open, always, on the off-chance that old lady who lived across the street from her suddenly sprouted a tail or the neighborhood kids’ eyes flashed red suddenly on a moonless night.

It was so stupid and she was so pathetic, but she wished there were more than mortals, more than mortality, among these darkened streets.

“Oh, you know, looking for monsters, wanting fresh air, the usual,” she replied, promptly before bursting into a small peal of laughter.

“Not really. I was trying to decide if I wanted to go back in or home.”

The deepest conversations happened late at night between perfect strangers. It was how she’d gotten to know a few stragglers over waffles and they’d compared world-views, philosophies and some myths.

“What about you? Lookin’ for monsters too?”

[x-exitiumarchives]

His mouth tasted like drenched apathy and she understood the inherent indifference in his eyes when she shed her clothing. His hands roamed from her collarbone to her breasts and as he took ahold of the both of them, she understood human nature better than she ever had before.

It was not in love that they came to one another, nor hatred, but for some strange in-between that made them digest limbo as they made love, time and time again that summer.

They’d been drunk the first time and they’d stumbled into a seated position in her kitchen and they met in disharmony, smashing into one another like colliding comets.

There was no heaven in one another’s embrace, nor hell, but some discordance that was provoked by some unmet desire from the beginning of their lives.

They knew nothing but one another’s names and some jumbled pieces of conversation, but before they understood every crevice of one another’s bodies, they found an appetite that only the two of them could quench for one another.

It was so arrogant but perfect: they were available and so, they used one another to slake desires.

Jonathan was that woman who she’d loved for a few months before she danced out of her life and she was one-thousand people to him as their bodies joined and re-joined.

Neither were simply Jonathan or Ethel but the world entire.

We are more than just an assemblage of parts, someone had once said.

She didn’t believe them, for that’s precisely what they were to one another and she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Neither expected to love one another. Neither expected to hate one another.

All they expected was the taste of lipstick and nicotine and musky rooms full of hours, days, weeks of undulation.

[x-exitiumarchives]

I just saw Divergent for the best time and holy shit, that was amazing! And now, for writing and building my "other muses" page, finally!

[nereiids]

A VIBRATION || listen

amongst the stars, we glow.

[ph.] // [insp.]

[ohproserpine-deactivated2015053]

Makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.

Richard Siken, excerpt of Saying Your Names (via tsarkoshei)

[medsua-deactivated20141125]

she’s got hooded smiles in her pocket, and a voice like ammunition. you know she has you; with her pretty legs and clever eyes. she’s the devil, but the goddess you pray to. she’s your dark lover, the one that kisses a man’s throat as easy as slitting it. she knocks against your skull, and wears the cruel bones for a crown. because she’s the queen and you adore her.

lay your heart by her feet | (c.a)

[aseaofquotes]

— James Baldwin

[hush-syrup]

The heart is a shovel leaning against a house somewhereamong the other forgotten tools.The heart, it’s always digging up old ground,always wanting to give things a decent burial.But so much stays fugitive,inside,where it can’t be reached.

From Intermittent Rain by Roo Borson (via hush-syrup)

[iliacl]

i. stand proud at the temples. they will call your name. ii. your garden is beautiful. there is rosemary and rue and rhododendrons. it never rains. somewhere between the bushels and the sky you can taste the rot. iii. you didnt know you could play, but the chords burn sweet on your finger tips. the strings are cool and soft. the notes are psalms barely hidden. iv. heaven is far, and pricked by thorns. you can smell the roses from here. v. i am half sick of shadows, cried the lady of shallot, but your mouth is too filled with water to sing.

— [ enter ophelia, playing the lute ] a.g. (via mythaelogy)

[impressionistes]

Lover was carved of white marble, Sitting atop the staircase by himself His fingertips were embers His mouth is a razor, beaded red With love. Beauty was cruel to him. Made chips of diamonds his eyes, And cut his jaws with glass, He stitched loneliness into your bones And punched holes in your paper heart, He spread terror where he walked And blew kisses that burned like sparks

KelleyAnn Elyse, Falling in Love at Museums (via mythaelogy)