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people really think viscera isn't romantic. you don’t listen to your lover's heartbeat? try to hear the blood rushing through their veins? feel the beating of their pulse points against your lips when you kiss them? hearing the growl of their stomach? the rise and fall of their chest as they breathe? a room so quiet you can hear each time they blink? lame as hell. couldn't be me.

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bitches hate me for my earnest whimsy and my pathological degree of avoidant behavior

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Hellraiser 2022 Costumes Pt.2

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Maybe if I was prettier. Or maybe if I was more horrifying actually

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God and I have a complicated relationship

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— mimi evangeline, excerpt from deus mortis

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Ivan Bunin. Selected Works. - Book Graphics

Illustrator Gennady Novozhilov, 1988.

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this turned out way too bright and overall not as intended 8( but no time to change everything all over again

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go watch puparia you fools

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if ur wondering what the fuck is wrong with me imagine how i feel

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Morning

He cracks open an eye and sighs at the blurry figure that greets him.

"What are you doing?"

There's a puff of air that hits his chest and the thing adjusts, head raising from where it rested between his ribs.

"Waiting."

Vol's features became clearer as he inched up closer, their noses almost touching. His dark eyes appeared black rather than their usual warm brown.

"For what?"

"You to wake up."

V's fingers came up to gently rest on either side of Roman's face. He hasn't shaved in a while, so there was a good amount of stubble there, and usually earned a complaint from Vol about it, but instead, he was touching freely, eyes roving around. Roman raised slightly, more awareness lighting his green hues.

"Didn't you sleep?"

The man on him hummed, gangly limbs tightening around Roman. It was such a nonresponse that Roman resisted rolling his eyes at him. He opted to wrap his arms around the thin needy thing on him, pressing their lips together. He smiles into the next kiss when Vold melts on him. Roman liked this best when it was just the two of them. His working hours were spent away from V more and more, and he hated it just as much as V held it over him with pointed glares and stony silence. He thought he'd be sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms when he came home late three nights in a row. Roman chose to believe he had shown mercy because Vol knew that Roman felt the same way each moment they weren't together. They had to share the same frustration because of the way they were coming together now, lazily kissing and holding each other like they had all the time in the world to do so.

They could if they wanted to. Like they had back then when they first started trading kisses instead of death threats. It had been exciting then, and still would be, but also scary. But running from everything and everyone made his stomach twist uncomfortably, partly from guilt and partly from a hidden part of himself that wanted nothing more than to lock Vol away so that only he could look at him. So that they could just look at each other, the rest of the world be damned.

"What are you thinking about?" Vold pauses to ask him, dark eyes half-lidded as he watches Roman.

Roman thinks about telling him, but he's sure the other already knows. He wouldn't have even asked the question if he didn't. He just wanted to hear Roman say it so he could try to convince him to go all the way down that rabbit hole. Roman smiles at him.

"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you are." He says, tucking a loose curl behind V's ear.

"Ah, a lousy kisser and a liar." Vol mused, setting his chin in his palm.

Roman winced at the sharp elbow grinding into his sternum.

"Lousy kisser? Don't even with that."

"I see no evidence to contradict me."

Roman raised an eyebrow at him. Vol gave him a blank stare in return, but his excitement wasn't as easy for his body to hide when Roman smirked, twisting them around so that Vol was underneath him, legs already settling over his back. How dare he be so easily hard to please?

#my writing #quick thing #don't mind me posting a shit ton I just realized how empty this blog is so im filling it with old crap lol #obviously based on a 1x1 rp with a friend

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Grudge

"Have you lost your way, ex-prince?"

Dimas was unmoving for a moment, yet no astonishment was hanging on his back. He turned around, his eyes red and dark in outright grief and fury. He glared at Halvar fiercely with the blazes of his gaze, telling him how he had been deliberately waiting for the warrior to cross the Rift for this confrontation. 

"Did you think that you will be able to find a trace of her here?" Halvar said, his ears ringing in the surge of his anger. In his provocation, it wasn't too clear to himself why the thought of Dimas's search for a vestige of his sister's trail was making his blood boil and rush in his veins. "Or are you here to shed tears for the sister that you could not protect?"

No answer came from Dimas's lips. His brown and red eyes spelled venom in reply. Promptly, he unsheathed his sword and charged with the might of a tiger and the rage of a war dragon. Halvar was nimble to wield his cruel blade, meeting the heavy attack with a vibration of metals that sang agony and contempt. In the many moons that bled between their last meeting, Dimas had rapidly grown to stand his ground in this fiery and wave-driven clash. His feet remained in the sand, pivoting and sliding in the right twists and angles and pressure as Halvar rained down the arm-rattling slashes and swings and cuts in rising intensity, lower and harder and faster in the power that craved the streak of blood to grace the weapon's edges and points. Dimas would swiftly push and turn, veins pronounced in his temples, growls unleashed from his tense mouth. His mess of choppily cut brown hair danced in the air as he maneuvered his body like a lion, aiming for the kill. He didn't let up a pause or delay, not even when Halvar was incessantly striking left and right, not even in the swishes that blinked in speed and struck like lightning.

"You've improved, boy," Halvar taunted as he stepped to the side, evading a swing that drew a sharp line on gray sand. He elbowed Dimas's back, pushing him to the reach of shallow waters, foot crushing at his arm, pressed with all his weight. Halvar would pin him down, and cut through that flesh; and soon, he could rid of that hand that held the great blade. "Although still not remarkable."

But Dimas furiously pushed himself back, knocking against the head and the shoulder of his once friend. He slipped away, took a solid two-handed hold back to his sword, and led the series of ceaseless attacks again, driving and shoving his opponent back up at the thread of rocks behind him. Halvar snapped at this. In a flash, he'd snatched up his dagger from his belt and used his other hand to swipe it against Dimas's arm. And with that, he got the other male sliced and groaning. Red dusted the seaside wind.

Halvar smirked at the first spill of blood. Dimas grimaced in pain, but he was quick to retaliate with an approach of his own using his speed. With the force of his foot, he tipped the warlord's balance and took advantage of the unsteadiness that followed by hacking his blade toward him. In the same breath, the dagger flew from the warlord's clutch, and Dimas swiftly kicked with the sand to hurl it away from them. Even so, Halvar still had his sword and he raised it over his face, pushing up at the metal upon him, their clash shaking in their midst. The tension held and trembled as their hands and arms levied for the greater force till one was overpowered. Both were fighting with their bodies, and intent to slay by emotions. 

"You will pay," Dimas promised in the harsh breaths of his nose and mouth. "For what you did to Nimue, you will pay."

A mere second past and Dimas crashed their heads together, rattling Halvar's core. In his moment of disorientation, the prince moved to slice across his stomach with his blade, amber eyes alight with madness and victory. Halvar allowed his body to fall back onto the wet sand, avoiding the sure swing that promised to open his skin and allow his lifeblood to paint the shore. Furious, Dimas continued, righting himself and aiming high with both hands placed at the hilt of his blade, ready once again to plunge deep into the cause of his immeasurable grief. 

Swiping with his left leg, Halvar sent Dimas crashing down to the side, his cry of outrage echoed in the sea birds as they flew past. His sword was lost in his fall as he attempted to catch himself. Both were on each other the next moment, grabbing and pulling for a place above to gain any high ground. In the end, Dimas's shadow was over Halvar after a particularly well-placed fist against the taller's jaw. The warlord's ears were buzzing with each following blow, but Dimas's voice remained unadulterated to his consciousness and it became daggers with each spitting word. 

"Dead or alive, it will not be enough! I will never forgive you for taking my beloved sister from me; for taking the blood I dearly loved; for murdering the precious sibling I have cared for all of my life!"

Halvar's efforts to free himself were quickly lacking in strength, and deep regret and sorrow suddenly coursed through his throat. He would perish like this, he thought with each devasting hit against his face. Dimas's anger had been a dormant storm throughout their youth and was at last free to wreck and destroy in the absence of his sister's calming hand. Then the truth of his greatest sin came to surface in his mind. Nimue, hidden away past the Rift in the meadows of Fairfield, resting among the wildflowers as the breeze rustled her long hair. She'd be waiting for him, now. In their secret place, away from Goldlands and the petty war driven by resentment from two generations before Halvar's own. Enough with this bother, he decided, sliding a free hand to the knife tucked under his armored vest, gripping it tightly, readying to ram it into Dimas's heaving side, praying Nimue would forgive him for once again committing a trespass against her. 

#my writing #practice #based on an old rp with friends