sentences from amrit brar’s shitty horoscopes series. you may adjust as needed.

BOOK I: SUCH TERRIBLE THINGS

❛ holy fucking shit. just. holy shit. what the fuck. ❜

❛ nobody really knows the nuances of what you get up to in your spare time, and honestly they’re probably better off that way. ❜

❛ busy yourself with the affairs of the living, for once.. ❜

❛ the answer is no. ❜

❛ ohhh boy. you. fuck you. yes, you specifically. ❜

❛ delete your search history. ❜

❛ please practice blinking as others can be unsettled by your inhuman ability to maintain an unbreakable stare during casual conversation. ❜

❛ what did you ever do to deserve this? in all probability, something terrible. ❜

❛ you are a crayon. get out of the toolbox. ❜

❛ none will love the butcher. don’t take it too personally. ❜

❛ some relationships, like warts, can be handled with the tactful application of liquid nitrogen. ❜

❛ take a long shower. wash your hair. wash the clothes you were wearing. wash the memories from your mind and body. ❜

BOOK II: ANGER

❛ frostbite is considerably difficult to heal from. ❜

❛ there is poetry in brutal efficiency. ❜

❛ HELLFIRE HELLFIRE HELLIRE. ❜

❛ people would take your raging far more seriously if you weren’t crying the entire time. ❜

❛ what made you so vindictive? ❜

❛ some bodies may be temples, but all are ruins at your feet. ❜

❛ your contempt will always taste like grief. ❜

❛ in the process your body is subsumed piece by piece. ❜

❛ you are the bone-deep fury of an abscessed tooth. ❜

❛ you are notorious for rubbing salt in the wound. cheap vodka in the wound. battery acid in the wound! ❜

❛ vehicular arson is not the answer. ❜

❛ hate is a verb. ❜

BOOK III: PETTY EXISTENTIAL CRISES

❛ the sooner you accept your impending expiration, the sooner you can stop trying to swallow the sun. ❜

❛ embrace the inevitable. snuggle with the inevitable. take the inevitable out to a nice, candle-lit dinner. ❜

❛ there are forces outside of your control. most of them don’t care for you. ❜

❛ when it all goes to hell just remember it’s what’s inside that counts (though many would not find you very appetizing). ❜

❛ not all things have significance, which is scary. the things you overlooked tend to have the most, which is scarier. ❜

❛ your teeth are only porcelain, your ribcage simply glass. like all delicate things, they can know no permanence. ❜

❛ in time you’ll learn that “just” and “right” only mean the same thing when they’re coming from very specific people. please don’t cry. ❜

❛ you may not want to change, but the world is unforgiving and will do it for you anyway. ❜

❛ sometimes we put our hearts in the wrong places (what the fuck is it going between your teeth). ❜

❛ nothing can stay. ❜

❛ you can put all the flowers in your mouth that you fucking want, but dying is dying and rot is rot. ❜

❛ loneliness is the fracture that never heals quite right. ❜

BOOK IV: RESOLUTIONS

❛ lay them to rest. ❜

❛ they are there, hovering nervously. you will watch the skies. you will wait. ❜

❛ eat the other. ❜

❛ there will be scrapes and sutures: viciousness and victory. ❜

❛ no loose ends. ❜

❛ a cacophony of awe and joy and terror. ❜

❛ an eye for an eye. a tooth for a tooth. a knife for the ribs. ❜

❛ you will not be swayed by the morally destitute. ❜

❛ decay will feed the bloom. ❜

❛ devour death like crows, for all the feathers between your teeth. ❜

❛ twisting/screaming/uncompromising. every inch. every iota. ❜

❛ once, answers were found in mouths, bathtubs, and bottles. this time around, get inventive. ❜

BOOK VI: AFTER THE FALL

❛ lies you have told yourself: your humanity is the largest burden you will bear. ❜

❛ decorating your meltdowns is all well and good, but a trainwreck is a trainwreck and it might be time to get a paramedic. ❜

❛ they tell you “there i nothing to fear but fear itself,” but you have seen yourself in the mirror. ❜

❛ you may have been gutted but you mouth is soft, your tongue is silver, and your teeth are gemstones cut to size. ❜

❛ it’s less like biting off more than you can chew, and more like dislocating your jaw. ❜

❛ even spectres can tire. ❜

❛ seeing yourself for who you really are would be great if you knew where to start looking. ❜

❛ it pays to kill with kindness when you’re your own worst enemy. ❜

❛ you’re only armed to the teeth because you’re more brittle than you’d care to admit. ❜

❛ your ego cannot afford cremation or caskets. ❜

❛ frequent tastes of your own medicine can get poisonous real quick. ❜

❛ self reflection is important! whether you like what you see is up for debate. whether it can be contained in a dark basement is another matter entirely. ❜

BOOK VII: MAGICK

❛ you are a quiet god, and your hunger is cavernous. ❜

❛ at times your body is simply a prison laid in gold. ❜

❛ death, dust, party, repeat. ❜

❛ devour the monsters and you can call any place home. ❜

❛ you’re only as lucky as your expectations are low. ❜

❛ worse than having too many secrets is having no secrets at all. ❜

❛ if seeing is believing you might be in some trouble. ❜

❛ suspend belief. expel fear. throw reason into a frigid cell, never to be seen again. ❜

❛ killing the monsters is the easy bit. it’s finding them that’s the hard part. ❜

❛ there exists a tipping point between gods and monsters. ❜

❛ a mouthful of ashes bested by a life of smoke and mirrors. ❜

@alnaari​:  “ because i’m a masochist ”

“You can’t let me die.” Axel laughs under his breath, only wincing when he flexes his fingers around the bandage. “Who else’ll keep crime off the streets and look this good while doing it?” 

;; i wanna follow more blogs (esp fandomless oc’s!)

IND. PRI. FANDOMLESS CRIMINAL OC - POISONER + PHARMACIST + STRAIGHT UP BITCH

There’s a moment before every kiss—where it feels like the world is about to end. It’s not the rise of the wave of a tsunami—it’s the moment where you look down at the rain-soaked beach and see no water at all. Anxious anticipation, unsatiable curiosity. Do you follow the ocean? Step after step, mile after mile, searching for your lost breath just to drown in it when the wave finally falls? It’s too tall to see, and too far away—but it’ll glide into a crash that will almost certainly take your life, body and soul. There’s a voice inside you, screaming, to run the other direction. To look away from their eyes—in every shade of brown and black and blue and green and gold—and step back and think clearly, give an answer to the question they’ve silently been asking you this whole time that makes sense.

【-⊰☼⊱-】

A glow of divinity, a halo around her form outshining her usual ominous disposition for only a moment as her gaze falters, as her expression shows a hint of softening. Upon him. He found an ounce of pride in that. How an old title could bring her to her knees. 

A shame the same didn’t stand for him.

But her lips. Her. Something else entirely. She holds him in a gentle grip, fingers laced behind his head to tug possessive, almost, yet she teases with a ghost of her chilling tone on his lips. But a musical laugh. A paradoxical angel. How he yearned for her.

But his arms stay at his side, still. 

“I did.” He answers. No hidden riddles, because he especially liked hearing that he had a similar affect on her, too. “Do I have to be here for a favour?”

“Can’t I just…want to see you?” Beings like him don’t deserve to want anything. Spoken softer, but my does he have incredible self-control as he remains stone-still. Though he sees a sadness in her eyes…of wanting, of remembering. Something that was displaced inside him years ago. Inside her, too. It makes him want to embrace her. But he doesn’t. 

Alright, he does lean his head into hers. Just a little. 

“Or will I be in debt for that, too?”

⋞ ╰ ⚔ ╮ ≽ 

Ah, yes, standing here and holding onto the redhead ( her touch so careful with his presence as if he should b r e a k ) brings about ghosts to dance in the ruins of her memories. And with him so close, so painfully real to her, she is well aware those fleeting images are leaking into him just as simply as her internal dialogue; look at us… Please… I kept my promise, Lea, now remember yours —

{ But you did not keep your word, O’Knight, did you? }

Axel’s words break the visions, and with his replies, their old lives danced once again out of mind. Verona’s expression shifted again, not simply for his tone, but also due to the questions. This was proving to be most unlike their normal encounters. And lo’, somewhere deep in her chest a blade run itself deeper into her incorrigible heart.

Strange when she thought herself BEYOND reach; so very highly nested and perched on a pedestal of ichor and ivory. When she ASSUMED the Blackened One had all but bled every sense of humanity from her.

Impossible, it seems. No amount of infernal cruelty could —

The thought rips itself to shreds as soon as it begins; it does not matter… It will NEVER matter.

The Warmonger slowly draws away from him, though only slightly. Her hands move to sit against his face, her thumbs – the hints of her claws – brushing under his eyes and along the curve of his cheeks. There is a piece of her that is quick to answer, ‘n o’. Instead, she gently pulls him towards her, resting her forehead against his own. And there it is, Axel has coaxed from her a genuine and ever-rarer smile ( though faint ).

Out draw her claws, pointed and razor sharp, gentle though almost dancing in a tease as they traced over the skinny marred flesh, how sweet, saccharine. 

They were not benign beings. 

His eyes had not once shifted from her lips, studying the curves, maybe, the rose, but he does see how they quirk, even the smallest bit. It makes something in him churn. Something pleasant, almost. Something painful, at most. It was not an expression he often saw on her. It was reserved for him, he liked to think. 

And so his lips mirror, and the hands at his sides relents---well, only one, settled like a feather far gentle than he knew upon her hip. He could allow himself this. They could allow themselves this. 

“You could keep me here.” He says. “I know you can. But you don’t.” The hand on her hip dares to reach up, dares to trace a finger, just the tip, along the cut of her jaw. A flame barely sparks beneath. She could if she so wanted. She would, had she no humanity, had it not been wrung dry from the expanse of her wings, from the sin in her skin. Had she not believed Axel would return, as he always, always did. No matter how he tried not to.

There was a soft spot in her for him. This he knew. He tried to not take advantage of it, he told himself, for he was just the same as her.