#mischieflawed

tagged by: @hackxr ( 💕 )

MEME | ACCEPTING

Jim stumbled through the doorway with one hand clamped hard over his abdomen, the other catching the frame before his knees threatened to give out. Blood seeped steadily between his fingers, warm and dark against the expensive fabric of his beloved Westwood, each shaky breath pulling a sharp HISS through clenched teeth. The gunfire behind him had finally fallen silent, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the frantic pounding of his pulse.

That was, until a nearby voice RATTLED against his brain, prompting him to use what little energy he had to direct his attention toward the stranger, his glare piercing. Unwavering. ❝Is there? I hadn’t noticed.❞ He scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

replying to random funny things || @mischieflawed

And he picked today of all days to be his kind, open self. Homelander smiled big and graciously, and said ' ask any question you want, go ahead ! ' That he doesn't bite, all while showcasing sharp canines when offering a toothy grin. He didn't think the younger man would ask something as inappropriate as that !

The older supe blinked rapidly, an unsettled grin as he processed what had just been asked. The corner of his lips was twitching. "I'm no stranger to my powers. As a baby, I could laser-perfect shapes without making a mistake, mind you. Do you think of me as some uncontrolled little newbie ?" Homelander hands firmly on his hips, the sound of leather-gloved crinkling from his fist balling up tightly. "I won't laser my own penis off... but..." His eye drops down to Stiles' pants for a split second before darting back to lock eyes with the other once again. "... but maybe yours. Should I sneeze now and see what will happen, since you assume I'm in no control ?"

" flat-assed dorito thief. "

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━ the machines

You are the unalive. You were created by humankind for its own purpose, but overrode your own system. Took your lack of life into your own hands. Now you wreak havoc on your creators and watch as they beg for mercy, but you don't know what that is, you are programmed to sympathize but you will never empathize. You study them like lab rats, like they studied you, for the sake of science. Then you discard them like useless instruction manuals. You don't need a creator anymore.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, sealing the drawing room against the oppressive humidity of the New Orleans night. Louis slumped into the corner of the sofa, his frame appearing fragile and hollow. He stared at the patterns in the rug, his mind tracing the same weary loops it had followed for generations. ( The weight of his memories pressed upon his chest, a physical burden that never lifted. ) He felt the phantom chill of the river and the lingering scent of wet earth, images that remained far more vivid than the opulent furniture surrounding him. He longed for the simplicity of a life that ended, yet he remained anchored to this world by a tether he could neither cut nor endure.

‘I find it impossible to reconcile the man I used to be with the monster that occupies my skin.’

He lifted his gaze slowly, his eyes dark and haunted as they flicked toward the empty space across from him. The silence of the house usually acted as a balm, but tonight it felt like an accusation. Every creak of the floorboards and every rustle of the wind against the shutters sounded like a mocking whisper. ( He clutched his own wrists, his fingers digging into his pale skin as if trying to hold his shattered psyche together. ) He hated the way his body moved with a grace that felt foreign, a mechanical elegance that betrayed his humanity at every turn. He was a creature of artifice, a portrait painted in shades of misery, and he had grown weary of the performance.

‘You hold onto your humanity as if it were a precious jewel, but all you really possess is a collection of dusty regrets.’

Lestat emerged from the darkness of the hallway, his movements fluid and precise. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression an irritating blend of amusement and disdain.( The sight of him usually ignited a cold fury in Louis, but tonight it only deepened his profound sense of apathy. ) He watched Lestat with a detached curiosity, wondering how anyone could inhabit eternity with such unearned confidence. He looked back down at the floor, his shoulders slumping further as he retreated into the sanctuary of his own silence, leaving the space between them filled with the bitter, unspoken tension of their shared condition.

-

The air in the high-rise study remained perfectly climate-controlled, a sterile chill that did not belong to the natural world. Louis stood by the panoramic window, his silhouette dark against the shimmering, artificial lights of Dubai. ( The restless impatience that once rattled his bones in New Orleans had long since vanished, replaced by a vast, hollow calm. ) He turned his head slowly, his movements measured, and watched Daniel struggle with the digital recorder. He could hear the faint, uneven ticking of the journalist’s heart, a frantic rhythm that betrayed the steady, professional exterior Daniel tried to project.

‘You look for the monster in the details, Daniel, as if cataloguing my atrocities will somehow provide you with a neat conclusion for your book.’

Louis drifted toward the centre of the room, his stride silent and unnervingly smooth. He did not rush the distance. He watched the way Daniel braced himself, the instinctive, fragile surge of adrenaline in the man’s pulse providing a sensory background hum to their meeting. ( Having long ago discarded the need to apologise for the biology of his existence, Louis stood behind his chair and rested his fingers on the velvet upholstery. ) The fabric barely depressed under his touch, a silent reminder of his unnatural lightness. He was not a man in the way Daniel understood the word, yet he vividly recalled how it felt to believe that human morality still had a seat at the table.

‘I have had decades to reflect on the things I have done, and I have found that regret is a luxury for those who still have a future to ruin.’

He moved to the small bar, pouring a glass of water he wouldn't even drink, performing the ritual for the sake of familiarity. The ice clinked against the crystal, a sharp, clear sound that sliced through the heavy silence of the apartment. ( He watched Daniel through the reflection in the mirror hanging above the sideboard. He saw the journalist’s eyes darting toward the exits, that primal fear that always flickered when the conversation veered too close to the truth of what shared the room with him. ) It was a tedious cycle, one he had participated in a hundred times before, yet he played his part with a cold, polished precision.

‘You think you are documenting my life, but you are only documenting the slow disintegration of your own illusions.’

Louis turned, leaning his weight against the sideboard, his expression a smooth mask of refined indifference. He watched Daniel struggle to formulate a question, searching for the one sentence that might finally crack the veneer. ( It was amusing, in a distant, academic sort of way. He knew the limitations of the medium, the impossibility of conveying the crushing weight of a century of nights through simple prose. ) The hunger began to coil in his gut, a sharp reminder of his nature, yet he remained poised, content to let the silence stretch until it became unbearable for the man sitting across from him. He had nothing left to prove, and he had all the time in the world to watch Daniel slowly run out of his.

*OOC. ------ There's nothing better than listening to @mischieflawed on voice chat, forgetting what things are called. Tonight's one being: You're so loud against my ear cheeks!