#miidnight speaks

[miidnightzone]

there's an interview clip playing on tv of kevin in france for an event. the interviewer asks kevin to speak in french for his supporters there, and he does, smiling through a little mispronounciation. like a familiar old ache, the correction slips off jean's tongue in a murmur. only his empty room hears him.

[samuhelll]

@miidnighters asked: [ feed ] sender offers a forkful spoonful of food out to receiver, helping them eat prompts for comfortable intimacy (accepting)

The television warbles. Sam has put on an overplayed copy of The Maltese Falcon, the lights off because he insists it feels like the theater, snug on the couch. There’s beer bottles. The smell of popcorn. Barty's ankles crossed over the table, Sam's crossed over Barty's shin.

“What is that?” Polhaus asks, the audio crackling.

On screen, Spade turns the black bird in his hand. He opens his mouth, and—

“The stuff dreams are made of...” Sam murmurs, entranced. 

On the dot. Not a second too soon, too late. He stops bringing the beer to his lips, the words croaky. “Rocky Road me?” Sam side-glances, then, almost apologetic. “I'd do it myself, but-” 

His mouth slants. He has a beer in one hand, the other arm slung around the back of the couch- Barty. And Barty might crack a grin. Make a jab. Really got your hands full, huh? But he scoops at ice cream anyway, which Sam is happy to accept. 

Chocolate and Miller Lite, the scene fading to an orchestral score. 

Sam looks at Barty, and not the movie.

[recitedemise]

Gale looks to him, the not-quite seeing sway of his eyes. His armillary twinkles, dusting Flynn in patterns of the not-far cosmos. In that way it's wont to, it paints him in wonder.

And what a word, Gale knows, that he himself wears.

"Of course. An introductory course is a stone's throw away from one of my seminars—should you first span the distance to our next nearest star cluster." Hilarious, doctor. "Still, for every marrying of fields, I argue there must first be the courage to dream to do so. You might require some sharpening of your skills in spellcraft, but I believe the thrill of achieving will be all the sweeter for it." After all, this young man, if nothing else, boasts a most spectacular tenacity. Gale looks over, but the barest of twenty summers etched plain upon him. There, he sees what he believes is but a glimmer of himself: that is, tremendous zeal, upending passion, and a thirst to know. With what sings like empathy, Gale nods his head. In but a wag of his finger, the Weave spills from nowhere, and in the quiet of office sings a titillating hum. "Humor me for a moment," he begins, all magic feeling suddenly like a second skin. It simmers in their bones, pulsing and clamoring in his throat like lightning. It flavors of petrichor and the tizzying of deluge as Gale, gaze boring, channels the Weave. "I may be amenable to tutoring you," he thinks, the image of phantasmical things taking shape. "Gods know I'm whittling away my nights here often enough already. Though, if I'm to do this, I'd rather it wasn't but a passing fancy. Now, close your eyes for me--and imagine with daring."

There, right in the seat of Flynn's mind, there bursts the shimmering image of astral planes. There's swirling magentas and swaths of skies that shimmer like silk. Gale projects it to him, and the world goes mystic. "To be shown those very doors of limitless possibility requires a mind brave enough to swing it open."

Not for the first time, Flynn wished he could see more than blurry shapes in anything but pitch darkness. He can hear the professor moving around, the clink of the spoon, the quiet ticking of the gears in the globe as they reflect the ever-changing motions of the stars.

He does feel a little better when Professor Dekarios insinuates that there are aspects of the weave that even he doesn't understand (though, if the Professor doesn't know, how is little struggling Flynn supposed to?). The tea is slid closer, and Flynn slides cautious fingers out, locating the cup by touch before taking a tentative sip.

"That's what I think. There are several spells that could benefit animal and creature handling, but no one else seems to be connecting the two things." A shoulder rises, drops. "I've definitely learnt easier things. I took an introductory class to the Weave a couple of years ago and got through that okay, so I thought I'd be all right for your class-" did he? Or did he just want to sit and listen to the knowledge the Professor had to offer. "-but I think there's too big of a gap in my skill. Which like, on the whole I'm not worried about. My degree doesn't rely on this grade. But I still want to be good at it." He hopes the elder understands that it's not that he doesn't care about his grades overall, but that's not why he sits in that lecture hall week in, week out. "I was wondering if you had any recommendations for tutoring, maybe, or some other way that might help be better understand the concepts you're teaching, even if I can't always cast them?"

[fairytaletold]

@miidnighters // continued.

He didn’t mean to. He really fuckin’ didn’t — but it’s the barest slip of concentration that turns a parry into a killing blow when you’ve been cursed with superior strength and size. There’s a crack as the man’s head hit the wall, body crumpling into the alley, and for all his immediate remorse, it doesn’t change one simple fact: he’s dead.

He hears them coming long before they speak. Stays immobile, hoping it’s a passerby, wanting to avoid any movement that would inevitably draw their eye. Doesn’t matter. They stop, and he’s getting to his feet in the calm, measured way that doesn’t show off his inhuman speed. Not that it makes a difference: she pulls a gun, and he can smell the polished tang of silver. He smothers a growl at the back of his throat — unbidden, instinctual. Drawn out by a threat. It’s not coincidence that she’s here.

( He doesn’t need to add to the body count. )

❛ — y’need to leave. ❜ He can’t stop the way his hackles raise, how eyes darken at that gun. Teeth grit. ❛ Now. ❜

[exquisitexagony]

continued with @miidnighters (x) -> gore cw, cannibalism cw, blood cw, dismemberment cw, violence cw, horror cw panic cw, dry-heaving cw

They couldn't stop. They just kept going--bashing and ripping and tearing and eating, their clothes drenched in the rich blood, the walls sprayed with it. It seeped into the cracks in the floor, dipped down Arthur's elbows. So much blood.

It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't neat, and it certainly wasn't his usual way of feeding. It was desperate and painful and deliberate. Like he needed them to be dead--more than dead. Gone. Something in his eyes screamed of anger, dread, fear...And that wretched hunger.

He didn't quite stop when she called his name, bashing the guy's head in until the skull split open, the face disfigured, teeth marks covering his cheeks and arms, legs torn from his torso...Tears were streaming down Arthur's face, though they had mixed with so much blood it was impossible to tell. Their weapon finally clattered to the ground, bending over to rip more flesh from the body's throat--tearing, swallowing, spitting, growling, blood gurgling in the back of his own throat. It wasn't until she called them darling that they finally managed to stop.

Out of breath, broken, and dripping with blood, he froze where he was crouched over the body. A piece of flesh hung from his mouth, caught between his teeth. He spit it out almost immediately, blood splattering the ground in front of him and instantly mixing in with the rest of the mess. Turquoise hues landed on the disembodied form in front of him, the horrific display of the elder man's half-eaten insides making his stomach churn. For a moment, he thought he might just puke up his meal, his gag reflex kicking in immediately, but no...Nothing would come up. Bloodied hands grasped against the vinyl flooring, making a sticky wet squelch as his fingertips curved against the puddles of blood, nails pressing into the floor.

"Fuck...Fuck, fuck, fuck...He--He--It was...I-- I saw--I...thought--"

His thoughts wouldn't fit together. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. What had just happened? He had practically blacked out and could only remember what had happened when he first arrived at the old man's house. He remembered the plan--and this hadn't been it.

[saturnmused]

YOUR MUSE'S TAYLOR SWIFT SONG.

debut ― i'm only me when i'm with you.

fearless ― untouchable. (taylor's version)

speak now ― timeless. (taylor's version - from the vault)

red ― sad beautiful tragic. (taylor's version)

1989 ― this love. (taylor's version)

reputation ― endgame. (ft ed sheeran & future)

lover ― the archer.

folklore ― peace.

evermore ― coney island. (ft the national).

midnights ― the great war.

the tortured poets department ― the prophecy.

tagged by: @screwhope <3 thanks love tagging: @neptunemused (ian &/or taz), @mvnces (riley &/or julian), @miidnighters (billie &/or flynn), @demonstigma, @kurjaks, @kxllerblond, @ofmcck, @bloodtwin, @accultant, @bloodsoakedurge, @bluebardofhappiness, @bloodedstars, @roseguided (claire &/or calliope), @maidmyth, @catfcng (the cat king &/or roman), @einspruch, & anyone who'd like to do this. <3

[narrativeobsession]

@miidnighters was recognized

It isn't by face and it isn't by name. It's by sense and sense alone. Because ancient recognizes ancient, doesn't it? Angel knows at once there is something different about this one, and all it does is draw delight across his delicate features.

"you must tell me." Angel speaks with an air of familiarity, an air of insistence. "where i have seen you before?"

[mxldito]

things your muse will notice about mine. ( repost, don't reblog. )

what they look like : Coyote is definitely somebody you'd notice while walking down the streetㅤ. They see themselves as handsome and aren't shy about it. Or shy about anything for the most part. They're always walking tall and upright. I can see them garnering a few dirty looks from those who perceive them as bad company, be it from the biker gear, crust punk get-ups, or wearing a bikini top somewhere other than the beach.

what they smell like :ㅤ It depends. They usually smell like death, dust, and cigarettes, but they do have a few friends who force allow them to shower at their Havens. They don't usually use their own products so they either smell sugary (thanks, Lennox) or pleasantly musky (thanks, Des). When they're at their cleanest of their own volition, they smell like Irish Spring, river water, and cigarettes.

what they taste like :ㅤ . . .Feel slightly silly because of who I was tagged by's response but also blood and cigarettes. Maybe a tinge of cinnamon from flavored toothpicks they'll chew on occasionally. Coyote can't consume anything else so I don't see them tasting like much else.

what they sound like : Coyote speaks from their chest, training their voice to take a more androgynous tone. I'd describe their voice as being rich and maybe a little husky with a slight Chicano accent. They may jingle from wearing jewelry, the leather of their clothes softly creaks. If you catch them while they're alone, you might hear them whispering to themselves in English or Spanish while they fill their journal. And when you're talking to them they might get a little loud when they get excited.

what they feel like :ㅤ Soft until you get to the very tips of their fingers, which are slightly calloused. If you were to hold them, you'd feel rounded edges and the boniness of their sternum and collarbones. They're almost fluid, as though they can easily slip from your grasp. Their flesh is tepid, but they have the ability to warm themselves which they use mostly for easing their prey. It does make resting under covers little more pleasant.

Tagged by: @gnarledbite (This one was super fun! Thank you!)

Tagging: @fangmother @miidnighters @r3dblccd @deviatory @helllords @playedbetter and you!!!!

[littledevilinside]

her hands are pressed against her knees, and she's doubled over slightly, breathing heavily. her heart is thundering in her chest, able to hear the sound of pumping blood steady in her ears, feeling her lungs burn for the much needed oxygen that she's deprived them of for what feels like an eternity.

he looks over at her and cocks an eyebrow, and she's looking at him like she's confused before he speaks.

"woah, woah, woah… slow it down a few miles, huh? what’s going on? where���s the fire?"

she grabs his hand and starts pulling him over towards where they had an adoption event set up at the local feed store - and there were puppies galore! she feels no need to speak at this moment, instead is trying to regain her breath and steady her heartrate, before she's jumping up and down and rising it again.

"isaac! this one has eyes that matches yours!"

she says, reaching over to point at one of the smaller pups in the corner. it's got a beautiful set of blue eyes, and she swears if she could tell it's personality, it would be akin to @miidnighters. there's a smile on her face that widens when the puppy starts to wander over towards her, like she cannot believe that it wants to choose her out of all of the other potential people that are around.

"do you think i should ask if i could hold that one?"

she asks, tilt of her head as she's now breathing normally and standing upright, lifting up on her tippy toes for a brief moment only to come back down, hands clasped together in sheer excitement.

[multiimistakes]

@miidnighters.

❝ There's nothing wrong with wanting the absolute best when you are the best. ❞ she taps her cigarette into an intricately decorated ash tray and glances up to the ceiling.

Meya was polite enough to avoid eye contact when she was without her glasses, to avoid physical contact when she was without her gloves. She wasn't, however, too polite as to not speak her mind on things that vexed her.

❝ And I think anyone who tries to shame you for those standards are simply writhing in inner agony that they themselves cannot stand on your level. ❞

[miidnightzone]

thinking about pre-canon andrew, who wakes kevin from nightmares even though he's heard you aren't supposed to do that. let the person wake up themselves otherwise you'll make it worse, they say. but if dogs can be trained to wake their owners from nightmares, is it actually wrong? andrew won't pull against this leash.

when kevin wakes, thrashing and choking on the end of a scream, andrew presses a hand to his sternum. dares that stuttering chest to fight back against him and just, "breathe." he near-whispers, looking back into kevin's wide, unseeing eyes, "it's andrew." 

it takes a moment for kevin to collapse into the couch like a puppet with all its strings cut. it takes even longer after kevin falls back asleep with tear-stained cheeks for andrew to pull away from where he's caught by the sleeve of his sweater. the striker's fingers gentle, so loosely held like he knew it would take no effort at all for andrew to escape, but nonetheless wanting. 

when morning comes, as always, neither say a word about it.

[bloodykneestm]

and so, here he is, caught en flagrante so to speak, a cigarette in the woods of a famous national park and in uniform. his cheeks flush hot. ( it isn't the first time he's been spotted, but this time he could really get in trouble, or so he fears. ) his stomach sinks and he holds the cigarette away, keeping it nearer to the water than he stands, aiming to prevent it from blowing smoke in the other man's face and to prevent it doing any harm to the earth if it starts to ash. "promise you won't snitch?" he questions with a slight smirk. "i ain't proud of it but — addiction's a sickness, y'know? hard to get through a work day without one these days."

@miidnighters liked this for a starter!

[recitedemise]

Interesting. As great as his love is for all things Weave, Gale can't say he's leant toward spells more clerical. He's dabbled in all sorts, of course, even sampling in flavors tremendously necrotic, but thatching up wounds and mending back flesh? Well, that, admittedly, was more Jenevelle's thing. It's why he's here today, a slight flutter in his chest as the apothecary nears. He's been hurting, aching, his chest still pink with the freshness of his scar, and gritting his teeth has done wondrously little. No. It's time for magic. A healing touch.

"A lovely little place, this. Oh, but you came enthusiastically recommended--well, in a manner of speaking, of course, though should any dour-faced clerics come sauntering in at all, I would appreciate forgetting I ever said that." Jenevelle, he means. Gale walks in, feeling the rippling Weave off every sun-lit corner. He smells all manners of herbs, the air thick with the smell of earth and green, but the latent magics calling to his orb... The potency seems a bit comparable to her. "Ahem. I hear you're quite the aspiring practitioner of magic. Always pleasant to see. Your wares feel considerably better than the usual fare I would find scattered about--though I may require something a bit more...'tailored.' And I hear you're quite the seamstress." / @miidnighters ♡'d.

[striigon]

assigning matija an aesthetic word

SUPERNOVA.

a supernova is a large explosion that takes place at the end of a star's life cycle. it's big, bright and beautiful, although quite sad. if you got this result, i wanna tell you that even if trauma still haunts you - even if you have scars, either on your skin or on your soul, you're still wonderful. you still shine, you're the most incredible work of art in the entire universe. give yourself more credit for all the stuff you've gone through, okay? i'm gonna speak for everyone and thank you for letting us be part of your life.

tagged by: @miidnighters

tagging: @fairytaletold (u know), anyone else who wants to xoxo

[exquisitexagony]

assigning an aesthetic word

supernova

a supernova is a large explosion that takes place at the end of a star's life cycle. it's big, bright and beautiful, although quite sad. if you got this result, i wanna tell you that even if trauma still haunts you- even if you have scars, either on your skin or on your soul, you're still wonderful. you still shine, you're the most incredible work of art in the entire universe. give yourself more credit for all the stuff you've gone through, okay? i'm gonna speak for everyone and thank you for letting us be part of your life.

bonus: for Arthur

scintilla

in my language, scintilla is the italian equivalent of spark. you're the spark that makes two people fall in love, you're the spark that lights up the sky when the fireworks paint our big blue ceiling with hundreds of colors. you're a bright little thing, aren't you? it's so endearing how open your mind is, how you're always ready to teach and to learn. what i wanna tell you, is that sometimes we need to make sure we don't drown in our own feelings, even if they can be overwhelming. i can't wait for your back to finally greet your pair of wings.

tagged by: @miidnighters

tagging: @ghostsxagain @fracticus @inrovina @wcnka ++ anybody who wants it!!

[radicalrascals]

Layers

TAGGED  BY:  copied from my old blog TAGGING:  @etxrnaleclipse , @icarian-carrion , @miidnighters , @ofginjxints , @strikersunindie , @rowan-revelry , @saudadexmses , @sirxnx , @rubiesintherough & whoever else wants to x

                 LAYER  001 :   THE  OUTSIDE.

NAME.  William Donovan Talbot | Liam Talbot EYE COLOR.  Amber with specks of green HAIR STYLE / COLOR.   Naturally mouse brown, unruly and curly-wavy if not cut short; which is why he usually wears it short. Every now and then he decides to bleach the fuck outta his hair, too. HEIGHT.  perfectly a v e r a g e 5′9″ CLOTHING STYLE.  Usually a layer-look consisting of oversized band shirt, hooded sweatshirt and leather jacket paired with snug fitted jeans and trainers or boots.  BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE.   His bum His cheeky impish/boyish grin

                 LAYER  002 :   THE  INSIDE.

FEARS.  Not being good enough, abandonment, canines of all sorts, relapsing (blood magic) GUILTY  PLEASURE.   Nothing legal, so I won’t advertise it BIGGEST  PET  PEEVE.   Pet-peeves are for beginners, true drama-queens take full-offense in everything.  AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE.   There are probably a few songs out there he’s looking forward to master on guitar in the future; other than that he’s not exactly one of the planning type. If there’s anything he’s ambitious about though it’s about improving musically as well as magically 

                 LAYER  003 :   THOUGHTS.

FIRST  THOUGHTS  WAKING  UP.   ’Coffeeeee~’ THINKS  ABOUT  MOST.  How to get out of the predicament he’s just landed himself in. Again.  THINKS  ABOUT  BEFORE  BED.  Nothing much or overly specific; he doesn’t have troubles falling asleep, so the time span for pre-sleepy-times-thoughts is usually extremely short.  WHAT  THEY  THINK  THEIR  BEST  QUALITY  IS.   He thinks his best and worst quality is his magic.

                 LAYER  004 :   WHAT’S  BETTER ?

SINGLE  OR  GROUP  DATES.   Single. Group-dates are just hanging out with the mates, there is no such thing as a date if it involves more than two people. TO  BE  LOVED  OR  RESPECTED.  Loved. Even if it meant he was loved by one and respected by none, he’d still choose love. Though he believes respect should be a vital part of any relationship. BEAUTY  OR  BRAINS.   Brains. As in someone like-minded, not necessarily someone of the intellectual kind. DOGS  OR  CATS.   Cats. He fucking fears hates dogs (and he pretty much behaves like a cat, so… duh)

                  LAYER  005 :   DO  THEY…

LIE.   Yep. Every day. Extensively. And he’s pretty much a shit liar when forced to make stuff up as he goes. BELIEVE  IN  THEMSELVES.   Nope. Usually not. Unless he’s high as fuck on magic. Has jumped off a high building with a levitation spell he’s never used before. That sort of misguided confidence is what we’re talking here. BELIEVE  IN  LOVE.  Of course. Everyone he falls in love with is his one true love until, well, he realises they’re not. But he’s out there, somewhere, and one day they’ll meet. WANT  SOMEONE.   Generally speaking: yes; save for short interludes of ‘everyone fuck off and leave me alone’

                   LAYER  006 :   HAVE  THEY  EVER…

BEEN  ON  STAGE.   As a musician, yes, numerous times. (But never anything fancy or big) DONE  DRUGS.   Yes.  GOTTEN  DRUNK.  Yeah. CHANGED  WHO  THEY  WERE  TO  FIT  IN.   He’d never change for anyone, but he’s always looking for somewhere he’d fit in.

                   LAYER  007 :   FAVORITES.

FAVORITE COLOR.   Anthracite grey, nightly shades of blue, black FAVORITE  ANIMAL.   Koalas…? Dunno, I feel compelled to write that FAVORITE  MOVIE.   The Lost Boys and Live And Let Die FAVORITE  GAME.   Guitar Hero at the arcades; doesn’t help much if you know how to play an actual guitar, but he slays this game no less. 

                   LAYER  008 :   SLEEP.

HEAVY  OR  LIGHT  SLEEPER.  Depends: heavy when in the safety of his home, light when sleeping on the streets or at a stranger’s place WHAT  SIDE  OF  THE  BED  DO  THEY  SLEEP  ON.  All the bed. WHAT  DO  THEY  WEAR  TO  BED.   Same what he’s been wearing all day, usually minus shoes and jacket, preferably minus socks, trousers and hoodie as well, naked when in good company. WEIRD  THINGS  THEY  DO  IN  THEIR  SLEEP.  He has an always expressive face, even in his sleep, pulling grimaces and such; also does fucking hog the blanket(s) 

                  LAYER  009 :   LOVE.

BIG  DECLARATIONS  OR  SMALL.   Small but persistently OPEN  OR  CLOSED  OFF.  Always open to (and starving for) love, yet at times reluctant about admitting his feelings LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT  OR  SLOW  BURN.  Affinity at first sight, everything else is a slow burn from there on. ONE  TRUE  LOVE  OR  A  STRING.  One true love; but finding it is a whole different story; besides, Liam is aware what True Love can do to people, knowing that his mum lost hers and she never learned to cope

                   LAYER  010 :   FINISH  THE  SENTENCE.

I  LOVE.  devotedly. I  FEEL.   you | Your heart it sings | I feel you | The joy it brings  ...wait what? I  USED  TO  HIDE.  from the bullies in school before I turned to hexing their arses instead. I  MISS.  having a place person I can call home. I  WISH. I’ll get a chance to righten some wrongs.