reign of hellfire

My name is Eugenia Sims. I've spent most of my life running away. Hiding. But now.. I have the power to make a difference. And I'm going to use it.
Maybe.

[ indie gendershift eugene sims ]
[ fc; indiana evans ]
[ not spoiler free mun/muse 18+ 100% hate free ]
Creep (Live) | Troy Baker
posted on 8/19/2014, with 142 notes (source: yamelmegames) — reblog

au; crushed // of things that make their homes in our skin

sickeyes:

"How’d you know?" He asks, the tired heavy in his voice but oh, no, he can’t fall asleep now. Even if his bed is ridiculously comfortable, and practically begging him. Delsin turns on the TV and the sound of it sends goosebumps racing up his arms, something about that static sound is nostalgic and a little scary, the words dad flicker in his mind for a moment but he shoves them away with haste. Genia tells him to scoot, and he scoots, because he wants her comfortable….but she does that thing where she tries to be as small as possible and hangs near the edge of his bed. Delsin frowns. “You know you can scoot back further on the bed, and actually lay down, right? Or relax.”

Delsin slowly sits up and fits gentle fingers against her shoulder, “And are you hungry or anything? I have junk food…but shit can you believe that I can actually cook?” He has this bad habit with taking stabs at himself. Bringing himself a peg lower, because hell, that’s what everyone else did. It made him feel as if he was safe, like he he hurt himself then nobody else could ever hurt him again. Comments stung, yeah, but half the time he barely felt the jabs, barely felt the whispers, the eyes burning holes into his back, the he’s only here because his brother is a cop mutters as he walked down the hall.

Ah well; he dropped from the bed a moment later and fished beneath it, pulling out a rather large box stacked neatly with movies and starting to slowly unpack it, “What do you feel like watching?” He glances up at her from his position, eyes strangely soft and he could argue that he feels a little more vulnerable around Genia, because she’s the only one who’s taken the time to actually talk to him, get to know him, not treat him like a freak, “I have comedy, sci-fi, horror, you name it.”

And that means a lot to him…

She wants to turn and tell him she’s fine where she is, wants to recoil from the comfort his company brings but she can’t find the heart to. With gentle fingers on her shoulder she eases the tension in her arms and ignores how close his touch is to blue and purple skin, only to scoot herself back and draw her knees to her chest, taking a moment to wriggle her feet free, toes curling under high cut socks as her shoes clunk heavily to the floor. She shakes her head at the offer of food and adjusts her glasses. How close he is makes her breath come in short, but as he slips away she can feel the tightness in her chest dissipate.

"Had no idea."
She teases softly, gaze flickering over him as the surprisingly neat box appears from beneath her. She lets her legs extend and leans forward on her hands, the inside of her cheek caught between her teeth, and then those eyes lift to her and she forgets that he’s asked her something and so she fumbles, at first tearing her eyes from him. She slips off of the bed and kneels on the other side of the box, trying to keep the flustered pink tint at the tips of her ears hidden from view, instead focusing on the seemingly bottomless pit of titles. Careful fingers reach into the contents and pull out a single case, labelled with a title all too familiar; a favorite of hers.

"I vote ‘Airplane!’ — "
She tries to catch the sudden surge of enthusiasm, but only ends up dropping the volume of her voice the slightest bit. She scratches anxiously at her arm, over bruises still festering and obvious and she smiles ever-so-gently, holding the case in her lap, “I mean I — I could use the humor right now.” She covers lamely, but still smiles, maybe a little wider now, a short breath of a laugh slipping out as she straightens her back, “Sorry —— just. Rough weekend.” A sheepish smile holds her lips, now, as she offers the case to him, the static nothing more than a numbing sound in the back of her mind.

posted on 8/19/2014, with 8 notes (source: sickeyes) — reblog

au; crushed // of things that make their homes in our skin

sickeyes:

"Naaah…I’d be the one getting in trouble.” 

And it’s true, painfully true. Because she’s so, dare he say perfect and he’s not. Well, in the school’s eyes at least. He’s nothing more than trouble while she maintains such good grades and keeps their image up. He was shoved in here to try and straighten up and avoid getting in trouble with the law and this and that, and, he didn’t belong here, and he knew it. The teachers made sure he knew it, and the students did too. Delsin felt uneasy here and god dammit, all he wanted to do was go home.

They make it up to his room without incident and he opens the door, holding it open for her, and promptly closing it when she steps inside. It’s silent inside and he breathes a sigh of relief because he didn’t really feel like listening to the taunts and jabs of oh another girl? look at you go or anything dumb and he makes his way to his side of the room, slinging his book bag down near the foot of the bed and groaning. “Make yourself at home,” he says quietly, loud in the silence, “enjoy this before his dumb ass comes back.”

Delsin all but flops across his bed, whining softly at the aches in his back, feeling blindly for the remote, failing terribly at finding it.

Her hackles are raised as they traverse the dormitory, an unease in her shoulders as she shuffles after him, eyes downward as she lifts a finger, pushing thick lenses back up her nose. She stares at the back of Delsin’s legs and still, manages the smallest of smiles. Part of this — this risk taking, the sneaking up to his room — felt outlandishly criminal and the change is not only welcome, but almost refreshing. She breathes out slowly, partially in relief as the door swings open and reveals his room is empty. Fidgeting fingers forgo the festering marks on her bicep while they tangle into loose dirty blond strands, and tuck them carefully behind her ear.

She sets her bag down on his chair before nudging the door shut with her foot, almost wincing as it softly slams. When she turns to her.. friend, sees hims sprawled out, that cautious little smile sets a little more confidently on her features. He’s fumbling around for —— something. Her brow knits together for an instant before she sees the device on the floor, nearly under the bed. She crouches to retrieve it, before putting it directly into his outstretched fingers. 

"Scoot."
It’s an affectionate command as she moves to the end of his bed, worming her way onto the edge as she tries her very hardest to occupy as little space as possible. She’s.. not exactly comfortable, but she’s not one to complain either. She has a small little square of mattress, that’s enough in her book.

posted on 8/18/2014, with 8 notes (source: sickeyes) — reblog

perfectinsxnity:

          “No. No nononono, darling, no. No, I’m not gonna kill you. You’re 
          worth so much more to me alive. Nah, I won’t kill you.” He almost 
          adds ‘not yet’, but he decides to keep that little tidbit a secret for 
          later.

                    “I’m not — ‘m not worth anything.”

     [ It’s a lie, and she knows he knows that, but desperation does funny things to the subconscious mind. She shrinks away from him, eyes falling more towards his feet and she pauses, drawing a shaky breath. ]

                          “I-I’m not, so just — let me go.”

posted on 7/1/2014, with 10 notes (source: perfectinsxnity-deactivated2014) — reblog

burgrs:

if you cant handle me at my worst then leave because i dont have a best im always awful

posted on 6/28/2014, with 59,022 notes (source: burgrs) — reblog

            { home. | rules. | message. | call. }
posted on 6/25/2014, with 23 notes (source: dupxhelpline) — reblog

perfectinsxnity:

          “Kill you?” He sounds completely appalled, like the blood dripping 
          from his hands isn’t a good enough indicator that something really 
          terrible could happen to her. “No, no no nonono, why would I kill 
          you?”

image

                        “You just — you just killed that guy, and — “

     [ Her head’s starting to spin and she really might be getting sick. The air is thick with the scent of copper and her shoulders tremble ever so softly. ]

posted on 6/25/2014, with 10 notes (source: perfectinsxnity-deactivated2014) — reblog

perfectinsxnity:

          “You’d swear you’d never seen a little blood before.”

     [ She feels like she might be a little sick. ]

                   ” — Are you gonna kill me?”

posted on 6/25/2014, with 10 notes (source: perfectinsxnity-deactivated2014) — reblog

au; crushed // of things that make their homes in our skin

sickeyes:

"You can always nap in my bed if you want," and it’s not meant to be sexual and he’s dead serious about it because he knows he’s got some comfortable blankets and they’re warm and it’s hard to get up in the morning because they swallow him whole and and…he just wants to make sure she’s okay, "And I don’t know. I brought a ton of my dvds back with me and I was just gonna glance through them and pick something."

His smile is soft and tired and he’s exhausted and there’s a possibility that he might doze off as well but there’s this weird protective thing that rears up in him that says no no don’t let her be alone and he nods to himself without meaning to, swallowing hard as he nods towards the boarding house and leads the way, walking slowly, calm in the silence that hangs between them. Technically she can’t be in his room but when has he ever given a shit about the school’s rules? Never. The answer would be never. 

She knows his intentions. After the first time he’d pushed, pushed with words she didn’t deserve, compliments and passing remarks that reddened the tips of her ears, she’d made it at least a little clear that she wasn’t comfortable. After that things had.. sort of settled between them. She was.. a little more at ease with him and to be honest it scares her, right to her core, because letting someone in isn’t something she does, yet here was this stubborn, argumentative, and surprisingly sweet punk kid worming his way past layer after layer of defenses that had stood proud and impenetrable for years.

She resigns herself to following him, shifting her hand to cover those glaring marks, and lifts her eyes towards the sky. If she could take off, right now, just fly away in the wind she’d take the first chance. Get her head to a clear space where pressure and people who hurt her didn’t exist, couldn’t exist, and couldn’t drag her back down. Slowly, she shakes her head, and jogs slightly to catch up with her friend, coming to his side. If someone were to stop them she had an excuse prepared — tutoring, he just needs to get something, I’m so sorry for the trouble. But they pass into the building without incident, and with a well-timed trip to his room, she’s at his door and casting a nervous glance over her shoulder.

"You’re gonna get me in trouble one of these days. You know that, right?"
An uneasy smile flickers over her features, fingers coming to rub over sore skin.

posted on 6/24/2014, with 8 notes (source: sickeyes) — reblog

do u ever feel like no one actually wants to talk to you or even likes you

(Source: martianmathers)

posted on 6/24/2014, with 270,354 notes (source: martianmathers) — reblog