[VIDEO]

[Nothing but blue sky, for a moment, and then he sets it down on something, leaning slightly into the frame, but watching something further out. There's a faintly pleased curl to his lips.

In the sky a dark bird circles and wheels, never straying too far before it turns to float back towards this rooftop, as though held by an invisible tether.

After a minute or two the bird turns a final time, growing in size as with a few pumps of powerful wings it approaches the camera, settling mere feet away.]

Sentimental,

[a woman's voice murmurs, low and taunting. The man laughs, and the video ends.]

( Non-IC Cut for Image )

[Community Post]

I̭͑ ̬̦͛͒̋̍̊̄d̍̀r̀̎̇̍̋e̪̬̫̭̮̋̌̌͆ͬ͂̓ḁ̦̼ͤ̽̑ͧ̋̒̽m̱̲̗͍̱ͭ̓͊̐̚e̘̝͚͚ͮd̬͙͚̠͓̅ ̙̦o͖̻̅͌͆̂͛͑fͯ̅͆ ͓͓̤͕̠̣̒̓̇ͅä̜̣́̋͛ ̒̀ͨg̩̖̦̝̩̈̈̓ͬr̜̫̠̙̦̫͕̎̈ͭ̾̄̄ͣe͈̖̱ͩ͐ͅa̩̙̥̥̬̩̲ͮ̂͊̔̈́̍t̰͕͕̞͌ͣ ̘̽ͧ͌ͅb̜̲̠̣͉͎ŭ̦̯̘̘̓̏r̻̰͌ͅni͙͎̞̰̬̳̩n̙͉̝͆ͦg̙̰͙̠̜̲̻̍ͭ̉ͧ ̲̋ͥ̐ͦͧ̂ͅb̭͎͑ͣͥ̃̋̌u̦̜̹̬͂̈͛ͧl̖̼̞͇̰̞̘̄̇̍ͭl͇͈̓̔́ͯͥͮ̂ ̠̻̬̯̺ͯ͑̄̽b͍̥͔̝ͥͦͫ͊́ͅạ̐y̰͇̅̆̒̒ͬ̚i͔͖̤͇n̦̝̦͉̳͎̎ͨ͂͊̈͂͐g̓ͯ͗̐͋ͦͦ ̮̜ͦả̯͙͈̥̙ẗ͕͓̟͍̮͕ͥ̋ͪͅ ̅̑̆̾a ͖̗̺ͫ̊̏̇ḅ͉̙̞̩̯lo̻͕͓͗ͬͩ̅o̫̜̤̮̊̌d͙̙̬͙̼̫̞ͯ͊y ͎̤̳͕͓ͯ͊̀̐͋̎ͅm̓͂ͬ̿̈̃o̟̩͕̤̩ͤ̈́̿̃͛͋͛ͅo̹͎͓̿n͔͙͚̝̭̠̺̔͆ͯ́̓.͎̤͙͈͎̠͖ͬ͒ ̹̣͓̅ͯ̈́̋ ̎̊


̬͚ͭ
̺̲̫̝̺̘ͬ̓̆ͅ˙͇̦ǝ̙̳͕̗͙͋̾̚ɯ̰̮̱̲̲ͬ̄̇̾ͅ ͖̗̏ʍ̰͔̺̲ͮ̾̑̔͛ͮo̫͌ͩ̅ן̝̦̮̙̰̰̲̍́ͣ̋͗̚ǝ͍̰̖̺̭̼̿͐q͈̩̀͌̂̋͊̓ͦ ̔ƃ̹͕̝̟͔ȗ͈̬̬̳̱ͪ̇̉ͅı̅ͪ́ͤɥ̰̹̍ͨ͊ͣ͋̋ʇͪɐ͇̳̣̔̐͌ͪǝ̯̆̌ͮ̒́ͧɹ̭͌͑̐ͫ͛̔̚q̾̾̾ ̫̌̉̈́̏̈́̀ͣʇ͚̟̙̰̏̂ͯ̊̃̓̃ı̫̋ͨ ̜̩̺̫̱̞̟̂͊ͬ͗ɹ͖͙̣̠̬͚̌̆̋ɐ͍͙ͪͨ͛͂ǝ͓̻͚̣͋ɥ̖́̋̊̑ͩ ͖͇͈̮̭ͯ̐ͥ̃̄u̖̦ɐͣ̒ɔ̻͔ͩͬͯͭ ̥̹̰̥͚̬̆ͯ͌ͣͅı̱ͣ̽̏̏̉͆͌



I've been going uʍop so long I must be dn ʞɔɐq ƃuıʞןɐʍ by now. Does that mean the beast has broken loose, half animal and all artistry, roaming with a shameless bloody mouth and the glint that isn't horn, isn't hoof or wet eye but is all the sick and sibilant whispers promised by the silver sliver creeping through the cracks? Have I dreamed? When men dream do they loose the chains that bind their own hearts?

the minotaur r̤̠̤ͥ̏͊̐̆ͣͣͭů̪̗l̤̝͇̫̭̖̹̭̲ͥͤe̗͉̙͓̺̤̘͙̓́ͬ́ͤͧ͌̚s̼̳͎̣̪͍̺͒̿ͤ̇ͯ̍ the man who built its maze



there is no time without light but the count of breath. one, two, every hour i rap

on the           walls


and wait




and wait



to hear my own echo...





or am i knocking out the echo of a dead child rapping on the madhouse walls?




[ooc; all of that is visible in its hideously formatted glory, so feel free to perceive the struck text just this once. :3 replies will prooobably be much easier to read!

ETA: including a screencap if the text is not displaying correctly, sorry for inconvenience.]

|[PRIVATE / CURSED EXTREMELY HACKABLE]|

It's restless again, prowling in the back of my mind, sick with whispers and waiting. Hackles raised and on the edge of readiness, hard and sharp-- a deep and sickening coil of razor edges and slick turns. Always waiting. Always restrained, where I'd rather let us loose. Half animal, half artist, aching to tear something into creation. Born in blood and in blood, always curving back in upon itself in search of something just beyond reach, peace that falls to pieces when you grasp it. Satisfying but not satiating. I'm sick with this, the dull din within. My brother knows, but pain shared isn't pain halved.

I don't know how much longer we can wait. Caution is admirable, but this verges on asceticism. The difference between discipline and self-denial.

|[/PRIVATE]|



It's been an odd evening, though I can't put my finger on why.

Maybe I'm just bored. Dex? Busy?




|[ooc; I wish I could say this was all crack, but it's (sorta) canon. If you're sensitive to demons/bad mojo/whatever, feel free to notice there's Something about Brian. By 3rd book canon, Dexter (and presumably his brother) are sort of possessed by bits of Moloch who use traumatized minds/souls as homes, which is why they are serial killers. idefk. the pot is so cracked it aches. Other serial killers, etc, are highly sensitive with this (bad bits recognizing similar bad bits) so if you are one, he might well recognize you. assuming muns don't mind :3 PLEASE PRETEND THIS WAS EARLIER SOBBB SORRY. <3]|