Don't struggle. That never helps.

Now comes the fun part.

Truthfully, I'm thankful for you.

|[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]|