womanlives

[womanlives]

oh no my #1 spotify most played is the "she was a fairy" song (sped up) and i know exactly which replies/pairing did 'er in

#oh to be perceived as the garbage i am

[womanlives]

liberté. égalité. fraternité. ou la mort. independent & selective CITIZEN CHAUVELIN, of baroness orczy’s the scarlet pimpernel (1905). / characterisation based primarily on the book and headcanons, with secondary influence from the wildhorn musical and the 1982 film. /  mun and muse 21+.  /  triggering content will be present, but tagged.  /  written by iris.

#promo. #literally one of my favorite blogs in existence #such an AMAZINGLY talented showstopping knowledgeable mun. t r u l y #i'd kill for iris. i'd eat the rich for chauv.

[womanlives]

thinkin bout baby mcMerce ...... thinkin bout the streets of athkatla ..... thinkin bout daydreaming, half-hidden by crates, at the dockside, of all the things she could one day be

#tbd. #mhmhmhmmmmmmmmmmmm

[womanlives]

#mercy/aes. #and yet she wont

[womanlives]

⟶ BLUE EYE SAMURA 1.08 | "The Great Fire of 1657" (2023)

#mercy/aes. #mercy/rel. rot-eyes. #fav. #everyoen go watch this stupid fucking SHow #theres some shit tahts just so ?? mercy coded i wanna YELL #WHAT A VILLAIN. #WHAT A SPECTACLE. #WHAT A TIME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[womanlives]

“To hell with them. Nothing hurts if you don’t let it.”

— Ernest Hemingway

#mercy/aes. #saying 'hoes mad' and calling it a day >>>> therapy

[womanlives]

“IF I HAD A FUCKIN’ SILVER — ” a flash of that self-same word as Mercy dances a coin across the backs of her knuckles “ — for every time I got to see a bad bitch sit on the throne of the fucker who wronged her — “

Flick, toss! Flip, catch. Mercy holds it up to the moonlight that filters through a crack in the ceiling of Moonrise Towers. Or what remains of it. She grins. It’s pretty, even though it shouldn’t be.

“ — I’d have two silvers. Which isn’t a lot, but.” A shrug. “Kinda weird it’s happened twice.” The silence that creeps in after feels sacrilegious. Just like the drow woman, curled back on Ketheric’s uncomfortable-ass throne, feels sacrilegious. Mercy likes that. Mercy invites that. She’s sick to death of this place. This tower, this cult, this underground trial-temple, this cursed land, all of it. Myrkul, and Bane, and whoever the last motherfucker is. Shar.

All of it.

“Anyway.” Mercy rubs her face. It’s perfect-looking, but her fingers come away grimy anyway. Her eyes meet Minthara’s, search for something they’ll not even sure how to find, and narrow. She pockets the coin, sighs. Drops down to her knees in front of the throne, and takes a seat on the cold, blood-stained floor. She’s not kneeling. They both know it. For once there are no gods in this room. They have gone, and taken with them everything, and left nothing but spite and betrayal behind.

That’s okay. Mercy can’t speak so much for betrayal, but spite is very resilient.

She plants her hands on the rubble and leans back. Her head tilts. “Y’know,” she says conversationally, casually, as if it hasn’t been scant hours since the fight for their lives, “I thought we’d fight more — more — fuck. Wait.” A pause; she runs her tongue over her upper lip, thinking. But she’s too damn tired and it doesn’t matter. Fuck it. The illusion flickers and drops. There she sits in all her glory, highlighted by a solitary moonbeam: hair half-burned off, dozens of cuts, nails dirtied and split. There’s a bite mark on the underside of her jaw where a necromite tried to get her. It’s hard to tell where her makeup ends and the dirt begins. She points.

“You don’t just fight like you got people to kill. You still fight like you got something to lose.”

Her hand drops back to the dirt. Muscles hurt. Too tired.

“Gods, I’m jealous. I’d ask, but you’re just gonna tell me to go fuck myself, aren’t you?” A guess? A prophecy? A dare? Hard to tell. For once it comes out so damn compassionate.

@n1ghtwarden gets khajiits wares

#n1ghtwarden #mercy/ic. #idk how to spell #whats up i dont know how to read either

[womanlives]

mercy but her main questline for bg3 act 1 is finding a comfortable, mold-free, sheltered Feather Bed

#gomblings who ?????? #i think the closest ones we found were: #a) nasty Evil APothecary ruined house but theres no ceiling or #b) priestess guts bed (only im p sure it had a carcass on it)

[womanlives]

#bbbbbbbbbblbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb #want longterm storylines

[womanlives]

a kiss on the brow — ( im slow af so pls,.. gendry hesitantly @ meera. hes totally shy afterwards, pretending that he means to do that well. ) ( it may came off a bit awkwardly )

They travel South.

They’re not — with the soldiers anymore. Not really. At the start they were. Daavos managed to secure them a pack mule (odd, Meera always thought, because she’s never been that important of a Lady) before they left Winterfell. And they’d been given a tent and supplies for the normal four-soldier grouping and left to their own devices, more or less.

They’d stuck to the rear, which had been Meera’s decision, because that’s where the provisions team had been, and she’d wanted to help fish and hunt and be useful in any way that didn’t involve killing another man. Besides. Good to have capable fighters keeping guard, right?

She thinks it all started when the mule got that limp a few days ago. A bruised hoof, Gendry’d said, and she’d been inclined to believe him, because there were no horses in the Neck. Not really. So they’d slowed their pace for the poor beast, and little by little, day by day, the rest of the army had crept out of sight.

They follow the tracks now: the fresh divots in the mud (snow’s melting! at long, at last!) of wagons, and beasts, and thousands of men who’ll probably never come home again. Sometimes Meera thinks about asking Gendry if he’d like to pick up the pace. Meera thinks about Gendry a lot more than she ought to, if she’s being honest. Like how relaxed his shoulders are now that the soldiers are all out of sight. Or how good he looks, now that he’s shed some of those ragged, winter-worn furs. Or how his jaw clenches when Daavos shows up to check in on them, just to make sure they’re still there.

Last time there’d been raised voices. She’d only heard the end of it because she makes herself scarce — knows, now, when she’s not wanted — but when Gendry is angry, his voice booms. Like thunder.

She’s starting to suspect why.

Right now, though, there’s no Daavos. Hasn’t been since the yelling. It’s been two days since they’ve seen another person, and honestly, Meera finds she doesn’t mind. She sits at the top of a hill that overlooks the small little clearing where they’ve set up camp. There’s a small pond with smaller fish, and the pack mule grazes happily next to it. Down below, Gendry finishes setting up the tent. He straightens, looks up, and waves. Meera waves back, then beckons him over.

And for a brief moment, as Meera watches him walk up the hill towards her, she thinks that maybe the world can be good again.

She levers herself to her feet when he gets close enough, making a face at him as her joints creak in protest. Her eyes meet his, light up with a smile, then flicker back over to the camp. “Your rabbit snares need work — ” soft, almost eaten up by the southern wind if it wasn’t for the playful undertone “ —  but the tent’s sturdy as ever. Thank you.” Meera nudges his shoulder with her own.

He grunts, once — his way of you’re welcome, or kindly feck off, m’Lady, or a mixture of the two — and they fall into a companionable sort of silence as they look at the little tent, and the little pack mule, and the little pond. Meera’s expression turns wistful. The silence grows expectant. Meera breathes in, then out. “About the mule.”

The mood shift is instantaneous. Gendry’s muscles go tight and his head snaps around and Meera doesn’t need to meet his gaze to know it’s blazing and focused and locked-in, the way it is when Daavos appears on the horizon — like clockwork, without fail — to harry him another day. Meera locks her fingers together, and twists.

“She’s tired. That’s a heavy load she’s carrying, and I think a few days’ rest would do her some good. And here’s a nice enough spot. Fresh water, lots of grass. Rabbit burrows nearby for us. We can figure out what to do after that.” Meera tries to keep her expression carefully neutral as she blinks up at Gendry, but the hope slips through, just like it always does, just like it always will. Does he know? Probably.

She’s a liar. This isn’t about the mule at all.

“Gendry?” Meera touches the back of his hand, because he’s just standing there, just staring at her. His brows are furrowed. Whatever he’s thinking about, he’s thinking about it hard. Meera feels her stomach drop. Maybe she got it wrong. Maybe he wants to stay with the soldiers after all. Her knuckles brush his. Are you in there? “What do you think?”

Nothing. Just scowling. Meera bites the edge of her lip, sighs, and looks back down at the camp. She opens her mouth to take it all back, to say it was a stupid idea. But before she gets the chance, Gendry moves. It’s hesitant and a little stilted, as if she’s somehow made of ice, and one wrong move will shatter her into bits. Meera lifts her head in confusion just in time to see Gendry lean in, pause, draw back, frown, then lean in again.

She feels it before she realizes it: a gentle pressure, almost painfully gentle, against her curls. Her eyes close at Gendry’s kiss, and her stomach flips, and her cheeks burn. There’s a moment of panic that doesn’t feel at all unpleasant. She suddenly feels like a newborn foal, all awkward angles and gangly limbs. Her hand lifts for his face, but it’s too late, she’s too late; he’s already pulling away. All she can do is watch as Gendry backpedals, straightens, and drops her gaze like hot coals.

“I — ” Except they’re both speaking at once, so it comes out a jumbled mess, so they both go silent again. There’s a pause that begs to be filled. Then Gendry lifts his head, nods, and takes off back down the hill. Meera watches him go wordlessly. One hand reaches up to touch her forehead. Funny how it feels like it’s on fire, but her skin’s smooth to the touch.

For a little while Meera stays up on that hill, trying to decipher what Gendry’d meant. Maybe that’d been his way of saying thank you, or I’m tired, or a mixture, and maybe something else, too. Eventually, inevitably, she follows him back to camp. Spends the rest of the day making snare traps, setting them up, settling in. They don’t talk about it. Life continues.

Except there’s a shine to her eyes, new and uncertain and earnest, that for the life of her she can’t seem to hide.  

#forgaeven #meera/ic. #meera/rel. gendry. #i return to drop 1k meera/gendry content and then i leave immediately

[womanlives]

khajiit has wares if you have Coin(tm)

#starter call. #its just a shitty little starter call maybe. #specify or dont youre getting garbage either way fellers

[womanlives]

SH vc [@ Mercy]: hello lov- I mean friend. Buddy. My bestest.

She doesn’t look up from the knife she’s sharpening. It glints off the flames of the fire. Off the embers of her eyes.

This is the part where Mercy lies — but not this time, maybe. Not yet. There’s a pause of ceramic on steel; a silence of scrapes. Then she leans into Shadowheart’s side. Shoulder settles into shoulder; skin slides along skin. Mercy looks down at her whetstone through half-lidded eyes. Imagines them thus. One ceramic, one steel.

“Hello — ”

Her weight shifts. She rests her head in the crook of Shadowheart’s neck, and softens.

“ — friend.”

#nerimoi #And THey Were Roommates

[womanlives]

mercy control your ass challenge

MISSION FAILED, WE'LL GET EM NEXT TIME

#tbd. #she could not even succeed for 10 seconds

[womanlives]

THE NEGRONI

Best possible reaction to a TPK. Absolutely unhinged.

10/10

#tbd. #mfw finding out the Nonsense that happent while i was Out #THIS SITE IS TRULY ??? INCROIABLE. #anyways. #to the survivors. my longtime loves. you are my reason for inevitable return always and forever.

[womanlives]

(disrespectfully) hello, Haters

#tbd. #hits the gwiddy straight into space

[womanlives]

MERCY IS, FIRST AND FOREMOST, A LIAR. A conner, a thief, a sinner, a victim, a coward, a good-for-nothing Girl. A killer.

And now she is a murderer.

Or she will be soon, if you don’t count standing by and watching refugees die as murder. Mercy does. Hypocritical, spiteful little thing. She burned Rugan’s body ‘til the flesh peeled off in sizzles and drips not three days prior — didn’t even bat an eyelash — and yet she thinks she’ll hear Lakrissa’s screams for the rest of her godsdamned life.

Around her, goblins riot. Amidst the chaos she catches Tav’s eye. Tav smiles. In her mind’s eye, Mercy imagines murdering them like they murdered the Grove. Then she smiles right back. Add them to the list. Strange, really. Once you jot down one little name, dozens and dozens tumble into place behind it. She turns away from Tav to face the fire. For a brief second a scowl threatens to twist across her face. But she is, fire and foremost, a liar. And a killer. She knocks it stone dead, drags the corpse of her displeasure, and hides it in the shadows.

Speaking of shadows. Hers is drinking much more than usual.

Doesn’t take a genius to know why, neither. Mercy can’t say she expected this, being a liar and a killer and all. But once upon a time she was also that good-for-nothing Girl, who could never seem to keep her eyes from wandering over to a scar-cheeked waif she’d never dream to call a friend. From over by the rocks, Mercy watches Shadowheart down yet another bottle of Waukeen’s Wails, and stands. That’s quite enough.

Her approach differs from before. All night she’s been flitting back and forth — consoling Gale, cavorting with Astarion, consorting (unsuccessfully) at Minthara — but this time her expression is uncharacteristically serious, and her steps are deceptively loud. She’s not trying to startle. She’s trying to — well. Help, she guesses. Even if she’s never really known how.

Enjoying yourself?

“Having the time of my fuckin’ life.” Mercy lowers herself next to Shadowheart with an audible little groan. There’s a fraction of a second where her eyes are too sharp, too seeking. Memorizing the bruises. The nicks, the cuts, the scars. Not just on her body. In her voice. It’s enough to make her heart break, if the shriveled little thing wasn’t cut to ribbons already. She meets Shadowheart’s gaze square as she can. Holds it for a few seconds, too. Then the shame hits, and she looks away. She picks up a twig and tosses it into the godsdamned fire. Blessed be to the Nightsinger, indeed.

Here's the thing, though. This is the first time Shadowheart’s said Her name in — in sarcasm. In bitterness. In vain. Mercy clocks it, notes it, files it away. Not the time, not the place. Besides. She’s got more pressing matters to attend to.

“Lucky for you, Dearheart — ” nicknames, always with the nicknames, how else will they recognize her when she’s wearing a different face? “ — I have a better drink than your ‘swill’ altogether.” An over-the-top wink. Funny; the smile is easier to summon when she’s sitting this close. Must be due to the proximity of the fire.

Liar.

Mercy waits until she’s got Shadowheart’s undivided attention, then a beat or two more for that scowl she loves so much to really settle in. Then she reaches behind her and pulls out a fancy-looking glass bottle, filled with a clear, sparkling liquid. Water. Fresh. She gives it a conspiratorial shake, glances over her shoulder to make sure no one’s watching, and passes it over on the sly.

“Here. Special vintage. Went to an awful lot of trouble to get ahold of it.” Which isn’t technically a lie, since she nicked the bottle from the Zhentarim hideout when Zarys’ back was turned. She plants her palms in the dirt behind her and arches her back in a catlike little stretch. Her eyes wander upwards to the stars. In the shadows that flicker beneath the firelight, the melancholy starts to seep out.

“Haven’t seen you drink this much before.” A window to the past; a slip of the tongue — but a hidden one. Mercy’s guilt shifts for a moment from Lakrissa’s screams to Shadowheart’s blank expression on the beach. Have we met — ?

Liar.

Deflect. “Tav pulls a stunt like that again, I’m gone.” Soft, sing-song, said with a breathy little laugh. Joking?

Who’s to say.

｡  𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘. 𝐴 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑎 𝑑𝑜𝑐𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜; dirt under her fingernails & blood on her armor, seeping into chainmail links [ you forgot to clean it / it will rust : in the turmoil of it all, this massacre. You have killed countless in Shar's name before but never warred like that / never openly. Not once caught in some chaotic crossfire; in between spells cast & blades parried under treacherous daylight. ⸻ There is so much blood on you; how come? It did not take long to break their first & only wall of defense thanks to a most pathetic of ambushes; after that? All a blur ].

When she took off dented plate that evening there had been bruises near where Sharran tattoos sprawled & winded around lean muscle / splatters of red seeping so deep they lurked even now. She had tried to scrub it all off near the bank / in-between kneeling out of fatigue & battling a knot in her gut that preoccupied her every thought, sour mien & half-lidded eyes cast back from the river bed. Eventually losing sight of how long she had sat here : half slouched next to the fire place with two unopened bottles of stolen wine & a goblet, a third bottle cast aside obviously empty.

You had wanted nothing more than to merely move on from his hells cursed cove. Find a healer & leave again. None of this should not have concerned you, none of it! [ Sharran tenets dictate : where is the value in defending those too weak & pitiful? Use them as a distraction at most & nothing more. Do not think of anything but the artifact among your belongings & your journey back to Baldur's Gate. Blend all else out / do not get involved / do not get attached. Do not. DO NOT. ]

What crawls through her every limb, what rummages through her chest / what nestled beneath her slow-paced heart then? guilt. Alcohol. [ must be. What is there to feel guilty for? You made the Lady of Loss a fine offering tonight; an act of near unmatched wickedness to bring forth next Nightfall. Granted you drag any witnesses to the city; coax them to tell them, tell them all just how brutally you broke a refugee's collar bone.

&& to tell them, then : how you stripped a follower of Tyr off hope. Evoked (un)holy revenge on a follower of Mystral. Maybe... maybe you even killed a Se- ]

" enjoying yourself? "         pang in her chest; interrupting herself : her own thoughts / own mulling before growing too languid & convoluted. Too tormenting & self-aware. She near flinches at the sound of her own voice as well / having sat in what counted as silence for what seemed like hours [ nevermind the noise all around / nevermind the scowl you shot Astarion earlier & the wry yet bitter smile you shoot her instead]. " Goblins stole great wine. And I rightfully took my share. ⸻ Blessed be the Nightsinger. Glory to the winners and what-have-you. "

Sarcastic, sullen & keen to soften bite's edge despite it all; every sentence twisted in half-stupor while eyeing Mercy with part intrigue, part something she could not quite place. Regret? Leaning a tad backwards now if only to have emerald find blue, flat of her free left set down in an attempt to keep herself prop herself up. " if you're here to try and snatch my swirl I'm afraid you'll be forthwith known as the thief with a broken dagger hand. "

.໋ ｡  plotted. @womanlives

#nerimoi #mercy/ic. #mercy/faerun. #1 braincell clinging for dear life

[womanlives]

misc poetry sentence starters

❝  one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.  ❞ ❝  you remind me what love lives in this skin.  ❞ ❝  i’m not telling you a story so much as a shipwreck—the places floating, finally legible.  ❞ ❝  the world was made so we can find each other in it.  ❞ ❝  the night isn’t dark; the world is dark. stay with me a little longer.  ❞ ❝  i want you desperately. i want your strength and your softness, your hands, all of you.  ❞ ❝  is that too much to expect? that i would name the stars for you?  ❞ ❝  against your cheek my hand is warm and full of tenderness.  ❞ ❝  the world grows green again when you smile.  ❞ ❝  what i love in you is your power of loving, a bit wild, a bit primitive, but absolute.  ❞ ❝  i like figuring you out. you are so human and puzzling.  ❞ ❝  the unwillingness to try is worse than any failure.  ❞ ❝  you wanted happiness. i can’t blame you for that.  ❞ ❝  i did violence to my own heart.  ❞ ❝  i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth.  ❞ ❝  like a magpie, i am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales and dead languages.  ❞ ❝  and here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.  ❞ ❝  you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry.    only the sun has come this close, only the sun.  ❞ ❝  sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof you’ve been ruined.  ❞ ❝  when will it cease, this monstrous rage of yours?  ❞ ❝  i will plant my hands in the garden. i will grow, i know, i know.  ❞ ❝  i had it all and i want it back again.  ❞ ❝  i don’t care about anyone, and the feeling is quite obviously mutual.  ❞ ❝  we are two reflections that cross swords with each other.  ❞ ❝  as for me, i am a watercolour. i wash off.  ❞ ❝  do you dare send me away as though you were were waiting for something better?  ❞ ❝  my dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame.  ❞ ❝  i am three oceans away from my soul.  ❞ ❝  you, occasionally, glimmer with a light i’ve never seen before. it frightens me.  ❞ ❝  i went to sleep last night so i could see you.  ❞ ❝  even the eyes of gods must adjust to light. even gods have gods.  ❞ ❝  how much can you change and get away with it, before you turn into someone else, before it’s some kind of murder?  ❞ ❝  it does me no good to be good to me now.  ❞ ❝  i may look alright, but if you were to look more closely you wouldn’t find a single healthy bit in me.  ❞ ❝  i must clothe myself in other worlds.  ❞ ❝  suffering is the privilege of those who feel.  ❞ ❝  sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.  ❞ ❝  the vigor, the fire, that enables you to love and create. when you lose that, you’ve lost everything.  ❞ ❝  i can be bold, because i have you with me always.  ❞ ❝  you are shaking fists and trembling teeth. i know: you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind.  ❞ ❝  not that i want to be a god or a hero, just to change into a tree,  grow for ages, not hurt anyone.  ❞ ❝  you are sunlight through a window, which i stand in, warmed.  ❞ ❝  there’s something electric in your blood.  ❞ ❝  you say you are broken,   but broken mirrors like you create the most beautiful patterns of light.  ❞ ❝  time doesn’t obey our commands.  ❞ ❝  to feel anything deranges you. to be seen feeling anything strips you naked.  ❞ ❝  i love you — like a storm bursts overhead — i must confess it; all the more fiercely because you burn and bite.  ❞ ❝  and i have seen rivers, not unlike you, that failed to find their way back.  ❞ ❝  i am less a god now that you’ve touched me.  ❞ ❝  your words are gentle; but my blood runs cold to think what plots you may be nursing deep within your heart.  ❞ ❝  you said i killed you — haunt me then.  ❞ ❝  your soul is frail and solemn, loyal and spring-like.  ❞ ❝  you look like you’ve eaten the sun, like you drank so much sunlight you’re drowning in it.  ❞ ❝  strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.  ❞ ❝  you will hear thunder and remember me.  ❞ ❝  ever think it’s possible for us to be happy?  ❞ ❝  and i would wonder across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you.  ❞ ❝  since we’re bound to be something, why not together?  ❞ ❝  i am ashes were once i was fire.  ❞ ❝  this mouth will destroy you the moment you mistake it for something soft, for something that is yours.  ❞ ❝  with your presence the sun becomes irrelevant.  ❞ ❝  there is no god left in this skin. there’s just the ash. just the ash.  ❞ ❝  open your eyes, look more sharply, see me as i am.  ❞ ❝  what the hell is tragedy? i am.  ❞ ❝  i’ve got a lot of feeling for you. you’re kind.  ❞ ❝  how beautiful it is, how beautiful, that glow before the stars break.  ❞ ❝  so much to do today: kill memory, kill pain, turn heart into a stone, and yet prepare to live again.  ❞ ❝  i may be mad, god-seized, but i will stand outside my madness.  ❞ ❝  my power, which to me is still a curse —  ❞ ❝  ocean sea with its caressing swell; it has so often cooled my heart.  ❞ ❝  do you bathe in perfume, and dry yourself in light?  ❞ ❝  i like you; your eyes are full of language.  ❞ ❝  let me tell you what i do know.    i am more than one thing and not all of those things are good.  ❞ ❝  you are the cause and the cure — both.  ❞ ❝  i have kisses for the back of your neck.  ❞ ❝  your beautiful glance is unbearably cruel.  ❞ ❝  we might meet again, someday between dreams at dawn.  ❞ ❝  suffering is a terrible fire; it either purifies or destroys.  ❞ ❝  lately it hurts more to imagine you are a stranger rather than a destroyer.  ❞ ❝  and i say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.  ❞ ❝  since you walked out on me, i’m getting lovelier by the hour. i glow like a corpse in the dark.  ❞ ❝  i will not whine. i will obey and be forever still.  ❞ ❝  you move like the moon.  ❞ ❝  my eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears.  ❞ ❝  in your eyes, the fires of twilight.  ❞ ❝  do not haunt my soul; i have done well forgetting you.  ❞ ❝  i am no one. i cannot love. it’s in my blood.  ❞ ❝  you’re wearing your armor to protect your heart. who can blame you? it only makes sense in a world like this one.  ❞ ❝  you are not real. you are a dream of a dream.  ❞ ❝  there are so many things i’m not allowed to tell you.  ❞ ❝  i am indeed a shameless, evil-minded and abominable creature.  ❞ ❝  come this evening — i am eager for stars.  ❞ ❝  i am on fire with that soft sound you make, in uttering my name.  ❞ ❝  to me you are the desert and the sea; everything secretive.  ❞ ❝  i thought i was wounded to the core but i was only bruised.  ❞ ❝  it is a dead heart. it is inside of me. it is a stranger.  ❞ ❝  if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.    if there is a god then i’m going to make him cry.  ❞ ❝  you will open your wounds and make them a garden.  ❞ ❝  i come home — and i feel like a ghost returning its haunt.  ❞ ❝  i planted roses, but without you they were thorns.  ❞ ❝  everything inside me is in revolt.  ❞ ❝  how this darkness soaks me through and through.  ❞ ❝  give me my robe, put on my crown; i have immortal longings in me.  ❞ ❝  say something dangerous like i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?  ❞ ❝  in times of crisis, we must decide again and again whom we love.  ❞ ❝  breathe the scent of little, earthly things. let the twilight touch you.  ❞ ❝  my heart is just like the ocean, has storm and calm and tides.  ❞ ❝  you became for me a sacred being, not to be touched save in adoring thoughts.  ❞ ❝  gods are stubborn. so am i.  ❞ ❝  is it better to out-monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?  ❞ ❝  there’s something soft in me. i killed it and it’s rotting.  ❞ ❝  beware. beware. there is a tenderness.  ❞ ❝  half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. real gods require blood.  ❞ ❝  i’m alive. like a wound, a flower in the flesh, the path of aching blood is open within me.  ❞ ❝  you dangle on the leash of your own longing; your need grows teeth.  ❞ ❝  i have it in me…to scare myself with my own desert places.  ❞ ❝  my mouth still houses century-old magic.     in my ears i hear a ringing and singing and no god.  ❞ ❝  keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice.  ❞ ❝  i’m full of poetry now. rot and poetry. rotten poetry.  ❞ ❝  this skin is sick with loneliness.  ❞ ❝  memories are sharp. they bite. i have spent most of my life trying to grow a thicker skin just to make sure i would not bleed out whenever i felt those teeth scrape up against me.  ❞ ❝  i wonder if i will ever find a language to speak of the things that haunt me the most.  ❞ ❝  after fury, what do you do with the remains?  ❞ ❝  come on, dance with me. the earth is spinning. we can’t just stand on it.  ❞ ❝  let’s admit, without apology, what we do together.  ❞ ❝  try to find the right place for yourself. if you can’t find it, at least dream of it.  ❞ ❝  it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.  ❞ ❝  today you want nothing because wanting comes too close to feeling.  ❞ ❝  there’s nothing more terrible, more alluring, more mysterious than love.  ❞ ❝  heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile.  ❞ ❝  my soul is devoutly and wholly under your spell.  ❞ ❝  part broken part whole, you begin again.  ❞ ❝  whether you come as a lover or an exeutioner, i am ready to receive you.  ❞ ❝  i think i understand your longing. it looks so much like mine.  ❞ ❝  i like the sea: we understand one another. it is always yearning, sighing for something it cannot have; so am i.  ❞ ❝  my golden love, if only you knew, what precious honey you are for me.  ❞ ❝  i had an old wound once, but it is healing.  ❞ ❝  always this in-betweenness, this almost, this it might be that…  ❞ ❝  when i close my eyes, i see you. when i open my eyes i want to see you.  ❞ ❝  dark as it is — you see, that little flickering, is the light of my soul.  ❞ ❝  am i a monster or is this what it means to be a person?  ❞ ❝  i am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins.  ❞ ❝  sapphires are those eyes of yours, ravishingly sweet.  ❞

#meme. #we in a very ??? kinda mood