@queen-sophie-anne Asked : 45 Sender Kisses Receivers [ Forehead / Cheek ] .

@queen-sophie-anne​​​​​​ asked :     ∗ 45﹕ sender  kisses  receiver’s  [ forehead / cheek ] .

“     i’m sorry ,      i didn’t mean to pry ...   i just kind of got lost and - and---     ”        it was a harmless gesture ,      surely --- one that steals the words right out of her mouth and promptly cuts her rambling short  .     she can’t quite   tell anything    beyond the scope of what the queen wants to portray  ;       sophie-anne’s mask is immaculate and precise ,    ,      unlike anything she’s ever seen  ---   it was weaved throughout the years into this graceful and charismatic cloak that effortlessly evades any of the early conclusions her sixth-sense might’ve drawn otherwise  .     rattled as she is ,    she can’t scrunitize it any more than she can avoid the surging consequences that follow .

“    oh - okay ...     ”        her collarbone pops like buttons on a shirt  ,     shoulders stiff and unflinching  ,     as though she’d pricked her finger somewhere sharp .   pandora hadn’t exactly been    conditioned    to being touched  ----  at all    (  the blessings of growing up in a nunnery ! )    ,      let alone affectionately ,     and her body reacts accordingly .      a blot of blood splatters over the sun-kissed pallor of her skin ,    and she feels her cheeks flush violently  ,     reddening on cue like a fresh bruise  .     her eyes desperately search for a hole to hide in as the thumping in her chest suddenly picks up its pace  .

cohmpton​.

[…]

It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the mud, remember. Bill had personally grown the blood inside of him and he had made sure it was chilled enough to pool out without harming his lifespan. The beast only lets out a soft grunt, a tuneless groan as he lays his back in the dirt. He’s enjoying the rain as it seeps into his fabric, leaves his overcoat soaked and brimming with a pink haze of his blood. Yes, this old body still knows how to die. Slowly too. Like a goddamn steam engine chugging to a final stop. The bullet is only dead weight, unfortunately, and he will wake tomorrow morning like he always does: listlessly mid-prayer, slightly broken, hollowed out and sagging. He shifts subtly, brings an elbow up to lean against. Bright eyes taking a glance down at the blooming wound. It was beautifully human, he supposes, to still look as fragile as any other ghost. The flesh will heal quickly, but the pain remains solidly profound amid the ache and tug of his torn skin. Hand brushes back his hair, wet and dripping from the weather. He glances around them, suspicious of where the bullet came from. It’s off-season for hunting, but they linger on lawless grounds. ‘Not your time, miss. Not your time.’ Barely a mumble of a response, chin working in a half-circle as he glances her over fully. Shameless in the way he observes that quaint view of panic in her eyes. Human to the very root. Not a god like him, certainly not something that is resurrected annually like a desperate cornstalk before June’s dry heat hits. Palm reaches down to rest against her own, the stickiness of his unnatural blood coating her knuckles. ‘I’ve died many times before[…]y’can’t worry yourself sick for me. It’ll heal.’

pandora has always loved storms ;    how primordial and unrelenting they are  ---  a beginning ,   an end .    everything in between .    there is no reason ,   no meaning  ,      there is only water /  the skies crack open and weep and make the earth shake so it understands its grief ,    and never once does it plea for forgiveness  .   she doesn’t flinch away from its cold embrace  ,      she lets herself be swallowed by it .   she is a girl made of dark corners and strange turns .     she is a girl full of heartache and poetry ,     loved most by the things others fear .     she has entwined her fingers with death ,     and it left her with a tender kiss ,     always lingering ,    hanging by a promise to return .       “   it’s a little late for that ...   should’ve thought to ask before you jumped in front of a bullet .    ”    in her raincoated body ,   flickering like a butterfly  — a black witch moth ,  she hovers above bill’s weary body ,    completely drenched ,   as if waiting for an invitation .   she’s so wet that it’s as if wetness seems to be her only response:   dewy lashes blinking rapidly ,      torpidness spreading through her fingertips .       she touches   to remind herself herself she is still here  ,     and lets herself be comforted by his gentle candor ,    his steadying grip ,    and forget about the blood washes away between her thighs  .    “    you make a habit of this ...?     ---- holding a girl’s hand while you die ?        ”      cold water trickles down the tip of long lashes like cream in a fox’s tongue ,     down to her button nose  ,     and the sweet cherry apples of her cheeks .     “     there’s easier way to get someone’s attention ,     you know?   ”     a wintry breeze whistles past the heavy pitter-patter of rain against pavement and she stifles a laughter between chattering teeth ,    still it echoes down those lonely streets :      a feeble attempt to soothe his ill temper ,   a flower of torn empathy that’d sprouted ,     against reason and hope ,   through this concrete jungle .

closed starter for: @harvehlle

❛       oh  — that .     don’t worry ,    he was being     inappropriate …      so i knocked him out with that shovel and left him outside .     ❜      she's     feverishly       taking notes  ,           moon - eyes glazed with   amazement .        how wonderful     she is   —     like a    force of nature .           ❛     wow ...      you’re like  —–    amazing …      can you   teach me    how to do that ?       ❜

@moonaed​​​ asked :     ∗ o5 from callan ﹕ sender  comforts  receiver  in  the  aftermath  of  a  nightmare .

“    this is silly ,  ”    she sniffles ,     salty cheeks pressed to his shoulder ,    hazy eyes downcast with mourning dew and somber thoughts .    she feels so impossibly heavy then :    a pouch of rocks nestled safely within the comfort of his back-pocket as the tide rises .       she doesn’t want him to drown    ---- but she doesn’t want to be left to be remember and forgotten ,   and remember and forgotten ,    alone in this depthless blue .     “   i’m okay ,     i’m okay ...   i promise ,    ”      a hand /   ghostly fingers crawl along uncharted skin  ,     to paint itself with closeness against the unkind edges of his jaw .    “    i just ...    i’m really glad you’re here.    ”

a lightweight when it comes to love.
someone new, hozier // interview with jeanette winterson // boy meets world // pure feeling, florence + the machine // welcome to nightvale // someone new, hozier // @inkskinned // exist for love, aurora

In spite of everything, I still believe people are really good at heart.

Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl (via perfectquote)