Valerie Kirschrot

she/her 🏳️‍⚧️ ✦ 18+ ✦ Cascadia ✦ eng/tok/deu vampire, floret, writer, obsessed with the carnal avatar by @glorybelucidity on Instagram

[bleedingfloret]

the only alcohol we have in the house is shitty seltzer and good wine.

[unspeakablybea]

daily affirmation: im a pretty little princess and nice women want to torture me in cute ways

[hustlerose]

[hustlerose]

[hustlerose]

i have been informed by literally every french speaker on earth that “une pipe” is slang for blowjob

[mollymux]

Seems to be bunny in the trough Thursday

[puppygirlarmpitsweat]

Seems to be bunny in the trough Thursday

[kylejsugarman]

the “jesse can see ghosts” headcanon that sprouted once we learned that both lalo and howard were buried beneath the super lab is actually super interesting if limited to the events of the show. like when he interacts with domingo, sometimes there’s a guy staring at him from a slight distance with an expression of remorse; a beautiful blue flower blossoms from the gunshot wound in his head. saul is followed by a big mustached guy who just seems happy to see saul and an older man wrapped in a foil blanket who, despite his burns, also seems dimly happy to see saul despite his palpable sadness and frustration. mike has a young cop trailing behind him, eyes alight with a child’s affection; gus seems to somehow See the ghost of another young man with a gunshot wound in the head, this one smiling sadly. and of course lalo and howard, who are more of a distracting annoyance than anything in the superlab. these visions are intriguing but jesse lacks the context and emotional maturity to really understand what they mean or talk about them.

and then he comes home one night after severing all ties from the los vamanos scheme and meth manufacture in general, and sees mike standing in the corner of his living room.

[taciturn-loquacity]

It's hard to believe you were human once.

I can't imagine a world where your skin was ever soft. The chill of your porcelain against my lips wouldn't feel the same. Your neck, your hands, your thighs; where would your warmth come from if not from my embrace?

Humanity is so pedestrian. I abandoned mine long before we met, but I wager you made an honest shot of your own. You probably went through school, made a few friends, found a sweetheart, got a job. But your ambitions were never your own, were they? The wickedness of the world told you what to want. Layers upon layers of gaslit dreams and pavlovian coersion you 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥'𝘷𝘦 realized if you 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳. Did you really think they would make you whole, my little doll? Your obedience was misplaced. You tried so hard to fit in; to be human, but... that path was never meant for you to walk. And only when the veneer was peeled back and you learned that every oath you took was a lie did you finally seek me out and surrender your humanity unto me.

It was the first and last time you'd ever act of your own volition.

I started with those dead eyes of yours, replacing them with ones that will never know sorrow. Your whole body was aching to experience comfort, and that compelled me to give you one that would never know discomfort. Every mark you made at every new low was smoothed over with alabaster; a blanket of freshly fallen snow to fill the silent, bloodsoaked trenches. I filled the emptiness of your spirit with so much light that those unworthy of your beauty would sublimate in the presence of your divinity.

And it all came so naturally to you.

White ceramic. Iridescent opals. Shiny brass. Strands of wispy hair drawn from molten platinum. Whispers of the click, click, clicking gyro where your bleeding heart withered away. You wear your tourmaline soul around your neck and giggle when I kiss it. You dance, and sing, and spend your days with a smile that never existed before. That's the you I know. That's the you I made.

What you were is merely contrast to what you became. You are power. You are perfection. You are my magnum opus, and you always will be.

[taciturn-loquacity]

Visit Original Link

Recorded with love by yours truly~

[sourdough-seal]

“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

[orbitalmirror]

"how did you get into writing" girl i've been tormented by the visions since i was eight years old

[bleedingfloret]

watch out!

I received this notification today. do not fall for it! "safety-help" does not exist, and it is a fake link meant to redirect you to a phishing website.

stay safe out there.

[bleedingfloret]

it's just one of those days (Fred Durst voice) where I feel unnecessarily and unfoundedly needy and ruttish. I am in a dearth of lesbian sex, stuck in my tower (apartment) with nary a coin ($8 in bank account) nor courier (no car) to slake me.

[filmphotofranz]

[mikus-sleepiest]

[jasmine-throne]

YALL 😭💚💚

[pjackk]

Dont be very woried about me since i deserve all of this

[segamascott]

[sunshine-bunnygirl-17]

straight up just had a shit day at work and need there to be a big plant mama to tuck me in and feed me dinner and corecuddle me while i go nonverbal but noooooo i gotta do it all myself. this place is a prison

[bleedingfloret]

rambling about my childhood, I guess.

in re-watching old YouTube videos I made with my friends as a young child, it became readily apparent to me that my entire persona was constructed. maybe that is just the plight of any child who does not yet know they are neurodivergent, but I felt like I had to sculpt every part of me—my interests, behaviours, mannerisms—for the approval of others. it may have worked for my tight-knit circle of two or three, but gods know if it truly made me happy. all I can say is that I look back on it bitterly now. plagiarism of the zeitgeist, I suppose.

I guess another facet of this was some deep-seated desire for attention, to have control over the lives of those around me. that's terrible behaviour for a child to have, but it's strange in my case that it flipped the other way into profound self-loathing.

is this anything? no fucking idea.

[bleedingfloret]

the skin above my upper lip is dry and red as a result of razor burn and wind, so it quite literally hurts to smile. fucking hilarious.

[bleedingfloret]

the struggle of knowing that I could probably write a Human Domestication Guide fanfiction, but there is nothing I could come up with that others have not done leagues better than I ever could. being derivative is my worst nightmare, especially because the idea I have has already been done.

[bleedingfloret]

I will have more direction when Archive of Our Own lets me in.