ᴠᴜᴏᴛᴏ ᴇ sᴄɪᴏᴄᴄᴏ

 ( * sɪᴅᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴsᴩɪɪʀᴀᴛᴏʀ. )

[iiimperious-a-blog]

this blog is now archived!! my boy’s getting a promotion to an official main blog which can be found HERE

[iiimperious-a-blog]

█ █  beloved. 

         Anxiety fills her as soon as he parts from her; she always feels more at ease when he’s near her, especially lately —— she blames the little one, her main basis for the argument that their daughter loves him more. But as he steps away, the baby stirs again, responding to her touch as her hand runs over the curve of her stomach, as if following the movement. “I don’t think so.” she says, “She’s more restless, even when you’re so clearly right there.”

         There’s part of her, buried deep within, that thinks she should never have been a mother —— as if the losses before hadn’t been proof enough, the baby living inside of her now loathes her. The very thought almost makes her eyes sting, but she forces it down, reburies it beneath the layers of coldness that have formed over the years. “Beloved, I don’t-”

         And then, the baby stops and an overwhelming calmness washes over her. She can still feel their daughter in the Force, and she feels… happy? She realizes then that the happiness isn’t her own, but rather the baby’s.

         “Oh.” is all she says then.

      Where his vision lacks, his sensibilities within the Force surpass by tenfold  --  and is able to feel every livid emotion develop and disappear from her end  --  and can’t help it when that crooked grin graces his face ; the oh so righteous smugness exuberant in that single expression. But it isn’t as though he enjoys this, not if it means feel the extent of anxiety on her end. He doesn’t need to ask. He knows why. And guilt tugs at him, if only for a moment, a nuisance leering and tempting him to go back. It isn’t as though he’s leaving her ( though every parting between them feels that way, it could be ; every rare exchange -- I love you being a more lively reactant than explosives -- brings foreboding, it could be their last ) but her instantaneous panic makes him think of it as that way. 

       Although of course, as he predicted, everything went accordingly as he said it would. And that unconscious action in the making of him leeching right back to her is halted altogether. Instead he crosses his arms ( holding himself together, perhaps ) and maintains his stoic stance, contrasting the look on his face. It’s amusing seeing an expression of shock on her face. If he’s being honest, anything outside of the spectrum between sadism and sorrow is an unusual emotion for her. 

               ❛  I told you so.  ❜  are not words he can usually say, let alone get away with saying, without a repercussion in the form of a violent outlash from her. So in times like these, he intends on taking advantage of it. 

[prefersbrains]

I love you. - iiimperious

          The words hold little meaning to her, but she can’t help but to feel that such a sacred thing shouldn’t be said in such an unholy place. I love you coils around her, tethers her to the spot she stands. The words bring with them a sense of foreboding, chilling her to the core. He doesn’t say it often, and she says it even less, but each time feels more final than the last.

          I love you, she decides, feels more like a goodbye.

          Her first response is a soft chuckle, because she can’t bring herself to say it back. “You shouldn’t say things like that, beloved.” her hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his arm. You shouldn’t say things like that, because it feels like you’re going to leave me.

          You shouldn’t say things like that, because one day, it will be the last time you say it.

          She isn’t good with words, not affectionate ones anyway. So she lets her actions speak; she steps in, and brings herself up, her lips touching lightly against his. Dread has settled in, however, and she feels weighed down by it, rocking back down on her heels. “We have work to do. Come on.”

          But she still feels the I love you curled around her, a ribbon of hope.

          It’s curled around her, even still, when Maul offers her life to the wannabe padawan.

          It’s curled around her, even when the last thing she sees is the flash of red, when her last breath is forced out in a scream, and then she becomes nothing. 

[iiimperious-a-blog]

Life has many doors, Fifth boy. Stop being their bitch.

      unimpressed.png

[iiimperious-a-blog]

                 his  silence  is  grave  and  unnerving,  and  whilst  a  stoic  image  on  missions  is  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary,  here  in  the  privacy  of  their  cell  (  a home.  or  lackthereof.  a  place  ------  a place  of  what,  besides abhor turned lust turned grief.  )    it  speaks  trouble.   a  single  look  speaks  where  words  lack  ;  does  he  need  to  say  it?  not  when  death  is  but  a  familiar  friend  at  this  rate  (  a  business  acquaintance )  and  a  constant  presence  in  all  that  they  do.  all  is  well,  so  long  as  it  does  not  involve  them.

           ❛   that was  ---------------   ❜   what?  close?  the  infant  continues  sleeping  obliviously  in  her  father’s  hold,  stirring  perhaps  to  adjust,  not listening.  she  is  incapable  of  realizing  that,  had  something  gone  wrong,  she  would  be  an  orphan.  alone.  defenseless.  easily  found.   he  shakes  his  head.   ❛  ------  she  almost  lost  us.     ❜

┊ ˚˖↷ @prefersbrains.

[iiimperious-a-blog]

          ❛  Look, if you had, one shot Or one spaghetti, to seize every spaghetti you ever wanted In one moment Would you capture it, or just let it slip? His palms are spaghetti, knees weak, arms spaghetti There's vomit on his spaghetti already: mom's spaghetti He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm spaghetti To drop spaghetti, but he keeps on spaghetti What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes spaghetti He opens his mouth but spaghetti won't come out He's choking, how? Everybody's joking now The spaghetti's run out, time's up, over - blaow! Snap back to spaghetti, oh! - there goes gravity Oh - there goes spaghetti, he choked He's so mad, but he won't Give up spaghetti nope, he won't have it He knows, his whole back's to these ropes It don't matter, he's dope He knows that, but he's spaghetti He's so stagnant, he knows When he goes back to this spaghetti, that's when it's Back to the lab again, yo, this whole rhapsody He better go capture this spaghetti and hope it don't pass him You better lose yourself in Spaghetti (x4) You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow This spaghetti comes once in a lifetime.  ❜  - @iinquiisitor

[seventhsisterr-archive]

@iiimperious

She only barely fit the role of a mother, but even then she wasn’t a good one. She carried Aziza, gave birth to her, HELD HER when she cried– but it never seemed to be enough. Weren’t those all the things a mother should do? Then why doesn’t it feel right, she asked herself, why does nothing I do ever feel like enough?

Pushing those thoughts away the best she could, Seventh’s brow furrowed. “She’s PALE.” she said this to no one in particular at first, then turned to Fifth. Carefully, she stroked a finger down Aziza’s cheek. (how small she looked, swaddled in her arms…..) “Much paler than she was yesterday. She usually cries around this time of day, too, but she hasn’t made a peep. She must be sick.”

[iiimperious-a-blog]

       her anxiousness bleeds into the atmosphere even when she says nothing ; it’s wrong of him to let her think she has him fooled so easily. but what good would it bring if he tells her ( reminds her that SUBTLETY was never her specialty ) that he is aware, that he empathizes with her fears? she thinks of herself as an incapable mother  -----  what good would it do confessing to her that he is convinced he’s a barely sufficient father?

  at her words he is ALERT. he has no ground to argue against her word ; what would he know? what difference in color would he have noticed? ( with USELESS sight like his ) his own worries are ignited. could it be her natural skin tone settling in? -- or whatever mesh it was supposed to be, consisting of his and hers. he senses NOTHING  -----  no pain. no misery. yet he is afraid to touch her as he was all over again on the day of her birth, to see their fears confirmed and a fever threatening to snatch the one undeserving and good thing they had to themselves. 

       ❛  are you certain?  ❜   his words are hollow, breathless. shock, as they were when she had even told him she was pregnant.  ❛  maybe she --   ❜  no. it’s a silly, childish suggestion.

   still, he cannot help but ask.   ❛  perhaps there’s nothing upsetting her? you’re a good mother, and maybe she is content  --  for once. maybe she likes you.   ❜        

[startouchd-deactivated20201011]

still with feet touching still with eyes meeting still our hands match still with hearts beating

still // daugher

[5funerals]

Since we’re posting our favorite vines

[memeufacturing-deactivated20161]

press conference

interviewer: what do you say about allegations that you are an awful & extremely bad human being me *leaning forward so my lips touch the microphone*: its correct

[nightlock]

Romeo and Juliet: Act II Scene VI

[niklausroyals]

[arcusxx]

[iiimperious-a-blog]

█ █ beloved.   

         Lips curl into a wicked smirk; her hands gaining purchase on his chest, nails digging into his flesh. “Good to know,” she nearly purrs, shifting her hips so she can better rock against him. She focuses on that for a moment, enjoying the slip-slide of him against her. Teeth sink into her lower lip, and she lifts up, hand slipping between them to grasp him.

         “It means that I’ve done my job correctly.” she removes her hand as she slides down onto him, her nails reclaiming their spot against his flesh.

           He is weak ; all for her to do as she pleases and is barely able to conceal the gasps when she pierces him so harshly. It elicits a spark, all his nerves come alive  --  bearing through white-hot flashes of pain as they progress into pleasure  --  and he can practically sense the smile spread on her lips. He’d kiss her if he could -------- but she is not within reach. She is in control. Paralyzed and throbbing as she claws at him at first, he then catches his breath and his hips buck; attempting to follow her rhythm in slow heaves gradually gaining speed.        

             ❛  Well -- what do you know?   ❜  he manages, at some point, to speak. Laugh, truthfully. His teasings are not subtle and potentially dangerous  --  her temper has always made these intricate matters more interesting. And pulling rank superiority is the quickest way to make this happen.  ❛  It would be the first time you’ve done something right.  ❜  

[raykhao]

[iiimperious-a-blog]

She's not in love with you. She's staying until she can find someone better and more useful.

       I LOVE YOU.  do you take him for an idiot?  of course not.  it is the highest form of treachery to surpass his mouth, to say at all ( aside from – DEATH TO THE EMPIRE perhaps ) yet he said it.  still says it.  for her; for another kiss ‘pon that sweet, poisoned mouth.  one last time.  we may never have tomorrow.  he is a fool and there is a difference.  IDIOTS simply do not know.  FOOLS know but do so anyways.  he says it again and again.  he whispers it to every crook and curve of her body  –  shaking, tender, breathless  –  in case if she’ll forget, as if she can forget.  he means it.  rarely, does he ever lie.  never would he lie with those words as a weapon.  

   I LOVE YOU ; she says back.  sometimes.  and it’s too slow or too sudden and without warning.  impulsive.  unusual.  almost hesitant.  but never untrue.  it’s a melody he cherishes even when it arises in the most unfortunate circumstances —— DEATH.   AFTERSHOCK.  ANGER.  she is the only creature in this galaxy who can turn something so good and pure into a weapon, into an insult hurled in the other’s direction amidst an argument.  (  BUT WE ARE NOT GOOD PEOPLE  )  she speaks it in moments of weakness as opposed to joy.  with tears stains and crimson paints palms.  maybe it is the RIGHT THING to do.  or it is the only thing she knows  –  or so she’s learned from him.

  don’t you think it has not surpassed his mind?  how temporary this may be.  however long this may last. how long before misfortune separates them permanently?  how long before she inevitably tires of him?  ( leaves him; kills him. all the same. )  how long before another driving forces tears her interest from him to another?  even after everything.  ————- he DREADS the thought, force forbid, may the day come that their bed is cold.  he cannot stand the thought of it. the solution is simple ; where she goes, he follows.  but that is answering for death. she can always leave. maybe she never wanted to stay.  ( PLEASE DON’T GO. I LOVE YOU SO. )  but she is selfish and cruel and it is what makes her so beautiful, but offering his everything does not equate to everything that there is.  he is not enough.  and he knows he never will be.  

           ❛  ————- UNTIL I HEAR THOSE WORDS FROM HER …   ❜   he could kill the speaker but what good would it do?  there is wisdom in that age old lesson on murdering messengers. ❛  i can sleep soundly – in her bed – knowing this apparent replacement will not be you at least.  ❜

[iiimperious-a-blog]

what do you call a gutless inquisitor with a dead gf?

UR BOUTTA CATCH THESE HANDS BOI