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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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if i look back, i am lost
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@morteprimo-blog
He’d gone too far; he should never have kissed her. Because now, no matter how he might have once envisioned his future, or who he thought he’d spend it with, he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else—wanting anyone else
Throne Of Glass, Sarah J. Maas (via regenerctions)
i think i’ll be rebooting this blog under maybe a new url who knows. i just hate being here and i love death more than any muse really and i want to play her so badly, but i hate coming onto her blog.. this blog used to be the only one where i felt wanted and good, and now it’s not even that anymore, it’s just something that makes me sad and belittled. i dont want that.
private && selective multimuse
suchfcn:
@morteprimo from august
❝I have to admit that I’m at a crossroads. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be bowing or to kiss your hand. Either way it’s a honor to meet you and I do mean this in the highest respect.❞
death bowed her head with a gentle smile at wolf's words. the air around her calmed to a cool, perky feeling as she reached her hand towards august. "—please, i do love kisses," she encouraged him with her echoing, melodic voice. she then met his eyes with her blank, eternal hues and spoke again, this time with more of the old power in her tone.
"—'tis not i that you should be honoured to meet, it is rare indeed for a mere crossroads demon to approach the lair of mine," yet there was only gentleness in her words, praise for him, her world and the dead.
"—what brings you to me, darling," she questioned, leaning down to his side from her floating stance, letting her cold, slender fingers gently caress the side of august's cheek.
She was not a girl of ice and glass at all, but a girl of sunshine and stardust.
Winter by Marissa Meyer (via quotemybooks)
I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously.
Anaïs Nin, from Henry & June (via moronthehound)
… what I am aches in me.
Fernando Pessoa, from “I See Boats Moving,” Selected Poems (via lifeinpoetrythe)
When he felt her fingers, he flinched; he had not been touched with such gentleness since his childhood. He was no stranger to women and had felt their hands on all parts of his body, but her touch made him feel like he belonged some place.
-Melina Marchetta,
Finnikin of the Rock
(via
books-are-better
)
interstellarstars:
@morteprimo
Anna was PERFECT at being able to keep it together in front of others. She had to act professional for the sake of being able to take care of them. They came to her for a reason and it wasn’t to witness a meltdown. But today was different. Actually this entire week had been different and right now it hit her at its worst. When the back door was opened and her regular patient had walked in, the doctor’s body was shaking so badly that she couldn’t compose herself quick enough to be in that perfect image again. Tears stained her face and she just turned away, burying it into her hands. ❝I can’t…help you right now…❞ That itself was enough to make her feel guilty, putting herself before anyone in need.
dawn had been coming to anna both for ‘therapy’ —more like chatting as she tries to stay steady on a treadmill twice a week— and for health issues, she’d reduced the accident amount by a lot with her, but there were still times when she didn’t lean forward on the escalator or missed a step of the stairs. that night she’d came to her asking her to remove the stitches on her calf, but the itching pain on her leg slipped away when she saw the other in more distress than usual.
“—then let ME help you,” she said as she made her way to the other, grabbing a blanket from her supplies and wrapping her in it. “—you’ve done so much for me, let me be here for you now.” she whispered, pressing her cold lips against anna’s forehead as she held her.
couples with visible size differences
(◡‿◡✿)
couples where one has to stand on tippy toes to kiss the other
(◕‿◕✿)
couples where one has to bend down to kiss the other
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ
Them 5'5 and below girls always the ones tryna fight, act tough and be evil.. They cute tho
– open starter
“Why the fuck does it matter if I shave my damn face or not. It’s my face. I don’t say anything about that fucking travesty of a shirt you’re always wearing.”
“—stop grumping around, hot stuff. it’s my favourite shirt, sure it might have more holes than fabric, but HUSH. also, i think you look sexier with a beard.”
Why are you so afraid to be loved?
In a sense, I’m the one who ruined me: I did it myself.
Haruki Murakami, 1Q84 (via alleyspat)
the first thing steve noticed was how COLD the girl was. it was instinct to catch her; it was instinct to set her down on stable grown to ensure she was safe. ( to protect was built into his very bones. ) she had fallen, and he had caught her — but she was so SMALL, so weak. the second thing he noticed was how little she struggled, giving into the world around her as if it was the only thing she could do. what is heavier: the world or its peoples’ hearts? for the girl, it was THE WORLD itself, and it seemed she would turn back into the dust that had created it as he watched her carefully.
the third thing he noticed was the scars that littered her form. small, large, new, old — they decorated her in some sick parody of trophies from battle. it was easy to protect someone from falling down stairs; it was infinitely harder to guard them from themselves. gently, he took her by the wrist and led her to the nearest bench. “you wanna talk about it?”
the gentle warmth resonating from him bred FLAMES on her as he held her wrist ever so carefully, as to hold her from breaking into pieces. only now did she recognize him, the man who had so warmly cradled her, he was a HERO of his nation. why should he waste time on her, she was but a mere little girl compared to him. yet he gave all of his attention, he cared, he wanted to help her.
dark eyes locked shyly with his blue, almost saddened old eyes as she sat next to him, taking his warm hand into her cold fingers, with gestures begging for him to hold her closer. yet she sat put, only lifting her other hand to unbutton her coats collar. as her hand fell to her lap, to hold his hand tighter in hers a tear rolled down her cheek, the scar now revealed to him. a long, slender slit of dark red scar tissue ran past her NECK from one side to another.
"—I'm not WORTHY of your worry, captain rogers. " she clenched her jaw and blinked down some tears enveloped to her lashes. "—i am just a sad broken girl, sat next to a beautiful hero," she lifted his hand to her lips an pressed a soft peck on the back of his hand. "—a beautiful hero with a beautiful heart, too. thank you for caring. if you really want to know, I will tell you, but it's a VERY long story. "
I’m aware of my demons, I know how to control them. I make them weak because they’re just guests and I’m here to stay.
giulswrites (via padshiy)
