#[bye.]

[vigil4nted]

hi someone please come entertain my favorite sociopath i love him so much let me talk about him for 20 years

[vigil4nted]

You know what bc it’s controlling my entire brain; like this for a lyric starter from Shinedown’s Planet Zero album. Reply with a muse you want or just like for roulette (my choice).

[vigil4nted]

i. i guess i’m capping business proposal. i’m weak and some of y’ALL ARE ENABLERS

[godblooded]

"We're starting to match," he comments idly, stroking the faintly silvering hair at her temple with the pads of his fingers. It's light yet tentative. His own hair is much more startling in its contrast, defined streaks of gray now; the stubble on his cheek has turned to salt and pepper. "It looks better on you." But he's always been so old.

she leans into the lightness of it gratefully, always and ever thankful that her husband is so well versed in the comprehension of alana’s hypersensitivity. sometimes all her skin feels like she could shiver out of it, but he touches her with a reverence that he could not speak in the english language and she stays still against it. it feels like a moment in time where she’s standing on the floor, and she’s held fast by him, comprehensive of what a home he is to her. her smile’s bright, and her own fingers plunge into her dark hair merely to feel that sense of delightful grounding, too.

“is that what the tabloids say?”

she asks, every bit the person he married. every bit a self she didn’t think she could reacquaint with. she reaches up in the and scratches a palm against his five o’clock shadow tenderly. it’s hardly more than the bristle of a kitten. it would hardly be far fetched to say she’s in love.

“how did we end up on the same color palette so quickly? —we’re going to have to get you a tube of lipstick to match my favorite shade. if we want to do this right, we really have to focus on the accents. hm.”

her hand raises to his neck and cups throat tenderly, still admiring and practically warm with it. she can be soft here, almost silly. the woman who knew how to laugh is closer to the surface of her body. it feels like the way a feather might, an overwhelming lightness.

“no. a cravat. maybe just a matching cravat. are lipstick stains tacky as an accessory?”

she leaves one on his cheek so he’ll laugh.

[godblooded]

nell crain loves you and you should know that. 

[itsnotpatsy]

“Let me guess: 'you should see the other guy'?”

those pitiful green eyes look up. her suit’s shredded in more than a few places. there’s an awkward limp to her gait , a panther with a hurt paw. she wonders how long until daph gets tired of playing nurse to a fake hero. how long until she says enough is enough and tells trish she can’t put up with the blood and the sutures and the bruises and the breaks. the sprains. the deep-set black eyes and the bloodied teeth. knuckles almost always purple. for a graceful creature she fights like a bruiser, all weight and muscle, bearing down hard as she can.

nimble, gentle hands set to work, then, carefully pressing a needle in and out of her eyebrow, tying together the space made vivid red. let’s start there. trish sits forward as far as she can, looking guilty and nervous, leg bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. the starlet stops to press a kiss to a cheek, gouged in three hard, deep marks where nails sliced through the soft flesh of her face. a temporarily free hand sets fingertips on the knee jiggling.

what kind of monster took a shot at such a pretty face? she coos, and trish almost perks with her tone, the way meticulously painted, manicured hands slip around her shoulders to stroke fine, soft blonde at the nape of her neck.

“you’d be surprised at how inconsiderate criminals are. assholes.”

her stomach tugs itself outside-in again, like reverse-panic, and the jiggling leg stops its jiggle.

still the loveliest kitten i’ve ever seen. a chuff of a prideful sound, then, happy and warm and fat with it, this kind of love she can’t explain. she brushes noses with daphne — or tries to, before a hand goes up, stops her in a light touch, frozen. she waits somehow to be scolded before that calm, calm voice says, not yet, tiger, we’re gonna have to re-set that. spare you a little pain if we can, hm?

trish wants to kiss her. badly. but she’ll sit, dutiful and silent. she can wait.

she’ll spare herself the pain. it’s important to daphne. and even things she can’t understand as important, if they’re important to daphne, they’re important to her, too.

[cruelonlytobekindarchived]

I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. / xoxo lena

“And your point is...?”

It is not callous, not meant to be cold. Not meant to be harsh or unloving or difficult. Not meant to be accusatory or cutting or sharp. It is gentle and relatively seething at once, an almost slicing thing. But it happens, there, right there. She backs herself up and tugs gently on the reins of her voice. She won’t keep going.

Her eyes avert and her fingertips brush the Arc contemplatively, and her gaze shifts to the floor as if she’s thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Pale snowflake blue eyes skim the floor, skate along the floorboards. She brushes down only just, enough to feel the mechanism whir and hum and hum. It’s a sound, almost.

“I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard, nature without check with original energy. I think it is the most beautiful thing there is, to be so human. Because every single negative looks bad without light, and anything in a darkness seems awful. And what would we be, if not contained of good, bad? And what the fuck is good, anyway? What dictates the nature of what makes good and bad? We contain multitudes, as people, and if you can’t remember that you’re losing the most important part there is.”

She presses again. Just so. For the feeling.

“I think it’s wonderful. Your quiet, pensive thoughtfulness and your tenacity. Things you could flip over so they look bad, too. I think you forget those things. And I think they look bad to you. I think you don’t know to someone else those un-good things are great. Just because they make up the atoms that happen to create you.”

She still can’t glance up.