Aug 8, 2015
bxbmorley → dylanxbriens
seen from Netherlands
seen from Switzerland
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seen from China
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seen from Malaysia
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bxbmorley → dylanxbriens
Blogrates + Song Recs
Kinda bored and in need to make decisions regarding my url, so yeah time to do some blogrates and maybe get some music recs here!
Rules:
mbf this banshee
reblog this post
vote on whether i should change my url or stay with this one
send me a message with what you voted for + a song rec
if you don’t wanna se these blacklist marti br
Format of the blog rates under the cut
20 away from my next hundred!! help me out maybe?? ❤️
She was the princess, With a crown, Slightly askew. He was the rebel, With a gun, Slightly shaking. They clashed like thunder, But conducted like lightening. When he fell and lost his gun, She brushed it off, And handed it back. But when she lost her crown, He tried to brush it off, But the destruction it made, Was inescapable. So what do you have, When the princess refuses her crown, And the rebel’s gun loses its power?
The Crown’s Gun | R.W
clarkgriffs → → → sensatx
bc I have eight new children
she is dragging damnation upon anyone who is close but she cannot have that, cannot destroy what little innocence they have and the life that they can still live, if they'd just forget about her. (if he'd just forget about her.) call her a hero, sure. but you cannot name a hero who was happy -- she knows this because in every waking moment she can hear agony and death from ghoulish faces, can still see blood splatter even though she's scrubbed herself clean a thousand times over, can feel her teeth grow sharper her face wilder, feral; she feels numb and sad and drained -- the blood of the innocent run rampant all around her. 'i cannot be happy.' she repeats this again and again and again and again until it is a lie she can believe, until it becomes a fact; indisputable, set in stone. she cannot be happy. it's just not what the stars are dictating and she is loathe to disobey them. she is a hero, after all.
heroes are just glorified sinners pt. ii || k.t.(for griifinclarke)
there are a million things he wants to say and they are lodged in his damn throat, stuck there for all eternity he finds that all he can do is nod okay, say, where will you go? (don't encourage her, goddamnit) but what he really means is don't go don't leave me please please -- there is gunfire scattering at the sound of her voice; she is shooting him down with every syllable that flows out of her mouth, a merciless attack on a defenseless city, and he is all too willing to be burnt down to the ground. (for her? he would do anything. ) the fires that she's lit inside him swell with -- anger? disappointment? bitterness? -- he settles on self-loathing, because he is a mere boy who tried his hand at playing god and miserably failed. because while they've won he thinks the collapse of his heart rumbling within his walls, howling for her to come back to them, to him is louder than anything he's ever witnessed in his life but -- she does not hear his suffering. she does not hear him. and he has become the thing he fears most -- forgotten.
ghosts weep louder in fear of oblivion || k.t.
yo i’m finally being active on goodreads so maybe add me??