#lichorice

[vaneissa]

@lichorice   SAID :    ‘ i   savour   bitterness   –   it   is   born   of   experience. ’

like   all   things,    experience   is   accompanied   by   good   and   bad   remnants    —    even   if   one’s   morality   is   blurred   and   grey,    like   the   sky   full   of   clouds   in   a   nebulous   &   depressing   day.    she   dares   not   to   be   naive,    to   believe   good   is   as   massive   as   a   billiard   ball   that   no   perverse   comes   along   it   with .  .  .     ha!    what   a   delight   it   would   be!          ❝     i   believe   we   all   are   a   tad   bitter.    perhaps   due   to   destiny   and   its   instruments,    reality   and   inevitability,    or   because   of   life   itself.    it   is   a   cruel,    inexorable   ending,    isn’t   it?     ❞          her   voice   is   mellifluous   and   words   are   clean,    as   if   it   they   were   meant   to   be   said   and   heard.    how   could   anyone   disagree   with   her?    after   a   brief   pause,    vanessa’s   mien   shifts,    the   curve   of   her   lips   avoiding   darkness   by   shielding    her   face   with   a   sharp   smile.    she   slides   her   right   arm   below   the   other’s,    crossing   them   while   the   two   mysterious   women   walk,   the   small   birds   fly   &   the   light   snow   falls.    she   defines   the   pace,    talking   as   if   they   were   OLD   ACQUAINTANCES,    reminiscing   luscious   memoirs.          ❝     should   we   arrange   you   something   sweet,    then?    allow   me   to   take   you   out   to   dinner,    and   later,    we   shall   have   a   sugary   dessert   to   warm   your   heart    —    even   if   it’s   briefly.     ❞

[dracomai]

​❝ i can feel your pulse. it jumped. ❞

❛     DOES THIS PLEASE YOU?               ❜     he’ll gaze upon she ravager like an ancient goddess beckoning him for worship.     his place before her is at her feet,     on his knees.     existing by eachothers mercy and infatuation alone.     he holds a reverence for her,     a rarity of it’s own.     draco malfoy was a man with a heart of ice,     a vulnerose serpent.     (     THEY ARE A LUSTFUL RUINATION,     BOTH THE BLAZE AND THE ASHES THAT REMAIN.     )     his isolation is his downfall,     how he sought out loneliness like an old friend.     yet she,     with her commanding mellifluous voice,     sirenic in her form,     gives him the inclination  to overcome his deep rooted adversities.     how long could he rot in self pity?

❛               knowing your mere touch excites me?    ❜     as if presenting himself as sacrifice upon altar,     head tilts,     pale flesh exposed,     winter eyne pleading.     the gentlest of desires is put into action.     slender fingers wrap around her wrist,     pulling her forward with a softness     :     lacking lust     /     craving intimacy.     mouth parts,     pale lips pucker and press against her palm,     his eyes don’t leave hers.     afraid that if he closed his eyes for even a moment,     this vision embodying perfection would vanish.     leaving him once more aching for her.

[unalived]

     ❝ I’M AFRAID THERE must have been some kind of mix up. I made this reservation several months ago. ❞  He has neither the patience nor the time to argue with the woman behind the counter. The sun has already started its slow ascent beyond the dim halls of this establishment. If he cannot get his reserved room he’ll be forced to take another, at least until nightfall.  ❝ Is there not a manager or someone I can speak to here? ❞

@lichorice

[viduamor-moved]

GENTLE  FINGERS,     warm fingers,     decorated with ruby - tipped,     golden claws,     toy with a red curl cascading like blood along her shoulder.     her gaze holds steady to that of her companion,     the claws of her other hand tapping their rhythm against the  IVORY  of their shared table.      ❝     THINK  OF  ME  HOWEVER  YOU’D  LIKE,     ELIZABETH.       far be it from me whether you consider me  DEVIL  OR  DEITY.     but you know,     surely you know,     my title does not come from love alone.     ❞     her fingers abandon the curl,     both hands now reaching for the countess’ as she leans forward,     sympathy drawing at her brows,    her lips,    the vivacious green of her eyes.       ❝     let me help you.     if i am not a DEVIL,     then surely my husband is enough for us both.     this land is ours,     the people within are under our care.      YOUR KING,     as you call him,     is nothing but a runaway child,     far from a home that awaits his GRIEF.      ❞

kingdom of death.         LICHORICE

[mxdam-a]

when margarethe sees @lichorice on her dash just 👀👀😘😘😍💖✨💋💋💋👀💕

[slaughterdeco-blog]

“Are you going to let me suffer more?”

“ Is that what you’d call it?                                   Suffering? ” 

                        No. Suffering was existence without substance. Eating without tasting, touching without feeling. Watching as one’s own wife led lover after lover into her chambers-- sparing him only a DAY out of the entire MONTH.

                   “Then, my darling Countess, I dare-say that you’ve yet to suffer quite enough. One day you’ll know what suffering truly is-- and when that day comes I hope to see you on the other end of my table.”