#message book;

[landforces-archived]

gilbert x some semblance of social grace

Anonymously send me what characters you ship my muse with!

I will let you know I have plenty of social grace - You don’t see me stabbing people in their eyes, even when they deserve it, do you?

[landforces-archived]

♭♫

Send “♭♫” and I’ll come up with a song that describes our muses’ relationship

Kiss with a fist by Florence and the Machine

I broke your jaw once beforeI spilled your blood upon the floorYou broke my leg in returnSo sit back and watch the bed burnLove sticksSweat dripsBreak the lock if it don't fitA kick in the teeth is good for someA kiss with a fist is better then none,

[landforces-archived]

Do you like conspiracies? Ivan Braginsky is Melanie Martinez. Just like on South Park, where a 40 year old Coloradoran geologist is Lorde.

BOY I DID ASK FOR SOME ANONS DIDN’T I

Come here. Come closer.

Let me tell you a secret.

Closer.

I have no damn idea of what you are talking about or what or who you are referring to.

[landforces-archived]

Have you all tried yoga for those bad feelings in your chests?

[landforces-archived]

💏

send me a 💏 and i will randomise a number in order for my muse to kiss yours …because mine is running out of time.

 People close to death often say that a movie made out of their lives run in front of their eyes. Bullshit.

The truth is that when you are close to your own death, all you can think is about the what ifs, lost chances, wasted moments, regrets. There is not your life, just the life you wish you could modify. Gilbert often claimed he had no regrets, none. More bullshit.

Choices made, choices ignored, words not said, words said in excess. If number defined lives, such as human lives, gives them time enough to regret things, what one can say about a live of a nation representative, when they can live a hundred years, a thousand or until you lose sight of time? 

One of his regrets was Volker.

Volker, who he didn’t raise. Volker, whose existence, if by his own will, would never come to exist, or would’ve been gone a long ago. Volker, that in the end, was much of his responsibility as Ludwig had been.

Volker, who is not what he once was.

Volker, who he had never once truly loved.

Nor ever had given a chance for himself to try.

Maybe that was why, as his body constantly failed him nowadays, he did something he had never done before.

He invited Volker to his house.

And it was as awkward as it could be, as awkward as it had always been. Silence reigned over them and Gilbert couldn’t find the right words to tell Volker what he wanted to say, what he wanted to convey - he was never good with his own emotions, and even now, if his clock running out of time, that didn’t seem to change.

Then, his body thought faster than his mind, and he leaned to Volker, who had been sitting very straight and tense at an armchair next to the couch Gilbert was sitting, took his hand between his own - hands that had been strong before but right now were fragile and trembling - and placed a kiss on the knuckles in front of him.

When he spoke, his lips brushed again against the skin, and his voice was a murmur, but was firm, lacking the usual coldness that was often used towards the other man.

“You are as important as he is.” 

[landforces-archived]

"Is that sunscreen?" "No, it's cum." Dialogue between Francis and Gilbert, last week.

BOI I DID ASK FOR ANON DIDN’T I

Bold of you to assume Francis and I have dialogues.