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@theolcngley
Favorite Moments from The OC: 2x02 The Way We Were
āYou had me. You had me at Chrismukkah in a freakinā Wonder Woman costume and you chose Anna. You had me three months ago and you left.ā
Weāre both crying in my flat again but itās not about each other. Itās about weakness. Yours and mine. Your ability to get on a plane and sleep in my bed. My ability to let you. How we touch and it means nothing; but we do it anyway. A force of habit like flicking the ash off a cigarette or removing your shoes by the door. I am the motion you go through when you canāt find another good bed to die in. Yours are the hands I want on my throat, but only when youāre gone. Only when theyāre not really your hands. Just the memory of pressure.
Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)
But My Heart
Is an old house (the kind of my mother grew up in) hell to heat and cool and faulty in the wiring and though itās nice to look at I have no business inviting others in.
- Clementine Von Radics, Mouthful Of Forevers
(via lovedeadline)
Iāve never forgiven a single person whoās broken my heart. I construct palaces of their deceit. I wallpaper my house with their betrayal. I build a fence made up of their bad faith. inside, I harden. inside, I grow powerful.
Fortesa Latifi - Iāve Never Forgiven (via madgirlf)
I cling to everything - CDs that skip, rings that turn my fingers green, the dead ends of my hair, old love notes that turn my stomach over and over. And Iām not proud but there are still boxes under my bed. And Iām not proud but my closet is still running out of space. And nostalgia is a fucking waste of time but my heart is full with it. Tell me I wonāt hold this forever. Tell me there will be a day where I let gloriously go.
Fortesa Latifi - Hold This (via madgirlf)
fuckingĀ childā¢
So very few could rival the duplicitous nature of the Powlette family, but Thaddeus? Cassandra knew the moment she crossed paths with him that he was a cunning, facetious man. Entirely independent and not to be trusted.. and that was something she could absolutely respect. Cassandra, herself, had very few alliances.. but she considered Thaddeus to be one of them. Of course, that fact alone was on incredibly thin ice. They were of use to one another, particularly in the service of their queen.. and their kingdom. But just as there was a level of understanding there.. there was also a friction. A low, barely audible static.
She could hear his tone as she made her way into his room, and her lips curled into a slow smile. āIād wager itās the latter..ā She commented, making her way to the window and flickering the curtains back and forth to peer outside. āYou could always have the Military drag me out of here.ā The amusement in her tone was blatant, as she approached him, leaning on her tiptoes to peer lazily at the parchment before him. āCan I borrow a moment of your time? Or are you too nettled at my intrusion?ā
despite the TENSION that sometimes taints their encounters -- which are more than heād like to have, but alas, power requires planning and planning involves HER -- he is not ENTIRELY disturbed by the woman. in fact, if their STATUS and world didnāt constantly rely on the suspension of a fragile thread, he might have actually LIKED her. respect is certainly somewhere in the mix of their usual -- he recognizes the faculty within her claws. his only problem is that heās yet to figure out how to EXPLOIT her without getting his hands dirty -- a sideline project he dedicates plenty of study to. an enigma uses as a lullaby; he falls asleep plotting against her only to wake up and offer her a breed of friendship he hardly feels. against his wishes, thaddeus does not ALWAYS get his way -- but heāll try. heāll eternally TRY.
cassandra makes herself AT HOME -- an offer that has never been nor will ever be on the table. brown eyes narrow slightlyĀ as he observes her. hands become busy, lazily accommodating the parchments for safe keeping.Ā ā seems we can agree on THAT,Ā ā he states, recalling her own brother. they are alike, certainly; the resemblance shinning through easily. thaddeusā own sisters? those half witted half siblings? there is no trace of him ANYWHERE. the girls are sweet and heās already USED that to his advantage.Ā ā believe it or not, there are particular tasks i prefer to carry out with my own HANDS,Ā ā like removing her from the room. his head tilts as he stacks the last of the papers, and as he walks to put them away in a drawer, his eyebrow remains arched.Ā ā youāve already INTERRUPTED my evening and i hardly care for a repeat. how may i be of service?Ā ā the question is monotonous, rehearsed. he wants her OUT as quickly as possible.Ā
ā½Ā ⢠ āĀ p l e a s u r eĀ is a familiar concept to himĀ ā he has tastedĀ it, salt and saccharine, on the swollen lips of his clients; he has feltĀ it, soft and sensual, in the gentle caress of a fleeting lover. pleasure is a song, a sweet symphony of sensation; and he, a v i r t u o s o. a hedonist. but for all that he does indulge, both in himself and others, christopher has never known a pleasure quite like this. fitting, he supposes, for there isnāt another in his life quite like lord lockheart, the only man granted the permission to l i n g e r in his boudoir long after the drapes have been pulled and the candles blown out. the only man who need not payĀ for satisfaction, for his l o v e. and oh, what a beautiful, what an intimateĀ love it is; ever the adventurer, there is not a single expanse of taut, tan skin on his body that christopher has left unexplored. untouched. unworshipped.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā his touch is gentle as it traces feather-light floral designs across his loverās bare chest, head resting in the soft slope of his shoulder as fingers card through his hair and twirl absently through curls mussed from his pillows. the sensation alone is enough to draw a contented hum from rose-stained lips, slow and honeyed. oh, what he wouldnāt give to bottle this moment like a sweet perfume, to press it like petals between the pages of a diary so that he might hold onto it f o r e v e r.Ā Ā ā Ā if ever my bed remains empty long enough.Ā āĀ Ā he answers thaddeus with a soft breath of a laugh, fingertips trailing along his collarbone as he lifts affectionate eyes to meet the other manās warm, mahogany gaze.Ā āĀ though i imagine it would be far better if y o uĀ were here, coincidentally.Ā Ā ā
the actions that lead a man to CONQUER the affections of a harlot -- sweetness set aside, the boy is nothing but another whoreĀ playing the game of life with whatever cards he has left -- are a staircase of steep steps. thankfully, thaddeus has long legs and no OBSTACLE is vast enough to end him, to HALT him. how does one acquire the ENDEARMENT, then? an easy feat: humanize them. give them a taste of importance, of self worth -- make them BELIEVE they are something more than what they are. never has thaddeus called christopher for what he is -- instead he baptizes him PARAMOUR, lover in the dark, and smiles as if the boy matters. smiles as if he CARES. he provides meals and clothes. he weaves a web of worship that is hardly true and lays his heart at christopherās feet. or perhaps the heart is someone elseās; someone heād stolen it from. a thing this PURE could surely never be thaddeusā. soft touches and whispered midnight confessions are not truly in his nature.
it is not difficult to be SELFLESS. to play the part of a devotee and run hands across the boyās skin with PURPOSE, with dedication. it is not hard to pretend, even when every act goes against thaddeusā very character. it IS NOT. and it is so because the lord is quite aware that what he will get in return means more than what he is giving. whatever losses he experiences in these exchanges are overshadowed by the GAINS. he is a man of cold calculation and preciseness; he does not take RISKS before solidifying his stance first. and christopher -- saccharine, lovely christopher -- is not someone he DIGESTS with any degree of strain. if anything, itās a pleasureĀ to taste each inch of him; to be aware of how much territory he owns. theyāre not that different, not in the grand SCALE of things, just as the rest of the world is not different. each and every human being is a whore to their own cause. sex has never had ANYTHING to do with it. his hand trails down to christopherās chin, thumb dancing on his lower lip -- admiring him.Ā ā your bed does seem to have a FONDNESS for company,Ā ā he comments, lips tilting in a half grin. the smile only GROWS when christopher speaks of his desires. thaddeus leans closer; presses his lips against the boyās with a gentleness that feels UNFITTING.Ā ā i am here now,Ā ā he murmurs, lips still grazing christopherās,Ā ā and i will be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. so long as youāll have me, i will be here.Ā āĀ
Honeybee by Trista Mateer
You are not defined by the people you walk away from, and you are not defined by the people who walk away from you
Trista Mateer (via i-sveikata)
Go ahead. Call it love. Call it sunshine and soft, pink underbelly turned up. Call it romantic. Sugar-spun. Warm and tingling. Moth-to-the-light. A little bit of teeth. I always liked your poetry. The way you could make something that hurt seem so pretty.
āTheĀ Poet Holds Tight To Pretenseā Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)