𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓 ?    —    Did It Hurt To See,

  *  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂    :    feelings.

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    being unable to stop smiling. laughter. bear hugs. happy tears. waving arms around. dancing. contently sighing. eyes twinkling. laughter lines. childlike playfulness. skipping. talking more. affection. cracking more jokes than usual. gesturing more when talking. higher pitched voice. squealing. jumping around. clapping.

𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.    tearing up. self-hugging. one-arm cross. an aching chest. scratchy throat. a runny nose. turning away. deep breaths. quivery smiles. crying. infantile sobbing. hands gripping each other or an object. covering mouth. puffy eyes. eyes appear red. voice breaking. a distant or empty stare. monotone voice. asking for comfort. faking a smile. crumbling. shaking. whimpering. depression. abusing an unhealthy habit. withdrawing from others. big teary eyes. doing something even if it could hurt them.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑.    furrowed brows. baring teeth. passive-aggressive comments. avoiding eye contact. sarcasm. headache. sore muscles. hiding clenched fists. irritability. jumping to conclusions. raising voice. going silent. demanding immediate action. keeping it all in until exploding. body tensing. making risky decisions. middle finger.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑.    wanting to flee or hide. what-ifs. images of what-could-be flashing in mind. uncontrollable trembling. rapid breathing. screaming. a skewed sense of time. irritability. keeping silent. denying fear. turning away from the cause. pretending to be brave. nail-biting. lip-biting. scratching skin. a joking tone but a voice that cracks. fainting. insomnia. panic attacks. exhaustion. substance abuse. tics. rushing adrenaline. face draining of color. hair lifting on the back of the neck. feeling rooted to the spot. making body as small as possible. staring but not seeing. crying. a shrill voice. whispering. gripping something or someone. stuttering. flinching at noises. pleading.

𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    constantly yawning. blurring words together. dark circles or lines under eyes. mood swings. hallucinations. calling people by the wrong name. dizziness. denying they’re tired. slow blinking. trouble concentrating. stumbling. leaning on a doorframe for support. sluggish movements. falling asleep someplace that isn’t a bed. becoming irritated by the smallest things. “I’m awake, I’m fine.”. shaking so bad they spill their drink. fall asleep in their clothes. lay their head on the table because they’re so tired. passing out.

Tagged by :    @reginrokkr​ Tagging :  @asterites  /  @asteriskheart  ( aera uwu )  /  @entropyes​ /  @battleshot​  + anyone who wants to and has the time

“ 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓 , 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘.    they are sung as praise to heavenly objects and the salvation of the light which shall purify them of their blight, including our own agonizing world. ”    as though numerous times recited on command, the response swiftly slithered in resonance, words rolling off the tongue akin to doctrinal lecture.  she wished she could individualize it. she wished she cared for these melodies more than the duty thereof.  her fate, already a sealed verse, woven betwixt the lines. and she struggled --- she struggled, awfully so, to embody the very contents of what she sang : to simply hope with each awakened god.    “ along with ruins we find scattered around the eosian globe, those are the few remains of an era immemorial.  it is rare for anyone to understand this old language, and, therefore, not surprising if you find it more puzzling rather than coherent. even experts struggle to translate them.  my family has honored such hymns for centuries with the help of messengers, but—  if i may confide in you…  sometimes, i tire of them, just a little. ”

confession of a secret, carried in whispers behind closed doors, doubtfully stung any more than the fact of its existence ;  and to render herself vulnerable to one who proved himself ever so curious every day consisting of shared struggles and battles and rest, hardly shall be considered strange.  although in the eyes of seraphs this was unbecoming, why would she not do so, if not a single of your own words, disclosed within a silent moment between gunshots, could be forgotten ?  to her, this night still existed. your revealed wounds then still very visible, now obscured by your laughter and artificial confidence. and thus, it was one burden for another.  a fair trade which she wrapped in the pretense of a chuckle. “ don't judge me too harshly, okay ? ”

❝ —— the songs you sing, what do they even mean ? ❞ @moonichor

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘ i seek scandal and low companionship. ’     //    @leadingmcn

𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄’𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐏 ;    and neither seethed its owner with scornfulness, although this could have been a matter of personal grudge. through wide-open windows leaked nocturnal breeze, beddings all undone and disorderly, pearls and gems scattered across invaded tilings ;  those were witnesses to a criminal scene which succeeded not according to its plunderish schemes.  this lady’s heritage was both sheltered and targeted, her belongings rumoured and sought after, and within merely a question of ' when ' would she fall victim to games to this extend --- this much she could fathom and for this much she prepared. 

one night, to her dismay, she failed to read the warning signs : the silence of owls, the flutter of crows, the peering balcony-glares shadowing behind her tender shoulder before she rested ‘pon her familiar mattress, all that ignored only for them to wake her with a rustling of treasures.  the following miniscule wrestle amounted to a moment ‘twixt oddly opposing personas of parallel nobility, and the grin of yours ; a mischief, socially offensive like any other theatric trickster in tales, pinned against ornamental walls.   “ and you concluded to find those by trespassing my private chamber ?  well, at the very least, you are an intriguing character, albeit a thieving one. ”    cold jest, dry lips, bruised dignity. lungs may be pressed by inconvenience, but her hands, firmly clenched 'round weapon's pole, shan’t afford to waver nor shiver.   

“ you have accomplished the scandal ; now, the latter explains the pitiful deeds. ”

ophelia / martyr    //    based on “the young martyr” by paul delaroche, and “ophelia” by john everett millais.

Insp.

Happy birthday to this sweetheart, ravuxnoxfleurett ~

moon moon has appeared ! what to do ?

act cool cuddle flatter make them mine

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃.    t’was between sisters where angels fell on deaf ears, where their choirs ceased so abruptly it rendered time breathless, drowned out by humming bird songs.  as seemingly humble nothings meant everything amid cosmic malediction, what else could she do than accept sweet offers, which may, one day, stand still at a moment's notice ?    “ how could i say no ?  i am in the mood for a little adventure today, and this book can certainly wait.  to what wondrous place will you guide me, i wonder ? ”

It’s not the whisper of a hymn or a hallowed prayer, but the breath of a dying melody curled along the oracle’s tongue in a hushed hum.  ❝ Would you have time to partake in a sightseeing walk with me, Luna ?  There’s a lovely spot not far from the town. It is but a short carriage ride away. ❞ — @moonichor

* 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 . // @re-no

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐓 , 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐒 , 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒.    it was always the trails of her fingerprints, evidence of applying the remedies upon open wounds crying another resin’s ooze.  always sitting close and being accompanied by herbal scents or alcohol bottles.  nursing was her own love language.  adore her, adorn her with the stains of your regret, the dried smear of radiant spider-lily bloom.  by her sneaky beneficence did honey-gold glisten all over the sullying hues, forced itself onto your pallor with a warmth that, she had forgotten, would prompt your outlines to instinctively jolt.  ‘ ey, luna ! ‘  you blurted out, your treated shoulder flinched, your spine tensed up in a straight line, your brain rang the alarm for what careless thing she attempted.  ‘ i told you not to do that. ‘  and she blinked thrice, pursed her lips in surprise, chuckled then, picturing your pout turned towards the wall, away from her, away from the selfless creature she was supposed to portray.  

and it’s been difficult to look at, has it not ?  difficult to refuse it, to disdain it.  that terrible, angelic, woe-devouring thing that would conveniently not memorize your wishes.  you, at her mercy, and she possessed too easy an unspeakable power, unnatural but right just how it should be and how it always was.  it was always the patching, the undressing and dressing of a burning spot, the mercy at which the beast growled beneath her hands caressing the beauty marks.  “ oh, pray forgive me.  a force of habit, you know.  it is not easy to keep in mind that you’d prefer to suffer and complain. ”  all the remark in good jest, but it failed at convincingly delivering the actual apology.  ( please, turn to me again when all is said and done, i did not mean it.  )  

would you keep your anger in your mouth for the next hour, for the rest of the day, had she succeeded to take your pain ?  why were you so greedy with it, what did you hoard it for ?  hurt was no treasure, it was just hurt.  or was the treasure golden and you did not want it ?  never one to be able to rationalize the agreement between you and her, the side-note embedded between the lines, she simply sighed and kept tending to the cuts serving as the cause of refuge sought in the most empty inn to be booked within the next radius of a mile.  the sun now hung low to the point it dimmed out the reminders.  she raised from the couch and played god, the candlewick on, the darkness off.  she sat back again behind the subject who did not ask for more miracles, and after brief inspection of her hard work would a larger band aid be seized, planted over the marrings.  the long pause nestled within the dialogue fell apart with a delayed answer, whispering  ‘ it’s not about that. ’  and she, smiling, said :  “ i know …  i know. ” of course. of course, it's not about that. it's you not wanting her to hurt. it's you wanting the hurt to be a one-way-street.

we have known it as second nature to this woe-devouring thing for her to adore and be adored.  in truth, it frightened her to not see the limits of it.  it frightened her to have seen it in the spilt blood she dreamed of, it frightened her to see so much red that was both hers, on paper, and not.  it frightened her so much she would let her lips sink to your pain and hurt and ached to still take it but — she kissed it worse, instead.  she hurt you more, and would keep hurting you and realized what she had done, realized that the stain of regret would've always been red, oozing from the patch, limbs stitched together, her cold cheek pressed against your shoulder-blade, her heart slipping from her open mouth.  “ it won’t happen again. ” 

please, turn to face me, will you ?  even when i lie.

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; or are the deeper interiors leading to the fayth something that unsettles you ? i noticed you have grown tense upon our visits. " // @reginrokkr

😘❤️

damn

you materialize in the corner of my eye like sephiroth