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Kiana Khansmith

if i look back, i am lost

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

tannertan36
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

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@damnthings
LINKS FOR MOBILE !!
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Ok I’ve had it *makes a stew*
100 ways to say ‘ i love you ’ sentence starters ↪ skins uk edition. alter as you see fit
“wake up [name], you twat.”
“do you want a coke or something?”
“can i carry your books?”
“i like that you’re funny Iooking.”
“oh thank you, you’re so nice.”
“you fancy me?”
"i think that could have gone a lot worse, don’t you?”
"we’ll miss you, won’t we?”
[ text ] : EAT
"have you always had that mole?”
"i’m respecting. believe me, i’m respecting.”
"you alright? do you want to dance?”
"do you want me to walk you home?”
"we’ll make ourselves comfy, yeah?”
“shall i give you head?”
"i’m gonna get an early night. coming to bed?”
"i’ll give you head - that’s friendship.”
“but what about you? you’ve got bigger problems than me.”
"i like your hair.”
"and i’m really, really sorry for being a slut, okay?”
"i realised something. i’ve been an idiot.”
"and i was hoping maybe you’d give me another chance?”
"you’re clever, funny, and … very, very pretty.”
"so i’ll see you around.”
”[name], you came! i mean, cool, i mean … i wasn’t sure you would.”
“do you think they’ll give us a joint cell?”
"i don’t want this to be difficult.”
"did you get beaten up?”
"i want to speak to you, and i think you want to speak to me.”
"kiss me again.”
"come on, i’m taking you for breakfast.”
"happy birthday, mate.”
"there’s something i have to get off my chest and if i don’t, i’m afraid everything might just totally go to shit.”
"come to bed with me. please.”
"you’re my best friend, but i really don’t know what the fuck you’re on about most of the time.”
"see? i remembered your favourite.”
"look, sorry, [name]. but your mum says we gotta take you home.”
"come out. i’ll get you dancing.”
"do i have to gay you now?”
"right, i know it might seem a bit fast, but, well, i think we’re ready, so, er, [name] … i want you to move in with me.”
"let’s talk. fill me in with everything. every little detail.”
"we can carry on pretending, if it makes you feel any better.”
"and i fucking love you.”
"wow! you’ve got a wacker lot of doughnuts.”
"cheeky.”
"thanks for keeping schtum.”
"hi, i made tea.”
"i brought vodka. was that right?”
"i’ll show you how to do a blowjob.”
"i missed you… i missed you too much.”
"i think you can do anything.”
"it’s also nice just being with you, when you’re not being a prick, that is.”
"you alright?”
"i know you, [name]. i know you’re lonely. i think you need someone to want you. well, i do want you. so be brave. and want me back!”
"fuck you.”
"can’t we just sit like this … for a bit?”
"this is a once-only charity event, you understand?”
"i bought a fucking gateaux.”
"please. can we start again?”
"facebook really needs to hear about this.”
"you’re very stalkable.”
"i was scared!”
"i am so proud of you.”
"don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
"she’s lovely, isn’t she?”
"you look nice in that dress.”
"you are doing so well, sweetheart.”
"so you’re mental, and i’m useless.”
"so, what are we doing next, mystery girl?”
"i’ll never forget you.”
"hi. i got eggs. we can have eggs, yeah? and red bulls and pain au chocolat.”
"i’d die for you. i love you. i love you so much and it’s killing me.”
"don’t take any crap this time.”
"badass.”
"you’ve totally got, like, ‘fuck me’ eyes, girl. totally ‘fuck me sideways’ eyes.”
"maybe we can go together.”
"don’t be an ass hat and people will like you more.”
"i’m trying to understand your way, but you won’t let me.”
"you’ve got quite a rep, but you’re actually pretty sound.”
"you’ve got to stick it to the man, bruv.”
"you need to sort yourself out.”
"remember when we were kids and we used to talk about just… just fucking it, running away and becoming roadies?”
"everything is going to be fine, i promise you.”
"hi, you look nice.”
"you may live your life as you want.”
"we’ll do a girls’ night in.”
"you’re a shape-shifter of happiness.”
"it’s not like we’re getting married! it was one dinner!”
"thank you, my henna-handed honcho.”
"i’m sorry. i was just looking for somewhere a bit quiet.”
"it’s heavenly.”
"why aren’t you here?”
"i tried to ring you.”
"everything’s better. here you are again.”
"i’ll dance with you.”
"what’s happened to you, [name]?”
"i didn’t wanna tell you this when you were all smitten and shit but you can do better.”
“oh, my god! oh, my god! i’m so glad you came!”
"i promise. everything’s going to be alright.”
"i love you.”
( theasteriae )
different ways to say ‘i love you’ ( accepting! ) / @damnthings said:
❝ It’s a lullaby. Would you like me to sing it to you? Would that help you fall asleep? ❞ ( for EVEY & BASH / royals )
Sebastian turns away from the window ( dark glass slick with winter rain, which blurs his already rumpled reflection ) at the sound of her humming. His blue eyes are bleary with fatigue, a headache’s brewing in his temples; he wants nothing more than to lie down with his head in someone’s lap, to be peaceful and still, but the restless energy that’s kept him up until all hours all this week is still refusing to let him settle.
He drums his fingers against the leaded panes in a hurried, anxious rhythm that’s entirely at odds with the low, slow, lilting notes of her lullaby. Something about it sounds mournful. It makes him wonder, briefly, whether she’s homesick, whether she’s as sick and weary of these castle walls as he is, but he doesn’t ask.
“It’s a kind thought, sweetheart,” he says instead, trying not to sound brusque. He stops tapping and starts pacing, with the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between forefinger and thumb. “But I think it’s going to take more than music to soothe me tonight. If you want to get some rest, I would suggest you retire to your own chambers.” The church bells have just chimed twelve in the distance, and ( privately ) he doubts whether he’ll get to bed much before dawn—if, that is, he even gets there at all.
Evelyn sits by the fire as she studies him, still growing accustomed to his way. Though their marriage has brought Evelyn as close to his station as is possible, she will never know the full weight of the crown–– It seems to oppress him at all times, even now. Her heart aches to see it, concern etching itself in the crease of her brow. When he starts pacing, she rises to join him, skirts whispering against marble until she stops before him to stop him in place, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “Sebastian.” His name still feels foreign on her tongue, almost like a breach of courtesy. “Come sit with me,” she says, voice soft with all the tenderness of a mother. She raises one hand to cradle his face, thumb passing gently over cheekbone. “Just for a while. Let me sing for you.”
@theasteriae
Your Majesty,
I pray this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. The matter is neither pressing nor terribly important, only an informal introduction. Forgive me if I have breached any convention; it is my understanding that the customs of your land differ from those with which I am familiar. Know that any discourtesy on my behalf is unintentional. I leave my home on the morrow. It seems queer to wed without the slightest idea of just who you’ll wed, however typical it may be for those of our station. At risk of overstepping boundaries, I must say that my curiosity feels like it will be the death of me. Do you enjoy the theatre? Do you fence? Is the terrain much different from the highlands? Surely, I will miss my home, though I am hopeful that time will lead me to love England. The gravity of this highest of honors does not escape me, though I must admit how nervous I’ve been. My focus has left me and I find myself at the window more often than not, sitting and wondering about it all, heart jumping in my breast. Forgive my prying. You needn’t respond if I’ve offended. I pray, though, that I have not, and I look forward to receiving word back. It will brighten the journey.
Evelyn, Duchess of Stirling

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wishlist: a thread where each reply is a letter, signed and dated and everything. it could either be really long ones written over a long period or short telegrams. it would work so well with historical muses
“ i knew something won’t right from the beginning but the joy it brought henley… you couldn’t’ve paid me to take that away from her. so we went right along and he was born and it damn near killed her. didn’t help his case. there was something right after she gave birth. a minute there while she was resting and i was holding that damn purple squalling thing and i had half a mind to go out to the woods and end it with the butt of my rifle. the urge was… burnin’ my hands but henley opened her eyes then, and she reached for him with that smile… she was an angel. glowing. y’know how they say pregnant mommas glow? that was her, but all the time. so i handed him over and told her he was hers. her love is what kept him because i damn sure would’nt’ve brought him up. he made her smile. made her happy. gave her something to do and someone to love when i won’t around. “
– excerpt from the charlie bernfield interviews
( dubovoye )
“ LONG STORY. ” HE SAYS THIS, BECAUSE HE CAN’T ANSWER. someone has words for what happened. someone could piece those words together, and say, without emotion, that rhae knew every cruel intention in every gaze, and every bruising mark left in the wake of an angry hand. but rhae doesn’t have those words —- he wouldn’t know how to begin. his stomach growls, and he stares, with his hollow, lilac eyes, at evelyn’s hands. the boxes offered to him contain things his stomach would reject, but he hasn’t eaten since the previous day.
when he takes the offering, he doesn’t discard the trash, and holds both close to his chest. another week of survival, if he can ration this out. another week closed to death. his hands tremble ( his hands always tremble now, for some reason or other ) but his grip on these meals conceals it. “ you work at a bakery. ” he’s peiced this together in the passing moments. his eyes are tearful. “ you survived that place. ”
Head shakes slow and, unsurprisingly, tears begin to well up in green eyes. He’s a far cry from the boy who’d felt like a sibling to her but, somehow, she sees him at eight years old again. She remembers the feeling of holding him. “Rhae, I own the bakery,” she manages with a smile. It isn’t a boast, but a shared victory: Look what we can do. That place seems foreign, a memory that isn’t hers. “Listen… my apartment’s just up the road.” Old affection is stirred up like the embers of a fire stoked back to light. It outweighs any reservation. “Join me for dinner?”
( diabolicaltendencies )
A slight tension flickers through his posture when hands shoot up to frame his face, but he catches himself before flinching away. He sits still again but gives Seamus an apprehensive look the entire time. A soft sigh accompanies the huff.
“Don’t think of it as copying. You’re trying to be me. Here,” He adjusts to sit the same way Seamus is before taking his hand and putting their palms together flat, held up between them. “Think of it like a mirror, but I’m the reflection. Focus on the eyes again.”
Seamus is skeptical, having heard and tried everything, but he relents and stills himself before Jim, even halting the incessant bouncing of his leg for a moment. A deep breath and he begins, concentration forming a crease in his brow. Jim. Math. Calculus. What else? Without realizing it, Seamus’s eyes change back to Jim’s darker hue and his hair has begun to change texture and shade in patches. ”Did it work––” He surprises himself with the other’s softer lilt and stops short, grinning. He laughs, voice cracking back into his own. “Jesus, did you hear that?”
listen i know it isn’t munday but i the fit could Not wait
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immortals falling for mortals
immortals getting clingy and needy because you have so little time we need to make the most of it
and their lovers being like chill i’ve still got like fifty years and we’ve already spent decades together we’ve been like all around the world by now but rly all I need is you
and just, no, you don’t understand that’s not nearly enough for all the things I want to show you please why are you slowing down I know but you’re tired a lot lately wait no
don’t
go
( metuere )
Quinn is like a comic, a cartoon. Their big-eyed, bushy-tailed innocence makes Spirit feel oddly paternal.
If she has to show some kid with fucked up powers left from right, she knows all the right things to do and she knows how to not royally fuck somebody up. Right? Right.
Spirit is unreasonably confident in her ability to adopt all the best parts of growing up with Harris while ignoring all of the worst.
“I’m not with anybody, I’m not trying to fuck with you, it’s just - the thing. You’ve got going on.” Spirit gestures vaguely around Quinn. “The fucking costume, it’s stupid. And a lot of work, right? Isn’t it easier to be harder to describe?” Revealing anything else might give Quinn a stroke.
They shake their head, ever nervous but slowly collecting themself. The wig is stuffed into their backpack gracelessly. “You’d think so, but not me. I’m–– No one would ever suspect.” It’s quite an assumption, but all their money’s on it. Another glance behind them. “Look, you can’t… You can’t tell anyone that you saw me. Okay?” It feels too much like a demand. “Please.”
hc. silas.
following the arrest of charles and death of henley bernfield, charlie wasn’t talking and celine went practically catatonic for months, and so thirteen year old silas was largely responsible for giving the police an idea of what it was like in the bernfield house, at least for much of the early investigation. charlie started confessing after a few weeks of grief for his wife. silas was also the only one who could talk with celine for months, usually only if they were alone. this was a massive stress on him–– his world is turned upside down, his mother is dead, the future is unclear, he’s answering questions in an active investigation, and he’s terrified of losing the only person he has left: his sister. to this day, that period of time is one of the darkest in silas’s memory, and while he’d always looked out for celine, this was what triggered his sense of responsibility for her. he never shook the feeling and continues, to this day, to feel like the caretaker in most relationships.
writing partner: makes a typo me: barely noticed! don’t care! we’re just having a good time and you’re a great writer and i love you :)
me: makes a typo me: ha! idiot! you had the gall to think you’d be good at this! k/// yourself!
( metuere )
As exhausting as the effort is - shouldn’t breathing be enough right now? - Spirit’s eyes dart in every direction Winston twirls his knife. When it presses against her skin again, she’s not as keen on teasing like she was before.
A larger part in this. What does he think he’s doing, picking storylines in a fucking LARP session? She opens her mouth to snap something about Winston’s psychosis, but all that comes out is a frustrated grunt.
“Sure. I am in an ideal position to sign a binding contract right now.” She’s too monotonous for a hint of sarcasm.
He’s high enough on delusion to overlook her attitude and continue on with the monologue, spinning out the plan like some fictional villain. “It’s almost over.” She needn’t know exactly what it is, but Winston trusts that she’ll gather enough to form a conclusion. “There isn’t much I have left to do, but she needs to stay off my tracks just a while longer. A week, maybe. And you––” This is punctuated with the tip of the knife, pressing now just under Spirit’s chin. “––will keep her distracted. Tell her just enough about our little meeting here to get her closer. Bring them here for the bodies and they’ll be tied up in identification.” Then, pointing the knife to the starry sky above, “I’ll prepare everything. You’ll watch us transform and you’ll live to spread the word.” He cocks his head, studying her face. His weight shifts to trigger another sickening crack in the hand under his knee. “Or you can die now and I’ll finish things up without you. You’ll rot here with the rest of them. Which would you prefer?”

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( drkestsky )
he’d driven a ways, through early morn and a bit of early-fall wet sleet, but finally, will’s reached the proper doorstep. mindless, empty tasks like driving were easy. easy as long as he could sit back at ease, loosen the tension in his shoulders and find it within him to embody that emptiness.
when the door finally opens, will does his best to seem… presentable. not quite smiling, but standing straight, head a bit bowed. if not amicable, than at least… the appearance of submissive. “hi, i’m… will graham. i texted you about your- facebook post.”
@damnthings- for silas
Silas hadn’t been able to help himself. The poor thing had been on the side of the road, barely visible in the dark, and despite post-work exhaustion, he’d pulled off and picked her up. The mutt had sat in his lap on the rest of the drive home, a shivering little ball of dirty fur. At the apartment, he’d fashioned a home out of a storage tub and towels and had stayed up with her until Will’s arrival. “Ah, yeah, good morning.” In awkward moments, Silas tends to revert to his practiced bedside cordiality. He extends a hand in greeting. “Silas Bernfield. Come in, please.”
@amelorates | meme!
andy & matis.
once matis makes it clear that he’s open to questions, andy assaults him daily with a grocery list of inquiries about earth living that she doesn’t want to bring up to the ground crew.
they have a mukbang type thing where, when andy’s curious about earth food–– especially of the junk variety–– matis gets some and they share meals together. she has her perfectly grown and balanced meal and experiences the joy of a big mac combo vicariously through matis. she also uses this as an excuse to share mealtimes with someone, a luxury that had disappeared with the crew.
matis mentions the concept of web-comics once and andy develops an addiction and he becomes her dealer.
it’s known that andy goes offline sometimes, and matis is not exempt from this. she knows that going ghost like that sends everyone on the ground into cardiac arrest levels of stress, but she gets overwhelmed, she gets depressed, and she withdraws from interaction for days at a time. even during this, though, she’ll send a little bit of code or something to matis, usually along these lines: [ 01110011 01110100 01101001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101001 01110110 01100101 ]