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cómo agua para chocolate
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This book is so peak
Maybe, love is a sense of calmness? When you find that special someone that shuts down your nervous system in a way that says, “you’re safe here”
—Asia // dolluettes-prose
I love horror. I love that as a horror writer you can do anything. And as a horror reader you can expect anything. I'm compiling a list of Slavic horror literature, give me a rec if u have one
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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And Mr. Shepherd loomed over Drickie in every way that could be imagined, for what else could he do; and the world in its entirety, and in every way imaginable, loomed over Drickie, for that is the way of the world no matter how it constitutes itself, it looms and looms, and Drickie became the opposite of glowing; he grew dull, like something useful made of a precious metal but forgotten on a shelf, he grew dull and ugly, in the way of the forgotten, and this is true: often a thing that is ugly is ugly in itself, and often a thing that is ugly is only a thing that is forgotten, kept from view and kept from memory, and often a thing that is ugly is not only a definition of beauty itself but also renders beauty as something beyond words or beyond any kind of description. And ...
- Mr Potter, Jamaica Kincaid
Silent Screams in the Darkness - Written Tales. In Silent Screams in the Darkness by Matthew Adams, one man’s night unravels into a harrowing vision—was it just a dream, or something more? Submit your own haunting tale to Written Tales today. https://www.writtentales.com/silent-screams-in-the-darkness-by-matthew-adams-a-nightmarish-encounter/
Hope in Grey
When the world feels heavy—like a brick on your heart or a burden on your shoulders—you stare at the sky and wish upon the brightest star, as if that alone could solve your problems. Yet the star just blinks, indifferent—a cold reminder that some weights must be carried alone.
How can you be so naive, so innocent again?
Your color palette is gloomy now, painted in shades of grey and carved into a void of numbness. Yet still, you hope.
How can you be so stupid?
Of course you’re angry at the world for being cruel—but only because you still refuse to accept the truth:
"You can't expect people to treat you the way you treat them—with kindness and respect."
A tale as old as time.
When you were searching for love, all you found was a heart too full of rage to feel anything else.
Too empty. Too dark.
It didn’t consume you.
It became you.
Who you were feels like an old friend you haven’t spoken to in years.
And if you’re honest, you’d be ashamed to admit what you’ve become:
A shallow being with a shattered soul—no longer sweet, no longer beautiful.
Just ugly pieces on the ground—naked, burning, full of rage.
Yet still too stubborn to turn to ashes.