#lysmith

      ‘ seriously ? ‘ the sorcerer asks, amused. ‘ I guess I should be ... flattered. except you flirt by threatening people’s lives. ‘

          long silence is stretched out-- an unplaced TENSION in the air ready to ignite. but-- instead, scott shifts, brow raised in question. “the horns. what’s that about?” 

  “IT’S GONE COLD, I’M AFRAID.” Grease shining upon cellophane and wax paper, a thousand news titles flashing in their mind: GOVERNMENT PARTNERS WITH MCDONALD’S ! IT’S GETTING WORSE AND WORSE ! Facts and statistics buried by bullshit PLANT BASED EATING ( DOT ! ) ORG and mommy blogs. Either way, it put them out of their appetite; painted lips drawing back to expose those terrible bleached teeth; manicured hands pushing away the spread of primary colours and wilted fries. Deep fried to perfection; a time-tested, PUBLIC APPROVED blend of flavours -- tried and true PAID PRODUCT PLACEMENT. Cleared their throat and the sound grated like microphone feedback, neon eyes casting out to the violet twilight and the glow of the sunset. A layer of dust over vinyl seating and chrome fixtures; rust threatening to creep in using the water spots on the popcorn ceiling. “--If this is your version of a PEACE OFFERING, you can fuck off.” 

      ‘ get out of my house. ‘

                    (        MESSAGE        ->        THAT    DICK     )  :        YOU’RE    a    fucking    asshole

[ text ;; lööps ] am i not to be inconsolable? [ text ;; lööps ] stricken by grief? utterly unable to do anything other than bawl my eyes out and incoherently sob as i attempt to tell everyone how much i loved you? [ text ;; lööps ] i’d have thought that was a far more dramatic show, much more suiting. [ text ;; lööps ] i suppose i can throw myself onto the casket too, if i must. [ text ;; lööps ] although you forget one key thing, brother… [ text ;; lööps ] who in all the realms would ever believe you were actually dead? 

 𝑮𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑭 𝑰𝑺 𝑴𝑰𝑫𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬  /  𝑷𝑼𝑹𝑷𝑳𝑬 𝑩𝑹𝑼𝑰𝑺𝑬  /  𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑽𝒀 𝑮𝑹𝑬𝒀   /    he knows not what he’s mourning.   knows there is something full and aching  ,  pulsing and breathing with the beat of his heart  ,  it is a black rage  ,  a sadness that sits weighted and meaty in his chest  ,  cut him open  ,  carve it out  ,  it would fall to the floor  dark flesh.   there are veins of     gold   ,  liquid and molten    carved through  ,   something that saps his strength  ,  that feeds into the fire of his rage.   THE ANSWER IS SIMPLE:    he does not know.   so he shakes his head  ,  ashes his cigarette  ,  hand rolled and smelling sweetly.   lip kips up in lopsided smile  ,  teeth bared on something that could be nostalgia  ,  could be amusement.    “   your guess is as good as mine.   “    a twitch of the fingers.   “   aren’t you meant to be the know-it-all  ?   “

______________________ “ I wouldn’t say the fire is in the way, not when it is this cold.” The Lannister was huddled against what fur was given to him. The chill had settled into his very bones it felt like, but Jaime had NEVER liked the cold. The first time he had come to Winterfell he had hated the cold, but NOW, now when it was blistering and there was no escape, Jaime despised it.