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@veteratoris

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i-i'm dying.
”no.”
[ she’d told him that many times. no! lanz, no reaching around in there, the dust will—! always scolding him, always reprimanding him one way or another with a sharp slap to the back of the hand and a frown. but now, in his arms and in that bed that shouldn’t have been able to fit the both of them, she laughed against the curve of his shoulder and pressed those grinning lips into the pale skin she so freely painted with the tips of her fingers.
she murmured no as his cold hands took hold on her hip, on the curve of her back, but the grip of her leg thrown over his slim stomach. no was her laughter and no was her joy, for in him was her solace and her peace and whatever other word might encompass her love. ]
and then came the added variable of his blood. his and her love but his blood and her hands, warm and sticky as they tried to hold together instead of rip. but how could she, the devil who’d always tried to kill, now preserve a life? to put him out of his misery would be the fastest way, though if she’d gone by that reasoning, he would have fallen to her blade long ago.
her fist was in the ground beside his head as she kneeled over him, the vision of her thieves, her children, her loves, her family splattered along the stained and running down his pallid skin. her fist was in the air and it was in the ground again, those fists that killed doing nothing but slamming into the earth that decided to take him from her boom boom boom boom just like the gunshots just like the bombs in her ears!
no no no no no no no no was not even her voice as she cried over him dryly, no tears to spare because tears were not their right, their privilege.
she let him bleed out beside her not because she was cruel, but because she loved him. and yet, where was the difference in that?
“like what—?”
"..like that. what did i do this time?"
#[ yeah. well. he's the only italian in me. ] #[ OOOOO. ] #[ smackdown. ]
[ lizzy im going to fucki ng stab you ]

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"...stop looking at me like that."
side b. [sour] | a mix for dysfunctional relationships, for when everything’s gone wrong but you just can’t leave. or maybe, you don’t want to. [side a / side b]
touch, daughter | innocence, halestorm | obsessions, marina & the diamonds | antichrist, the 1975 | tears don’t fall (acoustic), bullet for my valentine | under the gun, the killers | maps, yeah yeah yeahs | into the past, nero | smother, daughter | if i had a heart, fever ray | happy together (cover), filter | no light, no light, florence + the machine | vermillion, slipknot | many of horror, biffy clyro | castle down, emilie autumn | fineshrine, purity ring | running up that hill (cover), placebo | howl, florence + the machine | love is blindness (cover), jack white | together, the xx | heart-shaped box, nirvana | every you every me, placebo | mr. brightside (cover), run river north | snuff, slipknot | was it a dream?, 30 seconds to mars.
"Cute necklace you got there.."
the footpad & the prowler (aND THIS WASMORE OR LESS AN ACCIDENT I JUST WANTED TO DRAW THEM TOGETHER AND NOT PHOTOBOMBING EACH OTHER i am so sorry alex)

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[ i have lived without existing for ages before you. ]
[ what makes you think i need you now? ]
the stone struck once, twice, three times across the dulled edge of the dagger, each movement growing louder with the scrape as he grew violent. he could feel her eyes on him; hot and brows furrowed, like a blue fire, and he did not stop.
[ but i do. ]
scrape.
he lied and swore and stole from her but she still invited him, she still rested a gentle hand on his like his sins were forgiven.
[ but they weren't. ]
scrape.
everything before was dust and dirt and the stench of iron on thin steel, rough fingers and guilt. the unmistakable, unforgettable noise of jeering laughter and swears yelled at the top of lungs played in the midst of city streets, the noise of pleas overpowering voices of children. the smell, the taste, the feeling repeated like a swarm of angry flies above his shoulder, a confused mess of noise--
[ kiss me. ]
in a single stroke the blade caught on his hand and ripped tender flesh down to the wrist, and tumbled to the floor with a clatter so loud he leapt up, the stone following with a dull thump! as it rolled to her feet, bloodied and warm; and nary a word was spoken as she held his arm, dripping with crimson, and bandaged it with a scarf.
"stupid boy," she whispered.
I usually solve my problems by letting them devour me.
Franz Kafka (via durianquotes)

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Archetypes | REVOLUTIONARY
The city is burning around them, and they dance a dance made of gunsmoke, trembling cathedrals and the splatter of blood against a police shield. On their bodies is writ the story of a kingdom come tumbling down; in their bones are the towers, in their fingers the laws coming unbound, in their eyes shine the electricity thundering through the streets, and in their hearts nothing but freedom. Princes and society girls are screaming, queens are bowing on their balconies to the ravening crowds, and presidents are losing the iron grasp of their armies. The internet is ablaze, the books are burning, the priests are gasping, and the soldiers are warring with the police on the steps to parliament. The city lives tonight; in the fires, in their blood, in the roaring of the maddened crowd as they come alight to the cracked, holy voice of the revolutionary, who sucks the air out of every room, who is unbearably beloved, who is a violent black hole of hope; who is everything and nothing but this.
(◡‿◡✿) thank you lizzy