gonna re-vamp (haha) this blog into multimuse, donât fckin look at my mess.Â
but miaoyi is still here so like... iâll still reply to that : |
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@xuekou
gonna re-vamp (haha) this blog into multimuse, donât fckin look at my mess.Â
but miaoyi is still here so like... iâll still reply to that : |

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iâm not like other girls. i donât die when iâm killed
I have to hold it all, until I die.
Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book of Images; âThe Last of his Line,â
do u have a crush?
death
@illdivine
Ones, twice, triceââ tapping, tapping till sheâs coax off shallow slumber; stirred into drowsy wakeness;  tapping, tapping still, then scraping, then knock, knock, knocking, not stopping even when she whines, grumble quietly  ââ  it never did dawn too quickly, how it had been dainty hands that found its way into her window, that it had been raining, that it had been too deep in the night to be awake,  realized only when she draws away from the warmth of her sheets and see  her.   Â
Judith stares at her visitor,  hazy gaze blurry without aid.  Should she open her windows ?  Noââ NO , yet  she saunters over unlatched its locks; cold air entering, a wild animal ?  a girl ?  a friend ?  welcomed regardless. Sheâs a NUN; wasnât she suppose to welcome anyone anyway.
          â Want to come in ?  â
CONTINUED FROM HERE.Â
       đđđđ  đđđ  đđ  đđđ  đđđđ ,  but she decides to be gracious . She tires of her messes that she has to clean after rageful fits . Sometimes , when she sleeps enough , she remembers a time when she was tender and biddable as a pup . â  Naturally.  â MiĂ oyĂŹ waits not for actual permission , swinging herself through the window . Lands wetly on the old floors . She looks like a corpse freshly brought up by the rain : her dark hair sticking and swirling against her pallid skin , eyes bloodshot. No warm radiates. But she never shivers . â  Itâs coming , canât you smell ?  â MiĂ oyĂŹ closes the window .  â  Iâll keep it out.  Since you let me in . And because itâs a rude , little shit who shouldnât have sniffed around when I was having a good dream .  â Perfectly time , a strange and watery warbling from outside tears through the rainy night . The room rattles , the glass crackles , and MiĂ oyĂŹ rolls her eyes .  â  What about you ?  A sleepy baby , ey ?  âÂ

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sticks out my funky vampire-fairy leg here . . . hey
ăathousandarmsâ,
* đđđ´đşđžđ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â / Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â THE DEMON..
                            ââââ
      â    đđđđđđ  đ  đđ  đđ đđđđ? Quite frankly, Iâm unimpressed.    â
â     đđ  đđ  đđ  đđđđđ  đđđđđđđđ to impress children of rotten - milk.  Iâll eat you, if you keep talking.  â
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ă empyreamâ,
     âIâll remember.â  Their guilt a storm, a serpent with barbed scales and acid tongue; it lives in them, stillââeating itself for all eternity inside their guts, leaving them lightheaded and miserable. No matter how many times theyâd been cut, burnt, flayed, not one of their condemners had thought to pry them apart and pull it from them. It would have been the least they could do, sentencing an innocent person to the gallows time and again; did ahâJhyen truly not deserve even the most minimum of mercy for themself? Look, even now they are all smiles and mirthââlaughing, honey-sweet, at the boldness which MiĂ oyĂŹ wears like a second skin. (where eternity has made them docile, it made her bold; ahâJhyen could almost be envious of it all.)  âAnd all my lives are not exactly the same, but⌠ah. How history loves to repeat itself.â  Another peal of laughter, quieter than the last. (nothing about their life is funny, but it was better than crying, than tearing out oneâs own hair.)  âI try not to be the centerpiece of all these stories, but, it seems fate has a horrid sense of humor or an awful taste of who ought to be in charge.â  Head lulls to the side, their stare warm like a loverâs.  âHave you ever had an affair?â
        đđđ  đđđđđđ  đđđđ  đđ  đđđđ, claims a spot close enough to knock her head gently against theirs. â  You think too much,  â she sighs, as if she knows what gruesome flashes dance through their mind. Sometimes, when she arrives late, she watches the injustice. She weeps. She remembers everything too. â  Disappointing but not surprising.  The Han believed in cosmic cycles . . . Weâre stuck,  ehn ?  â The woman wraps her arms around them now, twists a golden lock of hair around her finger like a cat with string. â  Before you go this time, why not be a muse ? You always have those weepy, martyr eyes the Milanese love to paint.  â Rare for her to ever leave the east, but she trails along the old Silk Road to where the Romans once curled up like a wolf pack. They had been long gone. The empire traded for cities.  The art is beautiful, she admits that much, keeping pictures folded in her ragged clothes, her hiding holes where she buries some treasure.  â No one will ever know the muse, even when her face beautifies the mansions.  You would be safe.  â
â  --------- Yes.  â The woman is honest and shameless. But her nose wrinkles, as though remembering something small and bothersome and worth no accord. The reminder of an itch. â  It passes the time when they try to kill me,  steal my secrets but itâs been three - hundred years since Iâve â died â.  The children of man grow feebler every generation.  But thatâs not important.  I am waiting  for my true love to return.  â There she is : YĂş the Beauty ! Her ruby - rich eyes shine and shimmer, bright and wet as pomegranate seeds. For a silver, a flash, she is young and full - faced ; the moon in rapture. She squeezes ahâJhyen tighter.  â I hate humans, but he will be among them. So here I am, pretending and pretending . . . You can call me stupid.  â
ă yuediyin,
           â well of course not!! i feel that you think a bit too cynically; we work in teams for the very purpose of preventing the worse case from happening. canât you have a bit of faith in me? surely,  studying will help conversationally,  but surely not when we have more pressing matters.  â
    â  đđđ  đđđđđ  đđđ  đđđđđđđ  đđđđđđđđ ------ the planet has long become a pus-festering wound,  and I am just waiting for it to die.  And you are here,  sipping tea with killers and demons . . . . tâsh,  I suppose thatâs what they ought to be doing to lull you so they can run rampant.  I have no more faith in you than I did in humans two - thousand years ago.  â

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OH SHIT THIS BLOG ISÂ ALIVE?? TERRIBLE!!!!
curse life with tears of pity
LET NOTHING HARBOR IN MY CHEST. MAY I RELEASE IN LOUD & CONTINUE TO CONJURE. MAY I HATE & HURT WITH ALL MY LOVE. MAY I FURY. MAY I BURN. MAY I BURN. MAY YOU SEE IT.
Kiki Nicole, from âA Lot To Be Mad About,â published in Recenter Press
empyreamâ .Â
     They made no remark in regards to humanity, nor allow their countenance to betray any one emotion. They could agree on the ignorance and hatred which seemed to readily brew, but then that saintly nature of theirs would compel them to forgive (and spin excuses) for the same people whoâd martyred themâmade an example of them by leaving them a weeping, bleeding mess upon the dirtied roads. These very same people who condemned them, thought them a witch, would always then gather their shining, godly blood into their hands and sell it to noblemen as gold. And still, still, ahâJhyen does not hold them in contempt; still does not find it right to agree with their friend.  âI never minded small houses, so long as they had windows to the outside.â  (they make no mention of god; his blood and screams still too familiarâârefusing to be forgotten.)  âI hope youâve been mindful of your own health as well?â  Itâs spoken in teasing, their eyes narrowing in a rare display of impish playfulness.
     â  đđđđđđđđđđ  đđđđđđđđ . . . I am the same, always.  â Beautiful and undying ------ the bitter envy of every wiseman who cursed the day she came. They had tried their whole lives to be good and righteous, looking down on women like wretched little pets.  â  I cut my hair,  â she rubs the ends of her short bangs between her fingers.  â  Do you like, ah ? A hunter came for my neck, and his knife was good and sharp.  â Not a terrible change. It makes her look younger.  â  No stories for me ? Do you live the same life over and over again ? Eating, breathing, and dying in whatever shit - hole you happen last ?  â MiĂ oyĂŹ remains stretched across the floor, languid and sweet as a cat in sunlight. â  You should stay dead,  â she tut-tuts her tongue, not unkindly. Death is a sweet sort of sleep : one for which sheâs made no secret of yearning. â  Whatâs the point of coming back ?  â Thereâs already an answer. Golden-haired and golden-hearted, quick to forgive. And she, of night and moon, can only shake her head and frown and fret over this one. Thatâs why she keeps coming back, sniffs about to find the latest body for which ahâJhyen carries. â  Go out and have an affair !  â MiĂ oyĂŹ laughs, a dry and disused sound.  â  No one remembers after a hundred years. Usually.  â
kamishiwoeâ .
      â   đđđ  đđđđđ  đđđ  đđ  đđđ  đ đđđđ, to know that they hold sharp sharp teeth. I would come but my flesh is rotten and dull, you would likely die from consuming my body.    â
    â  đđđđ  đđđ  đđđ  đđđđ  đđ đđ ?  Dying , pickled things are delectable,  and rotten fruit is always the sweetest.  Stop this sheep-skinned nonsense, if you know the shape of our teeth.  You eat these humans ?  Tâsh !  All for the better.  â

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orgiriâ .
          đđđ     đđ đ đđđđ     đđ     đđđđđđ  .     smile cracks in full , a crescent moon bathing in the darkness of her mouth , devouring lilies and snakes alike . they tumble in her prickled throat , sinking into blood as she leans close , closer âââ her breath mingling into that silk darkness of the consort â s hair .     â     hush , now .     â     a cooing sneer , as soft as twilight .     â     perhaps she lingers around you because you are her favorite . squirm too much and i may lose her scent , and it will be your life in danger when she comes back for you .     â     but she knows , she knows that scent all too well . she has always been a hound , trained to sniff an inkling of blood , and here , there is much too many drops to be called human .     â     you may take care of yourself as you please , but it is my understanding that a consort , as vivid and most treasured as this , should not have to lift even a finger to move her disheveled hair from her own face . allow me , to snuff out that misery that leaves her smell all over you .     â     and she too , reaches , brushes that hair that lingers in front of the woman â s eyes , a smile as motherly and tender as daybreak peaking on her pale face as  she  steps  away  .     â     yes , let â s venture off ââ certainly our master is worried about what became of her beloved â yu the beauty .  â     â
      â đđđ  đđđđđđâđ  đđđđđđđđ are but wisps of smoke.  Youâre here.  â And youâre the worst devil - bitch of them all. She presses wholly against the demon-slayer,  smelling the vile blood on her and reveling in the warm flesh and hard leather-pieces of armor. If only a bite would not cost her life. â  Indeed, you must care for me . . . If I should die ------ these man-eaters spurred on by a single stray strand of hair ------ then the oni win.  â She smiles, poised as a white porcelain vase, foolish as a pup as to not know the gravity of her words. â  My lord surely means not to fail, though I can only imagine how weary youâve become.  â Humans out-do the demons, always. Why else do these creatures hide, deluding themselves as so superior, when they cannot see past their own toes. At least this human --- this Minamoto no RaikĹ --- could see up to the tip of her long sword. MiĂ oyĂŹ hops over the spilled guts. Her belly moves, an illusion of breathing, but she does not care take a whiff of the room. Even demons shit.  â This way . . . I think I hear it ------ all the snakes and all the babes.  â After a beat, she adds with a troubled sigh,  â  we must save them.  â Â
accidentally went and got myself killed yesterday but god wont let me die so im back