angcls
OPEN WOUNDS
14 posts
sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine.
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angcls Ā· 3 years ago
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mvthologysĀ·:
BLOODIEDĀ  FOOTĀ  STEPPINGĀ  ONĀ  SPLICEDĀ  GLASSĀ  andĀ  makingĀ  itĀ  lookĀ  likeĀ  featheredĀ  down.Ā  smilesĀ  thatĀ  stitchĀ  planetsĀ  backĀ  togetherĀ  andĀ  paintĀ  overĀ  brokenĀ  homesĀ  untilĀ  theyā€™reĀ  beautifulĀ  again.Ā  laboredĀ  breathsĀ  thatĀ  whisperĀ  gentleĀ  sighs,Ā  hangingĀ  upĀ  masksĀ  inĀ  theĀ  closet.Ā  theseĀ  areĀ  theĀ  thingsĀ  seanĀ  isĀ  madeĀ  of.Ā  graspingĀ  tightlyĀ  toĀ  splinteredĀ  relationships,Ā  overlookingĀ  expirationĀ  datesĀ  andĀ  sourĀ  longings.Ā  brushingĀ  hisĀ  palmĀ  onĀ  flickā€™sĀ  thighĀ  heĀ  triesĀ  toĀ  listenĀ  onlyĀ  toĀ  theĀ  soundĀ  ofĀ  herĀ  voiceĀ  andĀ  notĀ  theĀ  mourningĀ  herĀ  wordsĀ  carry.Ā  anotherĀ  bodyĀ  tryingĀ  toĀ  sendĀ  itselfĀ  toĀ  hisĀ  grave,Ā  andĀ  heĀ  smilesĀ  throughĀ  theĀ  thoughtĀ  Ā -Ā  Ā smilesĀ  stillĀ  atĀ  her.Ā  aĀ  prizeĀ  heā€™sĀ  wonĀ  overĀ  andĀ  overĀ  again,Ā  butĀ  theĀ  dangerĀ  inĀ  seanĀ  isĀ  thatĀ  itĀ  willĀ  neverĀ  beĀ  enoughĀ  toĀ  satisfyĀ  theĀ  starvingĀ  atĀ  theĀ  pitĀ  ofĀ  him.Ā  Ā ā€œhowĀ  amĀ  iĀ  supposedĀ  toĀ  lookĀ  atĀ  you,Ā  then?ā€Ā  Ā heā€™sĀ  smugĀ  andĀ  satisfiedĀ  butĀ  stillĀ  heĀ  stretchesĀ  forward,Ā  felineĀ  inĀ  theĀ  wayĀ  heĀ  letsĀ  himselfĀ  curlĀ  atĀ  herĀ  splayedĀ  feet.Ā  Ā ā€œ youĀ  didnā€™tĀ  likeĀ  it ? ā€Ā  Ā andĀ  theĀ  realĀ  concernĀ  thatĀ  reddensĀ  hisĀ  cheeksĀ  isĀ  allĀ  thatĀ  betraysĀ  hisĀ  tiredĀ  composure,Ā  contagiousĀ  smileĀ  waveringĀ  aĀ  blink.Ā  Ā ā€œyouĀ  donā€™tĀ  likeĀ  me?ā€Ā  Ā butĀ  thisĀ  isĀ  aĀ  tease,Ā  aĀ  catĀ  toyingĀ  withĀ  theĀ  befallenĀ  mouse,Ā  becauseĀ  asĀ  heĀ  wrapsĀ  hisĀ  armsĀ  aroundĀ  herĀ  legsĀ  sheā€™sĀ  stillĀ  warmĀ  andĀ  breathingĀ  andĀ  sittingĀ  inĀ  hisĀ  bedĀ  whenĀ  sheĀ  couldĀ  haveĀ  leftĀ  instead.Ā  herĀ  presenceĀ  alwaysĀ  feelsĀ  likeĀ  aĀ  victoryĀ  Ā -Ā  Ā theĀ  onlyĀ  shameĀ  thatĀ  heā€™sĀ  atĀ  warĀ  withĀ  hisĀ  ownĀ  sisterĀ  andĀ  flickĀ  feelsĀ  uncomfortablyĀ  likeĀ  aĀ  casualty.Ā  Ā ā€œiĀ  donā€™tĀ  regretĀ  it.Ā  neverĀ  do.ā€Ā  Ā howĀ  littleĀ  itĀ  saysĀ  whenĀ  seanĀ  findsĀ  loveĀ  inĀ  coldĀ  places,Ā  inĀ  leavingsĀ  andĀ  drowningsĀ  andĀ  overconsumption.Ā  Ā ā€œyouĀ  letĀ  guiltĀ  inĀ  oneĀ  timeĀ  andĀ  itā€™llĀ  eatĀ  youĀ  allĀ  up.Ā  lookĀ  atĀ  myĀ  dad.ā€Ā  Ā theĀ  wayĀ  patrickĀ  maroonedĀ  himselfĀ  outĀ  ofĀ  aĀ  family,Ā  hauntsĀ  theĀ  perimeterĀ  ofĀ  townĀ  likeĀ  aĀ  vagrant.Ā  aĀ  mirrorĀ  seanĀ  wishesĀ  heĀ  couldĀ  shatterĀ  andĀ  letĀ  bleed.Ā 
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Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā  Ā Ā· Ā * .
ā€œi donā€™t know, like iā€™m,-ā€ it begins. this horrid culmination of wasps that nest in her throat : angry. slipping into her chest, swelling her heart ; it aches openly. unstitching beastil wounds. she sits at his table. long and empty, her feet kicked up, her hands bloodied ; itā€™s always been them. held in this chapel ; digging nails into the meat of thighs, - an altar that she repents only to him. this habit they have of allowing the night to undress them wholly. a secret that is kept between teeth. sloane. her name is a hymn that she had learnt but seeks to forget. and there is still that familiarity that flourishes, - hands twisting against organs ; they kiss the same. ā€œshut the fuck up, sean.ā€ tease the same as well, and it spreads against blush stained cheeks,Ā  delightfully dizzy, - dimpled smile carved out of flesh. she hates him sometimes. haunts him in the pale moonlight, - nails sinking into curls that meet like a crown against his head. does that make her his prize? but she feels more like a slaughtered lamb. devoured. ā€œi donā€™t regret it.ā€ it bites, head lulling, - needy. ā€œyou know i donā€™t,ā€ though it spills a whisper, this rotten work they have created between them gathering at the foot of the bed. because itā€™s never just been them. the carcass that follows seeps into the carpet ; caught in the corner of her eyes. look at my dad, but she doesnā€™t need to, - merely her own reflection that greets guilt like an old friend ; her motherā€™s love choking her frame, her brotherā€™s axe gaze that cuts deep, sutterā€™s lips pressed into the base of her neck. and sloane. always sloane.Ā 
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angcls Ā· 3 years ago
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FLICK & SEAN.Ā 
there's desperation to be held. her heart, fragile; barely beating within bloodied ribs, carves in the back of her throat. a rotting fever flourishes, igniting flesh, and she looks at him through lidded lashes. sweet sean. a prayer that lathers his darkened room,Ā  - holy water dosed ; communion ridden. it feels cruel.. the way he looks at her ; star clung, breath held. and they are always here, - in the space between them that spreads between fingertips. gathering his shirt, - rolling between bruised finger and thumbs. his room is a haven that does not sit well in the water anymore. all sunken and sodden. it feels like the end. that if she carves her lips into blush ridden cheeks she may chew him whole. sink teeth into that father-sized ache that they both share. ā€œfuck,ā€ and the word slur,Ā  honey pooled with dizziness. this raw wound that she encourages the other to dip into. but she can barely see him among the dark. amongst the moonlight basked in silence that she wants to scream into hideously. ā€œyou need to not look at me like that,ā€ and she tugs a pout against swollen petals, hands spreading against her own stomach, - pressing into the grooving of bones that donā€™t feel like hers anymore. merely a tremor that she bites down on. ā€œseriously,ā€ she begins once more, feet kicking out, - sullen.
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angcls Ā· 4 years ago
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JAMIE Ā·:
HEĀ  WANTSĀ  ITĀ  TOĀ  BEĀ  LOVEĀ  THATĀ  FOSTERSĀ  unbegotten rage, that tightens in his throat and falls with his stomachĀ  ā€“Ā  but it feels more like a selfish rage. the way a child raised in a house of bones needs flesh to feel whole, the way an inch can feel like miles. itā€™s blind searching for anything to grasp onto, anything thatā€™s left of the ghost who used to look so much like a prince. he feels his absence at his side like an open wound, one from which the good parts of him are dissolving, melting, rotting.Ā Ā ā€œitā€™s not meant to be a chore,ā€Ā  jamie bites, fangs bared, the wolf who finally shed his wool. the room is spinning, either that or itā€™s gone red, he canā€™t find anything to break but the relationship he loves so much, so much that it hurts, so overwhelmed with it that grief looks something like abandonment and apologies sound something like mockery.Ā Ā ā€œbesides, whatā€™s the point? weā€™re never going exist outside of oxford. i think we both know that.ā€Ā  and heā€™s always been so selfish. heā€™s always been so afraid. biting the hand that feeds him before he can get bit first. but thereā€™s something else, when he shuts his eyes, the immediate regret that stirs.Ā Ā ā€œi donā€™t ..ā€Ā  perhaps he needs more sleep, to keep the paranoia at bay, the nipping on his heels, his past finally catching up to him. perhaps he needs to remind himself that there are more important things than playing house with the person you want but can never have, like sand slipping through calloused hands. that one of them lost their brother, and the other never had one to begin with. how could he ever understand?Ā Ā ā€œi donā€™t think thatā€™s quite what i meant. there are more important things than us, is all. that is all.ā€Ā  itā€™s true, but why does it hurt so much to prise from phantom lips? why does it taste like decay?
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HE HOLDS A FUNERAL IN THE BACK OF HIS TEETH ; a graveyard. trained to kneel before a god. he is always in that room ; dark, knees bloodied, - tear stained features flushed. reciting prayers that hymn in the name of his lover. o jamie, iā€™m so sorry. i canā€™t leave this place. i canā€™t find the door. onlyĀ his next damnation. he is always alone. even when thorns are pressed into his head & feet nailed. the words of his father chewed, slowly, savouring. you understand what this means, son? only he doesnā€™t. he understands an empty place left at the dinner table, a locked room, and laughter trapped in the walls of his family home. that ghosting. the impossible to grasp. what his father means to say is that he is next, the line of succession weighted in an golden crown by his brotherā€™s casket.Ā ā€œ you donā€™t need to be cruel. ā€ & he tastes tears, hot and salty. nimble fingertips pressing them into paled cheekbones. that hummingbird in his throat : dead. bloodied, choking on bones & gravestones. he is always in that room.Ā ā€œ you donā€™t know that, you donā€™t know what could happen outside of this walls. we could be together. ā€ & he is spinning on his axis, finger and thumb unthreading grief soaked flesh. he wavers.Ā ā€œ we could ! always together, and then one day iā€™ll be walking home and get shot. bleed out on the pavement, and youā€™ll be alone, just like you want. - ā€ he stops, bile rising, - nauesea choking. there was so much blood.Ā that permating stetch that threaded lace into the lining of his stomatch. feasting. help.Ā 
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angcls Ā· 4 years ago
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mvthologysĀ·:
AĀ  GHOSTĀ  SITSĀ  THICKĀ  LIKEĀ  FOGĀ  as jamie labors shallow breath. air turned cold, brushing against cracked lips, sealed shut. the greats whisper to him when he shut his eyes, keats and eliot prising broken soliloquy, sowing together shattered remains, but when he wakes again all thatā€™s left is weight. and he would carry more, if there was any more to bare. heā€™d carry it all. hunched back and words that dance on the page in front of him, he doesnā€™t have much left to give.Ā Ā ā€œhow many days is it now?ā€Ā  because heā€™s straining to make out whether the dragon came at beowulf encouraged or enraged, and when he looks up he sees more bone than cheek. his textbook falls closed at his side, defeated, like something will go away if you donā€™t look at it, like problems dissipate in decisive silence.Ā Ā ā€œyou know you could turn in a serviette with just your name on it and pass the course,ā€Ā  an exhale, at his side now. and itā€™s true. because heā€™s the prince of england. because his brotherā€™s dead. because heā€™s skin and bones and grief barely held together. heā€™s hard to look at, but jamieā€™s gaze doesnā€™t fall; stubborn and enamored, it never has.Ā Ā ā€œi worry about you. a bit. you feel really far away.ā€Ā  reads: iā€™m scared shitless. come back.
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THE HAUNTING OF THE WINDORS embeds rotten into bones, wrapped in porcelain, - itā€™s malleable until it clogs into the back of his throat. that splintered childhood awaiting in the debris. those sticky sweet summers ; those cries that would permate into the cracks of the palace. he has forgotten how to breathe with a chest that is managled, - thorns pressed into bloodied remains. he speaks spitting, - drowning.Ā ā€œ coming on three. ā€Ā  he is not sure whether what he has said is the truth, only that his frame threatens to waver in his seat ; and he dreams of sun dazed features prising lips, spliting open on the bed until a tremor will choke. bitterness wraps unfamiliar arms, - pressing finger and thumb into open wounds until he cannot see anything but his brotherā€™s ghost that awaits when he closes hues. star speckled vision. ā€œ iā€™m sorry, my love. ā€ & he is. because he cannot bare to press his frame into the other, because he cannot force unshed tears to fall, because he cannot love the same way he had done before. ā€œ i havenā€™t been a very good boyfriend. ā€ and the word tastes heavy, unspoken, - secrets whispered into cupped hands.Ā ā€œ iā€™ll be better. ā€
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angcls Ā· 4 years ago
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ā€” your heart I wonder about all the time. Worry too.
location : oxford dorms .
@mvthologysā€‹
he holds the dearly depatured in his mouth, culminating a graveyard that is outgrown & forgotten amongst his teeth. his brotherā€™s casket held in his throat. he cannot swallow it without tasting blood. caked & dry. grief came in plucked sweaters, a funeral televised, and unshed tears. denial. anger wavers beneath the surface, open wounds laid bare & prodded, dipped. phone calls ignored. he cannot remember the last time he had called adelaide. so he hides amongst pages unturned, a safe haven protuding speckles of sunlight casting his hollowed bones.Ā ā€œ if i pull another all nighter, do you think iā€™ll finally finish this coursework ? ā€ tired hues glance towards his lover, & he wants to reach into his chest and prise open tenderness, - that sweetness that dews.Ā 
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angcls Ā· 4 years ago
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ā™«
JAMIEĀ  &Ā  ELIJAH .Ā 
bloomĀ Ā ( paper kites )Ā 
in the morning when i wake and the sun is coming through:Ā  you fill my lungs with sweetness, and you fill my head with youĀ  ..Ā  when the evening pulls the sun down, and the day is almost through.Ā  ohĀ ,Ā  the whole world it is sleeping.Ā  but my world is YOU.Ā  can i be close to you?Ā 
samsonĀ  ( regina spektor )Ā 
you are my sweetest downfall. iĀ loved you first, i loved you first. beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth; iĀ have to go, i have to go. your hair was long when we first met. samson went back to bed not much hair left on his head. he ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed, and the history books forgot about us andĀ Ā THE BIBLE DIDNā€™T MENTION US ,Ā  not even once !
i and love and youĀ  ( the avett brothers )Ā 
one foot in and one foot back, but it don'tĀ Ā PAYĀ  toĀ Ā LIVEĀ  likeĀ Ā THATĀ .Ā  so i cut the ties and i jumped the tracks for never to return. brooklyn, brooklyn take me in. are you aware the shape i'm in? my hands they shake, my head it spins. brooklyn, brooklyn take me in ..
if we were vampiresĀ  ( jason isbell and the 400 unit )Ā 
if we were vampires andĀ Ā death was a jokeĀ  we'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke. laugh at all the lovers and their plans. iĀ wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand. maybe time running out is a gift ?Ā  i'll work hard until the end of my shift, and give you every second i can find .. and hope it isn't me who's left behind .. it's knowing that this can't go on forever.Ā  ( likely one of us will have to spend some days alone. )
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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&Ā jamie. ā€Œ:
a stomach that lurches before he can get a word out, ill fated or mad, to think the sight of a windsor can be so utterly consuming. to see curls and not think of the vines that grow cracks in the cobblestone between them. to see skin painted blue in the moonlight instead of the red tapestry of interwoven conspiracy. his only love, born of his only hate.Ā Ā ā€œiā€™ve waited all my life for you,ā€Ā  preened from lips that can not hold back a smile, not anymore. cheeks that will never again know a frown, for how could they? and jamie may be young but heā€™s not foolish; he knows love when it strikes him in the chest, when the sight of elijah alone is enough to dizzy his fermented longing. cupidā€™s bow never once has missed.Ā 
itā€™s only a lonely moment before heā€™s over the banister, soft handsĀ  ( affluent, educated )Ā  cusp softer jawĀ  ( immortal, ethereal )Ā  and a swelling heart beats a trumpet song.Ā Ā ā€œdamn them both,ā€Ā  a whisper and a shout, definitively ushered from a mind made up.Ā Ā ā€œi had to see you. i couldnā€™t breathe, lying awake. dreaming of this moment.ā€Ā  his hands are combing, entangling themselves in dark tresses, as though heā€™s never known the sensation of touch. prodding, searching, starving for him.Ā Ā ā€œdamn them allĀ .Ā  you know what theyā€™ll say, if they ever catch on. and how can someone be so wrong?ā€Ā  against his lips, gentle, humming a tune of sweet sorrow.Ā Ā ā€œit would take a flood to keep me away. a fire. both.ā€Ā  his eyes alight with something unhinged, godly. finally their lips meetĀ  ā€“Ā  jamieā€™s never been more desperate for anything. he could swallow elijah whole, his heart already has.Ā Ā 
ā€œelijah,Ā i think youā€™re the sun and iā€™m the moon. i wonā€™t exist without you anymore. iā€™d sooner perish.ā€Ā  his lips trail longing onto porcelain neck, feverish. damn the gods in all the heavens, this is worship. he canā€™t hold tight enough, fear yanking gnawing tearing at a twisted stomach.Ā 
& he is to be placed on an altar. baptised amongst that tenderness that gnaws, drown in the abyss of holy water that sacrifices those desires. ā€œ you have ruined me for anyone else. ā€ for it is true. how could he look at another without those honey pooled hues ? trace fingertips upon skin that does not bleed the enemies of their fathers ? he has been waiting for this. swallowing greed, mouths prised with a hymn he had recited upon meeting his lover. o jamie ! the words falter, lodged beneath tongue tied madness, cupidā€™s painted petals swooning. he had not known of love until tonight, but beneath him he is reborn, - alcohol dancing in the back of his mouth, that burning that churns; fragmented exhaustion. oh he could drown, feast amongst the sticky sweet desires. his love. that love love love.
touched starved. ravenous to sink teeth into supple flesh, bleed honey dewed raspberry kisses, smeared tongue lapping. he wavers; severing blushed features. he yearns, desperately. ā€œ i love you. ā€ Ā the tips of his toes rise, but he is spinning, lips pressing against the corners of his mouth. he sighs. swollen lips feasted, neck rolling, - a tremor choking his frame until he is limp. angelic hues fluttering at the sight of his blasphemy, a moan slipping, - spilling. ā€œ jamie, - ā€ his name a promise, a prayer, an empty church in which they could seek refugee. he stumbles back, sticky palms holding the sides of his neck until he can steady. ā€œ i have not been with anyone like this. ā€ & his ribcage burns at his confession. virginal pure, the pads of his fingertips pressing, - the lining of his stomach unravelling.Ā Ā ā€œ i want you. ā€
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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mvthologysā€Œ:
ā forĀ  neverĀ  wasĀ  aĀ  storyĀ  ofĀ  moreĀ  woeĀ āžĀ  Ā ( @angclsā€‹ )Ā 
one sleepless night. an eternal contortion of time, it seemed, that separated him from his darkest longing. there had been rosaline before him, a twisting desire plucking gently from his chest, without wound. without grief. jamieā€™s world had not begun until last night, of that he was sure. he felt mad, driven lovesick blind, stumbling through a hedge maze and knowing what awaited him when he emerged. he would tear through thick brush if he had toĀ  ā€“Ā  if it meant his mind would fall finally silent, devoid of a nagging whisper.Ā ELIJAH. he had to see elijah.Ā 
before the ballĀ  ā€“Ā  gentle touches unmasking sharp cheekbones both ā€“Ā  his life had seemed so meticulous. marry appropriately. honor your family. with a dutiful head and claw marks at his neck, keeping full only on glances. on grazes. it had to be enough. there was not a future for a hawthorne outside of propriety. exile, which hath more terror in his look. banishment, do not say banishment. threats of a father he had never known to tell a lie. he felt mad, and perhaps he truly was, to risk it all for one more stolen moment. but what sin could hide behind the steady roar of his heart, the blown pupils of the windsor unmasked?Ā 
green thicket gives way to a balcony, so far above him it had to be nearing the heavens, and how fitting a home for someone nearing an angel?Ā  ā€œelijah,ā€Ā  his voice carrying of its own accord, flushed with something like hope and wine.Ā Ā ā€œi know full well the risks,ā€Ā  as heā€™d pondered them until they lost their meaning,Ā Ā ā€œbut i had to see you again. tonight.ā€Ā  he would climb the garden wall, long legs and sturdy hands gripping to vine, to jutting brick. perhaps it is by will alone he even reaches the balcony at all.Ā Ā ā€œdamn it all, elijah. i havenā€™t known love until that kiss.ā€Ā  his whole body is aflame, calloused palms holding him upright, heā€™s numb and heā€™s alive at once. there isnā€™t anything like it.Ā Ā ā€œtell me you feel the same, or else iā€™ll never recover.ā€Ā 
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ā did my heart love ā€˜til now ? āž
o ! how before the night had undressed him; danced feral fingertips amongst unchartered flesh, crushed lips upon honey-dewed petals, - Ā he had not yet been awakened. simply dormant beneath the thumb of his parents, plucking wings that had engraved his family name across his back: hidden. awaiting for anotherā€™s hand to be pressed against the curving of his spine, padded tips brandishing a loyalty that his father had demanded. due to be betrothed to another by the evening had settled into a dusting that lulled. he had not known how long he had been holding his breath until hues had settled uponĀ his.
& his head turns, prising swollen lips stained red. someone something seeming to grasp hold of the lining of his stomach until he is unthreading, - spinning into the pooling of sticky love love love ! ā€˜ was that was this was ? ā€™ Ā he had pondered. smeared glittered features that holds the remains of their secret decorating his pillow. plush desires alighting a fire; jamie jamie jamie. his name resides the fatal beating of his heart, and he wonders if he will ever rid of it. perhaps he doesnā€™t want too, instead, hold it against splintered jaw, - lathering a tongue until cheeks turn pink. he must be careful with his nurse, he reminds himself, whose eyes had rolled at the sight of his return, his hands desperately slamming & locking his bedroom door. awaiting for his hammering heart to lull into a gentle surrender.
ā€œ jamie ! ā€ tongued tied Ā & wine soaked, he wavers, - giddy. his brother had warned him of his affects of alcohol before, the dangers of wolves dressed in sheepā€™s clothing. though he ignores those warnings, hands prising open the doors to his balcony. OH GOD, heā€™s smitten, bruised, obsessed. foolish. ā€œ i had not known of love until tonight ! ā€ his lips press into an opened shaped grin, hymns bleeding into open wounds, - mouth dripping. ā€œ but you shouldnā€™t be here, my father, - my brother. ā€
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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JAMIE ā€Œ:
HEā€™S SICKLY SWEET, INFURIATING, NAUSA.Ā  heā€™s more a home than this palace, than england, than the shores of monaco where he took his first idle steps. his motherā€™s arms, reaching extended cold palms. never quite longer than his fatherā€™s. he doesnā€™t feel like his voice is loud enough to drown out his betrayal, wants to cover his mistakes with silk longing, kiss over them. there was a time when this wasnā€™t so difficult.Ā Ā ā€œiā€™m sorryĀ .ā€Ā  because he doesnā€™t know what else to say, has run out of excuses that could possibly silence the dull ringing in his ears, the whispers of deficiency. itā€™s his fatherā€™s voice. itā€™s his own.Ā 
he has to hang his head lest elijah see the contorting, twisting anger that slips just out of his control. men may not cry but they can rage. fists into villages and fire over holy grounds. he wishes heā€™d learned the language of gentleness before meeting his foil. wishes heā€™d known what love looked like before it slapped him across the face, dug deep roots into his skin. held still so he could sleep, one night more. one night more. iā€™ll see you when i wake. time since oxford cotton passed with the grogginess of a dream, an unpleasant one, grey where there should have been vibrant colour.Ā  and before elijah, still, there had been others whose lips tasted like forgetting and bodies felt like escapeĀ  ā€“Ā  but there was no soul that remedied the ache so completely. if he could write it down ..Ā  maybe he would find the words. but for now his throat was dry and his head ached and he longed for something that felt less like depravity and more like virtue.Ā Ā ā€œyou know you arenā€™t.ā€Ā 
if he was stronger he might have closed the book there, ignored the way his feet mirrored shuffling steps, dragging him closer and closer until he was wiping caked knuckles against too short trousers. like his blood was sin and would burn against pale flesh.Ā Ā ā€œyou shouldnā€™t have come here,ā€Ā  but he meansĀ  ā€˜thank you for always coming back.ā€™Ā  lesser men would give up on someone who looked so much like impulsivity and a lifetime of regret. his hands fit into the corners of elijahā€™s jaw like they always had, even if he feels like heā€™s outgrown his own skin.Ā Ā ā€œi canā€™t remember the last time we were alone.ā€Ā  itā€™s a lie, he remembers oxford with the clarity of yesterday, but he doesnā€™t feel like the same boy. not with a lifetime between then and now. his thumbs pad at physical hurt until heā€™s wiping clean tears with outstretched hands. his own mess to pick back up. thereā€™s no one else.Ā Ā ā€œi donā€™t think iā€™m good for you,ā€Ā  but imagining any other body in his place makes him sick.Ā Ā ā€œiā€™ve never been ā€“Ā  lij. i know i messed up, fucking hell. but iā€™m sorry.ā€Ā  heā€™s scared, feels it in the tremor in his hands. traitorous bastards.Ā Ā ā€œi donā€™t want you to leave again. thereā€™s truly not .. anyone else.ā€Ā 
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HEā€™S BROKEN BONES, TWISTED, LEFT TO ROT AMONGST THE DEBRIS. he cannot count the sun-kissed mornings that had fleeted their memories together, only fumble for the absence of touch he yearns. touched starved. ravenous to sink teeth into supple flesh, bleed honey dewed raspberry kisses, smeared tongue lapping. he wavers; severing blushed features. jamie ! jamie ! jamie ! he recites his name as a eulogy, that bruised longing, open casket chest that he had squeezed into all those months ago. set up shop, home. O, he wishes he was home. Iā€™M SORRY. only, he had learnt ā€˜sorryā€™ in fumbled gazes, back straightened shrugs. he had learnt sorry as ā€˜you already know i do not mean what i said, it does not need to be said aloudā€™, so he had learnt to abolish the heartbeat that fluttered in his throat. gouged the hummingbird that fluttered, drink the blood, choke on it.
hot tears burn, scolding the remains of his facade he had sewn when his father; whose scent had soaked into open wounds, tugged a frostbitten grief and laughed. men did not cry, but elijah had scarified himself by pulling teeth, - feasted on a diet of salty dewed cruelness until the ache in his stomach yearned for anger. something that he did not know where to place, so simply allowed it to sting. swelling, swelled. ready to burst so he shook, hands by his side. it was pass, slowly. like the night will soon dissolve, and the undressing will stop, and he will bloom baited trauma into the space between them. unwilling roots embedded. he reaches towards jamie with unchartered legs, paled, stumbling. ā€œ youā€™re everything to me, thereā€™ll never be anyone else. ā€ & he wants to laugh, the way his father had done, - hereditary, painful. for all he sees is him, all he will ever see is him. blinded, his stomach lurches. the scent of sweet air hummed, permeated, soaked the flooring. oh jamie ! heā€™s a love sick fool, he could devour him whole; chewing bones, sucking on feeble ruins.
he unravels. speckled vision blurring. alcohol still dancing in the back of his mouth, that burning that churns; fragmented exhaustion. he cannot pin point when his hands had wove into the hollowed cheeks of his lover. hues darting desperately, tearing from the haven he had made amongst honey-brown pools. oh he could drown, feast amongst the sticky sweet desires. his love. oh, that love love love, that burned from the tips of fingertips. ā€œ i love you. ā€ heā€™s sick. frightened. dipping his hand until it brushes darkened locks, fingertips teasing the tresses that met like a halo amongst the dusting of sunlight that permeates darkness. ā€œ i love you. ā€ the tips of his toes rise, but he is spinning, lips pressing against the corners of his mouth. he sighs. pressing a second kiss to the left of his cheek, lathering honeysuckle that oozes from open wounds. ā€œ youā€™re enough for me, youā€™ve always been. youā€™re everything, youā€™re mine. ā€
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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#jamie x elijah is my biggest hobbyā€¦ and my greatest fear.
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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Christa Wolf, Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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JAMIE ā€Œ:
HE COULDNā€™T POSSIBLY FORGET WHATā€™S burned itself onto his flesh. duty and honour and other lies, stashed in memories of playing the knight when his father wanted only a king. of staring into eyes that once captured the stars overhead, the knight and the king together and small. he hadnā€™t yet learned that country was religion and his heart was blasphemy.Ā ā€œright, Ā how Ā could i forget?ā€ and he couldnā€™t he wanted to he couldnā€™t, ā€œdutiful elijah Ā BLOODY Ā windsor!ā€ humor died by jamieā€™s rusted sword before the laugh can leave his throat. bubbling, acid in his stomach, hands at his neck, clawing. eyes that worship a holy body, lips that poison all thatā€™s good. he wanted to hold him. rough hands shaved soft over swooping curls. suck dry the pain that was his, and his, and theirs, and beyond. instead, he chokes, ā€œyou have no right to be here.ā€
except elijah owns the key to every dark part of him. these quarters. his family estate. trauma and suffering and forbidden longing and Ā a moat Ā around his stillborn heart. clutching his chest like he could feel it there. bloody palm, sunken ribs.
ā€˜no oneā€™s ever known me like Ā YOU Ā do.ā€™ itā€™s still true, and he can feel the way heā€™s being pried open, himself a book cracking at the spine. ā€œdonā€™t do that.ā€ gentle, at first, a moment of peaking clarity before itā€™s all ash and smoke. ā€œthatā€™s not fair, donā€™t fucking do that.ā€ sometimes jamie feels so much he feels nothing at all, trashing under a wave that pulls his whole weight under. right now heā€™s ungodly numb. usually itā€™s with anger he reemerges. thatā€™s all he is sometimes, a boy born of rage, the bear that chewed and spit up the dove. ā€œyou expect me to say yes? donā€™t be stupid. donā€™t be fucking daft, lij. itā€™s unbecoming.ā€ his father swears too much when heā€™s angry. ā€œi came here for Ā you . i left oxford. i made promises to my father, i .. you know how shit it was? to sit in a room with him, tell him i dropped out of uni? donā€™t do that.ā€ his fists curl around swollen flesh. is his bedroom shrinking? he feels too big, like something vile, dangerous. elijahā€™s standing there looking wrecked Ā (Ā itā€™s jamieā€™s fault isnā€™t it? ) Ā and he grabs the bedpost instead. ā€œhe was like everyone else.ā€ and he means that Ā ā€˜he didnā€™t taste like you. he didnā€™t sink into my skin, cling to all the bad parts until they were small again. he didnā€™t fix anything, me, you.ā€™ Ā tears willed not to fall. hawthornes donā€™t cry. not if they know whatā€™s good for them.
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that hurt, constant, unwilling. tummy bruising. he can unfold the parts of himself that he had tucked beneath the trauma. unravelling until he is placed on an altar of bloodied debris. he names it jamie. ā€œ donā€™t do what ?ā€ he knows, but is dragged underneath the surface, - hands clawing crescent shaped markings. breathing seemed easier pressed against his lips. ā€œ you claim you have done this for me, yet find comfort in somebody else ? so easy to forget.ā€ he wishes he could, instead is shuddered by the tremor that chokes his frame. what colour eyes do we have, ā€˜lijah? Adelaideā€™s voice spirals in the back of his mind, poison seeping into his frame. he was always so sickly, darling, perhaps we should take him to the hospital?Ā touched starved, he pales, - those fucking blinding lights. that scent that burns. he was sick, birthed from cursed bodies.Ā 
terror soaks tenderness, that hummingbird - frail, whose wings had been clipped by the gnawing of jaws. waits. silently. desperately culminating the remains of his fatherā€™s scent that soaks those nightmares. hibernating beneath waves that drown, he had once choked on the rotting. the permeating hunger that fed, that softness, the sensitivity. he had been taught to control, to swallow loss until it had remained a splinter in the back of his throat. If he had been stronger; he wouldā€™ve been able to pluck it. Instead, he settled for tongue soaked kisses lathering numbness. o, how he adored those evenings. when his lover would climb into an opened casket chest, clasping the memorial program; turning pages until he could no longer hear those dutiful mourners. it hurts where you left.Ā 
his frame threatens to waver, a torrent of unshed tears peaking through fluttering lashes. ā€œ am I like everyone else ?ā€ he prises with sun soaked fingers, greedily, tongue tied. blushed cheeks wet, met with the swiping. his mother had a habit of doing the same; collecting salty treats. feasting on the parts he had clawed like bile to the surface. he steps forward. head raised to the slaughter.
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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JAMIE:
THESE WALLS ARE A PRISON.Ā his rib cage is a prison, too, caging the heart that dares to stillĀ  beat after itā€™s own shattering. everything about him is defiance. everything about him is submission. heā€™s an animal, pacing marble floors that should be shattering beneath heavy steps. the gaul of the world to keep turningĀ Ā AFTER.Ā  there isnā€™t supposed to be an after.Ā  his happy ending forfeited to the lips of another, his tragedy cut short by something easy. somethingĀ Ā less.Ā  and the reality of it has only sunk in now, in this private twilight. his fist has already found a mirror, unable to withstand the sight of his own reflection. his bed is already more feathers that silk, pillows torn open because he needs to place his anger somewhere, and itā€™s not like he will be able to sleep properly. like he ever has.Ā 
this isnā€™t how he wanted elijah to find him. not with his head pounding so loudly all he can see is red red red. red on his fist, red on his lips ..Ā  HISĀ  lips.Ā Ā ā€œlij..ā€Ā  traitorous hands reach for this physical embodiment of all of his pain, until his sensibility grabs him by the throat and the rest of his thoughts catch there, suffocated.Ā  HE KNOWS.Ā  heā€™s drunk and heā€™s bleeding andĀ  HE KNOWS.Ā Ā ā€œyou care?ā€Ā  itā€™s a laugh. maybe heā€™s delusional. drunk on rage, with no where to set it down so instead he carries.Ā Ā ā€œyou walk out of my life twice and still manage to come back?ā€Ā  heā€™s speaking out of hurt, but his tone betrays him, betrays them both, twists his tongue until heā€™s nothing but sharp. the prince of england.Ā Ā long live the monarchy.Ā  he hates the reminder, every reason why his one want, the only want heā€™s ever known, will fester. this love is tragedy and this love is decay. thatā€™s all it will ever be. all it ever can be, because heā€™s the ā€˜goddamn prince of englandā€™.Ā Ā ā€œit was a mistake,ā€Ā  slips from swollen lips before he can stop it, his heart still managing to defy every ounce of his will.Ā Ā ā€œi was drunk. like you are right now.ā€Ā  like he wouldnā€™t notice. like he doesnā€™t notice everything about him. like his head isnā€™t full of him. always.Ā Ā ā€œhe was there. and you werenā€™t, myĀ prince.ā€ dead eyes, a soul squashed behind them.Ā  lese majesty.Ā 
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ROTTEN EULOGIES LATHER, he can recite those memories that climb into the dustings of three am. the speckles of sanity that would gnaw upon his soft flesh dripping in a sweetness that had been left behind. O ! JAMIE ! he had written poems about the curving of lashes, how desperately he wishes to be a dew amongst them, - to climb between rose blushed cheek bones once splattered in an assortment of desires. sticky. but this is not the time for that. no. instead he will bury their remains of love amongst his brotherā€™s body that peers in the rearview mirror. god help and forgive me.Ā ā€œ i did not walk out of your life. ā€ heā€™s quick to retort, building walls that rome himself had destroyed ; that bruised longing pressed until his hues sink.Ā ā€œ i had a duty to my family, to this country. you seem to forget that. ā€ though he, himself, have forgotten to gather the broken wingless skeleton that clings to his frame. that ghosting, - the fucking haunting.Ā 
YOUā€™VE RUINED ME, heĀ proclaimed, plucking thoseĀ greedy greedy greedy needing that had been inflicted upon him.Ā ā€œ was he good ? ā€ a sickness burns, churning in the back of his throat. he cannot breathe, nor stand strong in grief stained clothing. he mourns the loss of his heart, the bleeding surrender that dews in the corner of his hues. he waits for the world to stop spinning. to pick the shards of his soul from his bedroom floor, to breathe. i donā€™t want to lose you. again. Ā he squeezes shut the gaping wounds, blushed fingertips swiping stray tears.Ā ā€œ was he everything you wanted? ā€ someone without sin, whose body had carved into yours without fear.Ā 
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angcls Ā· 5 years ago
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for. @mvthologysā€‹.
IN THE EYE OF THE HURRICANE, silent violent rages. he chokes. nauseated, reaching delicate finger and thumb against a bottle that burns. how long would it take for his body to succumb to a blissful snarl, left to be feasted on by broken remains of men whose teeth carve into the bruising of his throat? he waits. alone. the walls of his room closing until he is heaving at the taste of paint, the carving of furniture. that fucking scent; opulent, homely. he wants to burn, prise himself of flesh until he nothing but a tremor of anger that hunts.
he wavers, feet stumbling. by god, what would his mother think? peached shaped wounds tearing at his knees. he cannot remember falling, only the taste of iron that speckles his mouth, - open, gaping. he had done this to him. i love you, i love you. though they taste different than the night before. lathered in a hurt he had not felt in a long time, - perhaps betrayal. ā€œ youā€™re an asshole. ā€ the words bubble in the pit of his stomach, bile coursing. he sways. the safety of jamieā€™s room an escape. ā€œ you donā€™t think i hear these ā€˜rumoursā€™, i fucking hear everything, - iā€™m the goddamn prince of england. ā€ he was always unbecoming when drunk, that arrogance that he had swallowed like pills coming to the surface. he hates himself. ā€œ my goddamn cousin ! did you have a fuckinā€™ stroke? ā€
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