#Eating At The Butcher

[subukunojess]

Title: Eating At The Butcher

Name of Dish: A Self Aware Fox and Raven Teriyaki with a cup of Chamomile Tea

Prompt: Free Space

Fandom(s): Original Work, Nightmare Before Christmas, Mario + Rabbids, The Muppet Show, & Copacabana (Song)

Genre(s): Humor, Fluff, and Dark

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Tony/Lola, Original Characters & Original Characters

Content Warnings: Macabre/Dark topics, blood mention, hospital mention, mention of a bullet wound, mentions of eating people, Implied Hurt-No-Comfort, and self-indulgent/self-insert randomness

Word Count: 5,965

Summary: A self-indulgent one-shot that is somewhat meta. A starving writer looking for inspiration comes across a mysterious and strange restaurant in the middle of the woods. The establishment expects its first customer to act in awe, unaware that she has surprises of her own.

It took me a while, but I finally finished a self-indulgent fic for one of my fanfiction bingos hosted by @thebutcherbingo

I love the aesthetic of the blog, so for my free space, I wanted to explore the world of a place where The Butcher restaurant exists and this piece was the result. No talk of cringe or beta-reading, we put ourselves in the spotlight. This is a meta self-insert fic that is me gushing about The Butcher while reflecting on my writing this year. Taking things one step at a time. I don't know if I'll add to it should I write more fanfic in the series and get a bingo or blackout. All in all, I had fun with it.

Not only does this have a lot of references and headcanons about supernatural restaurants, but I also introduce the concept of self-insert fusion where my self-insert can shift into canon characters for a while. Reasons that she does this is to get into character for writing (and in case the staff tries to harm her, but they can't because giant monster).

I hope you will enjoy this piece. Please share/comment/like/kudos. Thank you.

[redwolf17]

🙃 Regular reminder that while Hozier has amazing love songs, he is ALSO very outspoken about his leftist politics, specifically anti-fascism, anti-racism, reproductive rights, Palestinian rights and more.

Take Me To Church and Foreigner’s God are scathing critiques of organized religion, specifically the Catholic Church and the colonization of Ireland.

Moment’s Silence is about oral sex but it’s ALSO about how that specific sexual act is often distorted to a show of power rather than that of love.

Nina Cried Power is an homage to various (mostly Black) civil rights activists from the US and Ireland and a call to follow their path.

Be criticizes anti-migrant policies and Trump and his ilk.

Jackboot Jump is about the global wave of fascism and about protest and resistance.

Swan Upon Leda is about reproductive rights and the violent colonial oppression of Ireland and Palestine.

Eat Your Young is about the ruinous way the 1%/capitalism and arms dealers prioritize short-term profit over everything else to the detriment of the youth/99%

Butchered Tongue is about Irish and other indigenous languages being suppressed and erased by imperial powers.

If any of the above surprised you, please, please delve deeper into Hozier’s music, you’re missing such an important part of his work.

[viktorpartner]

Haven't been able to think about anything other than the victorian/edwardian/WW1 twink and his 80's punk almost-boyfriend for a week, send help

[foldingfittedsheets]

I'm sorry a TURKEY did WHAT to your mother's contact lens?? HOW??????

Right, yeah. So we had this turkey when I was growing up. And we raised this fucker from a tiny little baby, hand fed him, just doted on him. He was our first turkey ever. My mom called him Tom.

One day, she needed to work in a pasture so the flock of assorted fowl, (chickens, geese, and Tom) needed to be gently herded into an auxiliary pasture for the time being. The geese were biddable enough, the chickens ran ahead.

But Tom was not feeling it. He puffed up in irritation and my mom leaned down with her arms spread to usher Tom through the gate. Tom parked it. He turned to regard my mom with avian malice. And as she leaned down he shot out his horrible bald head and pecked her eye.

My mom screamed and fell backward, flailing enough that Tom fled through the gate anyway. When she recovered herself she came back inside, shaken and furious.

She checked out her eye and found it miraculously undamaged after the assault. It was like an hour later when she realized her contact lens was missing and the whole family speculated that it had saved her eye from Tom’s attack.

Tom did not live to see another sunrise.

[vintagehomecollection]

Country Kitchens, 1991

[running-with-kn1ves]

How about a nsfw yandere cannibal butcher x fem reader? Absolute unit of a man that has a feederism kink and likes to have her cockwarming him (with occasional thrusts) while she is forced to eat his human meals. He likes groping her thighs, breasts, and belly envisioning her weight gain because of him. He's cooing, telling her she's finally eating some good quality food.

A/N: I have been wanting to write this for SO LONG, I hope I did it justice, I think there’s a specific niche for this kind of story but I enjoyed writing it out~

Synopsis: Anon pretty much said it all

CW: NSFW, NON-CON, dead dove do not eat, AFAB Reader, yandere themes, cannibalism (reader consumption), feederism, penetration, groping, objectification

The hazy brown-orange glow of the moon, so far away and yet bigger than you had ever seen it in your hometown, to the old radio humming across from you-- it all was a meaningless distraction away from the sinewy fiber between your teeth. Focusing on anything other than the chewing was better; your eyes searched for cracks between the old renovated farmhouse across from its grandfather clock, running down to the unlit fireplace. The seasonings on your tongue reminded you of herby chicken, maybe something you’d end up cooking and partly burning at your cruddy old apartment. An apartment hundreds of miles away from here. The man beneath you seemed to hum along to the radio, your body sitting atop his as he leaned back in a wooden chair, watching you from behind. 

Another finger-full of meat came up to your lips, pressing against them and waiting for them to open once you finished swallowing. You tried to eat it as quickly as possible, faster than he could put the next chunk up to your mouth, but you always failed. 

“In we go,” He mumbles, a slight groan following as something beneath you twitches. 

You nearly gag as you open your mouth again, the meat resting in between teeth and at the back of your throat as you have yet to finish swallowing. 

It almost reminds you of the barbeque you had at your friend’s bachelorette party, which seemed ages ago. Why she picked to have her wedding hours away from where you two grew up, you didn’t know. Maybe if she had chosen somewhere closer to home, you wouldn’t be where you are now, trying to numb your taste buds and the sensation of a thickness your panty-less self was swallowing from below. 

“Right there..” He sighs, watching you chew, your cheeks puffing out just slightly from how much food he kept shoving for you to accept. 

You wished he would give you a bite of something else, at least a bite of peas or a sip of ice tea to drown out the flavor of something… wrong. Even if it showed resemblances of familiarity in flavor, you knew it wasn’t something you had ever tasted before; something you would have thrown up at the thought of if it weren’t for your survival depending on its consumption. Maybe if you hadn’t seen the chopped forearm in the fridge, the blood trailing to the basement, you'd have an easier time pretending.

He rocked just slightly inside you, enjoying the way your thighs squished against his, how when he thrusted just slightly up, the bottom of the table stopped you from going anywhere-- a wonderful source of friction. 

“You’re going to get so pretty; not like you aren’t pretty already, of course… but with me cooking for you… oh baby.” He seemed to stutter, unusually so from how careful he was when he usually spoke; but the grip of your inner cunt’s walls squeezing around him in almost everything but pleasure, it took him to a different place. “I won’t stop until you’re full. And even then.. Well, we need to make sure you’re nice and healthy, all soft with never a moment where you’re hungry. Isn’t that right?” 

He seemed almost breathless as he asked, a warm hand snaking up your T-shirt.

 He loved to rub the flesh of your stomach, from below your navel at the roundness of your belly, nearly reaching to the depths of where he was comfortably pushed inside, to the top of your abdomen where your skin grew smooth and the round bottoms of your breasts rested, heaving with each shuddered breath. 

You nodded compliantly, taking the excuse of a full mouth from having to respond verbally as he had expected you to do so. You hated the stuttering nod of your head, the obediency-- but you were well versed with the potential consequences.  

He leaned his chin on your shoulder, sucking through his teeth as you minutely adjusted on top of him, your thighs forcibly spread and squeezing against his. Your ankles could have wrapped around his own if you had dared to do so; but you were afraid of touching him anywhere you didn’t have to. He was a bulging creature, arms large and taut from years of slinging butcher knives and de-gutting anything that was once alive. Maybe if you were with anyone else, you would’ve appreciated the touch of a strong man, stroking you and holding you so close you felt like there was a warm safety net surrounding you. 

His hand, far too warm and calloused, rested against your chest as his other grabbed one of your thighs. He readjusted you on top of him by lifting up your upper thigh, thrusting just a teensy bit to tease you-- only to lower you at a painfully slow pace. His hot breath hit the back of your neck, released from a long sigh and a groan between his teeth. It wasn’t nearly as slow as the first time he entered you, only preparing you with slow curls of his index and middle finger, barely wettening you enough to take him. 

This time, he had aroused himself enough and hit your sensitive, begrudgingly lustful walls to make a smooth entrance, one that made you clench your eyes shut and swallow so hard you coughed. It felt so deep, now that your tailbone was angled backward, the butcher leaning up to completely indulge himself inside of you. You couldn't help but clench, all the way up to your fists at the new stretch. 

He patted your back as you continued to cough, your throat hoarse from layers of dryness. 

“You’re okay baby, cough it up,” Pulling you toward him he rested your back against his brick aproned chest, using his free hand to grab the tall glass resting on the table. “Take a drink, nice and slow.”

 With its pretty little plastic blue straw, he put the glass up to your mouth. You drank as much as you could, grateful for the mere seconds you got to stop eating. 

It wasn’t until you let go of the straw with a great inhale did you feel the warmth cradling your breast, smoothing its underside with wide fingers and running a thumb over your nipple. He teased it, just enough with the scratchy fabric of his T-shirt he made you wear, causing it to perk up and bring goosebumps to your skin. 

You would have stayed as far off of him as possible if it weren’t for that hand cradling at your breast to lock you against him, his other putting down the glass only to go right back to your naked hip, running over the wrinkles in your flesh and squeezing gently at the muscle of your thigh. 

“Need a break, hm?” He looked at you from behind, nearly putting his cheek to yours as he came close to your ear. “That’s okay, we can enjoy each other’s company for a moment.” 

You pretended to cough again, hoping he wouldn’t try to get you to speak. His hands did enough talking for the both of you. 

You didn’t know how anyone could stay this hard during the entirety of your long, long meal, and yet he was still a warm rock inside of you, twitching and enjoying the uncomfortable little movements you did to get adjusted. But most of all, he liked to watch you take a piece of meat from his fingers, to have your tongue just slightly lick at his index finger as you graciously accepted it. It was as if he could envision it becoming a part of you already, your body growing pliant and soft and willful for him to meld to his whims, for him to grope and caress as roughly or as soft as he desired. 

He would never hurt you though; not unless you needed to be put in your place. And even then, he’d make sure your beautiful body was intact and your willingness towards him ever pliable; still as malleable as he could control. He needed to take care of you, to fix the damage the outside world had caused.

“I’m sure it feels good to eat some real food, hm? Not that garbage they were feeding you at that poor excuse of an event…” The butcher inhaled at the nape of your neck, enjoying the way you perspired from the hot summer night and panic that dominated your body. “It’s hard to come by, you know. Not everyone is as lucky as you are, getting treated like a princess and fed by my hand; all of that preservative trash you’ve had to eat will be replaced with some real, quality, grade A meat. Isn’t that right?”

He waited for your answer, pressing his forehead into your hair and inhaling above your ear.

“...Yes.” You whispered, so faint that he might not have caught it if he weren’t so close. 

“Mhm…That’s right.”

Your compliancy, the illusion of your willingness and ‘equal desire’ drove him mad. The butcher put a knuckle to your chin, turning your despondent face toward him, ready to be consumed. He kissed you sloppily, a needy tongue making its way to explore your mouth and taste you; He wanted a part of him inside you, and you within him-- he would never feel satisfied otherwise. The wet echoes of his kisses to your slack jaw resounded around the living room, a place that made you feel transferred back in time, completely out of your element. 

You were just a stuffed doll, limp and holding on to the possibility that your disappearance would be noticed eventually, for someone to realize you hadn’t gotten home after your friend’s wedding ceremony, that you were nowhere to be found. With each passing second, that hope seemed to diminish. 

The butcher gave a lasting open-mouthed kiss to taste the saltiness of your neck, resting his lips against it as he scoured your half-eaten plate again. He picked up a slivered piece of cooked meat, large enough that you wouldn’t be able to finish it in one bite. 

“You won’t ever understand how long I’ve waited so long for you, to find you and fill you up like this.”

He slipped a piece of what you had given up on convincing yourself was chicken in between your hesitant lips, letting his thumb rest against your tongue. Your mouth was so full, you had a hard time chewing, but the butcher didn’t care; he pressed the meat further down your throat, enjoying the texture of saliva and teeth on his fingers. 

The electric current of watching your salacious figure, the image of you obeying what he desired-- it ran through him, making him groan at the arousal, running down to his cock pulsing inside of you. It nudged at your G-spot, as if it were actively seeking out your sensitivity with each stuttered thrust upward he made against you.

But you thanked your stars that he was beginning to pant, so transparently getting closer to his finale and would soon be done with you-- at least, you hoped. 

“Just getting to see you sit here and eat…My fucking soulmate, my darling…hah... It makes waiting to finish all the more worth it--!”

[mochifiction]

Not a Transformers post but Hozier released his album and no I’m not sane or okay. I wanna talk about Butchered Tongue because there’s barely any discourse about it and I am absolutely inconsolable about it. While there are a lot of elements/ central themes of Irish colonization and the preservation of Irish language and inherently history/ culture with it, as a Person of Color, I was so deeply moved. It is a song of beautiful mourning, of sorrow in the blood and scars that run through the dying of or absolute death of a language. However, it is also a celebration and expression of admiration and awe over the strength and perseverance of language and those who wield it. Every verb, noun, accent, rolling of the tongue. Every simple sound, letter, article. All of it is an act of defiance of the voice to the oppressor. It is a fibre of being healing the deep wounds inflicted by the colonizer. Every utterance screams “We are here and we are moving onward even while still bleeding.” Even then, Hozier still captivated the grief that comes with the fact that…not all cultures have that. Not every community has the ability to learn their languages. Some are gone entirely. Some stopped being passed down for the sake of survival and assimilation. The anguish that comes with a bloody tongue, one that cannot speak what it was born to utter, to scream to sing…it’s a feeling difficult to put into words. To have this song in the Circle of Violence not only brings to light the physical violence against the Irish in their colonization, but the invisible consequences of such brutality on the colonized. The murders and scarring didn’t stop at flesh. Even some languages that survived didn’t escape without scars and wounds, infused with the languages of their colonizer (ex- Tagalog having pieces of Spanish in it). This was a love letter and kiss of praise yet also a funeral dirge to those wounded by colonization, and I have never sobbed so hard over a song before. It stirred such deep grief in me that I cannot explain.

[very-passive-viewer]

I really have to give it to Hozier, who is usually so liberal with his use of allegory, but is as direct as possible with his communication of violence in Butchered Tongue. I think many people cannot conceptualize the degree of violence that came (comes...) with colonization, and the legacies it leaves.

The fact that he sings that the young men are buried without scalp "in the shattered bedrock of our home" - the depth with which he communicates the echoes of genocide and generational trauma makes my heart ache. And the fact that he lists the Indigenous names of places in the United States, Australia and Ireland in the first verse???

He's not shy about saying it with his chest about current oppression, either - he talks about the right to protest, collective action and liberating Palestine at every one of his concerts. If there's one thing the Irish are going to do, it's show solidarity.

This is absolutely my favourite song on the album.

[hoziercriespower]

Hozier perfoming 'Butchered Tongue' at thr Grammy Museum in Los Angeles.

❝So far from home to have a stranger call you, "darling" and have your guarded heart be lifted like a child up by the hand in some town that just means "Home" to them with no translator left to sound a butchered tongue still singin' here above the ground.❞

🎥 | lizpung via tiktok

[fresanita]

Angel Dust Turns Human Pt8

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7

IM SO SORRY FOR THE QUALITY OMG💔 this is so embarrassing; I was uploading the images through my laptop (cuz it's more efficient), and I thought it would look the same on my phone; I guess not☹️...I PROMISE it looks better when you press the images (IM SO SORRYYY😓!!!)

Anyways, it's confirmed now! Angel was deffo a cannibal: like father like son🫡. Idk if I'll explore any further on this topic - as I don't think it'd be something angel would prefer to delve any further about (which will be shown), however just know that he did eat humans unknowingly before knowingly🤫! The first time he eats a human is the exact moment Alastor decided he'd keep the boy to himself once and for all: a declaration🙂!

BEFORE ANYONE ASKS!! Ik vaggie asking Angel about the human thing seems abrupt, but she's a smart gal - also Alastor totally revealed the cannibalism through the joke he told so she was deriving from that and Al's whole behavior going on w Angel‼️ Sorry if the pacing seems rushed, I've just been😮‍💨😮‍💨

Don't judge me for how I drew the food on Angel's plate; I know it literally looks like a lump of shit, but pity me for Idk how to draw food😐...

Sorry this part was short, but I hope you liked it!!!♡

!Taglist: @diffidentphantom @cloversnstrawberries @birthrightversemain @dawn-sky-collective

[bloodfiendarling]

𝓶𝔂𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓾𝓶 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

a .. anon chan ...? oh my god .. are you a mind reader ? a saint , perhaps ..? ive had a similar idea for months , i just never got to writing it (shy ,,)

thank u so so much for the idv req >_< i didnt think id get any so early .. this fic took heavy inspo from saya no uta , too .. i rlly did give him the fuminori treatment ..

another case of — written by my dick — this is so horrible .. im so sorry frederick sama ..

DEAD DOVE : DO NOT EAT .

pairing — pioneer research!frederick x hallucinated!reader

wc — ~1.1k

contains — coa vii setting, fem reader (the form reader takes , i guess . theyre kind of not real ..), reader referred to with it/its prns, mindfuck, dubcon .? (is it dubcon if hes on shrooms and doing it to himself . i gen dont know, emeto, body horror, hallucinations, reader is a hallucination, self harm (scratching), established past relationship w reader

playing .. mushrooms • mili

even in such a desolate land, frederick still has the desire to create his work — his music. the composer’s desire for creation still persists, and with the chaos, he found inspiration.

…and unluckily for him, he had a slump.

nothing in the current area could inspire him for music. it frustrated him. even as he played away on the abandoned piano he found — nothing quite stuck to him right. it all felt too empty.

so tonight, frederick decided on leaving. just for one night, though. he’ll return by the next morning, of course — it’d be too dangerous to stay any longer. and where’s the harm in it, anyway? him and his team have been hopping from abandoned building to another.. be it to study more about the fungi or just to rest up.

he took a pen and paper, writing a note to leave behind — a short one, but at the very least it told them he’ll be fine… he’s sure qi will be scolding him afterwards, but.. it’d be well worth it.

as he signed it, he left it on the dirty table they’ve been using. taking his gas-mask to leave. the world is barren. everything was abandoned, there were those mushrooms everywhere. everything within frederick’s field of vision was nothing but a wasteland.

after a good, long walk he stumbled upon an abandoned music venue. it was big — it was grand. he’s sure he could find some inspiration and maybe even a new instrument.

little did the composer know, the venue was a big source of mycelium fungi.

he opened the heavy doors, looking around. a big stage in the middle, and seats all around for the audience to sit. it brought him back to his past for a bit — when he was shown on a stage — being praised for his music. ‘it was like a ray of divine light,’ they’d say.

that stage still had a piano on it. he walked between the empty seats, making his way onto the stage. the piano… it somehow still looked brand new, weirdly enough. it even sounded just like so, properly tuned and cared for.

it didn’t feel real. he thought he was dreaming. frederick sat himself down, performing as if there was an audience. he hasn’t gotten the chance to use such high-quality equipment ever since the infection spread.. he’ll definitely stay for a little longer.

even if it wasn’t real.

the composer peeked around backstage, and somehow, it looked clean. nothing like what he’d usually see. an infected corpse, bloodied walls, some mycelium growing.. none of that. it looked polished in here.. he’ll tell his group he found a new place for them when he gets back.

even if it was filthy in a sane man’s eyes.

it was getting late — he could tell that much. he’s sure his group wouldn’t mind if he came back a little later. he has in the past, anyway.. it didn’t make much problems. he sat down, back against a wall, just looking at all the equipment backstage before drifting to a dreamless sleep.

only to be woken up by a horrible sight. everything looked different from last night. no longer was it that clean place he saw the night before. it was horrid. worse than anything he’s ever seen — flesh and mushrooms coating the walls. the floor felt moist, almost as if it were actual meat. and the smell — god, the smell. poor frederick threw his head to the side and threw up. his throat burns. what even happened here..? was last night all fake?

it got worse when he saw those flesh-like veins start to crawl all over body. with wide eyes, he scratched and hit himself. it didn’t hurt, oddly enough. his body felt weirdly numb — though, frederick was a little too disoriented to notice.

“are you okay, frederick?”

he heard a voice. a woman’s voice — you..? how..?

it can’t be real — but it looked and sounded just like reality. just like you. could it be a hallucination..? no, no.. he’s seen how his groupmates reacted to the mycelium’s hallucinogenic spores — none of them ever mentioned anything like this.. he would know. it’s happened to him a few times before, too.

he placed his hand over his gas-mask, only for it to have a fleshy feel. he could see teeth and blood on his palm — panicking, the composer grabbed onto the mask of his, not realizing it was, in fact — his gas-mask. in his mind, it looked like a piece of gore had latched onto his face. he pulled onto it hopelessly. he wanted it off.

“ah, you’ll hurt yourself..” you cup his face, slowly taking the mask off. in frederick eyes, it really was a young woman helping him discard the living flesh off his face — letting him take a breath. though, it was nothing like that in reality.

he had just taken off his mask in a high risk area.

it felt like fresh air — though he was overwhelmed by the smell of rot after a few seconds, gagging. he can’t help but still see ‘you’ as a fake. but he can’t help but still give in.

“what are you doing here by yourself, anyway..?” it asks.

his jaw locked up, he can’t say anything. frederick looks down, he looks ashamed, almost. why? he didn’t know, either. he just knew whatever it was, it was you — and he’ll believe entirely.

“does it hurt, frederick?” it asks, caressing frederick’s cheek. ‘you’ could see a few red scratch marks on them.. ah.. the way it said those words — alongside those gentle actions. it really was you here in his mind. he can’t help but nod, pressing his knees against his chest and rambling nonsense.

“everything — all of it hurts.” he mumbled. ‘you’ wanted to comfort the composer. and he wanted that comfort, too — he longed for you after you disappeared. who knew he’d find you here of all places.

“do you want me to make you feel good, frederick?”

of course he did. he wanted you again. he missed you. he craved for you. your warmth. you. the composer didn’t care if this ‘you’ wasn’t real.

he watched you climb on top of him, pressing featherlight kisses onto him. as if fungi wasn’t already seeping into his tongue. frederick wrapped his arms around ‘you’ — when in reality they were enveloping himself — scratching red, bloody lines into his skin.

more openings for the spores to use him as a host. for ‘you’ to use him as a dear host.

frederick’s nose started bleeding, some of it had gotten into his ear — though, he paid no mind to it.. it felt like little kisses and bites on his earlobe — just like how you did it back then.

he felt your hands around his neck, how your lips felt against them, too. ah, he was in pure bliss. even if the room looked and smelled like rot — at least ‘you’ — no, it — was here to make him forget about everything.

maybe the rest of his group wouldn’t mind if he just left..

maybe he should stay just a little longer

idv masterlist ♥︎

[sunriozz]

Hear me out. 1940s au where detective!Butcher gets dragged by his boys to a jazz club (to drink his sorrows away and soothe his mind?). while Butcher's not exactly into jazz, the singer, who calls himself John, might just be the most beautiful creature he's ever set his eyes on, paired with a voice that makes him go weak in his knees.

And as he becomes a regular patron of the club, Butcher soon realizes John could be the main lead to his latest, and hardest case.

[catboy-medic-tf2]

Guess who’s working on making an actual animation for the first time in forever

So, I have been obsessively listening to butcher’s vanity for a week or so, and I finally caved in and decided to re-animate the whole thing with medic.

(This is all I have so far) (I am making this post while waiting for my iPencil to charge)

[describe-things]

[Image description start. The three panel, "Do you think Margaret Thatcher had girl power" meme, now edited so that the first panel shows the TV host asking: "Do you think you are protecting democracy by voting blue no matter who?" The second panel shows someone responding, "Yes, of course." Panel 3 has the TV host asking, "Do you think you are protecting democracy by announcing to all politicians who will ever exist from now on that they can commit as many genocides as they want and they'll still get elected because you literally don't care what they do as long as they don't do it to you?". Image description end.]

I explicitly encourage everyone to download and repost this and use it as a reaction image. You can copy and paste the image descritption into your post. If you're on mobile, if your phone has a notepad app, you can save it there.

[chronicowboy]

when hozier said "the bliss of not knowin' yourself with all the mirrorin' gone from the world" and when hozier said "i'd still know you, not being shown you, i only need the workin' of my hands" and when hozier said "the soul, if that's what you'd call it, uneasy ally of the body" and when hozier said "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" and when hozier said "if you need to, darling, lean your weight on me" and when hozier said "let me put my lips to something, let me wrap my teeth around the world" and when hozier said "but i know being reckless and young is not how the damage gets done" and when hozier said "so someone with your eyes might come in time to hold me like water or, christ, hold me like a knife" and when hozier said "we didn't get it right, love, but we did our best" and when hozier said "as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame" and when hozier said "and have your guarded heart be lifted like a child up by the hand" and when hozier said "if i had his job, you would live forever" and when hozier said "the moment i knew i'd no choice but to love you" and when hozier said "you know the distance never made a difference to me" and when hozier said "i can scarce believe what i'm believing in"

[rottentiger-art]

(pretend I posted this on time)

Happy valentine's day!