#soft orange and brown stained paper look to it

[lemoneychicken]

actually. what IS 'cozy horror'?? like can someone give me an example of a 'cozy horror' story

[simplepotatofarmer]

memory trouble

i wrote this for @whydoilovesomanyvillains for the @rivalsduogiftexchange! i really hope you enjoy it!

“Alright, what’s actually in the book, Dream?”

The book, with its slightly charred corner and worn pages, was sitting on the floor next to Dream and when Techno spoke, he put his hand on it. His fingers trailed across the scratched and water-damaged leather for a moment before looking up at Techno. He shrugged. The orange jumpsuit looked like a tent on him as it slipped on his shoulders.

“I-I already told you,” he said, scarred mouth twisting into a frown. He had. “What, you don’t believe me?”

Techno wasn’t sure if he believed Dream. What Dream had said was in the book – quick notes about things he didn’t want to forget – made sense and he had no reason not to trust Dream. Out of all the people on the server, it was Dream that had never betrayed him. But suspicion came easily here, even if Techno didn’t like it. He waved a hand and shifted where he sat, the hard obsidian digging into his rump.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you—” Dream huffed and rolled his eyes. “No, look, it’s just that I’m havin’ trouble believin’ I said anything that important, man.”

That was a half-truth. Information was valuable. What he had trouble believing was the paranoid, little voice in the back of his mind that Dream was looking for leverage. If that was the case, it was poor leverage in an even worse situation. It made no sense and yet he couldn’t fully shake the thought. Dream placed his palm flat on the cover of the book and then slid it across the floor of the cell towards Techno.

“Whatever. You can read it,” he said then settled back against the wall, thin arms crossed over his chest.

A twinge of guilt hit Techno. It was the outcome he had wanted, to have his curiosity sated and put to ease that suspicion he didn’t like bouncing around in his head. He picked the book up and almost tossed it back to Dream but he flipped it open.

“Honestly, it gets so borin’ in here that readin’ your fanfic sounds like a great idea,” said Techno as he turned the pages, glancing up at Dream. The eye roll and noise of frustration was predictable.

“I didn’t—I didn’t write fanfic, okay? I told you what I wrote. You’re just an idiot who doesn’t believe me.”

Techno frowned a little because he knew Dream was right. Even before found the two pages that had shaky, barely legible writing on them he had known Dream was telling the truth.

“Bruh.” He stretched out one of his legs with a groan. It was impossible to sit in a way that didn’t cause aches and pains after longer than a handful of minutes. “Y’know, I was really lookin’ forward to havin’ something to read.”

Dream snorted.

“Yeah, well, too bad. I wasn’t lying.”

The pages under Techno’s fingers felt stiff in the way paper did after it had gotten wet and then dried. On one, Dream had wrote ‘your polar bear is named Steve’, exactly like he had said he’d done. On the other page, he had written ‘Techno admitted I have a house’. His priorities were strangely endearing and Techno smiled.

“I know, Dream, I know,” he said, voice soft. He looked down at the book again. “But really, man? You needed to write this down?”

Dream shrugged again. He had barely moved all day. The almost frantic energy he had displayed when Techno first arrived, despite the condition he was in, had gone.

“Well, to be fair, I—I keep forgetting things, so.”

It was an answer to a different question than the one Techno had asked. He had wanted to know why those things were important enough to Dream to warrant being certain he wouldn’t forget. The thought to explain that to Dream crossed Techno’s mind. He looked at Dream for a moment. The jumpsuit he wore was stained reddish brown in enough places that seemed to be the original color. Bruises that were a vivid purple when Techno got here had faded to yellow. When he wasn’t speaking, an unfocused look was often present on Dream’s face. Techno got to his feet and shook his limbs out before sitting down in front of Dream. He pulled one leg under him and stretched the other out beside Dream. His hoof hit the wall.

“W-what are you doing?” Dream asked, leaning back as far as he could until his head hit the wall.

The suspicion hurt. Techno understood it – he had his own – but it still stung a little and the sudden urge to make up for pushing Dream to let him read the book hit him. Techno started to crack his knuckles and stopped when he noticed the way Dream was watching, how tightly his mouth was pressed shut. Techno lifted his hands, palms facing Dream.

“Easy, man. You said you’re havin’ trouble rememberin’ things, right? I just want to see if you’ve got a concussion or something.”

The suspicion on Dream’s face wavered and then dissipated. He straightened.

“I’m fine. It’s—Why do you care anyway?”

Techno winced; that hurt more than the suspicion did.

“I care, Dream, I care. I should’ve checked sooner,” he said, the words an apology. He should have. He wanted to explain why he hadn’t, that he had been prepared for a trap, for something to be off after Quackity crashing his birthday party, but he hadn’t expected this. There was something deeply cruel about what had been done in this cell and Techno didn’t know how to handle it. So he hadn’t.

Dream nodded after a moment. The curve of his smile was wry.

“Yeah, alright.”

The touch was gentle, frustratingly so.

Techno placed his hands on either side of Dream’s head, working his fingers through the matted strands, and Dream expected a joke about how badly he needed to wash and brush his hair but none came. The expression on Techno’s face remained serious, squinting over the rim of his smudged glasses. Dream wanted to tell him that there was no reason to do this. After Quackity’s last visit, Sam had given him a healing potion and a clean jumpsuit. Whatever signs from the blows rained on him or the times his head had met the obsidian floor had long since healed and beyond the scars and missing finger, no one would know.

“Hmm.”

Techno’s fingers pressed against the back of Dream’s head, almost massaging, and his face became even more serious. He flicked his eyes down towards Dream and the vaguely guilty look Dream had noted earlier, taking a bit of satisfaction in, was back.

“I mean, ha ha, I definitely know what I’m lookin’ for,” said Techno, close enough to Dream that his breath was warm on his skin.

That didn’t inspire confidence. Dream snorted quietly.

“There’s—You’re not going to find anything, Techno,” he said.

For a moment, Techno’s hands stilled and Dream thought he would give up. That was what he wanted, to get rid of the soft, worried touch, but he felt a sudden pang of regret. It was stupid, the desire to have someone be gentle or acknowledge what had been done to him and it made him feel weak and pathetic. Techno smoothed his hands against Dream’s head, fingers still probing.

“No harm in checkin’, man.”

Dream rolled his eyes but it was forced, habit because Techno was waiting for it and shook his head with a grin when he did. It was the most normal Dream had felt in months. Techno ran his hand over the top of Dream’s head then pat him lightly before leaning back. His leg pressed into Dream’s side.

“Yeah but you didn’t find anything. Like I said you wouldn’t,” Dream pointed out.

Waving a hand, Techno nudged Dream with his knee.

“Semantics, Dream, semantics.”

“That’s not what—”

Techno cut him off, holding a finger in front of his face.

“Do me a favor and follow my finger,” he said as he moved his finger slowly back and forth.

Without moving his head, Dream followed Techno’s finger, the argument forgotten. The frown on Techno’s face seemed grave.

“Hm, interestin’.”

 A jolt of panic hit Dream though it was tinged with skepticism because he knew Techno. He still lifted his own hand as if to recreate the test.

“What! What’s wrong?”

Techno laughed. The smile on his face was wide.

“Nothing, Dream. I just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

It should have annoyed him but for some reason Dream found he was struggling to hold his own grin back. He smacked Techno’s leg twice in rapid succession.

“Oh my god! What—What is wrong with you!”

Still laughing, Techno tugged his cloak off and shook it out a bit. A cloud of dust and dog hair exploded from it, lingering in the air. Dream wrinkled his nose. It smelled of wet animal and mud but that was better than faint smell of blood and sweat that clung to the cell.

“Listen, the look on your face was totally worth it,” said Techno, moving from his spot in front of Dream to one next to him, back against the wall of the cell.

Dream watched him, trying to force the amusement off his face, not wanting to give Techno the satisfaction. It was a fruitless endeavor and he didn’t actually mind.

“You—You’re such an idiot,” he said.

“Whatever you say, Dream.” Taking the cloak, Techno spread it over both of their laps, carefully tucking it in around Dream. His smile was soft and when he was finished, he put his hand over Dream’s and squeezed. "Whatever you say."

[aesthetic-bbyg]

A LITTLE TREAT ~ Sanji

LA!Sanji x fem baker!reader

warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f!receiving)

Nattie speaks: Smash

THE TWO OF YOU CROWDED THE small kitchen with both yourselves and the large amount of utensil splayed out on the counter. You crouched under his arm as he sizzled a dish on the stove, hurryingly whisking together the mix within your bowl. You’re apron was stained with flower, egg yolk, and god knows what.

“I can tell from here that the only pretty thing is definitely you and not whatever you have going on there.” Sanji teased, eyes staring at the mixture while you rolled your eyes. Sprinkling a a generous amount of cinnamon before reaching for the molding pan.

“And I can smell that only good thing is neither you nor that food, if that’s what you dare to call it.” You replied as your lips quirked up in a smirk, pouring the contents of the bowl into the metal pan.

“My, that hurt, love.” The blonde replied, watching you concentrate your eyes on pouring the perfect amount into each paper-covered cup.

“Good.” You mumbled back, ushering him away from the stove to delicately place the pan into the preheated oven. “Maybe you’ll learn to keep that beautiful mouth shut, and find better uses for it.” You gave him a sly winked, moving past him swiftly to start up a fresh batch of frosting.

“Wouldn’t you like to know what I could do this mouth.” Sanji replied nonchalantly, acting as if his dick totally didn’t strain against his pants and a faint tint of red appeared on his face.

You threw him a sweet smile, showcasing the pearly canines while you poured milk into the bowl. You paused, looking around in a slight panic. Where the hell was the vanilla extract? You pinched yourself for forgetting it, you could’ve sworn that you had everything you need already prepped for you to use. Without a second to waste you bent down, opening the cupboard to find a mess of seasonings and ingredients mixed together. You sighed, digging through till your hands caught the dark bottle with a vanilla orchid stuck onto the label. You stood up, catching the eye of Sanji who’d gone unusually quiet, not snarky remark about you being unprepared.

That was because he’d gotten a full view of your eyes the second you bent over before him, revealing what was under that skirt of yours. He nearly burned his food if you hadn’t thrown him a look over your shoulder. After a few more flirty insults thrown at eachother, the food was done. You called Nami into the kitchen as the two of you slid the your creations in front of her. Sanji went on a rant about the meal and how the ingredients in it were like no other, compared to you cinnamon and vanilla cupcake.

The orange haired girl stared at the two plates, unimpressed, and that’s what made the competition so fun. Nami was the only person on the crew who would give a straight answer without a bias. Luffy and Usopp were far too kind to ever admit which one they liked more, constantly reassuring that both were just as delicious.

Zoro had a something against Sanji, their bickering aggressive and annoying whenever they were within the same proximity as each other. You both knew that the moss-head, as Sanji liked to say, was against anything he ever did. If there was a delicious, four course meal offered to him by Sanji, and you presented him with a burnt cheesecake, he’d chose your pastry just to spite the French man.

“Go ahead, take the first bite.” Sanji offered a fork to the girl as she took it and stabbed it into the food, swiping up into her mouth and chewing it with a straight face. She hummed softly, nodding in approval as she set the fork down, swallowing and savory the taste. Then, she picked up the warm cupcake, decorated beautifully with soft and puffy frosting with gold accents. It was fluffy, it golden brown color inviting, and the taste was just as satisfying as it’s looks. Nami licked the frosting that smudged on her lip, let out another hum with a slight smile.

“Well?” You were the first to speak up, leaning on the counter slightly with awaiting eyes. “Who’s did you like?”

“Well, for starters, Sanji’s plate was a meal, something to satisfy a hungry stomach.” Nami commented, making the blonde on your left smirk proudly. “Yours was a nice balance of sweetness and warmth, something to cure a sweet temptation.” The girl placed her hands on her lap, “I liked yours better.”

You smiled widely, bouncing up with a shout as the man next to you sighed, turning away before you could shove it in his face. Nami left the kitchen, cupcake in hand and chuckling at your childish antics. The afternoon ended in torturous teasing from your end while Sanji was left to clean up the whole kitchen, leaving you to relax, watching as he washed the variety of pans.

“Don’t use so much force, it scratches the metal.” You spoke, watching the slightly irritated man scrub away at the grease.

“I’ve work as a chore boy in one of the finest restaurants in the east blue, I know what I’m doing.” Sanji quipped back, making you roll your eyes and stand from the small stool.

“Still bitter, Sanji?” You giggled, bumping your hip into his lightly, “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“I should’ve won.” He muttered, placing a freshly washed plate atop of the growing pile with a clank. He shut off the running water, drying his hands on a nearby rag, “You got lucky.”

“Admit it, hon, my sweet treats are the greatest things you’ve ever tasted.” You leaned against the counter, one hand firmly planted on your hip. “Or you won’t hear the end of it from me.”

Sanji glanced over his shoulder, walking over to slowly, a smirk slowly lifting onto his lips. “I’ve never even tasted you so called sweet treats, love, why would I spit out lies?” He face so close to your that his breath fanned over your features.

You hummed, feigning a sad frown. “Such a shame, don’t you wanna have a taste of what I got to offer?”

In a dizzying, swift motion, he gripped your waste, harshly planting your ass onto the wooden countertop. He sank down to his knees, creasing the fancy shoes he trudge around the kitchen in, hands teasingly rubbing up and down your thighs. He planted soft pecks from you knee, slowly rising till his lips met the bottom of your skirt. He looked up at you, you’d gone completely silent, just watching with wide eyes and heavy breaths. Without even speaking you lifted your hips, bunching up the skirt to your stomach so it revealed everything.

He squeezed the flesh on your thighs, feeling his mouth water as you leaned back, shaky hands keeping up your body up while you legs spread themselves open. Fuzzy thoughts taking over you. Sanji wanted to move slowly, he was a man of romance after all, he wanted every touch to be meaningful, but fuck, with the way your pussy was displayed, dripping in your arousal and practically inviting him in. He couldn’t hold back, his hands tightly gripped your thighs, assuring that you’d have no way to escape him, even if you were crying from the pleasure.

His tongue expertly lapped up your juices while he nose simultaneously nudge your clit, creating a pleasurable combination. Your back fell done to lay against the wood, free hands now flying to twist themselves into his blonde locks. Your hips jerked and squirmed with each flick against the sensitive pearl, legs going a bit numb from how tight he held them. There would definitely be noticeable marks after he was done, but your mind focused more on what occurred in that moment. How he tongued your cunt repeatedly, moaning softly with each tug of his hair.

Your back arch off the counter, mouth opening widely as you whimpered out, “Don’t stop, please, please.” Your eyes squeezed shut, body stilling for a moment before your hips twitched, an overwhelming feeling washing over you. The tightly wound coil snapped as soon as he began to suck on your clit. “Fuck, Sanji.” You moaned out, subconsciously pressing his face closer then it already was, riding out your high on his nose.

It was such a gut felt orgasm that tears pricked the corner of your eyes, choking back a yelp when he continued his expert tongue work. You’d felt the overstimulation kick in, hands pushing his head away as pathetic squeaks escaped your mouth. He left two more kisses right on your clit, lifting his head to reveal the absolute mess you’d made on the freshly wiped down counter and on his face. A mixture of your slick wetness and cum dripped down his chin, a cunning smirk on his lips.

He lifted you off your back by your hand, making your floppy body meet his hard chest. He lifted your head, forcing you to meet his intoxicating gaze. “I admit it.” He planted a sweet kiss on your lips, “Your sweet treat is the best I’ve ever had, love.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

This man is every possible green flag imaginable. I must have him.

Literally me and Sanji (real, not clickbait, not edited)

[blackfairy312]

Songs of Disarray Chapter One - The Theater

—

Komi stares ahead at the crooked reflection of herself in the mirror, as if she were evaluating herself, trying to make sure the cracks were still in place. Her last job had been… mentally draining, to put it lightly. And the one before that? Even worse. She’s dealt with many many unfathomable horrors throughout her entire existence… and it has worn her down in ways one couldn’t fully explain.

…Basically, she’s been through some shit. For thousands? countless years, this singular being has been on a mission to keep the balance of the worlds held by the Void together. The Void is the embodiment of the entirety of the multiverse… no, reality!

So, yeah, that kind of pressure is just the icing on the cosmic horror cake that is her existence.

After the planet-eating gods, and the loony bin that had been the Bat’s rouge gallery… Plus the many, many other instances of cosmic bullshit that the Master of the Void has put herself through… She’s never once given herself a vacation.

‘Vacation’ isn’t what it deserves to be called. The Master cannot get sloppy again. But it’s not like there are any emergency cases right now. Besides, she can pick and choose where to go whenever she pleases! If the Master wants to revisit another world from the past, she has the right to do so! Rifts can always grow back, after all. Where’s the harm in revisiting a stage where one has already performed before?

That's what led her back… here.

Sigh. Komi’s eyes flicker down as she turns on the sink and wets her hands. She allows herself to take in the sensation of the water flowing down her soft skin for a few moments. Let the feeling bring in clarity. She slowly looks back up and stares back at the swirling void of dark purple, red, and blue that meets her in the reflection of the stained mirror. An expression that one cannot describe with words. Except, maybe one… Uncanny. The woman frowns at her image. She isn't sure how easy it’s going to be to ‘fake it’ this time around.

“...Whatever,” The tired Komi mumbles under her breath and takes in a sharp sniff. As she turns away from the sink, she dries her hands with a brown paper cloth before crumbling it up and throwing it onto the ground. Then, she slips out of the bathroom, exiting the building. No one in the restaurant recognizes her. No, they never even noticed her to begin with.

Komi passes by a sign that reads; Welcome to NEW HARMONY, UTAH! It’s probably a few decades old, judging from how much plant life has grown over the rusty metal poles holding the decaying painted wooden sign. She glances over at a store she passes, with a sign in the window reading; EARLY AUTUMN SALE; August 15th - 25th. Seems to be a store full of office supplies… and creativity supplies, if what Komi sees through the windows are indeed shelves full of markers and crayon boxes. It would be back to school season during this time of year, wouldn’t it? 

Komi has been here before. First time she met the center man of this world’s events, William Afton. Then the other time, it had been to restore the damage that her reckless actions had caused. And it has been about two hundred years since the Master of the Void has walked down these streets. Though, this time, she is taking a trip to the past. Twenty years before William Afton takes the first step down into the prison he will build for himself in the years to come. The first domino, one could say. Not wanting to see that man ever again, the Master traveled twenty years backwards in the timeline just to avoid him. That’s how much she hates that guy.

As she’s lost in thought, Komi continues her aimless stroll along the city sidewalk. She takes in the scenery around her, and then something catches her eye. A bright orange sheet of paper stuck to the window of an auto repair shop. It seems like the paper’s only been out for a few hours. Fresh out from the printer, that is. Curious, Komi leans in and reads the details written on the flier;

HELP WANTED!

THE RAT & CAT THEATER

Come join in the fun of creating magic through imagination the wonderful world of theater!

WE HAVE OPENINGS FOR: Set Designer(s) Musician(s) Mechanic(s) Security Guard(s) CALL THIS NUMBER FOR MORE INFORMATION: XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Hmm…” The brunette hums to herself as she grabs the flier and looks over it one more time. There's some extra information and an address at the very bottom, along with a cute cartoon drawing of a rat and a cat posing together. Cuties!

Deciding it’s something she wants to look into later, the woman folds up the flyer and puts it in her coat pocket. And she carries it with her for the following two days as she gets herself a small apartment, and some furniture to make the place look ‘lived in.’ It wasn’t until Komi checked her coat’s pocket one afternoon that she remembered the flyer again.

Working at a theater… an entertainment center for kids. Komi’s good with kids. She has like, six or seven of them. She’s experienced in this field, which means this job won’t be stressful at all. WIN! So, Komi approaches the rotary phone she set up in her living room, and she dials the number printed on the flyer.

Ring… ring… ring… Click!

“Hello?” It’s the voice of a tired, irritated middle-aged man. Komi got all that from the sound of his voice alone. 

“Is this the Rat & Cat Theater?” Immediately after she speaks, the man on the other line knocks something over (or maybe he tripped over his chair?). He curses to himself and then says something that Komi can’t pick up. There's some garbled noise coming out through the speaker, he must be recomposing himself. The man then clears his throat and replies after a brief pause, and Komi finds it endearing. 

“Ahem…Yes! My name’s Vincent Pietro Allard. One of the proud owners and founders of the Rat and Cat Theater. I’m in charge of the hiring process… Oh, and I also happen to be one of the actors here… Heh,” He chuckles, sounding cocky. Komi takes note of this.

The man on the phone continues his little charade, “And, your name, miss?” Was his inflection supposed to come off as charming?

“Komi Tchaikovsky.”

“...Ch-Ch-eye-what-now?” The genuine confusion he expresses catches Komi off guard. So she repeats herself, clearer this time. Allard is silent for a brief second before he forces himself to laugh. It’s awkward.

“Yeah, Swan Lake, right,” He says, slipping back into the performance of a man who has his shit together, “So, let me guess… are you some kind of musician?”

Komi laughs, and Allard nervously chuckles with her. She tells him that, funnily enough, she does know how to play piano. Music is quite literally what the Void is made of. It runs in the Master’s blood… or, their essence? What’s the right word for that?

“Piano?” Allard muses, “We happen to have an old piano collecting dust backstage. I suppose it wouldn’t be any trouble to move it around… It’s not heavy.” He pauses for a moment, and Komi lets him take his time to collect his thoughts. He was doing such a good job just now!

“You know what?” He speaks, “Can you come by sometime… tomorrow afternoon? Just a little after 1:20? I think we can arrange something for you… if you’re comfortable being on stage, that is.”

On stage? If it’s just playing the piano, that’s no problem. The idea of performing in an official establishment makes Komi’s face feel a little warm, though. If she has costars, then it won’t be so bad. Being the solo act is another thing, but she’ll do it, regardless.

“Very comfortable,” She smiles as she responds to Allard’s proposition.

“Great!” The man over the phone cheers, “Ahem, I mean… wonderful. Then I’ll be seeing you?” He drags out his words, trying to get confirmation from Komi. Once she simply says, “Yes,” Allard blows a loud sigh of relief into the speaker. It crinkles on the other end, making Komi cringe. The man of the theater then clears his throat once more and puts on another act of confidence, “Good. The, uh… address to the theater is located on the flyer. Which you must still have because… that’s how you got my number– our number! Yes! The theater’s number… Goodbye now, Miss Komi.”

Click!

He hangs up on her before she can respond. Didn’t even give her a chance. She stares at the flyer in her hand, dumbfounded. After another second passes, Komi shrugs it off and puts the phone back in its place. Now that she has somewhere to go tomorrow, she has something to do for the rest of her day. And one of those things is preparing an outfit!

A professional look should be the main goal here. How you present yourself in an interview will affect the first impression your possibly future boss with have of you. It’s like a hidden code flowing in the script that makes society function.

In the human’s world, anyway.

A full suit and tie would be way too much. That’s S-tier Professional attire. When the Master of the Void thinks of that, they picture a small catalog of men they’ve been acquainted with that basically embodies the S-tier Professional look.

Bruce Wayne was a big CEO guy with a butler just as professional and high class as him!

Patrick Bateman, the physical definition of the words ‘handsome rich businessman from New York.’ The most generic-looking guy ever.

Komi knows she cannot show up dressed up looking like she loves paperwork. She hates paperwork!!

She picks out a dark gray blouse from her closet and then holds it up to herself in the reflection of the mirror. For a moment, she studies how the color compliments her face. Her stoic, calm face. The dark colors of her brown hair and lavender eyes combined with the dark gray make her feel a little… serious? Mysterious? She grins and then laughs to herself. We’ll go with it.

Once the rest of her outfit is picked out, Komi gently lays her clothes out on the edge of her mattress. With some time left, she spends the next few hours going over what she may need to say during the interview. Polite and calm, but also focused and driven. After that, she does a bunch of other more boring yet useful things to prepare for the interview.

While passing time, the Master’s consciousness slowly fogs for what feels like a few brief seconds. The fog, too, slowly fades, and time has passed. Komi’s eyes scan their surroundings, taking in the warm orange light beams that peak into the room through the soft red curtains hanging across the windows. Birds are chirping, and there’s a soft breeze blowing through the trees. Komi’s eyes then land on an analog clock, and soaks in the familiar, comforting sounds of the gentle ticking of the second hand. She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath, and exhales. Slowly, her eyelids part and her vision adjusts until she can see every detail of the materials that make the clock. She reads the numbers, and learns that the time is now 10:30. Good. It is a new day.

Komi gets freshened up and dressed, rolling up her sleeves to her elbows. She turns her left wrist over and examines the bracelet wrapped right where her hand meets her arm. With her right hand, she tightens the knot, and then calmly drops her arms to her sides. Once her appearance is taken care of, Komi picks up two vanilla folders that she had prepared the night before. These contain some documents that will really help her get through any kind of boring paperwork that may or may not be required for her to fill out. Paperwork. 

Paperwork!

One of the most boring things in the entire multiverse.

With everything together, Komi takes a bus to get to the theater. It’s a large blue building with a large sign on the front that reads ‘Rat & Cat Theater’ in bold black letters. Not a very exciting display, Komi thinks to herself. With the idea of a theater in mind, the woman expected to be greeted by a marquee with bright yellow chasing lights surrounding it at the entrance

 But the simplicity of the real sign that she sees has its own appeal. 

Komi enters the theater, and the first thing that comes to her attention is the carpet. Different shades of purple with an interesting pattern resembling a diagonal trellis. The walls are a cool blue, with a checkered design that reminds the Master of the interior of one of Afton’s restaurants. A few kids rush past Komi, giggling and playing some kind of game together. She glances over to the direction they just came from, and heads that way, hoping to find a member of the staff.

Instead, she finds the stage, with its soft blue curtains fully closed. A few chairs are set up in the center of the room. Komi counts them. Eighteen. On the wall, there’s a cartoon poster depicting the two main characters of the theater - The mischievous Rat and the gullible Cat. Her eyes skim over the words, searching for names, but she finds none. Do the characters not have names? How odd, she thinks.

The woman turns around the corner and sees someone standing completely still, covering their eyes and counting down. It was a man in an orange mascot costume.

The Rat himself.

His back is turned to her, the obvious zipper that runs up from the tail to the neck being the only thing Komi can see of him. She can tell that the costume is hand-made, not professional by any means but still pretty impressive.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1!” The Rat stops counting and turns around with an energetic cheer, “Ready or not, here I come!” His big, round head looks over at Komi, who takes this as an opportunity to ask for directions.

“Excuse me, mister Rat,” she calls out, “Do you have a moment? I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Komi takes a step towards the man wearing the uncanny mask of the character that she had seen depicted as playful and full of energy in the poster from earlier. Now that she has his attention, the lady takes out the flier from the other day and holds it up for the Rat to see. “Is Vincent Allard here?” She asks, “I called him yesterday for an interview. If you could just point me in the direction of where he is, I’d really appreciate it.”

The Rat actor sighs beneath his mask, breaking character briefly before he puts the performance back on, “Ah! The boss! He’s in this office right now, just follow me!”

He points straight ahead and begins to march. Komi plays along, saluting him and marching behind, mirroring his movements. On the way, the Rat greets some of the children and parents with a cool nod of his head. The kids are all smiling with glee, entertained by the Rat’s silly little performance, excitedly chattering amongst themselves. The marching duo take a left turn past a small group of three tables where some of the families are sitting together.

The Rat stops in place, holding his finger aimed to the sky like a cowboy with his trusty pistol. Komi stops with him and watches as he slowly points towards a gray door with a sign that says STAFF ONLY! on the front in big, bold letters, easy for the kids to look up and read.

“There it is!” The costumed actor announces, “You’ll find the boss in there, ma’am.”

Komi politely bows, “Thank you, for showing me the way, mister Rat.”

She lifts her hand as she approaches the door. The Rat calls out to the woman as she makes contact with the handle. “Good luck!”

The words of encouragement make her smile.

Komi slowly opens the door and steps into the small office. The wallpaper is a dull blue and gray striped pattern, while the floor is a dark indigo carpet made from rougher material. The woman’s eyes lock in on a puppet lying on a table, his wooden eyes closed as if he were sleeping peacefully. A big blue bow tie is neatly tied around his neck, and a black shirt with three little white buttons on the front covers his wooden body. His white cheeks are adorned with round blue circles, and purple tears run down his face, outlining the shape of his frown. The puppet looks like something from a child’s nightmare.

A sense that something is wrong with the thing creeps around cautiously in the back of Komi’s mind. Despite the red flags her Black Box is sending off to her, the woman slowly reaches her hand towards the puppet and hesitantly pokes it, as if she expects it to jump to life. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if it did.

While the puppet doesn’t do anything after Komi touches it, the feeling of unease remains. Just because it isn't showing any signs of life now, doesn't mean it isn't alive.

“Hey, don't touch Vinnie while he's sleeping!” A man wearing a black turtleneck and blue overalls scolds Komi, catching her attention. He has dark black hair and bright blue eyes, and his baggy sleeves are white with thick, black stripes. His costume is similar to he puppet’s. He must be another actor.

He must also be the boss, Komi thinks, the man from the phone, Vincent Allard.

Allard stomps over to Komi and shoos her away from the table, a scowl painted on his face. He starts berating her for… something, but Komi isn't even listening to him. The unsettling feeling she got from the puppet still lingers in her head.

There’s something familiar about it. But what? 

Pulling herself out of the depths of her own mind, the woman forces herself to meet the boss man's eyes, to lock in and listen to him as he continues his ranting.

“Who are you, anyway?! You can't just walk in here! There's a sign on the wall that says ‘STAFF ONLY,’ if you didn't notice,” Allard huffs.

Komi shows him the flier and introduces herself, explaining that she’s here for the interview. Realizing his mistake, the man awkwardly apologizes and scratches the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle.

“Aha, that's right… No no no, I remember now. Pianist, right?”

He asks her with a simper.

Komi nods, keeping her tactful smile, “Yes, that's me. And you're… Mr. Allard?”

“Please, call me Vincent,” He smirks at her, “No formalities,” he then motions towards his desk and pulls up a spare chair gently patting the back of it as he sits down on his own, “Come here! Take a seat, tell me about yourself.”

The woman sits, her short brown hair gently brushing over her shoulders. She gingerly sets the folders she brought with her down on her lap and straightens her posture.

Komi now has to perform the character of a creative composer whom is skilled at the piano. Thankfully, the Master had prepared the backstory for this new role last night. Using that as her reference, she opens her mouth and begins to paint Vincent a picture of who ‘she’ is.

“Well… ever since my youth, I have always aspired to become a composer. A dream that had awakening in my soul after seeing a wonderful Christmas ballet my father had taken me to for my birthday.”

Vincent’s blue eyes sparkle as he stares at Komi like he’s hearing a fairytale story filled with wonder and whimsy, “W-What… What ballet?”

Komi smiles and tilts her head at him, “The Nutcracker. I was so mesmerized by the dancers and how they just seemed to be… one with the music. It was an enchanting performance. I remember pestering my father on the way home that snowy night, trying to learn as much as I could about the creation of what magic I had just witnessed. He told me all about these people called choreographers, art directors, music composers… After that night, I began to take piano lessons. My father had hired one of the best piano teachers around, but I found his teaching methods to be lackluster and boring. I can’t stand boredom, so I became my own teacher. I discovered the music within my own soul, and soon I was composing my very own songs in no time.”

Vincent slowly nods his head as he stares at her with his mouth agape. He speaks after a moment of silence, sitting up straight in his seat. “Interesting. Have you had any musical success?”

Komi shakes her head slightly, “Not really. Shortly after I came of age, I had moved in with my mother’s family. Unlike the prestigious classes filled with the most intelligent-minded boys and girls of the next generation that I was enrolled in during the years I had lived with my father’s family… I got all of my education from my mother herself. I had gone from an extremely social environment and was put into a more… Isolated lifestyle. Only my two families ever got to hear my music. Everyone was so supportive in my journey as an aspiring musician, and I always had to deal with them pestering me to play at holiday gatherings. But I mostly lived… well, still live in isolation. As of now, I am a solo composer. I hope to met my Petipa and Ivanov someday.”

After Komi finishes her tale, she notices that Vincent is staring at her… very intensely. His jaw is hanging open, and she can see all his pristine white teeth aligned in his mouth. His deep blue eyes are bulging out of his skull! It’s like something Komi would see in a cartoon. 

What the fuck is going on in his head?

Why don’t we just find out?

Locking into one of her secret abilities, the Master makes direct eye contact with Vincent Allard as she fills the dead air with more riveting dialogue, “I learned so many fascinating things about how a group of creative individuals crafted their art together. Using this knowledge, I worked very hard to improve my skills and understanding of what it means to compose, and I have perfected it. My music will make the world of the Rat and Cat Theater come to life!”

As soon as that last word leaves her mouth, Komi thinks that… maybe… she got a little too excited there. Embarrassed that she may come on too strong with her delivery of the whole “dramatic backstory and character motivation speech” scene, the woman awkwardly laughs as a recovery tactic.

“Ehehe…?~”

Just as she hoped, this flusters Vincent even more. 

The Black Box was assessing the man’s mind while the Master of the Void delivered her lines. Now, whenever Komi meets his gaze, she will see into his soul.

A secret ability that allows one to see a person’s self. Their feelings, their personality, their moral code, and their insecurities. The manifestations of the mind that the Master will see are all unique for each individual being’s mind. Colorful patterns that depict their current emotional state, contained in a vision that reflects that being’s personality.

A television in an empty room engulfed in darkness, the dim screen being the only source of light… for one example of what one might see.

Ah, wait… Hold on…

BLACK BOX TYPE B-K ENTRY #3;1;14;4;25;22;5;18;19;5 //[K - Edit]// A sincere apology for breaking the immersion here, but we need to get meta for a second. It’s Komi writing this, sort of. You might be wondering what that talk about the multiverse, the Master of the Void and Aftonverse stuff was all about. So before this chapter goes on any further, I must provide some context about myself. This is your only warning: Komi (me) is not a human. Komi (me) is the Master of the Void, the protector of the multiverse. That is why you will see things like Komi ‘reading minds’ or references to universes outside the Aftonverse, and other references. After this one, all future Komi chapters will not elaborate on her ‘secret abilities’ or her many bizarre callbacks like the Bruce Wayne one. Why? Komi knows the laws of the reality of this universe (Aftonverse), so she (a god-like immortal) must play a convincing role of a middle-aged human woman. To do this, Komi refrains from using her powers. Think of it like method acting, she stays in-character even when she isn’t performing in front of an audience. But her secret eye/mind reading ability is basically a sixth sense for her. To help you understand; Komi can be considered psychic. If you have any questions about Komi’s true self, send them to the inbox on that blog site where the Sexymen are from! You know what I’m talking about. Okay. Back to the story, so sorry for breaking the pace of this scene! (≧ᆺ≦ྀིっ˙✧˖°

Komi’s eyes meet Vincent’s once again, and she peers through the glass of his blue lenses to look at the inside of his brain. She sees a clerestory window in a dark, abandoned church engulfed in shadows. The colors on the stained glass are all swirling around, unfocused and distorted. The visuals give her the impression that he may be an arrogant and self-centered man masking his insecurities with a performance of a character that he carefully crafted his entire life.

The Master feels a bit of solidarity with this sad man.

They’re both putting on a performance.

But that’s all that Komi can relate to. His personality is depicted with vague religious scenery, which gives away that he has some kind of superiority complex. The material of the glass doesn’t even look very strong. It would shatter into pieces if a rock were to crash into it. His ego is big but fragile.

The Master can tell exactly what kind of character Vincent Allard is. They have to hold back a laugh, because Komi has to remain polite, and silently observant.

Study his little quirks and traits. Analyze his body language.

Get to know him before messing with him

Oh, she is so looking forward to messing with him.

Right now, he’s forced himself to appear charming and professional, and not completely thrown off by her. He’s sweating. Once again she’s reminded of Patrick Bateman, but for a different reason this time.

“Mr. Allard,” Komi briefly pauses to correct herself, “Excuse me - Vincent. I wish to demonstrate my musical skills to you. Where is that piano you mentioned?”

Allard quickly scrambles to figure out what his next lines should be, “Oh! You… You want to see it?” He stumbles as he stands to his feet, “I suppose there’s no harm in that. It’s only backstage, let’s… I-I’ll show you where…” Vincent steps forward, his arm motioning to signal for Komi to follow him.

The man in the blue overalls stops in place, remembering something. “Oh, I have to grab Vinnie first…” He chuckles, approaching the table where his puppet is lying.

Komi almost forgot that thing was in the room with them.

She feels uneasy again, tensing up as the boss grabs ‘Vinnie’ almost tenderly, and slowly lifts them into a sitting position. Despite her sense of dread, Komi keeps a stoic and calm performance.

That is until Vincent holds the damn thing up to her, and her eyes go wide as she sees just how tall the beast is.

“Woah,” Was all Komi said. She refrains from reacting anymore. That puppet is disturbing.

Vincent misreads her reaction and thinks she’s impressed.

A cocky grin crosses on his face and he boasts, “I made Vinnie myself, you see. From scratch! It took me eight months. He’s one of my golden achievements, and my greatest character.”

“Cool.” Komi could care less. She doesn’t want to look at this thing anymore!

But the puppeteer keeps going.

He begins to do that… ventriloquist thing, making his puppet ‘speak’ by having its wooden mouth move as he does a funny voice without moving his lips.

“Yeah, 'cause talking about puppets is a great first impression,” Vinnie ‘says’ in a low, sarcastic tone, “Explains why you’re still not married.”

Komi cringes.

He’s doing the thing, he’s trying to make her talk to the puppet…

She doesn’t want to talk to the puppet!

So she doesn’t say anything, and thankfully the puppeteer realizes that he’s made things awkward. He nervously laughs and gently sets Vinnie back onto the table, deciding to leave him behind. Internally, Komi sighs in relief. She doesn’t have to look at that thing anymore.

Vincent clears his throat, “Ahem… Right this way.”

The pair exit the office and go down the same route that the Rat had led Komi on to get her here. When they head past the stage, Vincent turns to open a gray door with another plate on it that reads BACKSTAGE.

“Right this way, Miss Komi,” The man holds the door open, his slim form leaning against the wall at an angle. The Master takes note of Vincent Allard’s demeanor here. Aww. His sleeves don't fit his arms.

That’s so cute! The fabric is all baggy cause the sleeves are too long, and his arm are thin. His gloves even look a little too big for hands…

Stifling a grin, Komi steps through the door and into the dimly lit labyrinth that makes the backstage area. It’s cluttered with set pieces and tables with props lying on them. The curtains on the stage are drawn shut, the blue folds absorbing the light from the other side. The air smells faintly of sawdust, paint, and the faint mustiness of fabric that had seen too many seasons. Pressed against the wall directly across the room facing the stage, is an old black piano, covered in dust.

“Here she is,” Vincent announces, stepping aside as Komi approaches the dusty piano tucked backstage. The sleek hood covering the keys glints faintly under the overhead lights as she carefully lifts it. Despite the exterior’s wear, the keys themselves gleam in almost pristine condition, only gently used.

She can feel the piano’s essence, sensing the remnants of the memories from the instrument’s life before the theater.

Sitting around a warm, cozy fireplace.

Family. A longing to go back.

Relaxing slightly, Komi allows her expression to soften and opens her eyes as she takes her place on the bench. She looks down at the keyboard curiously, “Is she tuned?” she asks, already pressing down on a few notes to test it. A discordant, squeaky sound echoes, and the pianist winces.

“Yeesh. Guess not.”

Behind her, Vincent waves a hand dismissively, already grumbling under his breath.

“Told that idiot last week it needed tuning… never listens. Honestly, what’s the point of paying people if they—”

Komi tunes him out as effectively as the piano, ignoring the string of complaints. Instead, she rolls up her sleeves, assessing the instrument with a discerning ear. Leaning in, she adjusts a few pegs with a deft touch, her humming blending faintly with the murmur of the room. After a few minutes, the notes ring clear and true, the piano’s voice restored. Satisfied, the brunette exhales deeply, placing her fingers lightly on the keys.

But then she notices something etched into the surface. Scribbled lines that look like the letter C. Komi gently brushes her fingertips over the scratch marks, and discovers more remnants of emotion.

Loneliness. A feeling of being betrayed. A confused child struggling to accept change.

That longing to return to the past is much stronger now.

Who’s feelings are these? The Master is confused.

And what the hell is Remnant doing in a place like this?

No, Komi stops herself.

She’ll think about that later.

Right now, she’ll show Vincent Allard a demonstration of her skills by turning the memories of the piano into a song, right on the spot.

The Master and music are one in the same, after all.

Closing her eyes, the pianist lets her hands move gracefully, drawing out the first, tender notes. The melody is hauntingly beautiful, a delicate dance of minor chords and gentle transitions. It begins somber, each note heavy with melancholy, as if echoing memories of loss. But as the tune unfolds, an undercurrent of quiet hope emerges, weaving resilience into the sorrow. The crescendo builds like the promise of dawn after a long night, before tapering off into a soft, reflective finish. The sound fills the backstage space, cutting through Vincent’s muttering. His voice falters, and he falls silent, mesmerized by the unexpected music. The faint hum of electricity and distant chatter from the theater seem to fade into the background, leaving only the piano’s voice.

When the final note lingers in the air, Komi lifts her hands from the keys, letting the silence settle like dust after a storm. Turning her head up, she glances back at Vincent.

He’s frozen, wide-eyed, clutching his hand to his chest as if seeking reassurance.

His jaw works soundlessly for a moment before he stammers, “That… that was…”

She tilts her head, waiting patiently, her expression calm.

“You’re hired,” Vincent blurts out, then clears his throat, attempting to regain composure.

“Uh… officially, I mean. I had my doubts, but—well, that kind of playing… It’s…”

He gestures vaguely toward the piano.

“It’s exactly what we need here.” He sounds out of breath after he finishes speaking.

Composing himself, Vincent then holds his head high and gives Komi an approving nod.

“Thank you,” The pianist replies with a slight bow of her head, her tone polite, “I look forward to working alongside everyone.”

Then she smiles at him.

Stuffing his hands in the pockets on his blue overalls, Vincent exclaims, “Good, good… I’ll, uh, We can get the paperwork sorted out later. The first show’s going to start soon, you’re invited to sit with the audience if you wish.”

Komi stands from the bench, considering his invitation.

Curious, she accepts.

“I’d love to. Thank you, Mr. Allard.”

Her formality catches him off guard, and he stammers, “Yeah… uh, sure,” then he corrects her, ”Just Vincent.”

“Ah, right,” The woman takes her line again, “Thank you, Vincent.”

The man claps his hands together, and motions for Komi to follow, “Alright, come on. Let me show you where the real magic happens.”

He leads her out of the backstage area and over towards the stage. All eighteen chairs in the audience are now occupied. Families seated in clusters, kids squirming with anticipation.

This place has only been open for a few days, right? Yet somehow, this amatuer theater became an instant hit. Are the actors really that good?

Vincent lingers near the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets again. “I wrote the script,” he whispers in Komi’s direction, attempting to make small talk with her, “My buddy Glenn edits them for me… He and I started this place together. We go way back, aha. You’ll meet him someday.”

Komi steps closer to her new boss, remaining silent. Not wanting to be rude, she simply nods her head at him to signal that she acknowledged that yes, he sure is speaking to her right now. Her attention is mainly on the stage, however.

A small cheer rises from the children audience as two large figures appear, emerging from the wings with exaggerated movements. It’s the Rat and the Cat mascots, their bright orange and yellow costumes practically glowing under the lights. They wave enthusiastically to the crowd, beginning their opening skit. The Rat delivers a playful bow, the Cat mimicking him before tumbling over in an exaggerated pratfall that sends the kids into a fit of giggles.

The show has a similar vibe to an series of rubber-hose styled cartoons that she once watched a very long time ago, about a dapper little demon and the all of the whimsical antics that he got up to. Cartoons around the 1930’s mostly shared a similar vibe. The mischievous Rat and the gullible Cat remind her of the familiar stories about a blue tomcat and a tiny mouse. It actually happens to be one of the Master’s favorite cartoons throughout the multiverse.

Komi smiles to herself, a warm feeling of nostalgia washing over her as she watches the rest of the show.

But as the performance comes to a close, her mind drifts back to the peculiar discovery she made earlier… the traces of Remnant lingering within the very piano she’ll be working with. It had surprised her to find something like that in the little place like this. As far as the Master was aware, one would have to infuse something with Remnant for the essence to latch onto it strong enough for it to possess memories.

That’s how it works, right?

Regretfully, however, Komi never once got to see the actual research of Remnant written by those like Afton, Emily, and Talbert. And she never had any interest in learning more about the concept, because she didn’t care at the time. That’s mainly due to Komi not having contact with anything infused with Remnant before.

Until now.

That thought stirs something inside her, an idea popping in her mind. Why doesn’t she just take this as an opportunity to figure it out all by herself?As the sound of applause fills the theater, Komi’s lips curl into a small smile. Oh, she’s looking forward to her time working here.

[starlightwielded]

♢ . SHAKESPEARE AESTHETIC. mordred edition.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden.a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: @ashmored ! tagging: @witchdoctrines / @halfcaped / @noonesoldier, @witchhaunts / @fa1rytells , @playbarbies . @forwardmoved / @dorkustm , @nofooltadius , @grizzwalds , @chmarva , @grizzwalds & YOU! steal it! tag me!

[sordidery]

∘ ▫ ♚ richard campbell gansey iii & shakespeare aesthetics.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you'd say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls' day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love's sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you're unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you're home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren't jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: @oddyseas. im smothering u in kisses and u cant do shit about it. tagging: @altarcup, for sabran or lestat or alice! @dreamlorn, love u. @damsul. @thanatologies. @wildkissed, for the trc kids or van or mal! @zerorisk, for the driver or grace!

[brawlqueen]

shakespeare aesthetic. 

romeo & juliet.   suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet.   speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night.   wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth.   the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing.   the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear.   cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream.    the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by.  stole it from @riwrite ! tagging: @zelotae @bonescribes @desuetmort @nulltune @nostomannia @paraleech @hopefromadoomedtimeline @lykaiia @causalitylinked @woeborns @sinplly @kiealer @toadmiretoweepover @peachrote @stellarhistoria @pleiadeshalo@sheyearns @psychcdelica + you !

[xbadnews-a]

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: no one! i saw it in my recommended posts & snatched it tagging: @softersinned ( on any blog ), @deathwalkerr, @stellarhistoria, @whalefelled, @seeliecourt, @bookofvesper, @turnedfolkl0re, @khenzi, @zealctry, @barovianblood & literally anyone who wants to do it i want to Know

[belasso-blog]

ted's shakespeare aesthetics.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you'd say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls' day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love's sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you're unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you're home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren't jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: @andthe6 (thank you!!) tagging: @becoach @shegunner @afuckinglion @bekeeley @sangwoochos @consumare + anyone else who'd like to do this!!

[songandflame-archived]

—— shakespeare aesthetic.

romeo & juliet.

suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet.

speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night.

wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth.

the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing.

the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear.

cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

Tagged stolen from: @leatherforhell || Tagging: those with an inner Jean Valjean

a midsummer night’s dream.

the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[feysworn]

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[gloryseized]

shakespeare aesthetic.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by. @gerudosage (thank you so much for the tag!! this was a fun meme =3 ) tagging. @stellaelillac (for Annabeth) , @leatherforhell, @okeancs , @vigilantdesert , @unapologeticapaathy

[talentforlying]

SHAKESPEARE AESTHETICS

romeo & juliet — suburban july. SCRAPED KNEES. bruised knuckles. BLOOD IN YOUR TEETH. bare feet on hot concrete. RESTLESSNESS. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. BURNING INSIDE. AN ILL-FITTING PARTY DRESS. a t-shirt you cut up yourself. THE TIME YOU TRIED TO GIVE YOURSELF BANGS. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. THE FEELING THAT YOU'VE MET BEFORE. REBELLION. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. SCREAMING YOURSELF HOARSE. RUNNING OUT OF OPTIONS. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. A EULOGY WRITTEN ON LOOSE-LEAF. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet — speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. LOSING TOUCH. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. THE CRACK IN THE HALLWAY MIRROR. THINGS YOU'D SAY IF YOU KNEW THE WORDS. uncombed hair. BOOKS WITH WRITING IN THE MARGINS. books with cracked spines. BOOKS WITH LINES SCRATCHED OUT. prayers on all souls' day. A CHIPPED CERAMIC BATHTUB. a cold stone floor. THE UNCOMFORTABLE AWARENESS OF YOUR OWN HEARTBEAT. the sparrow that got in your house. SHADOWS. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. GHOST STORIES. THE STRANGENESS OF YOUR OWN NAME IN YOUR MOUTH. DEEP SILENCE. EXHAUSTION. A CLIFF WITH A LONG, LONG DROP DOWN.

twelfth night — wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. SARCASM. STARCHED CUFFS. DAY DRINKING. bay windows. the idea of love. LOVE FOR THE IDEA OF LOVE. love for love's sake. HANGOVERS. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. A PRETTY BOY WITH A SLACKED TIE. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. DOUBLE-SPEAK. A SONG YOU KEEP LISTENING TO. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. FIGHTS YOU'RE UNPREPARED FOR. HOPE YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. PINING. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth — THE SPACE WHERE YOUR GRIEF USED TO BE. A BIRD THAT'S LOST AN EYE. OLD BLOOD STAINS. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. THE STILLNESS AFTER A BATTLE. A FAKE SMILE. A CURSE. THE TASTE OF METAL AT THE BACK OF YOUR TONGUE. YOUR HOUSE, UNFAMILIAR IN THE DARK. a dusty crib. THE SMELL OF SULFUR. an orange pill bottle. STREAKS IN THE SINK. a black cocktail dress. YOUR HAND ON THE DOORKNOB, SHAKING. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. CLENCHED HANDS. a rusty swing set. A FLASHING DIGITAL CLOCK STUCK ON 12:00. A SNAKE THAT CROSSES YOUR PATH. AN OWL THAT WATCHES YOU. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. FOOTSTEPS IN THE HALLWAY LATE AT NIGHT. a baggy suit that used to fit before. VISIONS. INSOMNIA HEADACHES. nursery rhymes. BEING TOO FAR IN TO GO BACK NOW.

much ado about nothing — the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. SOMEONE ON YOUR LEVEL. ill-timed proclamations. STOMACH CLENCHING LAUGHTER. rushing in. NOT MINDING YOUR BUSINESS. crepe paper. WHITE LIES. SECRETS WRITTEN DOWN AND THROWN AWAY. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. OLD FRIENDS. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. GOSSIP. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. UNFRIENDLY RIVALRIES. SHIT GETTING REAL. love at five hundredth sight. NOT REALIZING YOU'RE HOME UNTIL YOU'RE THERE.

king lear — cement block buildings. POWER LINES THAT BIRDS NEVER PERCH ON. THE END OF THE WORLD. USELESS WORDS. RAINLESS THUNDER, HEAT LIGHTNING, A TOO BIG SKY. arthritic knuckles. BROKEN GLASS. CHALK CLIFFS. THE PULSING RED-BLACK BEHIND CLOSED EYES. SOMETHING YOU LEARNED TOO LATE. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. A COLD STARE. EMPTY PICTURE FRAMES. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. GRAPPLING IN THE DARK WITH REACHING HANDS. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. DECAY. JOKES THAT AREN'T JOKES. biting your tongue. PROPHECIES. aching muscles, tired feet. STINGING RAIN. invoking the gods. WONDERING IF THE GODS ARE LISTENING. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. SHIVERS. NUMBNESS. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream — the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. LISTENING TO MUSIC ON HEADPHONES WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. A PILL SOMEONE SLIPPED YOU. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. A PAIR OF YELLOW EYES IN THE DARKNESS. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. DRINKING ON AN EMPTY STOMACH. A TWIG BREAKING BEHIND YOU. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. AN OVERGROWN PATH THROUGH THE WOODS. cool dew on your skin. A DREAM THAT FADES WITH WAKING. MOTHS DRAWN TO THE LIGHT. GIVING YOURSELF OVER, COMPLETELY. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

[ofglories]

shakespeare aesthetic.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by: @toadmiretoweepover thank you~ tagging: @heroicmenagerie , @grandordergirl , @caemthe , @voidfragments

[leatherforhell]

shakespeare aesthetic.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter & spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses & a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12 : 00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down & thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, & her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you’re home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil & dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body & not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by. @gloryseized approximately a hundred years ago. thank you so much and im sorry

[miss-polly]

shakespeare aesthetics.

romeo & juliet. suburban july. scraped knees. bruised knuckles. blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in the breeze. burning inside. an ill - fitting party dress. a t - shirt you cut up yourself. the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friends house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with a sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn looking basketball hoop at the end of a cul - de - sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip - flops. a eulogy written on loose - leaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet. speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn. mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you'd say if you knew the words . uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins. books with cracked spines. books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls' day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. the uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. an oversized t - shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil beneath your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night. wicker deck furniture. new england summer. large sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean. patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. the smell of chlorine. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love. love for the idea of love. love for love's sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar. fishermen with tattoos. a pretty boy with a slacked tie. a lighthouse. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. big, floppy sunhats. double - speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drank on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you're unprepared for. hope you weren’t expecting. pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth. the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat. the stillness after a battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. the smell of sulfur. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. a chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path. an owl that watches you. a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke, dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now.

much ado about nothing. the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck. military supply duffel bags in the hall. hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch. a pitcher of iced tea. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. ill - timed proclamations. stomach clenching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen. a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog - eared rhyming dictionary. chamomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you're home until you’re there.

king lear. cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lighting, a too big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red - black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown out windows of a skeletal house. decay. jokes that aren't jokes. biting your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods. wondering if the gods are listening. worrying that the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream. the smell of wet soil and dead leaves. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill someone slipped you. fear that turns into excitement. excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hallow in an old tree. glow in the dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

tagged by : @polarean

tagging : @righteousruin @nrth-wind for tim and lonnie @paramounticebound @perceiivent @dalishflame @allroundher and you!