hi, ill be moving to @lvnarians and posting there from now on. thank u and maybe see you there ✨
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The Piano Duet from The Corpse Bride except you’re touring an old Victorian mansion as it inexplicably starts to play. The line between then and now seems to blur, particularly as you walk into the ballroom and find yourself lost in a world long forgotten.
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Poetry Inspiration Moodboards | bloody leaves
there is all this hatred spilling over the edge of my lips and I cannot contain it anymore
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saw this absolute gem in the comments under a video of the song “Eddie My Love” by The Chordettes and honestly same
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I was still babbling when Boris said: “Potter.” Before I could answer him he put both hands on my face and kissed me on the mouth. And while I stood blinking — it was over almost before I knew what had happened.
We stood looking at each other — me breathing hard, completely stunned. “Good luck,” said Boris. “I won’t forget you.” Then he patted Popper on the head. “Bye, Popchyk. Look after him, will you?” He said to me.
Later — in the cab, and afterward — I would replay that moment, and marvel that I’d waved and walked away quite so casually. Why hadn’t I grabbed his arm and begged him one last time to get in the car, come on, fuck it Boris, just like skipping school, we’ll be eating breakfast over cornfields when the sun comes up? I knew him well enough to know that if you asked him the right way, at the right moment, he would do almost anything; and in the very act of turning away I knew he would have run after me and hopped in the car laughing if I’d asked one last time.
But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t — I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while. More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting the thing on the edge of my tongue, the thing I’d never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying it out loud to him in the street — which was, of course, I love you.
The Goldfinch (2019) dir. John Crowley // The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt
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the universe has moved for us
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brienne: (ง •̀_•́)ง
jaime:ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
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what i say: i’m working on a fic!
what i mean: i haven’t written a single word about this. in fact i haven’t held a pen since 2015. every day when i take the train i maldaptive daydream about the possibilities of this fic and how the characters would interact, specifically when they have long intense heated glances across a busy room with enough raw yearning force to set off a jet plane and blueball me into oblivion. yes i have a ‘writing prompts’ tag for no fucking reason. no i can’t spell maladaptive
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