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macbcth · 4 years
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percy jackson | insp by @gayflint
“I’m fine!“ Percy yelled out as he ran by, followed by a giant screaming bloody murder.
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kaznej · 7 years
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a playlist for may  [listen]
i. lust for life - lana del rey, the weeknd ; ii. bloodstream - astrid s ; iii. paper love - allie x ; iv. crowded places - banks ; v. hold me by the heart - kehlani ; vi. lost in your light - dua lipa, miguel ; vii. wild things - alessia cara ; viii. babygirl - charli xcx ; vix. primadonna - marina and the diamonds ; x. afraid - the neihgbourhood ; xi. the city - the 1975 ; xii. eyes shut - years & years ; xiii. fake it - bastille ; xiv. save myself - ed sheeran ; xv. eyes closed - halsey
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pushkins · 7 years
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Lucifer knows Famine is a song that rises until its caco(phony) s h a t t e r s:
every(one) is starving (literally or metaphorically). He finds he prefers the latter; starved for praise with in(domitable) pride — those that reflect onto him what caused his fall: this is Lucifer’s self-inflicted punishment.
Not a list of memories but a
page devoid of praise.
- Horsemen & Archangels || Eliot C.
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athaenae · 7 years
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Ishani
this is for you Ishani @theunseeliecourt, first of all I’m sorry that ur gift is one day late :((( don’t ask me why but tumblr didn’t work for me yesterday??like i couldn’t even open the site at one point?? okayy anyways, i hope you had a great time yesterday and a wonderful, special birthday!! all my loovee and luck for the new year💖 💖 💖
Ishani; an incense stick glowing in the middle of the night, tousled curls smelling like sunshine and blueberries, letting your legs dangle in a river while the cicadas are humming, skin warmed by the sun, a journal full of old memories and new adventures
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macbcth · 4 years
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adam parrish;
❝ Adam had once told Gansey, "Rags to riches isn't a story anyone wants to hear until after it's done. ❞
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macbcth · 3 years
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06. 05. 21. | put on a red dress today 🌹
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macbcth · 4 years
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Enter the players. There were seven of us then, seven bright young things with wide precious futures ahead of us, though we saw no farther than the books in front of our faces. We were always surrounded by books and words and poetry, all the fierce passions of the world bound in leather and vellum. (I blame this in part for what happened.)
- If We Were Villains, M. L. Rio
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macbcth · 4 years
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— annabeth chase; i’m nobody’s sidekick
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macbcth · 4 years
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percy jackson;
“I’m fine!“ Percy yelled out as he ran by, followed by a giant screaming bloody murder.
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macbcth · 4 years
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“We are the stars,” he answers, as though it is the most obvious of facts afloat in a sea of metaphors and misdirections. “We are all stardust and stories.”
- The Starless Sea, Erin Morgenstern
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macbcth · 4 years
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— Lorde, Writer in the Dark
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macbcth · 4 years
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literature family: aristotle mendoza for @blafard
The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.
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macbcth · 4 years
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— 24. 6. 20. | “I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.”
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macbcth · 4 years
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✧ aisha’s 4k celebration ✧
i hit 4k a while back and i wanted to do something to celebrate!! thank you everyone for putting up with my multifandom mess of a blog! also wanted to turn all the listless free time on my hands into celebration and productivity... here we go !
rules:
mbf me
reblog/ like this post (both work)
send me an emoji from below + recommend me a book/ poem/ film if you want!
blacklist #aisha celebrates if you don’t want to see these
send me: (up to 2 only pls!!)
☾ + a character/ book/ ship for an edit (my fandoms)
☀ + 2 characters/ books/ ships for a mmc edit (my fandoms)
✿ + your name for a name playlist
♥ for a blograte (format)
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macbcth · 5 years
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You left the taste of your lips in my mouth and the smell of your skin on my mattress, You left your words taped to these pens, I wonder if that’s why I can’t stop writing about you- This pen still remembers your hands on its body, The ink remembers your fingers, The cap your touch, No, those are not the same things.
Your words have bled into the ink, And now it’s all spilling, Slowly.
You left your music in my playlists- Sent a cutter a song about addiction, asshole, But my nightmares weren’t having nightmares anymore, They were just sad, the poor things, The monsters and the teeth that I curated under my bed, They were all covered in tears, they wouldn’t stop crying.
No, the floodwater wasn’t clear, but it also wasn’t mud, It was the inky red of spilled blood, Do you know how many bloodstains I’ve had to clean up off my bedroom floor? Do you even care?
I’m setting fire to my head now, Or maybe it was my pillows I set fire to, I just didn’t want them to smell like you. And now I’ve spent more money on condoms and alcohol, And concealer to hide hickeys, Than any sixteen year old should have the right to- No, I don’t have the best coping mechanisms, but that’s something you already knew. At least you kissed your knuckles before splitting my heart in two, At least you got that right.
Is this second-person point of view accusatory enough for you? You, you, you, it’s all you. Am I getting under your skin yet? Am I still there? Did I ever leave? Or do you still read our conversations from time to time, Look for me in the hallway and canteen lines, Or break a little when you see me smile? Catch my eye, and see our history play out in double time?
I can’t wait to get drunk this weekend and have an excuse to message you again, See, I don’t deserve you in sunlight, Daytime sheds too much light on my sins, And I think you have a girlfriend now, not that it matters- No, I already loved you in guilt, In that secret space between Alcohol and 2AM, And old habits are hard to break.
But no, I don’t quite love you, No, I don’t quite miss you, Now you’re just a bad habit- You’re just a scratch I can’t quite itch, An ache, burrowed in some bone the doctors can’t reach, A piece of fat dissolving in the bloodstream.  There, I’ve said it now. There’s nothing left in these pens now, I can throw them away now, I’ve sucked them all dry, the ink’s out.
- aisha s. | half lovesong, half confession (pt ii)
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macbcth · 6 years
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i. I grew intimate with insanity halfway through the summer, Or perhaps it was just the first time I realised I’d gone mad: Roses curled around my arms, thorns digging, and Sleepless nights came in the strangest shades of red.
ii. The therapist diagnosed me with monosyllabic Sad: Your life is too short for you to want to be dead. I said, you’re supposed to be helping my brother. She nodded, then sighed, then said, His life is long enough for him to want to be dead.
So I nodded, shook my head, and again she sighed: Write a bucket list. Let it give you hope for the future, Nurture something positive in your mind, Keep a journal with every shade the colour of the sky.
iii. And I thought that sounded beautifully poetic, So I did. And it was filled with ballerinas and books, and smoke the colour of dreams. It was filled with London and Paris, And St. Mark's Square in Venice.
It was filled with a lover whose touch reminded me of the ocean, who captured fireflies and my imagination. It had rekindled friendships and kisses that taste like fresh rain.
It was ink and paper and pen, with something Akin to magic captured in such trivialities- It lifted me up. It taught me to write again.
iv. So based on a conversation with an old romance- a rekindled friendship, you could say or perhaps, most would call it a mistake- I took to ink and paper and pen and let words flow Of the summer I went insane.
- aisha s. | a bucket list, or something along those lines
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