lady-of-black-roses - Tumblr blog

[lady-of-black-roses]

both are me

[lady-of-black-roses]

[lady-of-black-roses]

i may be joking… may

[lady-of-black-roses]

Crowley appreciates being called elegant but has suggested that "saunters" would be a more accurate verb.

[lady-of-black-roses]

thomas 😭

[lady-of-black-roses]

catsserafim <3

[lady-of-black-roses]

good parts ( when the quality is bad but i am )

[lady-of-black-roses]

Smiling Kakashi for everyone

Keep smiling. Keep shining.

[lady-of-black-roses]

Durin went to Gil-galad's house, lied to him right in front of his salad, and stole his table as a gift for Disa. King shit.

[lady-of-black-roses]

　 　◯⠀﹒⠀🌪️⠀﹒⠀𓇼⠀ ﹒⠀

　 　◯⠀﹒⠀🛹⠀﹒⠀𓇼⠀ ﹒⠀

[lady-of-black-roses]

[lady-of-black-roses]

hey :) can u make a "your gallery if you were dating alex turner" pls :)

Your gallery if you were dating Alex Turner

[lady-of-black-roses]

you will be are my world @i4hvcky <3

[lady-of-black-roses]

What are in your opinion the best offerings for Marzanna?

I offer her the plants that survive through the winter's cold: blackthorn, dog rose hips, hawthorn, and rowan - and blackthorn wine, and quince vodka of my own making.

then chrysanthemums and thistle, nettles, lilies and lilies of the valley. ferns and yarrow, mint and mullein. devil's bolete and fly agaric, and then an array of poisonous plants whose names I'll spare you at the moment lest you become tempted to find them.

I also offer her bread and water, dark chocolate and bitter black tea; offal and blood, bones and teeth. fish, sometimes, and sour beer.

then, intimately from myself, the work of my hands - embroidery and woodwork, drawings and the cleaning of graves - and the blood from my veins, and my nightmares and trance, and ever so rarely pleasure underlined with fear or pain.

truth be told, the best offerings are simply the ones you yourself think fitting - and ones that bring you closer to Death Mother as you offer them.

[lady-of-black-roses]

hello. more.

[lady-of-black-roses]

you rustle in the night, dark mother. you rattle, you whistle, you whisper. you shiver and you sway, and your hair engulfs the silver moon.

the throne of the sun will be golden and silent, glistening in the dancing air. but not yet, not yet! you howl, you sing, you wail, crossroads and scythe, the barking of dogs.

oh winter mother, death beloved, your sharp fingers pry open the night, your breath tears the skies apart. a grin cuts through the stillness of the dark. blood rushes to the fingertips.

[lady-of-black-roses]

Winter by Alexandria Huntington