#notes app musing

[moonlight-prose]

maybe it's my period, maybe it's maybelline. but old man logan would eat pussy from the back like it's a fucking reward, after he's finished filling it so much you're leaking.

[asterin-kelles]

A snippet of a thing that I’m working on that I don’t know when it will see the light of day but here’s a baby snippet anyway because I’m rather proud of this little exchange.

[sameoldloneliness]

"like a wild animal gnawing off a leg to escape the jaws of a trap, i force myself to find new places to call home. inescapable choices to deal with inescapable tragedies. i just worry that i only have so many legs to stand on, and one day i'll fall and hit the basement of loneliness."

what is the nature of sacrifice?

fake out - fall out boy // atonement (2007) // the year in ugliness by arabelle sicardi // 14 lines from love letters or suicide notes by doc luben // crazy rich asians (2018) // the perks of being a wallflower (2012) // symphony no. 2 in c minor, or the resurrection symphony - gustav mahler // myself

[mangofresca]

anachronism

He’s handsy. More than anything he had been expecting, Romano is handsy, and Portugal does not need to be any sort of psychologist or poet to understand why. What catches him, though—and what he often spends his time considering—is the when, that variable shift from companionable air to congenial leading, amicable to insinuative to bold, before settling somewhere in the vicinity of amatory caressing.

He’s handsy, and Portugal, within his own personal revelations, likes it more than he tolerates it, indulges in it more than he expected, revels in it more frequently than he is willing to count.

And this, he knows, is Romano’s biggest fantasy, the thing that makes him hot and flushed and brazen, steadfast and sure beneath hands that have long since lost their hesitation. For all his blustering and posturing, Romano only ever cared for that which left him unsure, and Portugal understands in his own way, even relates to a certain degree. He expected it and he hadn’t.

It’s a truth that existed long before their paths wove themselves together so intrinsically, bonded in gold and sweetly-scented lavender, one that would exist long after their time in each other’s presence diverged, a truth that was laid out so plainly before him that he all but tripped and fell into it when he actually allowed himself to look. A truth Portugal could pluck from the skies of Alqueva and Lecce, shimmering like stars embedded in the outskirts of unwavering constellations, glittering fantastically before his eyes—a skittish, despairing, lonely truth.

Romano wants to be wanted. Not coveted nor revered nor exalted. Romano wants to be wanted, and Portugal, for reasons that dawned on him slowly at first then entirely all-encompassingly, wants him.

The notion of acting on this newly unearthed want had once been wholly at odds with Portugal’s nature. Romano has long existed within a sphere beyond Portugal’s notice, purview, and grasp, and he never cared to make any motion to extend his interest into that particular area of his brother’s imperium.

The nature of nations, Portugal knows, is that they are bonded to their people first and foremost. The nature of immortals, though, is that they are bonded to each other beyond what any human could ever conceivably fathom. As beings who live in the nebulous middle, their lives are only ever dictated by flux and wavering posture. All the more reason, then, he muses, to understand each other.

He knows Romano would laugh at the very thought of it, of being understood, of understanding those who have only ever burned his bridges. But—or so Portugal likes to believe—that was why they differed: he hadn’t intended to try, and Romano certainly hadn’t intended to deliver. To Romano’s endless annoyance and even more infinite delight, Portugal doesn’t care if he fails. This pleases him, and Romano, in return, gives, because nothing is expected of him and every gift, every action, every physical admiration is received like it’s all Portugal wants, with no expectation of other.

And maybe, Portugal wonders, just maybe, it is.

It’s a small thing, only a tease, a tempt with none of the promise, but as they leave their table from a shared lunch one blinding, blistering afternoon, Romano reaches behind him, pulls the hand from Portugal’s pocket, and places it on the small of his back, beneath the flutter of his pristine suit jacket. His eyes flick over his shoulder, and Portugal is already watching, already receiving, delighted in that way he gets when he makes a particularly good dig or catches an underhanded comment, revelry adorned in equanimity.

Portugal lets his lips turn up into a smile, hand pressing just that much more against Romano’s back, thumb tracing the line of his spine, and Romano grins at him, the keeper of a secret he doesn’t know he’s already shared.

Romano wants to be wanted. Portugal wants to try.

[bunnighost]

[sometimesanalice]

I’m low of spoons at the moment, but I’m hoping to get a little Like I Can prequel drabble together soon!

[ipsum-lorem-dolor]

you don’t know all my stories anymore, and i

don’t know yours,

but i still know the password to your phone, and

you still know mine.

[mindlessobsession]

[twocozy]

alt text:

more whole, and more human

i want to be all of these things

[vampirodelascajas]

Things I want to do:

A wax seal with the Rondanini Medusa

A wax seal with a cute bear

[whimsyprinx]

I must taste delicious since I’m constantly consumed by loneliness <3

[beetlejuce]

Lore about me: I write songs, ever since I was a kid. Lately I’ve been struck with the biggest writer’s block and the past 5+ months have either been revisiting old shit I’ve written or doing nothing at all artistically.

I have written an entire song (lyrics and just getting to ideas of instrumentation) today though, so I think I’ve still got it, just gotta settle back into it… progress?

[catparazzi]

recipe blog but it's an entire chapter of a fanfic or a oneshot before you get the recipe

[serenelity]

please tell me its all in my head

please tell me i got it wrong

please tell me im being dramatic

please tell me i misunderstood

please tell me its not what you meant

feed me these lies until my eyes are too blurry to see truth again

and only then will i leave

only then will i take a deep breath,

lift my head,

and walk away.

[honeyhpd]

I think I may start taking the snippets of the words I’ve written in my notes and sharing them here. They’re snippets of poems, songs, or stories I want to write and some give me chills still every time I read them.

[movietonight]

Last Line Challenge Part 2 - Fic Edition

Tagged by @youngpettyqueen

rules: post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

There are some barriers to starting an argument: His sister’s pleading expression and, more importantly, Charles lacking the vocabulary and grammar to make his case. “I will not grade your conversations, but I will expect you to attend.” That is the end of the argument.