ugliy-moved

[ugliy-moved]

        a   reboot   of   a   multi   blog   featuring   mostly   women   within   the    horror   genre.     written   by   róisín.        –––––––       YOU   CAN   TELL   FROM   THE   SCARS   ON   MY   ARMS    /    &   THE  CRACKS  IN   MY   HIPS   /    &   THE  DENTS  IN  MY  CAR    /    &  THE  BLISTERS  ON  MY  LIPS,      THAT  I’M  NOT  THE  CAREFULLEST  OF  GIRLS  …        FROM  THE  GLASS  ON  THE  FLOOR,   AND  THE  STRINGS  THAT’RE  BREAKING,   AND  I  KEEP  ON  BREAKING  MORE,    AND  IT  LOOKS  LIKE  I  AM  SHAKING,   BUT  IT’S  JUST  THE  TEMPERATURE!    AND  THEN  AGAIN,   IF  I  WERE  ANY  COLDER,   I  COULD  DISENGAGE,   IF  I  WERE  ANY  OLDER,   I  COULD  ACT  MY  AGE,   BUT  I  DON’T  THINK  THAT  YOU’D  BELIEVE  ME.        ––          I  AM  THE  GIRL  ANACHRONISM !

[ugliy-moved]

hey

[ugliy-moved]

I’m—I’m traveling around with the boner squad and I never get to just say—what I’m feeling—I have emotions! It’s not all abra-ca-fuck-you and what have you—I have a beating heart! I’m multi-dimensional! I’m a fully realized creation! FUCK!!

—Walt Whitman

[ugliy-moved]

i want that 1x1 partner where we have 308340932 ships and lit are always adding more until we dont even know anymore and are great friends and just reblog ship inspo all day and bE THAT PERSON FOR ME

[ugliy-moved]

i think the saddest thing for oph is that laertes and her father both consider her . a liability rather than a person

[ugliy-moved]

@quandare​   asked:     “i’m not really anything like a person.”

           There’s a delicate nature to the action her feet take, kicking out gently at the gravel beneath her shoes. That’s the thing, the thing is darling   ––   ladylike and loving, meticulous in its intricacies. Kicking with her mary-jane shoes, placed sweetly on her feet by an adult with one of those expressions on their faces. Cute doll. She does make for a very kindly subject to dress up. Doesn’t move, doesn’t talk further than the standard answers to useless prodding, well trained in her etiquette so thoroughly that even now she keeps her posture straight and her eyes settled forward. 

            Companion’s words, however, steal her attention, head turning as if she might better comprehend it with eye contact. As if she doesn’t understand it as it stands in the space between them.     TO BE A LIVING THING:     “We’re all people,” she says, feebleness in her tone. “Whether we like it or not, I think.”    Features wince. There’s something disappointing in feeling so silly, a little empty headed. Stare flickers away with a pink tint taking hold of her complexion.    TO BE A BREATHING THING:   at the very least, we are this.     These live, real things. We have to be. She’ll repeat the thought to herself sometimes, pinch her arm with an intent to remind herself of the heavy concept that is existence. I do live, she thinks. I do live. But it’s hard to recall when gazes feel hollow, looking through you blankly.

             “You seem like a person to me.”             SOME PEOPLE BREATHE,     SOME PEOPLE DON’T.    This extends to thoughts as much as it does lungs. Fears that creep into her dreams often resemble losing your breath, losing something that makes you yourself, or never having it to begin with.    You look like you breathe, she wants to say, but she bites back on her tongue. 

[ugliy-moved]

“like you have a thing to say but the thing that topples out it so fully not that very thing”

maybe i shouldn’t be writing with my brain fried

[ugliy-moved]

“Laura Moon, aged 27, of Eagle Point, Indiana was killed in the early hours of Wednesday morning in an automobile accident. Laura loved her work, her friends, and her family.” Are you fucking kidding me? Who wrote this shit? 

[ugliy-moved]

Winnie Harlow by Vasilis Kekatos for Vogue Greece February 2020

[ugliy-moved]

if anyone’s curious i want to write more of the charas in my literature section hehe they all have really fun personas

[ugliy-moved]

—   ask meme   :   MABEL,   a podcast by becca de la rosa and mabel martin.   episodes 23 (bull in the maze) & 24 (coalescence).

i’ve been cultivating unkindness. i’ve been cultivating a lot of things — i’m a fertile field, it turns out — but unkindness is the most interesting.

it is unkind of me to try and play a trick on you.

i can hear everything, warped and distorted but broadcast somehow.

i can’t dig you out; i can’t reach my fingers deep enough inside my own brain, inside my own ribcage.

without you, divorced from even the idea of you, i have no substance, no form.

you are the antithesis that gives me definition.

another tragic love story, who needs that?

tragedy is the point.

do you think you have a monopoly on anger?

i’m not really anything like a person.

i love you and love you and love you, just as i am gone and gone and gone.

i can’t imagine a version of myself that would not love you.

i dream of you. sometimes in my dreams you are singing. sometimes you’re raging at me.

don’t leave me.

i killed someone. i killed someone.

i’ll set myself on fire to give you light.

i don’t want you to be lost. i don’t want you to be stuck. i just want you to be free, and joyous, and buoyant.

i woke up needing you, you artery ripped loose from me, all bloody and twining.

time rattles on its hinges.

i’ve come to barter.

do you think i’m as fickle as a human?

are those matches? what do you think you’re doing?

i do not have time for this. you can be angry at me later, you can scream and rage at me when you’re not in danger anymore.

am i the martyr or are you?

there are other ways to get me to shut up, you know.

i believe you. i always believe you.

you’re always so right. it must be such a burden.

i must hate you, is that it? that’s why i did all this, because i want you gone.

i am with you because i want to be. that’s all.

i will love you like a fire loves a forest.

time has made liars and cheats of us all.

i will make a bullet of my mouth. i will make a knife of my heart.

you think you are the monster at the end of this book?

[ugliy-moved]

i CERTAINLY talk a lot about wanting to write for someone whose skills are so rusty JHSADF

[ugliy-moved]

@mudwoven​   asked:      'I KNOW HE DIDN'T KILL ANYBODY.' alejandro gillick @ helena bertinelli.

              𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙵𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙸𝚃𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝙾𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽, 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙵𝚄𝙻.   HUNTRESS  ACTS  UPON  INSTINCT :      but Helena is still utterly herself in her meticulous inspections. Years of hardened paranoia have taught her the proper process to gauge sincerity   ––   his demeanor proves difficult, so gut alone colors her assumptions (which she makes so very freely). “You measure a good man by his motivations and actions, both.” At this, she glances away, but only briefly, catching as complete a lay of her surroundings as she can. Taking it in. Unfamiliarity makes her uneasy, but she could argue she’s rarely anything but.  [  i  in  my  heart  and  hurt,    those  which  have  overcome  me  with  horrifying,  daunting  reality:       nowhere is  safe,   baby  ] 

               “Body count.... It’s not the tool for it. Complicit. That’s the shit I care about.” Stare’s sharp and calculated, thrown to Alejandro like a blade. It edges on accusatory, though that’s her nature, the very epitome of playing offense. Surviving on hitting first, maybe. Those assumptions play further, disallowing her to find any semblance of trust in the heavy air between them. Disallowing her, too, from relaxing her footing, releasing the tension of her shoulders, looking away for longer than a fleeting second. “If they pulled the trigger....,”  she continues, honesty coating her tone as she asks, “do you care? They stand there. They watch it. They can be a part of it without being a part of it.”’

              A weighty beat as her mouth hangs open and she lingers on the words before continuing, brows raised in something akin to a challenge. Or pleading. Or threatening. Or something.

      “Who would you report it to?       Who're you gonna call on me for it?”

[ugliy-moved]

i’m online i’m relaxed i’m ready to write

[ugliy-moved]

the women of brewster place taken from the 1982 gloria naylor book.

i think it needs a band-aid.

you don’t give a damn about me.

is that what a dumb-ass looks like when it grows up?

because i love you.

did that cranky old woman really call the cops?

now go wash up for breakfast. you’re still in pajamas.

a thousand days are melted into one conversation, one glance, one hurt, and one hurt can be shattered and sprinkled over a thousand days.

i promise. i will hate you.

i think i’ll take some aspirin and lay down.

my god, child, what happened to you?

other than that, i got nothing to say to you.

and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay in that tub.

where’s your revolution now?

it kinda gives you a funny feeling when you think about it that way, though.

aw, hush your fussing.

but i’ll never be a republican.

son-of-a-bitch! son-of-a-fucking-bitch!

i never knew till then why they called it angel food. took one bite and thought i had died and gone to heaven.

honey, we still got time, don’t you want to sit and talk?

it’s just like a miracle, to think it stopped raining today of all days.

i’m just chickenshit around here, huh?

if i can’t walk out of this house without you tonight, there’ll be nothing left in me to love you. and i’m trying, i’m trying so hard to hold on to that.

what a way to talk.

can’t there be just one morning of peace and quiet in this house.

i need a band-aid, you got a band-aid?

it’s really nice of you to come by. you should do it more often.

don’t put words into my mouth. i’m perfectly capable of saying what i mean.

can’t i cook breakfast in peace?

[ugliy-moved]

IT SAYS NOTHING IMPORTANT

[ugliy-moved]

YOU   CAN   TELL   FROM   THE   SCARS   ON   MY   ARMS    /    &   THE  CRACKS  IN   MY   HIPS   /    &   THE  DENTS  IN  MY  CAR    /    &  THE  BLISTERS  ON  MY  LIPS,      THAT  I’M  NOT  THE  CAREFULLEST  OF  GIRLS  …        FROM  THE  GLASS  ON  THE  FLOOR,   AND  THE  STRINGS  THAT’RE  BREAKING,   AND  I  KEEP  ON  BREAKING  MORE,    AND  IT  LOOKS  LIKE  I  AM  SHAKING,   BUT  IT’S  JUST  THE  TEMPERATURE!    AND  THEN  AGAIN,   IF  I  WERE  ANY  COLDER,   I  COULD  DISENGAGE,   IF  I  WERE  ANY  OLDER,   I  COULD  ACT  MY  AGE,   BUT  I  DON’T  THINK  THAT  YOU’D  BELIEVE  ME.        ––          I  AM  THE  GIRL  ANACHRONISM !