there’s flowers in his fingertips. bright blooms in the backs of his hands, begonias blossoming in his blood. when he writes there’s a secrecy to it, as though he knows things he shouldn’t do but he could.

the first time he fired a gun it wasn’t really directed at anyone. addictive, exhilarating, to find power in places he previously hand none. the lake was lavender and he was the lilac one.

the second time it was at a bird. all webbed, all wings, all out of place. he looked at it and swore he could see his own face. so he killed it.

agapanthus, aubretia, aster. some days he wished he was a better actor. he wished he could be like his mother, his lover. he thought his life would be saved if he could just be another.

he promised the third time was just a mistake. monkshood. as he urged, those who loved him came round to forget. he didn’t tell them living was his greatest regret.

he’s wilting, wisteria. worn and wiry and willowed, a woeful air. when he moves his hands it’s as though he’s holding onto something that isn’t really there.

he’ll tear out all the flowers, now. make sure there’s nothing left. the fourth time killed him a lot quicker than the rest.

konstantin / w.r.

if you must wait,

wait for them here in my arms as i shake.

i like to think we’d be able to hold each other together. i’m not the type of person who gets invested in forever, it’s a privelage just to speak to you each day. i wish i didn’t need someone else to make myself feel okay, but i do. i spend a lot of time thinking about all the ways i’ll make this up to you.

my head is filled with promises i won’t be able to keep.

and if you must weep,

do it right here in my bed as i sleep.

i wish i could comfort you. i’m not sure you want my care and concern but being all loving doesn’t seem like something i can unlearn. there’s a part of me that’s glad you don’t give these words back to me. i think you’re hurting in ways you don’t want me to see.

i wish this nature was something i could get rid of.

and if you must mourn, my love,

mourn with the moon and the stars up above.

i think this would be a lot easier if we’d never moved apart.

and if you must die, sweetheart,

die knowing your life was my life’s best part.

the truth is the things i say to you are just the things i need to hear. i’m pretty sure you’d be fine if i were to just disappear, but there’s no way i can leave without knowing you’ve got something sure to life for. there’s not much else i’m able to give you anymore.

we’re so similar, you and i.

and if you must die.

you / k.h. + w.r.

call me by your name.

let me be someone else. someone new, someone exciting, someone perfect. because to be you is to be perfection itself and

i’m not sure how to exist if i’m not pretending to be someone else.

call me by your name. please, just once. you’ll be the stars this time and i’ll be the sun, you’ll be the burden and i’ll be the golden one. because to be you is to be radiant, royal, to be me is to be nothing at all and

how horrid this existence is

how greatly i wish i could be someone desirable, to be anyone, to be something.

don’t you see?

every little part of you is absolutely killing me.

/ w.r.

i feel like i should be enjoying this

your hand heavy in mine, your thumb dancing, delicate, soft and soothing over the ridge of my knuckles. it’s something i never stop thinking of and yet somehow

your fingers are more painful than any knife could ever be. it cuts deep, cold and cruel but unbeknownst to you. clean and sharp, solemn, you are an unwitting criminal in the dim of the room. it’s a privilege, to feel those fingers finding my own but how horrid, how harsh

to experience such joy and yet to know i will have to force myself to let go

but it’s alright, i understand, i know

that when you hold me it’s a pity, never pragma

you burn to the touch and i’m breathing in the embers, knowing these hands will do nothing but hurt my head. and so i let the heat hold me, lapping at my palms, burning away at the superstition they bear. no heart line, no sun line, no life line, no need, there’s nothing left here to read.

i’m icarus, swooning under the sweet touch of my sun, waiting with wilting wings till the moment my fingers are freed

and yet i’d do anything, anything at all to hold you and never let go

but i understand, it’s alright, i know

i love you in ways i’ll never be able to show.

/ w.r.

he’s a black hole.

all consuming

and yet somehow unassuming, he’s shaking hands with the stars and the sun and somehow still cold and blooming i mean

he’s a black hole in the way that black holes should be.

he’s swallowed the milky way and the meteors and all the lights in monoceros and taken those good things into the pit of his mind and they live there, shining still

shivering, shiva.

he’s the first full moon.

lily white, living, alive. alluring and artistic, adonis. an atrophy for lethargy. shaky yet subdued, solemn yet sharp. as though someone had bottled up all the brilliant and bold and beautiful into one skittish soul i mean

he’s something, something to behold

he’s crowns of solid gold. cinco de mayo, celebration, captivating. hard to explain yet pretty, pretty like creeks, like winter weather, like rain.

he’s warm whiskey, soft smile. solitary yet sweet. a boy built on desires, on far fetched dreams and i mean he’s just

he’s just everything good this world has ever seen.

/ w.r.

i’m looking at pretty things like i’m looking through glass.

i’m persephone and it’s thick midwinter. wistful, wondering, winnowing. i’m watching and waiting and wishing for a time of soft spring but god all i have is this snow and these spectres and

how greatly i’m longing for the sun, the sky but he’s keeping me here, stranded.

except here isn’t hell and he isn’t hades it’s just me and my face and the mirror but i’m still stuck

solitude

pleading to just be someone else, someone soft and sweet and good enough. sultry; sensual. i’m persephone but how i wish aphrodite was looking back at me, stood there with her big eyes, bold, beautiful. persephone is strong i mean she’s steady and sympathetic but she’s far from fetching. she’s pomegranates and philanthropic, saccharine, soft like autumn grass but

how badly i wish i was just on the other side of the glass

/ w.r.

the sky changes: from blue to black, from black to grey. gentle movements. she’s dying, a slow death, a death to orange then off-white, the colour of oil stains and sports car leather. the air smells cold and crisp and damp. feels like smoke and summer camp.

there’s a bruise on my arm the shape of the moon and it has its own phases, too. it’s in deep cardinal tonight, the kind of colour i like to paint with, the kind of colour the trees bleed. it’s dying, a slow death, a death to blush then hot honey gold. it’s a stain on my skin but a pretty one at that, it’s something quite nice to look at.

your hands still have their city shake. there’s thick grey in your lungs, i can see it when you breathe out, glinting back. we’re dying, a slow death, a death of pity, where the sky is pitch black. we try to wash out the past, and in the dark, we sit and listen to the stream;

this is but a foreign dream.

brackett, wisconsin. / w.r.

when i try to breathe it gets stuck in my throat

choking, i cough, i splutter, i watch as little flecks of hot red and rose splash onto my cold hands

i wipe off the thick death that’s growing i mean i’m sure it’s nothing i’m sure i’m just tired i’m sure i’m just scared i’m sure i’m just sick

sick of living sick of pretending sick of heaving into heavy lungs that force the air back out of me like a deer rejects the hunters

maybe there’s something flowering in there, forcing its branches up the tight of my neck, buds breaking out of the roof of my mouth. maybe i just spent too long in the outdoors, maybe the woods have found their way into my chest my veins my bones i mean maybe i have something inside that hollow now maybe there’s something to find if i just keep digging and

i’ll use tiny little silver saws to claw back all the death and the dying and the rot to find the honey gold that’s inside my ribs i’ll tear at the tree bark and the thick mud till the vines run rings round me tight, till i can’t feel anything but everything’s alright

they all say there’s amber in my veins, slowly growing crystals. they all say there’s warmth in these hands in these eyes in this mind but god i swear i dug as deep as i could i swear the dirt sunk itself deep under these fingernails i swear i bled out these bones till there was nothing left but dust and dark and damp and truly i found nothing

nothing at all

/ w.r.

hair over eyes

an arm over me

draped so casually

in the corner as though sat in an old home, a vestige known once as sanctuary

known now as a coffee shop, a home to me

he cracks a smile like a jockey cracks a whip - fast, sudden, all at once there and all at once gone

tells me his smile is usually seen to none

tells me he wants to keep this home here

our small corner to keep and hold dear

we sit and sip and hide from the cold

his arm still draped, close in his hold

i know how vulnerable this home makes me and

i know how quick that smile whip can be and

i know how quickly i can go from being held and happy to trapped not free and

i know

but he’s friendly i promise he’s everything i know him to be

he’s protective and warm and my whole stability

he’s so good to me i swear he’s my sanctuary

he’s kind and gentle and so full of that fire i feel burnt out in me and he’s bold and brave and better than all i could ever want to be and he’s soft and peaceful and i never want to flee and

and he hates a fundamental part of me

and he knows we might never agree

and he knows he can so gently hurt me

and he knows

/ w.r.

you have a tremor in your hand, these days a temperamental shake, a nervous twitch, a slight distaste in bitter irony your pallid fingertips are all that prevent this tidal wave of panic, this tsunami, this terror this sea monster swallowing me whole all consuming, all engulfing, all destructive all detrimental but you hold out your pretty palm, shaking, sheet white all at once i am still

\ w.r. 

ok ok ok but consider: happy lives for the avengers once all this dumb stuff is done with big ol’ fights

steve takes it upon himself to find joy in life again on his first trip back to new york. he volunteers at homes for the elderly and hospitals and schools to talk about life as it used to be. he finds absolute happiness in pulling on his vintage clothes and walking through the city streets at night to reflect on how much things have changed. sometimes he sits in times square just to admire the lights. tony is a man of science, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a little fiction - he ropes sam and rhodey into frequent movie nights, laughing with friends and a few cold beers at the movies he loved as a kid. sometimes bucky sits to watch, nodding at jokes he can’t quite understand but loving the company all the same. the nights expand and soon the men are sharing their favourite pastimes like old friends - watching sports is a religion as they sit and share a round of drinks and each other’s company in a 24 hour bar. tony stark is surrounded by his family and nothing has ever felt better. wanda cuts off all her hair one night alone in the compound. it feels like freedom to have strands curling up round her ears and chin - it is the first decision in a long time that has been completed and entirely hers. she begins to experiment with her identity, switching between all black grunge and alternative indie and soft pastels over the course of a few months. she puts on makeup for award ceremonies and wears flowing dresses for galas and dances at events, she lives the life all teenagers are meant to live. bucky begins to regain the identity he had once lost in a similarly experimental way. although in a forgotten day his birth name seemed overly formal, being called james begins to make him feel more human. he finds that this new james loves comedy, laughing under his breath at the office and parks and rec on lazy sunday mornings. james also loves poetry, he finds, and although he is yet to completely master writing it he is comforted by the relatability of words. he looks at himself in suits and remembers the days of suavity and excitement he used to know - at some events he asks the maximoff girl to dance and is able to regain his moves for an hour or two. he is overjoyed at the man he is becoming. vision is finally able to experience life, not as a weapon or an experiment, but as a human. he is fascinated with coffee shops and soft sweaters, and likes to spend his days away from training switching between writing short stories and acknowledging all the people around him in his local starbucks. he is constantly polite and becomes known for his gentle heart and kind smile rather than his robotics, as well as his fondness for classical music and vinyl record collecting. he creates a home for himself where life is only ever warm and friendly, and where life can be warm and friendly for anyone else who needs it too. at the end of long days, the team convenes to eat a casual meal in the lounge of the compound, usually a hot takeaway or pizza at the weekends. they smile over the food, listening to nat and clint discuss the trials of looking after young children while being a secret agent on the side. scott is in a place where no one is judging him for his past and are instead respecting him for his comedic kindness and good nature. peter feels as though life could never get better than this. everyone is loved, safe and happy.

this is the most notes anything original by me on this blog has ever gotten thank u for validating my weird headcanons

( would people like a full length fanfic of this ??¿? )

Winterwitch Things

ok ok ok but consider: happy lives for the avengers once all this dumb stuff is done with big ol’ fights

steve takes it upon himself to find joy in life again on his first trip back to new york. he volunteers at homes for the elderly and hospitals and schools to talk about life as it used to be. he finds absolute happiness in pulling on his vintage clothes and walking through the city streets at night to reflect on how much things have changed. sometimes he sits in times square just to admire the lights. tony is a man of science, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a little fiction - he ropes sam and rhodey into frequent movie nights, laughing with friends and a few cold beers at the movies he loved as a kid. sometimes bucky sits to watch, nodding at jokes he can’t quite understand but loving the company all the same. the nights expand and soon the men are sharing their favourite pastimes like old friends - watching sports is a religion as they sit and share a round of drinks and each other’s company in a 24 hour bar. tony stark is surrounded by his family and nothing has ever felt better. wanda cuts off all her hair one night alone in the compound. it feels like freedom to have strands curling up round her ears and chin - it is the first decision in a long time that has been completed and entirely hers. she begins to experiment with her identity, switching between all black grunge and alternative indie and soft pastels over the course of a few months. she puts on makeup for award ceremonies and wears flowing dresses for galas and dances at events, she lives the life all teenagers are meant to live. bucky begins to regain the identity he had once lost in a similarly experimental way. although in a forgotten day his birth name seemed overly formal, being called james begins to make him feel more human. he finds that this new james loves comedy, laughing under his breath at the office and parks and rec on lazy sunday mornings. james also loves poetry, he finds, and although he is yet to completely master writing it he is comforted by the relatability of words. he looks at himself in suits and remembers the days of suavity and excitement he used to know - at some events he asks the maximoff girl to dance and is able to regain his moves for an hour or two. he is overjoyed at the man he is becoming. vision is finally able to experience life, not as a weapon or an experiment, but as a human. he is fascinated with coffee shops and soft sweaters, and likes to spend his days away from training switching between writing short stories and acknowledging all the people around him in his local starbucks. he is constantly polite and becomes known for his gentle heart and kind smile rather than his robotics, as well as his fondness for classical music and vinyl record collecting. he creates a home for himself where life is only ever warm and friendly, and where life can be warm and friendly for anyone else who needs it too. at the end of long days, the team convenes to eat a casual meal in the lounge of the compound, usually a hot takeaway or pizza at the weekends. they smile over the food, listening to nat and clint discuss the trials of looking after young children while being a secret agent on the side. scott is in a place where no one is judging him for his past and are instead respecting him for his comedic kindness and good nature. peter feels as though life could never get better than this. everyone is loved, safe and happy.

Hell-oooh y’all, my name is Cecil and I’m in a little bit of a pickle at the moment! My family? Broke. My obligations? Many. My legal name? Dead. Anyway, I’m opening up my commissions! I don’t have the mental energy to do anything too complicated, and ergo, my commissions? Super cheap! Chibis, like the top line, are £1.50, or $1.50 via paypal! Buy 2, get 1 free! Flat colours, transparent background, and complicated designs simplified! Fullbodies, like the second line, are the most expensive! £5 or $5 each! Shading will cost you an extra £2/$2, textures (Like the middle image) won’t cost you anything, but you will have to leave it up to my judgement!

Binary headshots, like the third line, are £1 or $1! Yeah, these are a mess, they tend to be very cartoony and not usually very neat. But they’re cool and easy!

Shoot me a message, off anon required unfortunately! I won’t draw anything racist, homophobic, or the like! Also, if you’re unable to buy, please do boost this post! I’d greatly appreciate it!

Marvel’s Got Milk? ad with oddly high production values, starring Captain America, Scarlet Witch, Spider-Man, Thor, Iron Man, Hulk, and Hawkeye.