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GLORY & GORE

@hcmionegranger / hcmionegranger.tumblr.com

“I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.” - death, the book theif
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me: *lowkey wishes people take more photos of me in a poetic way*

also me: *smacks anyone pointing a camera in my direction*

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i want realistic modern fantasy like

someone finding a dragon egg and livetweeting the process of trying to hatch it (with no prior knowledge on how a dragon egg should be hatched)

a guy selling an enchanted sword on craigslist

a tattoo artist who does spell runes but for really mundane stuff like conjuring a bound demonic pen or for summoning your keys

summoning a demon for the vine

selfies with mermaids

prank calling wizards

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bctrogues
There had been nights in the desert where I was so sick with laughter, convulsed and doubled over with aching stomach for hours on end, I would happily have thrown myself in front of a car to make it stop.
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the boy you like comes to school painted purple. the first time, you don’t understand. “got into trouble?” you ask, your smile hunger-sharp; you and your brother love with curses and fists and you can’t imagine not choosing a fight: you, a snake you, a lit fuse you, a carrion bird. “yes,” he says, dry as dust and looks away from you.what an asshole, you think, because you’re still telling yourself the boy you like is a boy to despise a nothing, a no-one, a handful of dirt. the second time, his lip’s swollen crimson; a cut on one side siren song to your mouth.what happened to you, you want to ask, your heart a crazed bird in your ribcage; but even bloodied, you want to kiss his lips so you knot your tongue into “what happened to you, loser?” instead. he stares you dead in the eye and he says: “i fell” and he knows you know it’s a lie and he wants you to feel the insult of it, bitter sharp in his honey accent. you do. later, you learn how your jagged pieces fit together. your father: gaping absence and lovely dreams. his father: looming presence and hateful hands. you tell yourself you don’t like him, but you would take every hit for him. the third time, he doesn’t come to school at all. you go see him with your friend, who is also his friend, aflutter with worry and care. you bite leather and paint your face stony, your insides roiling and sick. the boy you like is green and blue and black, a kaleidoscope of hurt. you hate him for putting that hurt in your heart, as well, but wear the bruise like a badge of honor. your friend asks him why don’t you want to leave and gets no answer; but you do, because he’s not looking hard enough and you are always looking. the boy you like says nothing but his sky eyes and his clenched hands and every blue-black flower on his face scream the answer loud enough to burn cities to the ground.i want toi want toi want tobut i will save myselfor i will drown.

“how you fall in love with your crush”, a. a. (via starsandgvtters)

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kuriyakin
You miss it, the labour of breathing. These days mirrors aren’t sure what to make of you and warmth is a one way street. When they ask what’s wrong, keep smiling. Don’t tell them of the suns that fill their vacancies or how you long to burn.

dying is a conversation for another time | lullabies for flightless boys, pt. 3 // j.y. (via czzerny)

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mg the oclver and alex thing you did was flawless! are you going to do a sam one?

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Thank you! totally spies was great so i’m glad my edits did it justice. I’ve got one for sam in my drafts, actually. I took a mini-hiatus but now that i’m back I can post it. Thanks for reminding me. :) 

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