Tag Dump ( 3/??? )

Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "March," featured in New And Selected Poems: Volume Two

The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) dir. Anthony Minghella

each  step  in  his  gait  holds  purpose  like  lion  stalking  prey.  air  around  him  hums  with  the  faintest  trickle  of  authority  cloaked  in  flesh.  lips,  a  thin  line,  twist  into  a  polite  smile,  although  something  cold  lingers  in  those  calm  eyes.  calculating  yet  withdrawn.

"you  see  right  through  me  then——how  lovely.  you'd  be  correct,  though,  i'm  far  from  my  home,  yet  willing."  it's  a  light  laugh  that  leaves  him  but  there's  a  hint  of  a  growl.  a  tick  rather  than  aggression.  "and  with  whose  eyes  do  you  see  these  truths?  God's,  perhaps?"    

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤstarter. | @amcssing

There is something, in them ALL, that aligned with the stars. Those beings, borne of something greater than the fragility of man. She knows not, weather to bow her head, or keep chin high — for, whomever this was, they were certainly not from her home.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝ ... Are you not a bit far from home, ser ? ❞

i have neglected this blog but ill probably play over here a bit more while kais q runs.

Laura Kinney by Giada Velviso

did   she   sigh?   maybe   at   his   response   (   or   her   own   lack   of   clarity.   )   sometimes,   words   were   more   dangerous   than   back   alley   thugs   and   supervillains.   comparing   them   to   her   skills   in   combat   —   well,   her   litany   of   ways   to   express   herself   was   deeply   lacking.   all   too   often,   she   knew,   that   she   came   off   as   vague   or   obtuse.   it's   better   at   home,   though,   better   with   people   who   speak   in   action   over   words:   that   really   spoke   cass.   still,   there's   a   problem,   and   batkids...   are   pretty   good   at   coming   up   with   a   solution.

❛   very.   ❜   she   surmised   —   in   the   dark,   the   faintest   smile   plays   on   her   lips.   scaling   the   walls   would've   been   easier,   springing   between   the   towering   brick   walls.   could've   done   it   in   her   sleep,   too;   it's   her   first   instinct,   actually.   but,   she   freezes.   civilian,   right.   thus,   her   plan   changes.   luckily,   there's   a   fire   escape   nearby.   better   than   nothing   for   getting   them   off   the   streets   (   and   away   from   the   thugs   that'd   come   looking   for   their   buddies.   )   it's   gotham;   nobody   goes   anywhere   alone.   jerking   her   chin   towards   the   ladder,   she   reaches   for   it   —   rising   on   her   tiptoes,   although   doomed   to   fall   short.   ❛   mind   giving   me   a   boost,   er,   ...   ❜   right,   she   never   asked   his   name. 

Yusuke thought the Japanese underworld was ripe with dangers, the West really had arguments to share. While most crimes were organized in Japan, Gotham demonstrated exactly what chaos meant. However, lucky for him he’s even found himself a partner in crime on this night to aid him in the fighting. Ha, his mother would never believe him when he tells her he’s gotten into a little scrap and he wasn’t the one who caused it. Once she extended her hand he realized once again that this isn’t Japan and so Yusuke responds in kind by shaking her hand, holding her firmly.

━━   ❝   𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧.   ❞  Not because he felt she has a good grip of her own, but just the way she moved..like she’s accustomed in taking down the local thugs and if that was the case he was beginning to feel sorry for them. “Up..” He then looks up, the only thing he’s able to see beyond the opposing walls that make this alley was the cold starless night. “Don’t exactly see an elevator t’ get up there.”

@tartalias

sweeping   sângeros   with   a   single   look,   smile   never   wavers,   even   standing   before   the   counter.   senses   catch   a   whiff——   faint   lingering   attachment——   equal   parts   magic.   neat,   worth   mulling   over   for   the   challenge   of   it   (   but   far   less   important   to   him   than   this. )   he   slips   a   ring   off   gloved   finger,   a   silver   band   etched   with   symbols,   the   faintest   glow   lingering   in   engravings   like   dimming   lights.   dim,   weak,   dying.

❛   ciao, bella   !   lookin'   for   a   ring   like   this   one.   brighter   though.   uh,   hot   to   the   touch.   whispers   a   bit   when   you   wear   it.   ❜   sometimes   secrets,   sometimes   lies   about   the   stock   market.   really   depends   on   the   day.   ❛   figured   it   could've   ended   up   in   a   place   like   this.   pawned   off,   probably.   seen   anything   like   that,   love?   ❜ 

@amcssing | starter call

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 actual magic to walk through the front door. It's a lucky thing she's seldom caught unawares by it, given her own magical ability. Even if she didn't have that though, she can smell it on this one. Light- repressed, maybe?- but real.

"Welcome to Sângeros," she hums, perking up slightly from her position at the counter. Her long nails tap a quick beat against the back of her phone case, and then she casts a quick look around- a couple of vanilla wicca girls, more aesthetic than dedication, Nico in the stacks... nothing to worry about.

"What can I help ya find?"

tag dump ( 4 / ??? )