Shinji Moon 

Burn all your bridges
just so that you can build them again
with thicker ropes. 

Hurt all the people you love
and then commit every felony to win them back. 

Drown yourself in bleach until not even Heaven’s light
can compare to how bright you burn. 

Turn yourself inside out
and paint your organs the color of what you see
in your dreams. 

This is the art of 
living with a ticking heart, a grenade you
throw through windows to make a 
point that language 
has no room for. 

This is how I destroyed you.

And this,
is how I kept you alive. 

Dig yourself a ditch, six
feet deep, and bury everything that you’ve ever
said, everything that you’ve never
meant, and everything that has
burned you and left you with nothing
but ash. 

Friday, 18th of April with 620 notes
mythology   ish  

When I saw him look at me with lust, I dropped my eyes but, in glancing away from him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. And I saw myself, suddenly, as he saw me, my pale face, the way the muscles in my neck stuck out like thin wire. I saw how much that cruel necklace became me. And, for the first time in my innocent and confined life, I sensed in myself a potentiality for corruption that took my breath away.


Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Since it’s Game of Thrones season and all, I’ve decided to go back to my old url (also all my Hannibal, character-themed urls died so….)

bverlykatz—> frederickchillton (for like three days)—> thewolfmaid

Since it’s Game of Thrones season and all, I’ve decided to go back to my old url (also all my Hannibal, character-themed urls died so….)

bverlykatz—> frederickchillton (for like three days)—> thewolfmaid


a morbid longing for the picturesque


There is to me about this place a smell of rot, the smell of rot that ripe fruit makes. Nowhere, ever, have the hideous mechanics of birth and copulation and death - those monstrous upheavals of life that the Greeks call miasma, defilement - been so brutal or been painted up to look so pretty; have so many people put so much faith in lies and mutability and death death death.

The Secret History | Donna Tartt



LET ME SEE YOU STRIPPED DOWN TO THE BONE for lovers who are toxic right down to the core, but are too damn selfish to give up and let anyone else have what they’ve taken and claimed as their own [listen] [part one]

i. bang bang (feat. sky ferreira), 2CELLOS | ii. buzzcut season, lorde | iii. blinding, florence + the machine | iv. stripped, shiny toy guns | v. give us a little faith, fallulah | vi. $TING, the neighbourhood | vii. bedrooms walls, banks | viii. jungle, emma-louise | ix. civilian, wye oak | x. i love you, woodkid

kings are like stars, they rise and set,

they have the worship of the world, but no repose


do not fall in love with people like me.
i will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. i will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. and when i leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.


Victoire Weasley

Some say she was named after her mother’s closest friend, some - to mark the day of her birth, which coincided with the anniversary of the Great Battle. Some say she a striking image of her mom, some - that she is growing to be a daddy’s girl. But there is something about her no one dares to mention out loud. When the old magic leaves scars, they never disappear. They sink under the skin, into the bloodstream, waiting patiently for their chance to show themselves. But when such magic is mixed together with Veela’s boiling blood, something unique happens. A curse becomes a gift. 

… They didn’t know about it until her 4th birthday, when preparations for the holiday took them longer than they had expected. When Bill came to check on her, he almost died of terror, thinking a wolf has eaten his baby girl. On the second glance he saw that the wolf was wearing his child’s dress. Bill grabbed his wand, ready to strike, and the wolf looked at him and opened its jaw, as if it were howling, but no sound came out. Instead, the wolf’s paws turned into tiny hands, its fur disappeared, leaving the familiar white hair in its place. “Daddy! Where were you?” said Victoire impatiently, and stretched out her arms toward her father, who, as pale as death itself, was still aiming his wand at his 4 year old daughter. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here. FLEUR!” “Oh dear,” Fleur remarked, trying to comfort her husband. “I’ll teach her how to control it.” “And if if she can’t?” “Well then… Hopefully, people will never make her that angry again.”

…Some wondered why Victoire started going out with Teddy Lupin. Bill and Fleur didn’t.

Rosamund Pike for W Magazine May 2014, photographed by David Fincher



n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.