Prompt: Given The Hour

time never stays still, never looking back, just trudging along

roses spill our from beneath you, but you don’t turn

are you immune to destruction? or am I too weak?

sunlight casts shade over hands grasping, clawed and desperate

nails long and sharp, messy locks tumbling onto your shoulders

the flowers have stopped rejoicing, the brown pines stopped echoing

trails of laughter have long since fallen into the river, into your nothingness

all I want is that hour back, are you selfish? like the dogs that jump in the grass, and never bringing prey?

you forge forward, ignoring my pleas. just one more hour,

one more “I love you”, one more withered flower presented with smirks

give me an hour, to fall asleep kissing under

fog that rolls towards us, littered with maple leaves red and gold in the moonlight

hide us, quick, before you come to redeem yourself

why do you continue progressing, when all we want is for you to wave to us

and see your smile one more time?

caramelizee:

nice places to live in

abandoned castles

cottages in the forests

manor houses by the rivers

towers by the sea

tree houses on undiscovered islands

ancient hidden libraries

caves behind waterfalls

lighthouses

old grounded ships

stilt houses on the mediterranean sea

former farmhouses in the meadows

botanical glasshouses

forgotten locked apartments of dead people from 1920s

attics that belonged to unappreciated artists in paris

backstages of ballet theatres

old hotels from eastern europe

colorful cottages with rose gardens

prompt 998

daily-prompts:

People don’t do right because of the fear of God or love of him. You do the right thing because the world doesn’t make sense if you don’t.

—Dorothy Allison, Bastard out of Carolina

So I was at Otakon, briefly migraine’d (the Imitrex WORKED for once!), and dressed as Pidge Gunderson.

An absolute darling of a Lance was giving out blue roses and cheesy pickup lines. I didn’t get your name, whoever you are, but… kid, you don’t know how much that actually meant, in terms of personal symbolism popping up in an unexpected place. I want to keep this on my bag forever, but I also want to keep it safe somewhere.

transistorxiii:

Remember, sacrificing people starts with you!

(receiver of sacrifice up to personal discretion)

coldalbion:

urbanjames:

Jenny Holzer, Times Square Marquees, 1993.

I’ve reblogged this before – but um…the ever relevant

“Óðinn as mother: The Old Norse deviant patriarch,” paper just appeared in my brain to raise another question:
“What happens when the Deviant(s) sacrifice themselves to themselves?”

Done deliberately, what does that do to group solidarity? Doom it, enhance it?

Or perhaps perform an even stranger Operation?