Editors - No Sound But the Wind
If I say shut your eyes
If I say look away
Bury your face in my shoulder
Think of a birthday
The things you put in your head
They will stay here forever
Our blood is cold
And we’re alone, love
But I’m alone with you
(Source: lacesy)
Anonymous asked: Did you just quote Albi the Racist Dragon?
Yes.
Anonymous asked: Erik, i would worship you... seriously... any thing you need... ANYTHING... no matter how humiliating.... Although i wouldn't get much done because i would be hypnotized by how attractive you are... but still.... just thought you should know that if you're looking for someone to do your every bidding? Righhhhht here.
- Creepy.
- That’s how Hitler rose to power.
- Don’t touch my tail, you’ll make it dirty.
… … God you’re great.
Correct.
Anonymous asked: What's your favorite thing about being an evil genius?
Long, witty monologues concerning your very real and imminent demise.
Anonymous asked: What's your favorite thing about Raven?
Tits.
Anonymous asked: What’s your favorite thing about Charles these days?
That he can’t chase me up stairs.
Why do you think I installed the elevators?
Try and catch up, gimpy.
Anonymous asked: What's your favorite thing about Charles these days?
That he can’t chase me up stairs.
april is the cruelest month
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
Morning. Bright fingers of sunshine through the windows, stroking the sheets, gentle nudges, wake up. He opens his eyes, lets them be unfocused, lets the world be fuzzy and peach-colored. She smiles at him from across the pillow, puts her finger to her lips. Shh. He feels the third occupant of the bed, curled up into a little ball, a warm wedge between her parents. Her hair is golden. Oh perfect, perfect, lovely perfect.
Burning burning burning burning
Oh Lord pluckest me out
Oh Lord pluckest
Morning. There is no window. There is only dust on the bookshelf, on the table in the corner he barely uses. The sheet is half off, just covers the lower half of the body, but not his body. It’s cream white. Part of it drapes to the floor. The dust and the dark. There is no little girl balled up between them. There is only space, cold empty space, space enough for a hundred thousand useless words. Words like hate, want, love, need, sorry, God, please, no, yes. The chunk of metal lies on the table beside the bed. He is open. Just for now.
Erik rolls towards the ceiling and does not look at Charles, sleeping, half swallowed by sheets. He sits up. Dark and dust. Something morbid in him causes him to lean forward and walk his fingers down the legs that Charles cannot feel.
I think we are in rats’ alley.
Where the dead men lost their bones.
Quiet.
Quiet.
Then,
“For such an educated man, you’re an idiot, Charlie.”
