#1591

it seems these days I just want the dark, the dark and the silence, to curl inward until I am small and round and impenetrable, until my back doesn’t hurt anymore, my arms don’t hurt, my head doesn’t hurt, my heart doesn’t hurt, so many things hurt and nothing seems to touch any of them, not Imitrex or Advil or wrist braces like gauntlets on my arms, only the dark and the silence soothe, only in sleep am I someone who moves without pain, who flies over canyons or swims through oceans, through magma, who bends fire and water and earth, and for every dimension and law of physics I control in my dreams there is another thing uncontrollable when I wake, I doubt that’s irony but it’s cruel anyway

#1590

Lines I (Probably) Won’t Use When I Propose to My Girlfriend
but that are true nonetheless

I could watch you play Assassin’s Creed forever. Will you marry me?

I’m not physically capable of cutting my own butternut squash. Will you marry me?

You’re the only one who takes my crane fly paranoia seriously. Will you marry me?

You not only get my obscure Jurassic Park references, but you make your own. Will you marry me?

Together, you and I will be the strongest couple in the entire world. Will you marry me?

I find your intense hatred of Paul Revere adorable. Will you marry me?

You introduced me to Avatar the Last Airbender. Will you marry me?

You introduced me to Dexter. I hate you for that, but will you marry me?

I’m sorry I introduced you to Cowboy Bebop. And Swordspoint. And Under the Poppy. Will you marry me?

I really like making out with you. Will you marry me?

I want to spend the rest of my life listening to you talk like Steve Di Schiavi. Will you marry me?

#1589

She doesn’t knock. She doesn’t have to. Daren senses her presence somehow, not so much a tingling on the back of his neck as a disturbance in the air of laughter unheard. Blade held down at his side, he makes his way to the door and opens it part way, one foot positioned to block it from being pushed farther. “What are you doing here?” he demands flatly.

“Is that any way to greet me after so many years, brother?” The woman on the other side of the door frowns as if injured by his callous greeting. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Daren sighs, keeping a firm grip on the door handle with one hand and his knife with the other – still out of sight, though he has no doubt she expects him to be carrying it. “What are you doing here, Mage?” he asks, trying for a slightly more civil, though no less threatening, tone.

“I’ve been worried about you, of course,” She lays a hand over her breast as a show of sincerity and he almost laughs aloud – like she even has a heart in there. “I wanted to see how you’ve fared since we both got out of that awful place. You’ve been terribly hard to find of late, you know. You were living on your own for some time,” she inches closer, lowers her voice with a smirk, “but that’s not true anymore, is it?”

“Leave him out of this,” Daren snarls before he can bite back the response. Mage chuckles, her smile smoothing sweetly. “He’s very handsome, this friend of yours. And he must be rather rich, too,” she adds, eying the glimpse of the apartment she can see past Daren. “I wonder what he sees in you, Brother?”

“Call me that again and you’ll have a knife in your throat,” He moves his hand just enough to catch light on the blade held at his side. Mage’s cool green eyes flicker to the blade and back and she laughs delightedly. “Such a temper! They couldn’t break you of that, could they? Good,” her eyes narrow, a feral grin he knows too well, “I like your anger. It suits you.”

Daren refuses to rise to the bait this time. “You should leave,” he growls. “Now.”

“I see your hospitality hasn’t improved much,” Mage shakes her head woefully. “Won’t you even invite me in? Offer me a drink for old times’ sake?” When Daren doesn’t respond she sighs, pouting her disappointment like a child denied a toy. “Fine, I’ll go. But do say hello to your companion for me, won’t you?”

“Fuck off,” Daren slams the door in her face, a gesture of finality and dismissal that betrays his unease. As he pockets the knife he hears her laugh softly on the other side of the door and murmur, “See you around, brother dear.”

#1588

No one will ever admit this, but it is true nonetheless: there is something sacred about those who sell their bodies. They are cherished by the deities of love and lust and abundance, are like oracles in their knowledge of humanity’s capacity for mercy and malice. Even the lowliest prostitute bears a grace and self-worth which can never be bought or sold. Their spirits burn bright even in the slums, shaming those who come for their services even as they willingly pay.

Of course, the same cannot be said for those like myself who take no payment, who are bought with a smile or a drink or a rough hand beneath the table. We are beloved of no gods, carry no secrets worth keeping. We are sluts and whores, as much a step down from prostitutes as the gutter is from the palace. I suppose there’s something to be said for self-awareness, of course; we know we have no grace, no dignity, no worth. We care as little about our bodies or souls as the people to which we happily surrender.

Still, I wonder what it would be like to be worthy enough of some sum, just once.

#1587

I guess I don’t have much to say
I’m just so goddamned tired
tired of a world that doesn’t give a shit
but expects me to give and give and give
a world that loves to suffocate
but expects me to breathe the ash and gas
and it feels like all I’m doing is
putting out fires
throwing money at problems
thinking about writing
which all amount to nothing at all
so I guess I don’t have much to say

#1586

“Haytham Motherfucking Kenway”

I just want to write
a haiku about Haytham
why is this so hard

he’s fucking badass
king of sass and murdering
what more do you want

he’s the kind of guy
who makes you want to switch sides
(sorry, Ezio)

like steel wrapped in silk
Assassin blood, Templar drive
do not fuck with him

just skip through Black Flag
go from AC3 to Rogue
Haytham FTW

problematic fave
I always love the villains
but can’t you see why?

not the best dad, sure
at least he passed on his sass
Connor, be grateful

#1585

Sure, they’ll call you King and God, but they’ll also call you Sacrifice. They’ll bring you gold and precious stones and perfumes, but where will they be when your hands are bleeding around cold iron? What good will all those pretty names do you when it comes time to produce a miracle out of stilled flesh? You’re only the prodigal son if you return from the darkness triumphant; otherwise you’re just another failed revolutionary who thought himself a prophet. Wouldn’t it be easier, then, to just stay gone and leave this world to fend for itself? Don’t you remember how heavy that crown is, beloved?