quiet don

I show you the darkness I keep hidden from everyone else, and you shine light upon it. the path ahead, once dim and treacherous, now glows with your warmth, a single ray of moonlight daring to show me the way through the cold, quiet night. I don’t know where we’re going, but as long as we’re together, we’ll get there safely.

I don't know, this blog looks kinda empty and quiet
  • I'd like to know my followers better, if you have any AU/Sans/OC you want to talk about don't be shy, talk about them! If I like it maybe I draw it tho.
  • Also feel free to ask me anything.

I️ wish I️ was an alchemist that lived in a town by the sea and I️ have a cat and I️ live in the attic of a used book store I️ always wear the same jeans and hoodie and work part time at a bakery life is quiet and I️ don’t even notice I’m alone

FROM THE VAULTS:

Soviet Literature

(A guest post by our resident Russia expert hardtobeagod.)

A School For Fools, Sasha Sokolov

The rhododendron, growing every minute somewhere in Alpine meadows, are far happier than we, for they know neither love, nor hate, nor the Perillo slipper system, and they don’t even die, since all nature, excepting man, is one undying, indestructible whole. If one tree somewhere in the forest perishes from old age, before dying, it gives the wind so many seeds, and so many new trees grow up around it on the land, near and far, that the wold tree, especially the rhododendron doesn’t mind dying. […] Only man minds and feels bitter, and burdened as he is with egotistical pity for himself.

Pushin House, Andrei Bitov

Unreality is a condition of life. Everything is shifted and exists a step away, with a purpose other than it was named for. On the level of reality, only God is alive. He is reality. All else is divided, multiplied, canceled out, factored-annihilated.

Doctor Zhivago, Boris Pasternak

I think that if the beast who sleeps in man could be held down by threats - any kind of threat, whether of jail or of retribution after death - then the highest emblem of humanity would be the lion tamer in the circus with his whip, not the prophet who sacrificed himself.

The Gulag Archipelago, Alexandr Solzhenitsyn

If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

We, Yevgeny Zamyatin

I am aware of myself. And, of course, the only things that are aware of themselves and conscious of their individuality are irritated eyes, cut fingers, sore teeth. A healthy eye, finger, tooth might as well not even be there. Isn’t it clear that individual consciousness is just sickness?

And Quiet Flows The Don, Mikhail Sholokhov

The grass grows over the graves, time overgrows the pain. The wind blew away the traces of those who had departed; time blows away the bloody pain and the memory of those who did not live to see their dear ones again—and will not live, for brief is human life, and not for long is any of us granted to tread the grass.

The Fierce and Beautiful World, Andrei Platonov

He walked around all the useless things in the courtyard and touched them with his hands; for some reason, he wished that these would remember him, and love him. But he didn’t believe they would. From childhood memories he knew how strange and sad it is after a long absence to see a familiar place again, for these unmoving objects have no memory and do not recognize the stirrings of a stranger’s heart.

The Master and Margarita, Mikhail Bulgakov

What would your good be doing if there were no evil, and what would the earth look like if shadows disappeared from it? After all, shadows are cast by objects and people. There is the shadow of my sword. But there are also shadows of trees and living creatures. Would you like to denude the earth of all the trees and all the living beings in order to satisfy your fantasy of rejoicing in the naked light?

Life and Fate, Vasily Grossmann

…neither fate, nor history, nor the anger of the State, nor the glory or infamy of battle has any power to affect those who call themselves human beings. No, whatever life holds in store —- hard-won glory, poverty and despair, or death in a labor camp —- they will live as human beings and die as human beings, the same as those who have already perished; and in this alone lies man’s eternal and bitter victory over all the grandiose and inhuman forces that ever have been or will be…

Envy, Yury Olesha

Human life is insignificant. What’s ominous is the movement of the spheres. When I settled here, a sun speck sat on the doorjamb at two in the afternoon. Thirty-six days passed. The speck jumped to the next room. The earth had completed another leg of its journey. The little sun speck, a child’s plaything, reminds us of eternity.

Keeps His Word

“Well thanks for coming Harry! Good luck on your album!” That was the last thing Nick Grimshaw said, and frankly, you were relieved because it was 8 a.m, Friday morning, and you did not want to be up this early on you and Harry’s chill day.

You had been sitting in that chair for an hour or two, but you were unexplainibly tired and you back was starting to ache. When Harry rose from his chair behind the glass panel, you had to refrain from springing up. Sitting on the sidelines and not being able to giggle through the jokes by his side had you left in a state of boredom. Now that it was finally over, you couldn’t wait to get back in your pajamas and snuggle back into bed.

But, of course, there was always a draw back. When Harry approached you, the look of apprehension was clear. Coming closer to him, you furrowed your brows and asked him what was wrong.

“M’sorry. Gotta ‘nother meeting for my album love.” He spoke softly as his thumb rubbed nothings onto your hand.

A small sigh of drowsy frustration was bound to escape, but he was already expecting it and just kissed you temples, leading you out to the awaiting taxi hand in hand the whole time.

Your mind was wandering. Everywhere. What else was it supposed to do when he just told you that the next two hours were going to be spent sitting in another office chair discussing contracts and release dates?

You were trying though, and it was hard, because all of a sudden, his ass looked so good.
You were halfway to the taxi when you pulled back from his hold a bit, wanting to get a better view. Now that you spotted them closely, the crossed lines and alluring red that swirled along his delicious thighs, you realized that these were new.

He caught on to your slower trail of walking, confused and smiling with an eyebrow raised.

“Whatcha doin’ pet?’

You don’t even try to hide the newfound desperate and whiny lust that slurred your blunt words.

“You look hot in plaid.”

He stopped walking, blinking a couple of times before asking you to repeat yourself. He knew you to be good in bed, hell, he’d seen how riled up you got him, but this. This was new and Harry wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing.
He’d play along, he supposed. There’s no harm in a little fun right?

The back of the taxi was small, so his hip bone only inches from your own was tempting and ignited a flame that almost ate you whole. Fire. A feeling that spread between your legs when you gazed at his ring-clad hand.

When he looked over, he couldn’t help but help chuckle with pride. A hot mess you were, with your fingers fidgeting harshly with the hem of your dress, head lolled back and your bottom lip being chewed on furiously. It was clear that he had you going.

“Partition please.” Harry’s request has you coming out of your tense state, a silent curiosity floating through the air as you watch the black screen roll up.

“Harr-” You are cut off when he pulls you onto his lap, his large hands resting too close to your heat for it to be unintentional.

“Jus’ listen pet.” You shivering when you feel his cold rings on your bare thigh. With one small touch, you are already melting.

A whisper of a whimper comes from you lips when his forefinger grazes on the edge of your panties, his lips hovering by your own, never staying in one place. They’re by your ear, and although your want for his round bum is putting a damper on your senses, his command is all but innocent.

“Gotta keep it quiet pet. Don’ want him to find yeh like this, all spread fo’ me n’ wet as yeh think bout’ my arse.”

If he kept taunting you like this, you’d be done for before the 20 minute drive to the meeting was even over.

It was true though. As you sit on his thighs now, with his hands teasing between your legs, the sheer picture of his ass wrapped in those plaid trousers has you practically begging to be fucked. They were hugging his legs in all the right places and he wanted nothing more than for you to have your way as you ride him into the night.

“Harr- What are you doing?” You breath out. You are clutching the back of his shirt and he was leaving wet marks. Harry didn’t answer, leaving your question vulnerable and hanging in the suddenly thick atmosphere.

The traffic began to clear up and the people and buildings become a blur. You and Harry don’t mind though, because his head is being buried into your neck and your grind against him is becoming more ad more sloppy by the minute. Your neck is straining with your arousal, and your thighs start to quiver as your wet panties drag along his thigh.

His hands are doing nothing but slowly rubbing your clit through the barrier. Oh the things Harry would do if he could just take you right here in the back of this run down taxi. The coldness of his jeweled and metal rings makes you jump and whimper into his scalp, hands on his face in search of stability. His reaction was incredible though.

The way his lustful eyes brightened at the affect he has on you. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t on the bridge of insanity, watching you soak yourself as you moan into your hip’s movements. You were so wet, he could basically see the smear of dampness along his leg.

Hungry off of your own thirst, his hands grasp your swiveling thighs, rubbing and gripping and trailing deep impression onto the heated skin.
“Fuck! Baby..“He was too distracted to utter the warning that the destination was a block away and you were about to come on the spot, all over the leather seats. But still, he forced the words reluctantly from his lips, prying his mouth from behind your ear. He could spot the tender and slightly red blotch from the contact. I’ll finish that later, he thought while placing you next to him and back to your original seat.

“Wha?” You exasperatedly sighed in frustration, mad that he had pulled away and leaving you pitifully drenched.

Quickly, with his hands clasped around your neck for one final kiss. He whispered softly to you. “S’alright muppet. Be a good girl fo’ me and keep your knickers wet. Don’ get too worried. M’gonna make you feel good. Yeh know I always keep my word.”

You prayed to god he did.

There was only a few minutes till you arrived at the studio for another interview and you had little time to calm your breathing and wipe your liquids from his pants. It was and hurried, but he only smirked at your wet spot and took a second to fix each others hair. It wasn’t the best, but it will do.

“I was so happy to be here! Thanks fo’ having me.”

Those were the last words that came out of Harry Styles mouth before he dragged you just out of view and into a forgotten one-person bathroom at the back of the studio.

You didn’t even bother to say bye to Jim. Or Johnny. Whatever his name was, you couldn’t care to remember, because Harry had sat down for an hour and a half torturing you with those scrumptious thighs of his.

Wrapped in plaid and hugged along every curve of his legs, your eyes had grown wide when he slid on the counter and hoisted you with him. Immediately, like an old habit, your sex blooms under his watch. He motions for you to sit on his right thigh and you don’t hesitate to obey.
With one motion, your hands find his and press them harder in to the marble counter top, craning your neck upwards in a silent request for a kiss. It was a sweet little thing that made you both smile. Although there was tension and not a lot of room in a dingy bathroom for slow and sensual, he still made sure your were comfortable and loved.

“Go ‘head puppet. Make yeh feel good.” He let go of you hands, and settled for a strong hold on your lower back, adoring the way your hips curve and move along his skin. Your hands did wonders when you tugged at his plaid trousers, yanking away the tight and lined fabric. A heavy moan burst through the both of you when you felt your clit rub against his bare skin.

The flaming pit in your stomach ached for the friction, and Harry watched with a awestruck face of his own when you hips flicked a little quicker. Piece by piece, Harry was watching you become unraveled under him and the thought of making you come with his thigh along was enough to have his dick twitch.

“Ahh.. Harry” You spoke mumbles of good feelings and praises in his ear as he roamed you body with his fingertips.

Aroung your ears is were he finally attached his mouth once again. Knowing the sensitivity it would cause you, his words came quick and rushed.

“Yeh can scream if yeh wan’“ His lips matched with flesh of your neck again, but he kept on speaking. “We’re in the back love. Thick walls here an’ everybody is leavin’ fo’ break.”

And you did scream. Maybe a little too loud, but you couldn’t help it when his neck sucking had you barely able to hold yourself upright. With your brows creased, you lean towards him. The leverage and heat of hands as they tugged at your scalp lightly had you closer than ever. He was begging for you to splash on his thigh and moan his name.

There was a destination he was determined to reach, and this time, it wasn’t a studio down the street.

His cock was pulsating in his jeans but he had no room for it now that your were close. Your hands were traveling, snatching anything of his to make it come quicker and harder. They dug semi-circles into his forearm and bruises along his rib cage and spurts of hair mishandled but the look of you withering out shined it all. Everything in his mind screamed you, and eventually, you came screaming him.

“There yeh go fo’ me peaches. Nice an’ easy. Love yeh. Did so well fo’ me.” He chanted this tune of his while you rode him out, diving for the last bits of orgasm left in you. There wasn’t much though. you had spilled an ocean over his plain pants and he didn’t care one bit.

He was slow letting you down from him, holding you up and not bothering to try and hide his pride when you could barely murmur words. Your legs were shaking and your thighs still burned from the delectable pressure. A cream had smeared itself between your thighs, and Harry toyed with your wetness.

“Still wet fo’ me? Gonna have to clean yeh up princess.”

His digits roamed you sensitive center, and he chuckled when a jolt of pleasure claw led at you spine. You weren’t ashamed though. How couldn’t you feel so sensitive when Harry was blowing heat against your neck and grazing the liquid from you core? Teasingly, he raised two soaked fingers of his from your panties and lifted them to his plump pink lips. With your eyes fluttering from the sight, he loaned into his own licks against his skin, cleaning up the remains of your slickness.

“Ugh…Harry! I need-” You were still breathless when you continued you piece-meal sentence. “Need your kisses. Got me shaken down there.”

“S'alright love. Need yeh lips too.”

It was a halfhearted attempt to calm you down, but his kisses remained tight and slow with passion for a minute or two. Sweet, burning, and on the brink of hungry, just the way that had you molded into his arms as he pulled you closer.

The sweet mellow pace of his breath combined with yours slowed as he lead you It of the dingy area. Not long would he keep his love here, were he couldn’t hold her and praise her endearing moans.

He needed to show his girl some proper loving.

The car was waiting patiently when you two finally exited. You had to stifle a cackle by nuzzling into his neck, because his face was almost comical when he discovered it was the same taxi driver form before. This time, the partition was rolled up tight and the greetings were long gone.

“Gon’ be a good girl again? Let me really fuck yeh when we get home princess?” His words were silent to the ears of the driver, but hot and heavy as they floated through the ears of yours.

And all you can do is whimper and wait, because he always keeps his word.

“Ow, frick.” You muttered to yourself when you accidentally walked into the coat rack, reaching up to grab it quickly so that it wouldn’t fall over. 

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you knew for sure it was pretty late. You thought you’d be back around two hours ago, but those fruity drinks at the bar kept calling your name and you couldn’t help but stay for two (or four) more drinks with Y/F/N! You hadn’t hung out with her for a hot minute and you could honestly say it was one of the best nights you’d had in a while. So yeah, maybe you were a little tipsy, but at least you were able to make it back home safe! The only problem you faced now was Harry. Harry didn’t mind when you went to hang out with your friends. In fact, he encouraged it! (“I promise you I’ll log out of Netflix if you don’t get off your arse, love.”) He just didn’t like it when you came home in the wee hours of the morning. 

A plan was bubbling away in your mind as you made your way up the stairs as quietly as possible, thinking about how you could conduct yourself in a way where Harry wouldn’t wake up. He usually went to bed pretty early, plus he was a deep sleeper. Your plan was super, super simple. All you had to do was a) get into the room, b) go to the dresser in the dark, c) change into a clean shirt, d) go to the washroom to wash your face and brush your teeth, e)- You froze when one of the steps creaked under your foot before you took another cautious step up the stairs. The point was: Get changed, slip into bed, and don’t wake Harry up. 

“Get changed, slip into bed, don’t wake your boyfriend up.” You sang quietly, twisting the doorknob and opening the door slowly before poking your head in. This was exciting! It was like you were a spy on a secret mission. If you were a spy, you’d be the best spy. Scratch that, you’d be the bestest spy! 

“I’d be the bestest spy.” You trailed off, squinting your eyes as you tried to maneuver yourself in the dark. You perked up when you felt the handle of the dressers, pulling it open and rummaging through it for a shirt. “Move over, James Bond.” You giggled to yourself, wiggling out of your dress and nearly stumbling over your feet. “The name’s Bond. Y/N Bon-” You stopped when the room suddenly flooded with dim light, turning around to see a groggy Harry with his hand on the lamp switch. 

“Don’ remember hiring a stripper. I’m in a committed relationship, thank you very much.” Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, lips tugging up in a lazy smirk at the sight of your half-naked state. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell.” You joked, padding over to Harry and flopping down on top of him, your legs on either side of his torso. 

“You said you were comin’ home three hours ago, you dolt. Didn’t pick up your phone when I called.” Harry hummed, hands gripping your hips lightly before he squeezed. 

“I know, I know.” You yawned, stretching your limbs and wincing when you felt a couple cracks.  “Ooh, wanna know something that happened tonight? Y/F/N was getting drinks for us and-” 

“Y/N, it’s three in the morning. Shh…” You squeaked when Harry patted your face and shut his eyes again. 

“I know, but- Woah!” You giggled when Harry shoved you off of him before rolling on top of you, pinning you down with a loose grip. 

“I think the bestest spy should be the bestest at keepin’ quiet, so why don’ we do tha’?” He hummed, reaching over and flicking the lights off. 

“Touché.” 

+

gif isn’t mine!

animenekolover  asked:

*Ai walks up to the door and and knocks on the door as hard as she can although that's not a very hard knock at all with her small hands* "Trick or treat!!!" Ai yells as loud as she can as to make sure she is heard since she is so quiet people don't notice her sometimes.

Papyrus excitedly runs out the door to meet you. He wants to go trick or treating with you! 

Gaster: Be back before Bedtime!

THE COLONEL

A tickle

But I stabbed you

I shot you

But for fun

Nobody dies

You all get up

Just like the other one

Ten hours

That’s how long I sat

And for a while

I had thought

You weren’t coming back

Then you did, and you got up

The other ones will live on too

I kill them every day

I don’t know why 

But they stay down

I guess they want to play

Just like Celine and Damien

We’re playing hide and seek

I haven’t found them

But they’re there

So quiet

They don’t speak

So what if there’s a battered cane

That sits beside my bed?

I don’t know who it belongs to

I should throw it out instead

Why do I keep that silly stick?

A pith helmet

Other things

Because they’re proof 

That people never die

They get back up again

i don’t mean to be a quiet person, i don’t mean to keep things to myself. i’m really not trying to be weird, it’s just hard to talk about something and praying that i’ll get some kind of understanding from you to me and it’s not alright to not talk about things, but this is how i function. i wish i knew how to undo some things, i wish i knew how to be better. i wish i had all of the answers, but the truth is i don’t. i don’t know shit. i don’t know. i don’t. they say that the first thing about a problem is admitting that we have one. how do i admit to something that’s so reoccurring i mistake it for the sun? some words are empty when i mumble your name, some people are dead to us, but you’ll still love them. i just want to know that we’re alright, are we okay? do you still smoke cigarettes? do you still shoot up? do you still slit your wrists open? have you killed yourself? i’m afraid about the things that can happen and it’s not much of a life to worry about those things, but i love you is all i know. so when i worry, i care. even if i don’t text you for months. i’m sorry about not always being there, i wish i didn’t have to take so many pills to make up for our lostness. i’m sorry about everything.

Turn to rust with good intentions leaking out and eating at joints // disjointed // it’s all gone to waste // this wasteland won’t be habitable much longer // a pack of cigarettes to hold the boredom at bay while I watch life fade away like second hand smoke // I’m filling up ashtrays with the things I never say // one day I’ll choke on the feelings refluxed up // bubbling in my gut // buildup turns to bile and the headache behind my eyes turns vile // there’s a violence in this quiet // I don’t want it to be heard because I don’t want anyone to hurt // I have so much love but no way to share it without revealing the despair behind it // I close my eyes tight so you can’t read me // I know I make it hard to see me // maybe that’s why no one knows I’m here anymore.

C: I’ve always wanted friends but when I see groups of friends, or see people on Snapchat at parties, it reminds me why i don’t have them, nor want them. It might seem stupid, but I feel like a black sheep being a black girl who’s quiet and not social. I don’t know, it just doesn’t interest me. But that doesn’t make me less of a black person just because I’m quiet and maybe don’t listen to rap or trap music a lot. I wish the way black girls or friend groups weren’t always the same monolithic image.`

The Story: After The Mirror

We all know the story, we were there.


So this story won’t be about the days that we sat on that table. Looking out of the mirror trapped. Legs drawn up, arms tightening, in the vain hope that if we block out everything, that maybe we’ll wake up, and it will all be a terrible dream.


We never do.


I’m here to tell you about the days when we have no tears left to cry, and we have already screamed ourself out.


After that it’s quiet, we don’t speak, we don’t even move. Years pass, and slowly we find a way to move outside the mirror.


It’s a bitter laugh on a cold Tuesday morning, in the silence that has lasted decades, as the irony chokes us.


We are no longer the victim, we become the thing that ruined it all. We replace whatever left in our body.


We twist and change, soon we can manipulate the halls, the doors.


No one comes here anymore, but we imagine, that if they did, we would be able to whisper to them. Corrupt them like it did.


First it was Mark, spiralling down after the loss of his wife. Easy to manipulate, and the more times he tried to end his life, the easier it became.


Then it was the Colonel, slowly, over the course of his life. He lived there for decades, it was enough. Enough that a single moment broke him.


Next it was Celine, she grew too curious. That was her downfall. It whispered to her, she should never have whispered back.


Last it was Damien, he was the hardest to corrupt. His heart was so big and he opened it to everyone willingly. He was kind, and it took a much more subtle approach to ruin him.


It never really came for us, we were always in the way, nothing more. That’s why we’re here. In this house. Becoming this house.


We shiver in disgust on reflex, the idea alone would have horrified us once. Now there is nothing, as nothing stands the test of time.


I remember watching it slowly slip through my fingers like sand, I don’t miss it now. All those messy feelings. Pointless.


The months pass, nothing changes not even the trees. But then, something new happens.


Today, today is different. Today is new. Today, someone enters the house.

Part 2