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morningstar-descended · 4 years

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Mammon was an accomplished soldier in the Celestial Realm

Belphie used to be a little Lucifer Mini-Me when he was a young Angel

Lucifer would sing his siblings to sleep, Before

He didn’t tell his brothers about Lilith because he didn’t want them to interfere with her new life. It was hard enough for him not to.

Diavolo’s older brother, Beleth, has a scar covering the left side of his face from where Dia ground him into the dirt to try and get him to yield.

Their formal fight for the crown lasted three days.

Diavolo’s younger brother, Amaymon, is Asmo’s sugar daddy.

Diavolo’s Mom is also still alive, she has her own estate in another part of the Devildom. She can suplex him.

Lucifer will absently neaten up his brother’s clothes for them while he’s lecturing them.

Lucifer has fed demons and unruly Witches to Cerberus before.

Mammon has never had a partner in any sense of the word.

Satan was ‘born’ as a baby.

Asmo used to dress Satan up in little outfits when he was small.

Satan can repeat almost everything he’s read verbatim.

Lucifer has to double check that he knows where all of his brothers are before he can rest at night, unless he passes out.

All the brothers wore their hair long as angels. Lucifer’s the only one who’s never grown it back out since their fall.

It took Lucifer around six hundred years to develop proper feelings for Diavolo.

Lucifer is deathly afraid of Diavolo’s father.

Barbatos is possibly--not counting Diavolo--Lucifer’s only friend.

The Sport Beel plays is a type of Wrestling mixed with MMA and Capture the Flag. It’s played topless.

Lucifer will occasionally ask Levi to explain the plot of an anime or game to him if he wants to zone out for a while. He’s listening, but because following what Levi is talking about takes a lot of concentration, it’s almost like meditating.

Lucifer’s hair got its white / gray streaks when they lost Lilith.

Lucifer actually does have some wrinkles, he just hides them most of the time.

No matter how hard he tries, Lucifer just can’t get good at video games.

Lucifer will write out bits of sheet music when he’s bored.

Lucifer has more demon markings on his body than just the diamond on his forehead.

Lucifer’s hands are very scarred, mostly from dealing with small child Satan.

Beel’s sport is unnamed because in Infernal, it literally just is called “The Sport” since there’s only one.

Almost all of the siblings have physically torn an opponent to shreds and or consumed them. Asmo and Mammon are notable exceptions.

Satan went through a phase where he spoke solely in riddles.

Levi was hardcore into theater before animation became more of a thing. he still has a lot of opinions about it.

Belphie spent most of their early fallen years either half asleep, or completely asleep.

Beel is incapable of chewing gum or sucking on a jaw breaker properly. He impulsively swallows whatever goes in his mouth.

Lucifer has been summoned to the human world successfully only twice in his existence. He killed both summoners for the audacity.

The entire garden around the house of lamentation was of Lucifer’s design.

Mammon has the best control over his shape-shifting--able to stay in a false form for longer, and able to retain his humanoid form despite high emotions.

The brothers are, quite literally, Devildom Celebrities.

Diavolo has never kept a pet before.

Lucifer is ambidextrous, but prefers his left hand.

Mammon is left handed.

Gluttony demons tithe to Lord Beelzebub on his birthday in the form of whatever food they fixate on.

The first angel Lucifer killed after his fall was one he didn’t actually recognize.

The first angel Mammon killed was one of his friends from the Celestial Guard.

Lucifer will never forgive the other Archangels for turning their back on him.

Lucifer has only ever had two partners in any sense of the term in his entire life.

Beel used to be the smallest, before he hit his growth spurt and overshot all of them.

Lucifer swears almost exclusively in celestial, when he’s pissed off enough to actually swear.

Satan doesn’t really have any of Lucifer’s memories, but he retained the emotions based around them. It’s confusing.

Lucifer can cook just fine, but he can’t bake to save his life.

The Longest Lucifer has stayed awake without any rest was about a month. It wasn’t pretty.

Half of the time Lucifer says something funny it’s unintentional.

Most of the Devildom’s current infrastructure was pioneered by Diavolo’s father.

King Diavolo’s real name is Ba’al.

Lucifer can play basically any instrument that’s been invented, apart from electronic only ones.

Levi’s skill in painting could put any of the great masters to shame.

Lucifer isn’t a fan of a poultry, ironically.

The fact that they can get Belphie to wear his complicated RAD uniform everyday while being the Cardinal Sin of Sloth is a point towards how well Belphie controls his sin.

Being a shutin used to be cool and mysterious-- Levi mourns that social shift often.

Lucifer considers Levi the easiest brother to handle because he doesn’t really leave his room.

Mammon, while definitely being guilty of lots of grifts and get rich quick schemes, actually has at least five jobs on top of his stipend for being a Sin.

Lucifer has been trying to figure out how to kill those three witches for causing him problems by proxy, but he hasn’t figured out a legal way to justify it yet.

Amaymon is Diavolo’s youngest sibling. Lucifer can’t stand him.

Flower arranging is one of Asmo’s hobbies.

Asmo also has the best eye for interior design aesthetics, even if he uses them to make a room look... Like That.

For Centuries Lucifer couldn’t even begin to talk about his interests without Diavolo flooding him with related gifts. He’s gotten better about it since.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s relationship was purely physical at first.

Beel often uses the fact that his brothers think he’s stupid for his own gain. Most of the time it’s to get more food, but whatever works works.

Lucifer is completely fire proof now as a demon, inside and out.

He has nightmares of fire, though.

In one of the battles of the Celestial war, The Archangel Michael did his Signature “Step on Lucifer’s face/head trick” And Lucifer nearly took his leg off for it.

All demons can both purr and growl.

Lucifer’s back is heavily scarred from his fall and Satan’s creation both.

Mammon physically regenerates the fastest, and Belphie the slowest.

Levi, due to Envy’s ability to constantly and unintentionally buff the demons around him, is always helping his brothers in some small way whether he means to or not.

Beel still has specific nightmares of Lilith’s death, and will often crawl into Belphie’s bed to hold him after.

Satan never knew Lilith, but he’s emotionally attached to her because of the vague memories he inherited from Lucifer.

Asmo’s hair, if he grew it out, would be loosely curly.

All Lust type demons are Incubi / Succubi / Concubi.

Wrath type demons are the ones who cause classic hauntings.

All sleep paralysis demons are Sloth demons, though.

Pride type demons are the most prone to possessing humans in power, despite Lucifer having never possessed a human before.

Barbatos is actually a little bit older than Diavolo, but not by much.

Luke is basically Michael’s son.

Simeon is the younger brother of the Archangel Jophiel (the Angel of Beauty).

Asmo, if given the chance to defect back to the Celestial Realm, would seriously consider it.

Mammon acts like a fool, but isn’t one himself.

Belphie and Beel aren’t quite telepathic, but they always know where the other is, or if they’re in trouble.

The Cardinal sin of Wrath traditionally writes all of the punitive legislation in the devildom, so Satan is the one who writes out what crime gets what punishment.

The Devildom’s economy has never flourished so much before Mammon became the sin of Greed.

A good 60% of the work Lucifer does is paperwork that should actually be handled by one of his brothers.

Asmo’s painted his nails with his own venom before, and then used it to kill people who piss him off.

The only person Lucifer can accept losing to is Diavolo.

Lucifer isn’t a functional person until around 2 hours after he’s woken up. Luckily he tends to get up around 4:30a.m. / 5a.m. so when normal people have to interact with him, he’s mostly aware.

Mammon likes to over-saturate his foods with toppings and sauces, which is why Beel can’t stand his cooking.

Asmo likes the taste of straight vodka.

Lucifer once slapped another demon’s head clean off when they spoke back to him while he was addressing Diavolo’s court.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s first real “Date” was in the Royal Garden.

Any part of an Archdemon is worth a small fortune, as they’re rather potent spell ingredients.

If you talk shit about Mammon near a Greed type demon they WILL beat your ass.

Diavolo loved Lucifer on sight. Or, well, he loved the look of him.

#{ Mun Post }#Ask Meme #{ fuck you. never challenge me again ghdhghsdhg }#Anonymous #long post #dialuci

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years

Text

You Can Call Me Bruce (Part 6)

Pairing: Bruce x Reader

Picking up from where we left off:

“....He dips his head and slides his lips down to her jaw, to her neck until they’re peppering desperate, wet kisses along her collarbone. The young girl moans at the contact; her mind is fogging up like a car window on a misty evening. Fear clutches her heart in its icy talons and gives it a firm squeeze. This is wrong—God, this is all so wrong, that she’s certain of as much as she is that the sky is blue…

But Y/N doesn’t want it to stop...”

Previous Parts: I, II, III, IV, V

A/N: This update has been way overdue and I hope you guys can forgive me for dropping off the face of the earth with this story lol, enjoy (and sorry for the tacky gif it’s the best i could do this late into the night)

____________

Bruce’s head is just as heavy.

His lungs fight for air and his heart kicks and hammers in his chest as Y/N pushes him back onto the cushion of the bed. He immediately sinks into it, pulling her along with him, drowning in her, in the feeling of lithe arms snaking around his neck and supple skin and God, she feels even better than she looks…

When their mouths part momentarily, he takes his chance to look up at her, at half-lidded eyes hanging right above him, piercing his very own. There’s a newfound lust swimming in them. In the way her lips are puckered and pink, in the feeling of her hand trailing down his shirt to his stomach, want and want and want…

“Y/N,” He stutters, voice hoarse.

Her fingers trail lower, and she swallows, refusing to tear away her gaze. Bruce’s heart falters. His brain has gone to mush. Trying his best to keep his grasp on reality, his eyes follow her movements, languid fingers, gentle caresses here and there and isn’t it sweet.

But beside the pleasure lies a sense of torture. More and more and more, his body demands. Gluttonous and sinful. Vile. At this point he doesn’t care, he never will, because he’s waited too damn long to be abhorred for something—someone—this dazzling.

~*~*~*~

The sound of steady snoring is what wakes Y/N the next morning.

The gentle rise and fall of a chest against her back, the sensation of stubble grating against her neck. Warmth. All around, encapsulating as Bruce’s grip around her tightens. She hears him sigh contently, snuggle closer, and feels him relax back into slumber a second later. With the sun leaking into the room and the hum of birds outside, she concludes that it’s no later than dawn and, as carefully as possible, rolls over onto her side. She almost laughs when she’s met with the face of Bruce sleeping. With his mouth hanging agape and his hair tousled and disarrayed, he looks far different from corporate Bruce, stone-cold serious Bruce. It’s almost embarrassing to think, but until now, Y/N always found herself wondering what he would look like first thing in the morning; whether he carried the air of solemnity to bed or whether it was something he’d take off at night and put on the next day like a finely tailored suit. Now that they’ve spent the night together this question, among many, has now been answered…

Mind drifting to the previous night, she almost blushes. Images of them flash through her mind, candid, shameless. Sounds of skin on slapping against skin…breathy moans…him and her and them. Together.

Shutting her eyes, she feels her face flush,

“Y/N?” His voice startles her awake, eyes opening only to find him gazing at her. Tired, half-lidded. He’s only just waking up.

And as much as she won’t admit it, it’s almost comforting to know that her name is the first thing on his lips in the morning.

A small tug at her lips, and she smiles. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Bruce greets with a lazy grin; from lack of use his voice comes raspy and hoarse before he clears his throat and tries again. “You’re already up. That’s surprising.”

“Uni’s sort of molded me into a morning person, even if I wish it hadn’t.” She smiles and shrugs. He chuckles. Warm and resonant. It reverberates even beneath the sheets and she finds her own lips tugging into a smile. Bruce. Them. When Y/N looks at him now, something sings in her chest, something golden and brilliant because she’s seeing him, she’s finally seeing him and who he is and that notion in itself is far more intimate than the touches they shared right now.

The vulnerability of the situation hangs potent. Nude, splayed across mangled sheets and pieces of her outfit that he’d stripped away along with her apprehension. God, that’s the only thing that was holding her back. Reluctance. Fear. Surer than ever, she knows now that Bruce Wayne is no-one to fear…

But just as much…no-one to love.

Not for her.

~*~*~

At breakfast they try and play it cool; dancing around each other at respectable distances, keeping the conversation light and safe and away from topics they feel will draw them into discussing last night.

“We don’t need to talk about last night.” Y/N said as she got up to strap on her bra. Bruce was still idly lying in bed, watching her voluptuous body move, trying to tame his thoughts from growing too explicit.

“We don’t?”

“We shouldn’t. Not now at least. Look, I’m gonna go head back to my room. Meanwhile, maybe shower, get ready for breakfast?”

“So we’re just going to spend the day acting like it didn’t happen?” He asked. Standing by the door with her clothes in hand, he tried not to notice the flash of sadness in Y/N’s eyes.

“We’re going to spend as long as it takes.” She said.

And now here they are.

Breakfast. French toast and gooseberry jam and an awfully heavy cloud of silence that feels like it has stretched on too long. Bruce wants—needs, actually—to say something. In this case silence is far from golden, it is far from a remedy or treatment for their predicament and maybe he needs to be the first one to put that out there.

Sat at the kitchen isle, he sips gingerly on his morning coffee. Y/N dances around the kitchen as she prepares some bacon and eggs, whizzing left and right, the hot pan sizzling being the only sound present in the room. Bacon popping, eggs sweltering. It’s starting to smell burnt—and so Bruce, being as generous as he is, puts his cup down and stands.

“Here.” He moves to the stove and turns the heat down. The food silences. With a spatula, he flips the food over a couple of times as Y/N flips through the cabinets.

“You should probably pay more attention to not charring the food rather than spicing it. That can come later.”

“Yeah, except it can’t. Goddammit—where do you guys keep your oregano?!” Frazzled, she throws open the cabinet door, ducking down to take a look inside. Nothing more than plates and old cereal boxes. Groaning, she shakes her head.

“This is a mess. Do you know where the spices are?”

“Not at all.” He answers, pushing the bacon around in the pan. “Alfred’s always the one dealing with spicing the food. When I cook, it’s more on the bland and boring side.”

Y/N sighs and with a shake of her head climbs down from where she’s kneeling on the counter.

Straightening out, she brushes her hair back in place and watches Bruce. He salts the food, turns the fire up a little, decides maybe that’s a bit too much and then turns it down a notch. Her lips tug upwards, and she’s only broken from her reverie when he announces it’s time to dine.

Bruce sets the table out on the patio, out in the morning breeze where they can feel the prickle of the sun and the hum of the birds. A warm glow of light casts upon the rolling hills, dancing along the grass and houses and homes they hold. Y/N thanks him with a kind smile as he sets down her cup of chamomile tea.

“I’ve taken a break from coffee for a while.” She avoids his gaze as she lifts the cup to her lips. Bruce settles down across from her. His coffee steams and swirls, disappearing into the air. He was trusting, hoping that maybe the awkwardness wouldn’t follow them outside, but it’s going to take more than changing the location to work through that. Nodding, he meets Y/N’s eyes. Swears they almost look nervous (at least more than usual).

She puts down her cup, tucks her lips into her mouth.

“Good choice. Tea’s far healthier for you in the long run, anyway.”

“He says, sipping on an espresso darker than the night. You really are a rebel, aren’t you Bruce Wayne?”

“I’d like to think I am, Y/N Y/L/N.” His smirk surfaces with his cool, collected voice, eyes fixated on Y/N’s that dazzle with mischief. He can tell she’s holding back a grin. That she’s diluting into a mere smirk. They tease—oh, they tease—, and it always feels safe and customary…but after last night…

When Bruce catches himself thinking this, a lump forms in his throat. The image of Y/N giggling, live and vivid, sits before him, drawn against the morning sun, against creation, and by God he wants and wants and needs. Heavy hearted, watching her tell him about how she’s been a tea-lover from a tender age, it almost breaks him. Warps his thinking. His heart. Fuck. The words throttle out of him before he can so much as blink.

“We need to talk about last night.” He cuts her off, gulping thickly as he watches her eyes squint.

Her brow furrows and bewilderment flashes across her face briefly. Swallowing, Bruce steadies his breathing. He’s a big boy. Matters of women and the romantics should be elementary to a man of his caliber.

Only when he looks at Y/N, he finds himself growing more and more apprehensive.

Head tipped to the side, her eyes tear him down. She licks her lips. Inhales. A warm summer breeze washes over and reminds her that their outside, that they haven’t even yet touched their breakfast.

“I thought—“

“That we weren’t going to talk about it? Yeah, well…things change. We should talk. We should.”

“Or, we could just ignore it for now…?”

“Y/N, how am I supposed to ignore the fact that last night we slept together? Huh? How am I supposed to ignore the fact that I had you in my bed only a couple of minutes ago and now here we are chatting it up over bacon and eggs?

“Bruce, not now, okay? Can we just have breakfast…?”

“You can’t eat and talk at the same time?”

“It’s not polite. I was assuming my uncle taught you this,”

“You—”

Bruce reaches across the table, grabbing her hand. Y/N’s eyes flit to his. Across them something resembling anger flashes, something fierce and threatening. She clenches her jaw, but it’s not enough to intimidate him.

“—are being difficult.”

“And you are being obsessive.” She yanks her hand back brutally but his grip is vice-like. “Leave it be for now.”

“Don’t you get it? I can’t! I can’t look at you right now, right here in the open sun, looking how you look and not...have my mind flash back to last night….to the nights to come.”

“Nights to come?”

“It meant something to you, didn’t it? Last night?”

Y/N bites her lip. Grey eyes burn into hers and she swallows, ready to speak, when—

“So it happened.”

Startled, both heads whip in the direction of the door…

And Y/N feels a pit tear open in her gut.

She gasps. Bruce feels a warmth claw at his neck and for the first time, is deafeningly aware of his fingers around her wrist.

Swallowing, he slowly releases it. Standing in the door, Alfred keenly watches his movements, the retraction of his hand, the evident shock painted on his face in pale pink.

His voice is thin and acerbic. Drawn so tight it’s about to snap any second.

“Say it again.”

“What?” It’s not that he hasn’t heard him, but rather that Bruce doesn’t want to believe he has—that any of this is happening.

The elder man’s eyes move from his niece to her partner. They cut him, like fine knives that carve into his skin, like the pain of seeing an ancient friendship that has lasted all these years coming undone right before his eyes.

“Say it again, Bruce.” He repeats. “Say how much you want fuck my niece.”

“Alfred, it’s not like that—“

“Uncle Fred, please, I—“

“Looks like you’ve made your decision…” He says, and his eyes, swimming with hurt and poignancy, shift back onto Y/N. “Both of you. You don’t need an old geezer like me anymore.”

“Nobody said that!” Y/N shoots up onto her feet, scrambling to pacify the situation but it’s too late. She watches his back as he heads back into the house, disappearing from view.

Standing, Bruce tries to place a hand in her shoulder, but she’s fast from his touch, jerking away so quickly it shocks him. She whips around to face him and it’s only then he notices the water in her eyes.

“You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Y/N, look, I never meant for him to find out like this,”

“I never meant for him to find out at all, Bruce! That was the plan! You just had to come along and get in the way, didn’t you?”

“You and I both know this is far from what I wanted.”

“So what is it that you wanted, Mister Wayne? Huh? Tell me.” She’s yelling at this point, full on shouting to the point that she’s red in the face and breathless and cherubic features are overtaken by tears and anguish.

And it comes so easy for Bruce.

“You.” He says.

Simply. Quietly. A silence settles over them then

And Y/N stares back at him. Wet-faced, hurt, more angry than sad, before shaking her head and heading back inside.

Bruce watches her. Aches. The breakfast remains untouched; his coffee cools, and for a moment he forgets what brought them out here into the sun in the first place.

~*~*~

Y/N finds her Uncle sequestered in a dim-lit corner ten minutes later.

Her eyes watch him like flood-lights, like pools of hope slowly dwindling, like this is what breaks them apart because it is, and she’s here to try and fix things. Swallowing, she lets a breath out through her nose. Blinks. She tries to find her voice that has hidden out of shame.

“I thought I’d find you here.” She says.

Alfred doesn’t move.

The air tenses. Hollow winds from outside find their way in through the vents and hug her. Taunt. Her steady beating heart nearly falters when she takes a step closer, but then he speaks, halting her.

“Stop.” He says—commands—in a voice gruffer than usual.

Y/N obeys as her torches of eyes follow the slight movement in his neck (she swears she can see a vein popping). This isn’t supposed to be easy, because the entire situation isn’t easy, but she’s an optimist, ambitious and hopefully and she clings to the glimmer of redemption that comes with her Uncle.

Uncle Fred, her last living relative. Her friend. Always has been. This shouldn’t be what tears them apart.

“I…” She tries to speak.

“You…?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t mock.” Y/N sighs and shuts her eyes. “I’m trying.”

Alfred scoffs. The sound of glass craping against a metal tray makes her realize he’s drinking.

“Not at all. If you were trying, and I mean really trying, we wouldn’t be here. This conversation wouldn’t be an option.”

“Well, it is, so we might as well get through with it.”

“You’re my niece. “

His voice is tight and thin and it sends a wave of quiet over the room. She swallows.

“I held you when you were a baby, when you learnt to ride a bike, when you bruised your knuckles from punching that boy in your class for pulling your pigtails…? I’ve always been there for you….But I guess all along you secretly didn’t need me, huh?”

“That’s not true.”

“My bags are packed.” He says, takes a sip of brandy. “Packed them last night. Somehow I knew this would be the outcome….that you and Bruce…”

“Me and Bruce don’t want you to leave.”

“Your actions say otherwise.”

“Just listen to me, will you? You’ve done all the talking so far. Now—now it’s my turn.” The damn breaks and she snaps.

She folds her lips into a thin line as she watches her Uncle’s back, waiting, expecting and grateful when he places his empty glass down and stands.

Turning to face her, Alfred clenches his jaw, runs a hand through the silver sprouting from his head. Her chest stutters and shallow breaths slip from her nostrils. They seem too loud in the otherwise silent room as she tries to garner her courage.

All the words, all the feelings—suppressed like water straining to break through the dam. Frozen. Searching for them in the pits of her being, Y/N curses her cowardice that has driven them into hiding in the first place; they have no problem announcing their presence when she’s alone but immediately faced with conflict, they scurry back into the shadows.

“Well…?” Alfred’s brows rise, urging her on. “I’m listening. Talk, child. Talk all you want, now is your chance.

With a steadying breath, she struggles with the few words she can find. Breathe. Speak.

“Uncle Fred,” She begins. “Please don’t leave. Please, Bruce and I, we want you to stay, we really do…I….”

The words catch in her throat. She breathes in, out, rolls them at the tip of her tongue and they burn. Gulping, Y/N damns herself for leading them here in the first place.

“Look, it’s my fault we’re in this mess in the first place. I…I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have stayed and let things escalate with Bruce, I…And you, you have every right to be upset, to be livid. But please….don’t take my stupidity as an urging for you to go. I’m going to go and pack my bags now. I’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N…?”

When she hears his voice, she immediately whips around.

Bruce’s expression is made out in the darkness by the contours in his cheeks, the dip between his eyebrows—she knows him. Even in the dark, even in blindness, he’s something that will never go unnoticed.

Sadness swimming in his eyes, he looks to Y/N and then to Alfred. He grits his teeth. She hopes he won’t object. No matter the pain, the decision is final.

She’s leaving.

Forever.

“Bruce,…”She pivots to face him and tries to smile. Small and sad. Like her. Like them—in a moment like this they can’t help but feel so small, so defeated by the world they once thought their love could conquer. That’s the thing with love: it makes you feel invincible.

And the drawback when you realize you aren’t is more painful than any bullet to the heart.

Wordlessly he allows her hand to tenderly caress his face, the stubble grating her small palm and she’s grateful when he doesn’t speak or object.

“I’m going to miss you. Really, really bad, but….” She pauses, a hitch in her voice. “…But this has to be done. I don’t want to be what breaks apart your friendship. I don’t want what we had or could have to be a reminder that I hurt my Uncle, that I hurt you by making you chose. I’m sorry.” She finishes with a sniffle, burdened and cathartic, then glances over her shoulder.

“Both of you.”

“Y/N…”

“It was nice meeting you, Mister Wayne.”

He watches her, the world around him slowing to a stop. Time melts into a single blur—this moment, this fraction of second where he hears her denounce him and it’s almost impossible for things to start up again.

Bruce feels a coiling in his chest. He wants to say something. To reach out. Y/N turns and speaks to her uncle, says something he doesn’t bother to decipher and when his very own eyes meet those of his friend, he only just notices the glassy film over them.

She’s leaving.

And it hurts them both. The tension. The mess of the past few days that have driven them to this point. When Bruce tries to breathe his lungs collapse and all he can do is go through the motions of watching Alfred wordlessly leading her up to pack, offering to drive. This is it. The tumble of the towers, of his empire—from this day on, Wayne Manor will never be the same. It will be haunted. Diluted and reduce to a shell of the legacy Bruce Wayne built with Alfred, through Alfred.

It was always him, wasn’t it?

All along. Through years of coping with grief and nurturing it into strength; through the strongest blows to his resolve…The deaths…Always there for Bruce, always the pillar in his plans… Once—but not anymore.

From here on will always live the ghost of this day, these people—of former best friends and almost-lovers, walking the halls, trying to make sense of what happened (and what didn’t...)

________

Thank you for reading! as always, follows, likes/reblogs and/or feedback make my day.

Truthfully, I may not be online for a while, but I already have most of the final installment written out and will be posting very soon, so keep an eye out.

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museinspo · 7 years

Text

*.:｡♦ ⋅ ⋆ — MUSING TAGS - QUOTE EDITION

i recently hit a huge milestone & reached the 2nd birthday for this blog, so i wanted to do something cute to give back & say thank you !!! with that being said, under the cut you’ll find 828 quotes that can be used for character musing tags ! they’ve been categorised into different labels ( eg. the baby doll, the lothario, the vixen, the cataclysmic, etc ) so some quotes may appear under more than one category. i do, however, recommend checking out all the categories !! they were just listed by my own interpretation and definitely aren’t limited to a certain label in the slightest. the pronouns used are simply what was used in the original line but can obviously be changed to fit your character. depending on personal preference, some may be a little too long but can be shortened down pretty easily. a general trigger warning is to be placed for these as they do reference some sensitive topics ( drugs, alcohol, sex, etc ), as the tags on my blog do. i believe that covers it all !! if you find this useful, please do like and/or reblog ! also, please let me know if you’d like to see a part two of this ! you can find the lyric version of this right here for more suggestions !!

general (31)

better to be slapped with the truth than kissed with a lie.

he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t lived yet.

she drew silver linings of her own.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

my mother looks at me and sees my father’s mistakes.

desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving.

she was brave and strong and broken all at once.

i am the sea and nobody owns me.

your sweetness is more cruel than your hurt.

she looks like royalty ; so fine and distinctive.

compare me not to stars but to storms and hurricanes.

fuck your soft words because i am not soft.

love breaks my bones and i laugh.

sipping cool red wine out of a long-stemmed glass.

chain smoking tastes like 50′s perfume if you try hard enough.

she crunches diamonds between her teeth.

in this world that kills beauty ; even gods cannot survive the fall.

it inspires a keen nostalgia in her for the simpler times before.

friends and family filled with envy when they should be filled with pride.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

he flew darling. he may have fallen ; but first he dared to soar.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

you have your fathers mouth and dreams of ripping it off your face.

you lie to erase the memories from your naked body.

i’ve kept my feelings to myself for i’ve never found a language to express them.

you drink a little too much and go home alone.

the most beautiful of angels are destined to fall.

his biggest fear is ending up like his father.

she was restless in a way that seemed permanent.

i am mine before i am ever anyone else’s.

she isn’t human ; she is art with a heart.

the addictive (9)

i used to smoke to get high ; now i smoke to stay sane.

you drink like you have something to forget.

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket.

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

i’ve got whisky with white lies and smoke in my lungs.

i’ll find comfort in my pain eraser.

oh baby you’ve made mistakes and drained the bottles.

the addictions that were killing me faster are the ones i loved the most.

you drink a little too much and go home alone.

the aesthete (21)

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

he craves the balm of beautiful and soft things.

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars.

he was vulnerable ; to art and to the sky.

her aura is made of poetry, roses and galaxies.

to be written in ink is to be immortal.

seduce me ; ravish me with your words and poems.

he’s made up of silk and rose water.

everything has beauty but not everyone can see it.

let me tell you about the birds and the bees ; the moon and the stars.

like artwork i could admire you forever.

getting drunk on honeyed water with berry stained lips.

she’s dreaming of lace trimmed dresses and warm pink cheeks.

he wanted to be extraordinary to possess a savage glitter.

his trouble is that he falls in love with every pretty thing.

one day he realised he was made of light.

she wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes.

he falls in love with details.

he’s always had a terrible weakness for beautiful things.

the anthomaniac (16)

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

i need the empty field around me and my legs pounding along roads.

she longed to go far into the fields and listen to the birds.

he sits before flowers hoping they’ll teach him the art of opening up.

barefoot in grass and drinking fresh lemonade.

she was made of sunlight.

the earth laughs in flowers as does he.

she wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes.

she spent hours on the riverbank and had midnight swims.

i need the empty fields around me and my legs pounding along roads.

sensitive souls don’t have it easy ; that’s why their eyes light up when they breathe in the scent of a flower.

nature is not a place to visit ; it is home.

i have nature and art ; is that not enough?

he has a garden and a library ; that’s everything he needs.

for me ; beauty is first and foremost in nature.

there’s a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.

the artisan (28)

seduce me ; ravish me with your words and poems.

underestimate me so i can embarrass you.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

rule #1 never be #2.

there is a loneliness only poetry knows.

painting is poetry than is seen rather than felt.

poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen.

be my muse and you can have my soul.

gather the constellations in your mind ; press them to paper & call it art.

writers make love to whatever they need.

her eyes are classic novels and poetry.

to write is to hold the power of a thousand universes between paper and pen.

i write as if it can heal my broken heart.

i write what i could never say.

artists are prisoners of their own creations.

write to settle the rage within you.

when she dances she looks like a poem about loss.

in writing you must kill all your darlings.

it’s funny how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.

he left pieces of himself in his art.

there is a chaos in my mind that can only be quelled by my hand on a pen.

i want music that makes holes in the sky.

with my beaten small guitar wearing the same old jeans.

i am writing to disappear.

to be written in ink is to be immortal.

show me a hero and i’ll write you a tragedy.

heartbreak makes poets of us all.

she had literature inside her heart that she couldn’t sometimes write.

the astrophile (20)

i would drink the sky and inhale the stars if i could.

i want to exhale stardust and create my own constellations.

moonlit princess in the night.

the stars in her eyes are far more beautiful than those in the sky.

and the stars whispered ‘come home’

i look up at the moon and wonder who else is looking too.

let me tell you about the birds and the bees ; the moon and the stars.

you are a cosmic child ; a celestial wonder.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

she’s beauty she’s grace she’s in love with aliens and space.

people hope to touch the sky ; i dream of kissing it.

i would drink the sky and inhale stars if i could.

i want to exhale stardust and create my own constellations.

i saw galaxies in your eyes ; your love put stars in my evening skies.

you will give meaning to the evening skies.

now we’re lost somewhere in outerspace.

her aura is made of poetry roses and galaxies.

when you dream ; do you dream of the stars?

i can see the stars from the window of my bedroom and i think i’m in love.

she dreams under the midnight sun of colour and melodic heartbeats.

the baby doll (21)

she’s in the window in her pink dress ; radiant & transparent.

she had lavender in her hair and roses on her cheek.

she has the moon in her mind ; that’s why stars spill off her lips.

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars.

she tastes like fairytales.

their soul is baby pink and very expensive.

her idea of love was gentle and silent like a whisper of a touch.

she was like cherry wine and what a lovely headache she left behind.

to be soft is to be powerful.

she’s made of silk rose water and glitter.

she spritzes her face with rose water and moves on.

his voice is honey.

his affection comes fast or not at all.

she falls in love with the attention you give rather than the person.

he’s gentle and soft.

everything about her is so captivating ; like the aftermath of a storm.

she possesses an innocence so destructive she puts angels to shame.

he’s a glimpse of bliss ; a little taste of heaven.

she doesn’t love ; she quickly falls and ever so slowly picks herself back up and walks away.

there’s something godly yet sinful about loving her.

she wasn’t afraid of being left ; she was afraid of being forgotten.

the bellwether (11)

she’s in the window in her pink dress ; radiant & transparent.

there she was ; bathed in moonlight and silhouetted by stars.

she wore her dress almost as well as she wore the universe.

she uses stardust as a highlighter.

stay until enough people have had time to admire your attire.

my mascara’s too expensive to cry over this.

fashion is the most powerful art there is.

he doesn’t wear outfits ; he creates looks.

she wishes she could make decisions the way she picked her clothes ; from a catalogue.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

the benevolent (26)

you blossom under kindness like a rose.

you managed to have a soft heart and peaceful mind despite the cruelty of the world.

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart.

she would have swallowed the sun to make you warm enough.

to love and lose and to still be kind.

her hands are soft and her eyes shine in the sun.

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world.

he’s got a heart so pure ; i bet he has flowers growing between his ribs.

she was not a girl of ice and glass but of sunshine and stardust.

she emits warmth and injects laughter into the people she encounters.

isn’t it ironic that you take care of everyone but yourself?

she dismissed those who stopped her from being able to see the world’s good.

she tastes like hope.

kind people are forged in fire and darkness and imploding stars.

he was made of sunlight.

to be soft is to be powerful.

optimism can save the world.

she cares ; its kind of her thing.

all he wanted was to receive the love he gave.

you’re soft like spring flowers and the white feathers inside your pillow.

there’s bravery in being soft.

it takes grace to remain kind in cruel situations.

the world gave him so much pain and here he was turning it to gold.

he takes care of everyone but himself.

her voice is honey.

you are not weak just because your heart is so heavy.

the bibliomaniac (15)

i grew up in the shadow of a big bookcase ; where verses and novels all mingled and murmured.

books became her friends and there was one for every mood.

she made a vow to read one book a day as long as she lived.

novels aren’t just happy escapes ; they are slivers of peoples souls.

books were cold but safe friends ; he adored them.

walking the stacks in a library ; feeling the presence of sleeping spirits.

books gave him a comforting message ; you are not alone.

he finds himself turning to books and films for comfort.

a library is like an island in a vast sea of ignorance.

he dreams of old books and french cafes.

he loves fictional characters because he has a habit of loving people who can’t love him back.

novels aren’t just happy escapes ; they are slivers of people’s souls.

her eyes are classic novels and poetry.

he always imagined paradise as being some kind of library.

she wants to be the kind of woman people read books about.

the cataclysmic (20)

you will learn why storms are named after people.

i’ll swallow my blood before i swallow my pride.

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

girls like her were born in a storm.

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

she sins to forget she has a heart.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

her mind is a very dangerous and destructive place.

real darkness was more than just a lack of light.

do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

if i’m anything it is violence.

to you everything tastes like blood.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

he tore the beauty from his face and called it terror.

there is blood in everything you say.

the connard (15)

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

take off your armor and let your skin breathe.

those who are heartless once cared too much.

he spent his life learning to feel less.

she can be so cruel and it comes so quickly that birds fly away.

how to be unapproachable ; a book by me.

i know i’m fucking moody and i know i’m quite unkind.

mood ; not in the mood.

smiling is a sign of weakness.

sorry i’m such an asshole.

on one hand who cares and in the other hand so what.

most likely to not give a fuck.

in memory of when i cared.

being brutally honest is a different shade of mean.

the coquette (20)

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips.

she sins to forget she has a heart.

she’s like a rose ; she’s beautiful and enchanting but her roots are full of wounds.

she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes.

she kissed demons and slept with ghosts because living with the dead felt more like home.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

she’s a sweet talker with great legs ; her affections fleeting and wild.

she was sweet like cherry wine ; what a lovely headache she left behind.

her hair was long and her eyes were wild.

how to be a heartbreaker.

she’s no angel.

blow a kiss ; fire a gun.

she could tear you apart with her lips.

her attention comes fast or not at all.

she touches herself with strawberry painted fingers.

call me your baby girl.

boys play with toys and girls play with boys.

she wasn’t actually in love but she felt a tender curiosity.

they hate her because she smells of vanilla and doesn’t pick up her phone.

the credulous (14)

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart.

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world.

he’s so busy looking for the good in people he misses the knife they’re holding in their hand.

he’s the definition of starry eyed.

she thinks she’s living in a fairytale ; it’s why she fears the world so much.

she feels too vulnerable and soft for the world.

when someone shows her their true colours ; she tries to paint a different picture.

he was blinded by how people took him for granted.

be gentle with her ; she’s more vulnerable than she appears.

he’s always depended on the kindness of strangers.

she burned too bright for this world.

he knows too much and not enough.

she possesses an innocence so destructive she puts angels to shame.

she will love you unconditionally and that may be the saddest part about her.

the crepehanger (22)

she’s rotting quietly under her skits with a melancholy smile.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

she was a compulsive pessimist ; always looking for the soft brown spot in the fruit ; pressing so hard she created it.

you have such a february face ; so full of frost of storm and cloudiness.

and i’m disgusted with dreams now.

be like snow ; beautiful but cold.

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

show me a hero and i’ll write you a tragedy.

he doesn’t expect sunshine and rainbows to be coming from every aspect of life.

be like snow ; beautiful but cold.

i’m full of poetry now ; rot and poetry.

but his bones knew something wonderful about darkness.

she is rotting quietly under her skirts with a melancholy smile.

a negative mind will never give a positive life.

he became bitter and untouchable.

you know what they say about hope ; it breeds eternal misery.

i overflow like this black night.

she walked with darkness dripping off her shoulders.

i’ve seen ghosts brighter than his soul.

we’re all cynics and romantics ; sometimes simultaneously.

the crestfallen (20)

she’s rotting quietly under her skits with a melancholy smile.

i am made of insecurities.

you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.

sadness flirts with my soul and takes that too.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

you may be in pain but you are not weak.

if only her life could be more like the movies.

what hasn’t killed her has made her oversensitive and defensive.

she’s a lions roar ; broken glass and a thousand tiny paper cuts.

when he’s sad he doesn’t say a word.

she’s standing in the window ; transparent and lost.

crying doesn’t mean you’re weak ; it means you’re alive.

she’s strong but she’s exhausted.

silence is not a song you should know all the words too.

some say she’s very poetic others say she’s very sad.

sadness fucks me way too often.

she is broken and she won’t ask for help.

he’s broken apart his insides.

when he moves he looks like a poem about loss.

he believes he’s nothing without his pain.

the crimson (20)

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she wanted a storm to match her rage.

she slipped her anger into something silky and attractive.

i have the world raging under my skin.

she beats her knuckles into other peoples jawbones ; the fight club is her temple.

to you everything tastes like blood.

she hissed ; her teeth dripping crimson.

he’s never been good at emotional stuff ; except anger.

he’ll argue about anything with anyone.

and the grace of the gods is a grace that comes by violence.

there is blood in all the things you say.

tragedy exists because you are full of rage.

he’s got fire for a heart.

he has the whole world raging beneath his skin.

the world demanded hate from her so hate she gave.

there is so much hate in his heart.

rage is the only emotion he’s good at feeling.

he’s a tiny yet angry force of nature.

make me your enemy and you shall see fury.

he’s made up of black coffee and poorly supressed anger.

the despondent (26)

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable.

i’ve turned people into homes and i ended up homeless.

the feeling of emptiness is incredibly intoxicating.

she’s strong but she’s exhausted.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

he became bitter and untouchable.

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

she fought best when she was breaking.

there is a beauty in the emptiness of your soul.

he opens his mouth and dust spills out instead of feelings.

sadness flirts with my soul and takes that too.

she walked with darkness dripping off her shoulders.

i’ve seen ghosts brighter than her soul.

i’m a ghost that everyone can see.

be like snow ; beautiful but cold.

take the weight of your insecurities and lay them underneath a gravestone.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past.

it’s so dark in the room you’ve chosen to store your regrets.

you’ve handled tragedy ; surely you can handle tenderness.

maybe emptiness is a way of listening.

he spent his life learning to feel less.

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

you may be in pain but you are not weak.

a lot of confidence generates disappointment.

the dirtbag (15)

his motorcycle is the loudest noise in the city that never sleeps.

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket.

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

his life is flashing lights and nights in jail for petty theft.

she’s a burden on society.

you were wild once ; don’t let me them tame you.

she spends her day riding motorcycles and smoking cigarettes.

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

mood ; not in the mood.

on one hand who cares and on the other hand so what.

he always finds the energy to sin.

he loves the way being bad feels.

boys who skate are better at grinding.

she doesn’t give a damn about her reputation.

property of no one.

the facade (15)

she’s like a volcano ; cool and calm on the surface with lava running through her veins.

you wear a mask for so long you forget who you were beneath it.

your mouth can lie but your eyes can’t.

you are not her anymore ; always presenting a different facade.

her eyes said more than words can say.

alone in my head ; i am content to pretend.

in a world where everyone wears a mask ; it’s a privilege to see a soul.

everyone saw a princess but inside she was on fire ; crashing and burning.

look at her smile and in the corner of her smile you’ll find the smallest hint of sadness.

her eyes are pure stars but her touch will freeze you to the bone.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

take off your armor and let your skin breathe.

he spent his life learning to feel less.

kind faces are a lie.

i’ve met people who have never met me.

the fallen angel (16)

everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be i became.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

i was a goddess and now i ache.

he became bitter and untouchable.

maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.

i’ve lost so many battles but i won’t lose the war.

she was not a girl of ice and glass but of sunshine and stardust.

in this world that kills beauty ; even gods cannot survive the fall.

and i’m disgusted with dreams now.

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

my father looks at me and sees everything i used to be.

you may be in pain but you are not weak.

broken isn’t the same as unfixable.

the fervour (17)

i never learned how to love in small doses.

pick up your heart on the way out.

those who truly love never stop loving.

i would rather die of passion than of boredom.

she felt everything too deeply ; it was like the world was too much for her.

he’s a lover without a lover.

i’m still a sensitive woman just with passion.

she creates entire romances in her dreams.

he’s an incurable romantic.

she falls in love so passionately and out of love so painfully.

i never learned how to love in small doses.

he has no notion of loving people by halves.

god save the romantics who wil destroy themselves for a better story.

it’s both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply.

he spent his life learning to feel less.

my heart just sang and out poured my soul.

her idea of love was gentle and silent like a whisper of a touch.

the grifter (3)

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

she’ll look you in the eye as she tears you open.

he’s the best at what he does and what he does isn’t pretty.

the halcyon (20)

he is terribly afraid of dying because he hasn’t lived yet.

love her but leave her wild.

she loved the sea ; it made her feel small but free as well.

i never learned how to love in small doses.

lay underneath the clothes line and listen.

people like you are not meant to stand still.

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you.

her foot was light and her eyes were wild.

optimism can save the world.

he’s alive with pleasure.

he refuses to die ordinary.

he doesn’t get attached to moments because good or bad ; they all pass.

she didn’t allow life to just happen to her ; she traveled the world and wrote books about it.

once you learn to create your own happiness ; no one can take that away from you.

she likes her hair messy her love wild and her sex aggressive.

she wants to love and radiant light.

home doesn’t exist for girls like her.

a life lived in fear is a life half-lived.

he wants to touch the sun and immerse in the sea.

take your shoes off and dance in the rain.

the impecunious (5)

now your wallet is nothing more than empty space.

the girl of her dreams was herself but with more money.

nothing to steal.

girls just want to have funds.

he wants to work until his bank account looks like a phone number.

the impious (7)

every day that satan tempts me i take it in my stride.

she’s no angel.

he believes in hell and he’s in it.

she sins to forget she has a heart.

he always finds the time to sin.

god is love but satan does that thing with his tongue that you love so much.

he refuses to believe he’s not the god of his own universe.

the intangible concept (16)

she was truly a puzzle but god forgive anyone who mistook her for a game.

her smile screamed ‘you don’t know me and you never will.’

i’ve met people who have never actually met me.

i’m a different person to different people but unknown to a lot.

she rolled into town like a new mystery.

for he had a great variety of selves.

he’s a mystery wrapped up in a pretty body.

she looked pale and mysterious ; like a lily under water.

her eyes reminded me of tinted windows ; she could see out but you couldn’t see in.

you will never know the real him.

accept the mystery.

she was like the moon ; part of her was always hidden away.

he’s as beautiful and mysterious as the night sky.

perhaps she loves mysteries so much that she became one.

trying to understand him is like trying to hold smoke in your hands.

she spoke to no one and carried secrets in her eyes.

the isolato (15)

i need the empty field around me and my legs pounding along roads.

loneliness becomes an acid that eats away at you.

i was quiet but i was not blind.

alone in my head ; i am content to pretend.

loneliness is like a drug ; you know it’s bad for you yet you keep going back.

she’s so transparent ; she could disappear without a trace.

i wasn’t lonely when i was alone.

he doesn’t mind being alone so long as he doesn’t feel lonely.

she doesn’t let anyone in so she doesn’t risk the chance of losing them.

he was born alone and he’ll die alone.

she believes she’s better on her own.

she spoke to no one and carried secrets in her eyes.

he felt alone in a crowded room.

he could disappear forever and no one would notice ; that’s how he liked it.

she has no time for meaningless conversations and friendships.

the lost soul (15)

travel far enough that you meet yourself.

i am a language i am yet to understand.

you will find your place in this lost world and give meaning to the stars.

i mean different things to different people ; but who am i to me?

i was quiet but i was not blind.

how does he know who he even is ?

she’s in the window looking lost and transparent.

he feels homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.

he’s a ghost that everyone can see.

when she moves she looks like a poem about loss.

how can he move forward when he doesn’t know which way he’s facing?

i’m the place between who i want to be and who others have made me out to be.

he’s starting to miss the person he used to be.

his mind is an ever going ocean with dark shades of teal.

two years later and i was gone.

the lothario (15)

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

his mouth is heaven ; his kisses falling over me like stars.

he is lust ; he is sex in the back seat of a car.

he is an angel made of devilish grins and laughter.

he’s a god in human form but he’s got a corrupted soul.

he is the dangerous boy with the wild heart.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

he’s a sweet talker with great legs ; his affections fleeting and wild.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly.

how to be a heartbreaker.

don’t give pieces of your heart away that you’re not even sure you have.

he was temptingly beautiful but stung anyone who got too close.

blow a kiss ; fire a gun.

he has persuasive lips but terrible motives.

the magnate (21)

underestimate me so i can embarrass you.

rule #1 never be #2.

he’s a corporate ceo ; making storms in other peoples lives.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly.

the lawyer with the briefcase can steal more money than the man with the gun.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

she’s driven by power and profit.

stressed but well dressed.

act like you trust people but don’t.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art form of all.

people like her don’t write books ; she’s written about.

if you’re good at something never do it for free.

she’s a powerful girl.

be ambitious not thirsty.

her favourite position is ceo.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn something.

he doesn’t stop until he’s proud.

we all die ; his goal is to create something that never will.

intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.

find a way ; if there isn’t one make one.

the miscreant (7)

his life is flashing lights and nights in jail for petty theft.

dressed to kill.

she sins to forget she has a heart.

at what point does a man turn into a monster?

he’s the best at what he does and what he does isn’t pretty.

his fingers flash with jeweled rings when he waves them ; dealing drugs out of his pocket.

she’s a burden on society.

the paracosmist (21)

her imagination has made friends with the dark parts of her mind.

people hope to touch the sky ; i dream of kissing it.

i fear my imagination ; i’ve fallen so deeply in love with people and places i’ve only dreamt of.

things rarely happened the way he’d imagined them.

the real world is where the monsters are.

her mind stays up all night telling itself stories.

if only her life could resemble the movies.

go after dreams not people.

only her dreams will keep her from falling apart.

he’s always dreaming ; even when he’s awake.

he has an entire universe inside her mind.

she thinks she’s living in a fairytale ; it’s why she fears the world so much.

he creates entire romances in his dreams.

she fears her imagination for she’s fallen in love with places she’s never been and people she’s never met.

he’s in a world of his own.

why stop dreaming when you wake up?

the world needs fantasy not reality.

a thousand dreams within me softly burn.

life is hard but dreaming is not.

we lead strange lives ; chasing our dreams from place to place.

she tastes like fairytales ; she tastes like hope.

the paradox (17)

fire in her bones ; honey in her soul.

she’s sweet when she has to be & fierce when she needs to be.

i’m part heaven and equal parts hell.

she was the kind of girl who was a chaos of contradictions.

her heart has an argument with her head every time it beats.

we’re all cynics and romantics ; sometimes simultaneously.

she is madness ; she is hell and paradise.

she was truly a puzzle but god forgive anyone who mistook her for a game.

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.

he’s got both light and dark inside of him.

she tastes like nectar and salt.

we all have both light and dark inside of us.

he wears darkness and strength equally well.

the girl has always been half goddess half hell.

fire in his bones honey in his soul.

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

he feels everything so strongly or not at all.

the pastiche (20)

everything my mother prayed i wouldn’t be i became.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

the world demanded hate from her and so hate she gave.

how do i stay tender with this much blood in my mouth?

if only hell didn’t feel like home.

no one has apologised for all that i have lost.

do monsters make war or does war make monsters?

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

skin deep damage does not make you unlovable.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

don’t apologise for the way you chose to survive.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past.

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you.

my father looks at me and sees everything i used to be.

he used to be better.

she’s not entirely here ; half of her has disappeared.

we are good people and we’ve suffered enough.

i am sorry for who i had to become to survive.

he wants himself back but he doesn’t remember who that is.

who i was then and who i am now are vastly different.

the philophobe (16)

he told me he was afraid of commitment with thirteen tattoos on his body.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

he’s not afraid to love ; he’s afraid of not being loved back.

silly boy she laughed ; love is for fools.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

name the taste of your last heartbreak and spit it out.

do not fall in love.

i have love inside of me but i don’t know how to use it ; it scratches like barbs.

you were temptingly beautiful but stung when someone got close.

love scares her more than a gun.

she’s afraid of love so she doesn’t love anything.

loving was painfully awful and terrifying for her.

he craves attention but the mere thought of someone caring made his stomach turn.

she’s convinced that to love was to be torn apart.

she’s too busy being scared to realise she’s already in love.

his sin was falling in love and he’s learned his lesson.

the phoenix (20)

you can’t change the past but you can alter the future.

i survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.

you are not her anymore ; always running away from feelings.

you are not her anymore ; not that masked and layered princess.

you are not her anymore ; always presenting a different facade.

my first love was an insignificant boy when it should’ve been myself.

he flew darling. he may have fallen ; but first he dared to soar.

the way you brave your chest to the world is terribly brave.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

don’t apologise for the way you chose to survive.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past.

admire your reflection as you step out of the haze of what's gone.

do better and move on.

broken isn’t the same as unfixable.

someday the pain will be useful.

if the hurt comes so will happiness.

she forgave and became.

her best revenge was improving herself.

the sun will rise and he will try again.

you have suffered enough ; it’s time that you won.

the polymath / academic (17)

underestimate me so i can embarrass you.

the more he acquires the more certain he is that he knows nothing.

the possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery.

happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing i know.

i can’t live in blissful ignorance like others.

he’s interested in everything and in nothing else.

we are voyagers ; discoverers of the not known.

everything interests me but nothing holds me.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn something.

he doesn’t stop until he’s proud.

intelligence without ambition is a bird without wings.

keep growing and learning.

his mind is as big as the universe.

true intelligence operates quietly.

it’s only failure if you don’t learn anything.

remind yourself that it’s okay to not be perfect.

the pristine (15)

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; just have too much of a good heart.

her hands are soft and her eyes shine in the sun.

she laughs like she hasn’t a care in the world.

he’s got a heart so pure ; i bet he has flowers growing between his ribs.

she possess an innocence so destructive ; she puts angels to shame.

you’re soft like spring flowers and sunsets and white feathers inside your pillow.

she tastes like fairytales ; she tastes like hope.

to be soft is to be powerful.

he’s soft like spring flowers and sunsets.

his voice is honey.

you don’t have to be a child to be naive ; you just have to have too much of a good heart.

he looked like milk and honey would flow out of him.

be gentle with them ; they’re more delicate than they look.

you’re a glimpse of bliss ; a little taste of heaven.

they’re as pure as a river.

the prosperous (15)

we are beautiful and privileged.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; a thirst to be godly.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

he’s driven by power and profit.

her soul is pink and very expensive.

billionaire boys club.

you can never be overdressed or overeducated.

she wanted to be extraordinary.

she’s a trust fund baby.

people like me don’t write books ; we’re written about.

selfish people live longer.

money makes her romantic.

he’s spoiled and selfish.

the devil does indeed wear prada.

her aesthetic is money and fighting with people.

the reticent (16)

no one will ever be able to totally capture her ; she seemed so evanescent.

nothing haunts you like unexpressed feelings.

silence is not a song you should know all the words to.

your mouth can lie but your eyes can’t.

she kept her thoughts to herself.

her eyes said more than words can say.

the secrets inside her mind are like flowers in a garden at nighttime ; filling the darkness with perfume.

he’s met people who have never truly met him.

you don’t ask ; i don’t tell.

things she can’t say outloud.

he wants to write a novel about silence ; the things people don’t say.

if you don’t get it off your chest you’ll never be able to breathe.

i don’t think anyone will ever truly capture her ; she’s so evanescent.

secrets that i held in my heart are harder to hide than i thought.

he doesn’t care who sees him naked ; he cares who sees him cry.

she was like the moon ; part of her was always hidden away.

the reveller (10)

she sins to forget she has a heart.

you drink like you have something to forget.

he spends his nights drinking jack and smoking weed.

i’ve got whisky with white lies and smoke in my lungs.

you were wild once ; don’t let them tame you.

you drink a little too much and go home alone.

she doesn’t give a damn about her reputation.

good times ; bad friends.

he’d rather be getting high.

dance all night ; sleep all day.

the self destructive (15)

if they can’t find anything to destroy ; they destroy themselves.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

i destroyed myself so you couldn’t hurt me.

you play with fire because you want to be burned.

he has a habit of self destruction.

god save the romantics who wil destroy themselves for a better story.

my hands are full of ash because i burn everything i touch.

he plays with fire because he wants to be burnt.

you will learn why storms are named after people.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery.

nothing can destroy me like i can destroy myself.

you can’t scare a girl by screaming fire if she wants to be burned.

i desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

my hands are full of ash ; i burn down everything i touch.

the solicitous (12)

she’s drowning in an ocean of thoughts.

he’s tired ; he just wants the world to be quiet for a bit.

she was calm on the outside but thinking all the time.

the voice inside my head speaks louder than the one that comes out vocally.

he just wants to escape one thing ; his head at night.

her thoughts are haunting her.

too busy feeling feelings and overthinking it.

once he learnt to think he couldn’t stop.

i think i worry too much ; i need to take it easy.

maybe i think too much for my own good.

most of the stuff people worry about never happens.

he’s afraid of talking nonsense.

the sovereign (21)

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

you think i’m not a goddess? try me. touch me and you’ll burn.

i’m learning to sharpen my teeth and rule kingdoms.

oh royal princess ; i love the way you wear your crown.

be careful royal princess ; too much and you will drown.

she was afraid of being forgotten.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

look to your kingdoms ; i am coming for them all.

everyone saw a princess but inside she was on fire ; crashing and burning.

rule #1 never be #2.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

there’s only one queen of the underworld.

queens raise queens.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery.

who still believes in kings?

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

she wasn’t afraid of being left ; she was afraid of being forgotten.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

the traveler (15)

no one will ever be able to totally capture her ; she seemed so evanescent.

travel far enough that you meet yourself.

she loved the sea ; it made her feel small but free as well.

home doesn’t exist for girls like me.

we are voyagers ; discoverers of the not known.

she runs until the world is quiet and the smells are peaceful.

people like you are not meant to stand still.

remind yourself of how fast you’re able to run.

no matter where you run ; you always end up running into yourself.

she longed to go far into the fields and listen to the birds.

he’s flirting with life ; teasing each city with his presence before leaving them behind.

be inspired by beauty everywhere ; be a citizen of the world.

i love places that make you realise how tiny you are in the world.

he wants to see every kind of sunset.

be a traveler not a tourist.

the urbanite (10)

his motorcycle is the loudest noise in the city that never sleeps.

if you want to find love than you know where the city is.

she loved the loud cry of the city.

but first ; coffee.

everyone hurts themselves in the city ; then they pick themselves up to not get in anyone elses way.

living in new york city is like dating a comedian ; fun while it last but when it’s over man is it over.

she loves to make coffee for the city that loves to drink it.

he loves the empty streets and 5 am winds of the city.

brooklyn baby.

smells like cold coffee stress and aesthetic in here.

the utopian (5)

she thinks she’s living a fairytale ; that’s why she fears the world so much.

her idea of love was soft and gentle like a whisper of a touch.

he never learned how to love in small doses.

people wait a lifetime for true happiness.

he thinks fate is behind everything.

the vindictive (16)

i’ll swallow my blood before i swallow my pride.

you took a wonder boy and you threw him away to become a monster.

my heart currently resembles the ashes of my cigarettes.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she wanted a storm to match her rage.

she fought best when she was breaking.

no one has apologised for all that i have lost.

is it better to out monster the monster or to be quietly devoured?

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

to you everything tastes like blood.

you will learn why storms are named after people.

his chest caves in whenever he thinks about the past.

it’s so dark in the room you’ve chosen to store your regrets.

he tore the beauty from his face and called it terror.

there’s a hunger inside of me ; something vicious.

there is blood in everything you say.

the vixen (25)

there were girls who would tear you apart with their lips.

i’m part heaven and equal parts hell.

girls like her were born in a storm.

love her but leave her wild.

she sins to forget she has a heart.

she’s like a rose ; she’s beautiful and enchanting but her roots are full of wounds.

she wanted to be extraordinary ; to possess a savage glitter.

you’ll understand why storms are named after people.

she tasted like imported sophistication and domestic cigarettes.

she thinks manipulation is the greatest art of them all.

home doesn’t exist for girls like me.

like art she was beautiful but like art she was also complex.

people find her madness charming because she is so beautiful.

a pretty face doesn’t mean a pretty heart.

everything about her is captivating like the aftermath of a storm.

she looked at young men like she could smell their stupidity.

she was taught young to strike first and you’ll always be safe.

she was destruction given form and purpose.

she held an elegant savagery.

not everyone can swallow the parts of you that have sharp edges.

you’re more than the fires you’ve walked through and the storms you’ve caused.

the girl has always been half goddess, half hell.

she wears darkness as a queen wears her crown.

she was sweet like cherry wine ; what a lovely headache she left behind.

the sound of heels on pavement is the ultimate power trip.

#character tags #musings tags #aesthetic tags #character musings tags #rph #mi #ml

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