Crown your hatred
place it upon your head in a gesture so sweet it cripples any creature who dare not bend
bow, you are in the company of a QUEEN !
mcu + 616. independent. selective
#emmxfrxst /



               in the kingdom of youth where nobody goes home till the sun is up and the
               liquor has burned away another decade and a half from their lifespans, it’s 
               such a simple thing to lose oneself. the pharmaceutical industry has made it
               a commodity, but the teenagers of today? they’ve made it an art. drinks in
               glass tumblers and telltale smears of white beneath their noses; and for the  
               even more daring, pills on pink tongues and veins soaked in cocktails of
               amphetamines. and in the dead centre of the languid maelstrom and impulse,
               is tony stark. disillusioned heir; boy king; prince of playboys. lounged across
               the crimson velvet of a chaise lounge like there should be a crown tilted ever
               so carelessly above his head.

               it isn’t his bar but he owns every foot and square inch of the place even though
               he’ll ever see a trace of the profit. he trades in human capital, and everyone 
               who’s there is there because of him and they all know it. tonight though, the 
              only person he cares to grant his attention is two hours late. and he is not a 
              man who deals well with being stood up. perhaps given the girl in question, he  
              should’ve expected her arrival two hours late, hair white-gold and falling in a 
              curtain of pure light beneath the staccato bursts of colour from the dancefloor.
              he smiles for her anyway, because despite appearances to the contrary he is
              pleased to seeh er.

                                                    e m m a  frost.

                            her name is a silken invitation he drawls like this is a game. & it is.
                                   it always is with the white queen to his self-styled black king. 

                  ❝ what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this ? 

think it’s time we stop.
children, what’s that sound ?
everybody l o o k 
                                                           what’s going down !!!    

it all serves as a   commemoration   of days smoking;    eye met
with soulless youth lying on stained floors with not a   care;  skin
burning    inside   and   out;   withering   excellence    and   empty
syringes on the floor; she walks over them as if it’s a profession;
regal & exquisite; reminds her of hours  spent   in   foreign beds,
never    her   own,   hours   spent   screaming  in   ecstasy & pain
both;     they      can’t    resist    her   ,    no      one    can;    they can
call    her     back      into    their    lives;     or    she’ll    be     gone &
leave them empty down to the marrow; shaking out  the   pockets 
of their soul; she’s made herself, worked   out   each    flaw, each 
mistake ; filled the  holes with perfection   until nothing remained; 
she’s her own artist, her own    writer; she walked all the way; her
blonde    hair    immaculate  ;    a   burden  of  distinction crowned
upon                                               her                                             head;

she’s      late; quite, she might say so herself; but reputation
won’t lap   at    her     feet    by     coming    early; she    enters
the room the way she always does & she’s greeted the way
she     always    is,    too    ; ——— with    the   turning of heads;
the eyes running over what is hers; by  the flare of lights that
dance    along   ; by the    whisper    of the    free drinks she’ll
receive over the    course    of    the    next hour;    she curls a
finger    through       a lock    of platinum hair; leaves it to be &
continues her walk;       she    looks    like    art; like Aphrodite
personalized;    she’s    somethin’        else       today;       she
won’t    ever    admit    it –    but    a    good    hour    of  the two
she’s been late has been    spent    advancing    all she has;
for a moment she  foolishly imagines him to have left before
laughing    it    away;    her       smile    is       an     apple slice;

& there he is; a man matched for her, just as appealing
as   she     is;    they’re sin in the flesh; all seven written
into  their   dna; he’s a man meant to stand by her side,
shoulder     to        shoulder;    &    P E R F E C T;

she walks towards him with heels clacking; her white dress
hitching     up    her    thighs    &    hinting at what awaits; she
can feel his eyes on her; & she reaches him; opens her red
lips    to    release    speech;    &    she’s    better    than    any
dream                    he’ll                           ever                         have;

                                & she knows it.       

 looking for a drink. maybe some good company. 


:.                        like for a starter. 

someone come TALK to me i feel lonely 



              you’re accusing me of being sarcastic? 

                           there’s the quicksilver flicker of laughter curving mischief through his
                           otherwise imperceptible expression. she needn’t observe the micro-
                           scopic twitch of his lips when she can card through his thoughts like
                           silk; he likes to think, of course, that they know each other well enough
                           for her to afford him the respect not to.

                                            ❝ it’s a compliment. you’re still as beautiful as i remember. ❞

             ❝ would it be crass of me to say ‘ congratulations? ’ people like us,
                 we aren’t made that sort of thing. we’re better suited to hedonism
                 and frivolity. 

                           it would be a lie of him to pretend anything else. but beneath the tactless
                           condolences is the barest trace of sympathy. summers was a good man,
                           they were good together. but he, for one, isn’t mourning emma frost’s
                           newfound freedom. like she’d alluded to, old habits die hard.

                           and where has she heard that from? surely not the society pages that
                           spin such pretty lies. he may fight crime and save the world inside a 
                           metal suit but out of that, he’s still the beloved star of every tabloid’s
                           sin and scandal under the sun.

                                                                            ❝ well.              never too busy for you. 

██ ▓ └  ┐ ∎▀    

                           ❝ you certaily remember how to
                               make a girl feel special, tony. 

                                       ❝ &  no… it would not be crass of you. you are after
                                           all ;   CORRECT.  relationships just don’t suit us.

           ;; admittance of    the    fact   that   she   does  miss   scott will
              never   happen;    no     matter       how   much   truth may be
              ringed     into    her    thoughts;     coiled     over   &    over   in
              blessed     memories;    she     doesn’t    read   tony’s  mind
              anymore; doesn’t bother                    she’s been in his mind;
              phuket, paris, italy & many more;   she knows him & maybe
              he knows her to; but rarely she’ll give    him    the    courtesy
              of     not    peeking     in    for    spoilers    of       his    speech ;;  

                           ;; she gives him  the brightest smile she can muster; one
                              whispering of  memories & dinners; of blue bed sheets 
                              & table clothes; of   red   roses  in a glass of white wine;
                              he   has   been    the attention keeper of every   tabloid & 
                              gossip girl;  but      that’s    not    what    she’s aiming    to ;;

           ❝ & that is why i like you.
                                     so, when are you free, s t a r k ? 



               His attraction to human women runs
                         few and far between; one of the perks
                         of hitting puberty surrounded by pink-
                         skin (actual pink — not the fleshy—
                         whatever) and tentacles, he supposes.
                         But if more Terrans looked like this,
                         Peter’s pretty sure he might be willing
                         to make an exception.

                         He jabs his thumb over his shoulder,
                          gesturing vaguely in the area behind
                          him. ❝ — The door was unlocked.
                          Hope that’s cool.❞

██ ▓ └  ┐ ∎▀    

                 ;; shaw walked her out the doors  on  tuesdays; things she
                    counted as luck; small  pocketed   charms from the men
                    throwing money at her;   they’re    all   living under one
                    small roof in different rooms; some large   &   luxurious;  
                    dirty & disgusting; blood prints on   the walls   &   shoes
                    belonging to deceased lying on the floor, forgotten; it’s
                    been long since she’s gotten  to   meet a man who isn’t 
                    paying her to be here; it’s  quite   a   lovely   difference;
                    her  eyes   brighten;   that   perfect   smile, only slightly 
                    genuine,       on    the    curve    of    her   painted   lips  ;;

                                                              ❝ oh      no,     it’s     perfectly
                                                                 alright. please, have a seat. 

cease. so. i’m sure people are wondering where i’ve gone to, and if they’re not, this is just a little thing. my depressions getting bad, guys, & i’m just in a really bad situation here. my studies have become a mountain, i’m really in an awful place in my life, & this blog is starting to worry me. i can’t have my anxiety attacks on top of all this, & i’ve decided to go on a semi-hiatus. now, that does not mean no replies- i will do replies, i’m just going to do 2-3 in a day. it’s just frankly hard to deal with at home, and at college         & i don’t want to get antidepressants again, so i hope you all understand why i’m not going to be online as much.  i apologize once again & i love you all, & i just wan to get better & come back here full-time as soon as possible.



            ;; The mention of his old friend’s name silenced
            him for a moment before the corner of his mouth
            raised into a small smirk; noticeably forced. The
            memory of losing his only friend, someone whom
            he trusted and who trusted him; it was distressing.
            Though he tried his hardest to hide it. What’s done
            is done
. He gestured for others to come closer as
            he responded. ;;

                          ❝He’s Gone.
                                   Left a gap in my life if I’m
                                   to be honest. I was hoping
                                             you would fill it.
                                                ——So, will you?❞ 

██ ▓ └  ┐ ∎▀    

└ ; the blatant   cut   of   emotion  &    the   smile   that
     crowns   his    face   is quite visible; understandable,
     even;    she’d    seen    memories    buried      inside
     charles’    mind;    she’s   still   dolled up; something
     she      takes    pride    in    ——   after        all,    it’s
     something   to   claim    when    you’re   in   a    CIA
     facility; she wonders; it is quite a DECENT proposal
  ; ┐           

  ❛ ah.
Erik, I believe.  ❜ 



perplexity lurks, and students whisper, questioning why
the two were sat next to each other now. even donnie didn’t
know, or care for that matter. his ballpoint pen still painting
his page and ears accepting her words. 

                                                  ❝ and, what do you want a medal? ❞

fluent in sarcasm, and one hundred percent jerk.
at times though. the pale skinned, dark haired,
schizophrenic, teenage boy, was never the one to
be polite about things, particularly at school. nobody
respected him, why should he do the same?

                                                                                             k a r ma ;;

██ ▓ └  ┐ ∎▀    

└ ; She looks at him, amusement crawling up her leg  like satan’s snake;
      blonde hair ripples down her back curling defiantly;    tries  to take a
      try at being funny instead of insulting; you catch   more    flies with
      honey than vinegar               
 but she’s never been one  for sayings;
      &     it’s    uncharged;    unknown     territory    trying    to   be   nice ; ┐

                                            ❛well, a certificate would work too. ❜ 

└ ; the hearth is still  warm, embers of memories still glowing; 
     shreds of paper   &    regret strewn over the dirty floor; wall
     paper peeling like a   cheap ten-dollar-a-night motel; next 
     it’s   turning    into    beds   conjoined  into walls and cloth
     dolls       hanging      with      threads      on     their   neck ; 

                                             ❛ c’’re donnie right? i’m emma.❜ 

"From the day you walk away, I will not wait for you. I will count every star I can see. I will count every leaf, every flower, every single pair of shoes my neighbor owned. I will count every year of my life from the moment you leave and I will not stop until I cannot continue. I will count every being on this earth, the ones born years before me, and the ones to be born centuries after me. I will count every speck of dust my bones will make, and once I am done- only then will I wait for you."
'I can't dream', Fatima Shabbir (via terranoeus)
1 of 105