Snoop Dogg Blessed me with an artful 4/20.

This goth fucking hates you.

You know, when I see fictional characters who repress all their emotions, they're usually aloof and very blunt about keeping people at a distance, sometimes to an edgy degree—but what I don't see nearly enough are the emotionally repressed characters who are just…mellow.

Think about it. In real life, the person that's bottling up all their emotions is not the one that's brooding in the corner and snaps at you for trying to befriend them. More often than not, it's that friendly person in your circle who makes easy conversation with you, laughs with you, and listens and gives advice whenever you're upset. But you never see them upset, in fact they seem to have endless patience for you and everything around them—and so you call them their friend, you trust them. And only after months of telling them all your secrets do you realize…

…they've never actually told you anything about themselves.

my fav thing about having ocs is having a basic line of lore for them but as soon as someone asks me about them I completely bullshit everything I tell them. Yeah this wasn't true like 5 minutes ago but now it is

Coraline is a masterfully made film, an amazing piece of art that i would never ever ever show to a child oh my god are you kidding me

man I love this movie

She's cute but she bites you when she wants attention.

I made it

But I still don't know how to hold your hand without reading the ugliness of my own, But I can't contain my soul from enveloping yours !

Web weaving about holding hands an emotion

What kind of a question is that? A laugh rippled in his ribs, tore open his teeth, and escaped while he wasn't looking. He spared a cold, condescending glance towards Xander. "No, but I look good in a collar and leash." Kai dragged his body up, gaze intense as his eyes settled on Xander. An open smirk was splayed across his face, tilted and wobbling with the alcohol that soaked his stomach.

"Please. 's a stupid question anyway. Why don't you ask abo----ut…" His fingers tap-danced on the table like he's thinking, like he has to search for the words, like the topics don't bubble beneath the surface. He snorted- laughed again- it's mocking almost, the sound too sharp too loud too brittle. "Keerin and how that's all rotten. Or, I know- even better- why I'm a better frontman than you are."

His smile grew, still cracked and broken at the edges, still jeering and vicious. "Or you could play therapist and ask what's wrong with me- I know that's gotta be such a pressing question. You could even skip all that and kick me out. Save yourself the words, hm? I bet you can't wait to get rid of me."

Desperate and trembling were two words Xander would never associate with being in a fight. Hearing this, he's not altogether certain if Kai has ever been in a fight, or if he's only experienced being beaten. A fight was a conversation, and the message was his fist in his opponent's face. It conveyed what words couldn't. If anything, it was like music like that.

"That's--" What the fuck is he supposed to say to any of that? "fan-fucking-tastic, for you, I guess." He regretted arranging this. Where was Jeremy when you needed him? His brain stalled out, trying to think of something, literally anything, to change the subject to. "Random question, you got any--pets?"

Terrible. That's gotta be the worst anyone's ever done it. He doesn't even like animals.

Kai's breath clouds in the air between them and it's cold cold cold- he's burning up between their hands, a blazing inferno that won't stop eating itself up for fear of abandonment. Brown eyes search theirs.

He wants to believe them.

Iroksa is strong and steady and so, so, so cold and distant. It's not right-- they feel like death. It sits heavy in his stomach, sugary sweet between his teeth and oozing into his throat to stick and choke him with dread.

He needs to believe them.

He does. He has to.

Kai swallows. One hand finds theirs, heated skin smoking against their ice, and his head jerks, short and sharp and scared. "Okay," he whispers.

He doesn't.

Iroksa smiles, strong and steady as a glacier. "I promise. Our lives are intertwined, Kai." They squeeze his shoulders. "For as long as I draw breath, I shall be with you, in spirit if I am barred from any other way."

Their smile softens, and their hands slide down to Kai's arms. "You have given me great relief with your promise to visit. We will have to figure out the details before I go; it will give me something to look forward to."

They lean in, just a bit. Cold rolls off them in waves, and the light dims around their gentle smile. "It will be alright. We still have each other."

Just because I love you doesn’t mean I’ll let you win in Mario Kart. Fuck off

it's been one of those weeks pass the erotic cannibalism

love this piece by Javier Pérez titled ‘Carroña’. Ten stuffed crows carefully placed on a shattered red chandelier to look as if they were feasting on a dead animal. 

why is he like this!!!!

It's a glistening day, glittering and slick with sweat that freezes to the skin with every exhaled breath. The city labors under the beating heat as the sun claws its way down the city streets, asphalt bleeding beneath iron-hot knives that're only alleviated by icy winds grown in the guts of the city maze. It's almost perfect. Kai's fever hot, fingers twitching and dancing over strings that sing, that hum, that harmonize with his voice that bounces off the concrete walls. He's found a hole in the city skin; the courtyard is quiet and breathes softly. It echoes his lilting words, the wind curling and carrying the rhythm he makes up to the furthest reaches of the office building he's found himself next to. His heart is a drum. The beat rattles his bones, shakes down his fingers, shivers in his spine. He's sick with song- the only cure is to sing. He has to. Because he can feel the edge just under his feet, the drop that threatens to swallow him when his feet slip off the razor thin tightrope that he oh-so delicately walks today. What will happen if he stops? He doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to think about what he might do- who he might be- what will bubble up and out of him if he stops. The song will smother him first. It has to. How long has it been? His voice is starting to scratch and break- each fissure making him wince pushing him off balance until he's wobbling at the edge of the well with shattered sympathy for every jagged cut into the fragmented lyrics.