If I start my sentence with “Girl” I mean it in a gay way like I’m about to bitch to you about my coworkers who I hate and who I am nothing but nice to. If I start my sentence with “Maaan” I mean it in a tired teen boy way. Like Shaggy learning that he’s eaten the last of his vile sandwiches
when he’s around all you do is tremble. when he’s around you want to get on your knees. look how much power he has over you. it’s dangerous.
he’s too good at forgiving and you’re too good at violence.
you know what they say about monsters. you know what happens to the boys who love them. are you going to do that to him?
your hands don’t know how to be gentle. think about the last beautiful thing that shattered in your palms. the fresh rosebuds crumbling between your fingers like a bruise. you wolf-boy, you war machine. you wouldn’t know how to hold something magic and not destroy it.
if you hurt him it might kill you
if you hurt him you might kill yourself.
you are very bad at rehabilitation. this is one addiction you’d fail to give up. he’s going to ruin you for all other kisses and all other boys and you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to forget his name.
you still aren’t sure he isn’t a dream.
if you kiss him, you might wake up.
reasons to kiss him:
because he’s beautiful.
because he asked.
because he preceded please with, i’m not afraid of you.
Our local newspaper ran a story about the legendary graffiti artist who recently passed away and. Literally everything about it is fucking insane. I’m insane about it.
So this guy has been extremely active for around fifteen years, during which he spread these beautiful, high quality pieces all over the country, way over a thousand of his standard signature, and probably thousands more. He did completely batshit stuff like literally spray painting an entire train from top to bottom or leaving his signature at the top of a 600ft tall overpass and this whole time, only five people from his crew know who he really is. To everyone else it’s a complete mystery.
And then he dies at the age of 35. A few weeks after his death, his crew shows up at his completely unassuming parents’ doorstep, reveals who they are and asks if they can host a memorial exhibition of his art.
Turns out, this dude has been leading an insane double life. In the daytime he was a meek little office worker with a partially paralyzed arm and no social life to speak of. In the nighttime he was a fucking legend. Not only did he climb that fucking 600ft overpass, he did it WITH A PHYSICAL DISABILITY. THE MADLAD. And throughout the entire time, fifteen years, he got caught once. ONCE. HE DID ALL THAT UNNOTICED. THAT’S INSANE.
“i want a dislike button on ao3” so you want less fanfic. even if you don’t think you want less fanfic you want less fanfic. because when people start getting dislikes on their fanfic they will want to write less fanfic. hope this helps <3
now say it with me: authors/artists dont owe you moral purity. an author/artist job is not to hold you by the hand & tell you exactly what is Good™ & what is Bad™. you should be able to think for yourself
“yes but depictions of (morally questionable thing) are only okay if its punished in the story” thats the hays code. you just reinvented the hays code
The reason why God was so involved in human affairs a long time ago but then noped out after Jesus is because God is going through the same motions for every animal species: making a covenant, giving commandments, and sending down his own child to die in the form of that species. I know this because I felt an odd urge to swallow a mouse yesterday and, when I questioned it, I received a vision from God saying that He was on mice right now, and the mouse I was about to swallow was the mouse-equivalent of Jonah. Tomorrow I’m supposed to spit him out in a den of sinful mice so that he can squeak to word of God at them. I wish that little guy the best.
