hatesdecaf-a

[hatesdecaf-a]

I am your monster and I will protect you.

[hatesdecaf-a]

please stop framing me for murder. just because i have killed 1,846 people doesnt mean i killed that specific one

[hatesdecaf-a]

Someone please kiss me softly and tell me I’m good enough.

[hatesdecaf-a]

[hatesdecaf-a]

Rage is addictive, you know. I guess it’s sorta like a drug. Anger and hatred get you high. They get you high, but like any addiction, they hollow you out and tear you down and eat you alive.

Marco, Book #10: The Android, pg. 45 (by K.A. Applegate)

[hatesdecaf-a]

I just saw a kid yell ‘fuck off’ at the top of his lungs and then his phone started ringing so he picked it up like 2 fucking milliseconds after it started ringing and said “hi mama” in the softest god damn voice I’ve ever heard

[hatesdecaf-a]

They call me coffee cuz I grind so fine

[hatesdecaf-a]

          ❛  LIKE I GIVE A FLYIN’ FUCK.  ❜    he stares up at her from where he’s seated on the floor, back propped up against the black comforter covering his bed ;  his shirt’s partially open, scarred and muscular skin on display between open folds of spotless fabric.  whiskey is heavy on his breath, curling out from between lips set in a lazy, albeit satisfied smirk that quickly gives way to his trademark scowl.  

         these self - indulgent sessions of his weren’t something he made privy to outside eyes, let alone those of his siblings ;  they were aware of his habits, yes, but after the last drunken rampage in which he’d taken to the streets, he’d preferred to coop himself up in the privacy and comfort of his own bedroom.  sitting alone, amidst the dark, contemporary furniture he’d chosen for himself, however, he found very little comfort at all.   

            ❛  the hell do you want, anyway?  ❜

       “you look like shit. have you been drinking again?” her question is hypocrisy at its finest, as if she didn’t have her own set of addictions he could complain about as well. Even so, a tinge of worry can be sensed in her tone, and as she leans against the doorframe that leads to Luigi’s room, she studies him from head to toe—right now, the tables have turned; she’s the sober one, and truth be told, such a thing feels foreign to her, “daddy’s gonna be mad at you. and i know you don’t want him to see you like this ” 

@hatesdecaf // liked

[hatesdecaf-a]

Violence is always lurking in sharp cheekbones and a handsome face.

thoughts #50 | r.m (via rmeisel)

[hatesdecaf-a]

[hatesdecaf-a]

@syntheticbodied

[hatesdecaf-a]

‘ i don’t… i don’t even remember how you look when you smile.  like, really smile. ‘   ‘ maybe i forgot how. ‘ 

@syntheticbodied‘s got me messed up 

[hatesdecaf-a]

yo @syntheticbodied i’m royally fucked up thinking about 13 - year - old luigi having to be the one to  ( reluctantly )  sing baby amber to sleep bc rotti sure as shit isn’t gonna do it 

[hatesdecaf-a]

' how quickly you forget how i made you smile. ' / hatesdecaf bc i live for pain

LANA DEL REY SENTENCES

        It iscommon for the Largo siblings to reproach each other of every little thing they’vedone wrong—when Rotti does it so often, it’s become a habit to them too, a copingmechanism, top put all the blame on the other in a vain attempt to pretend theyaren’t considered less than worthless. And she knows Luigi will never blamedaddy for his harsh words, because Luigi still cares, Luigi still aspires to besomething more. She doesn’t knowwhether that’s brave or delusional anymore.

         But hiswords right now differ from his usual outbursts—voice is softer, words almost tender, it seems, for a moment, thatnostalgia has caught up with him, that he’s recalling times when everything waseasier for them—they had to deal with daddy, yes, but at least they had eachother. Now? Now they can’t even stop fighting, and despite her attempts topretend not to care about anything anymore, Amber’s bitterness remains burieddeep. She doesn’t hate Luigi like she says to do, like everybody in the mediabelieves, and the saddest fucking thing is that a part of her wishes to know hedoesn’t hate her either.

          Carmine lipsare pressed together, arms folded over her chest and sculpted fingernails dig intoher forearms, almost without her realizing—he’s reproaching her of something yetagain, yet this time, she has no mocking retort, no insult. He’s reached past theanger, past their fights, and she remembers, oh, she remembers he made herlaugh. She remembers there was a time when they were actually siblings.

        “you stillmake me smile…just…not intentionally,”eyes are cast to the side, she can’t even yell at him, her voice isn’t as firmas she’d like it to be, “you’re the one who developed a perpetual stick up yourass—it’s your fault you’re not funnyanymore. I don’t…I don’t even remember how you look when you smile. Like, really smile.

             Don’t…youknow, don’t fucking pretend like I’mthe one who gave up on the three of us.”

[hatesdecaf-a]

Sit there in your ugly and revel in it. Be the ugliest thing in the room, so what. You are still in the room. Look, there you are. Filling all this empty space. Good for you,  thirsty little beast. Make everyone stare at this travesty of a body you endure. It’s the least they can do.

A Manifesto, Clementine von Radics (via clementinevonradics)

[hatesdecaf-a]

           GET  A  FUCKING  GRIP !   he’s shaking, muscles taut beneath heavily - scarred skin.  he casts but a brief glance at Mag as she approaches, embarrassment lighting his cheeks like wildfire ;  of all the people to witness his temporary lapse in control, why’d it have to be her?  lips are parted by a quick swipe of his tongue before teeth dig into his lower lip, gnawing, willing the pink flesh to break and spill forth a bit of blood to  even the score?  hopefully snap him back into reality.  

         she’s seen him at his worst, and less often  --  if it truly even exists  --  his best, for the past sixteen years.  violent outbursts weren’t uncommon for the eldest Largo, but so rarely do they shake him so thoroughly ;  strong fingers flinch and tremble as he snatches the shirt from her grasp, chest shuddering with ragged, uneven breaths.  

         ❛   s - stupid  fucker  couldn’t keep his  goddamn  hands  to his fuckin’  self  ----- ❜

       WHILE SHE HAD BECOME VERY ACCUSTOMED to seeing the eldest largo parade around sans shirt, it didn’t mean she was particularly pleased when he did so. normally it meant that he had recently harmed someone, or more accurately, murdered them in cold blood during one of his usual temper spats. mag remembers once a time where such actions would put someone of luigi’s mental state behind bars for good. but of course, rotti largo would never allow one of his own to be put in prison   ——   but not out of genuine care. the largo name carried a lot of reputation,   &   with that great weight, rotti was forced to protect his flesh   &   blood, lest he have his own name dragged in the mud along with them. the largo family may be rich in wealth, but they were poor in other ways.

       THE SOPRANO WOULD GLIDE ACROSS THE ROOM towards one of luigi’s many assistants   ;   poor thing shaking as he held a nice pristine shirt, obviously frightened of the man he worked for. gently, she would offer the frightened man a smile, taking the shirt   &   allowing him the chance to leave. no need for more blood to be split that day. “  what happened this time ?   “ exasperated tone queries, offering him the clean shirt with a shake of her hand   ;   as if begging him to cover up.

          (   @hatesdecaf   |   starter !   )