pathsfoundworldsbroken

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I wish i could be normal about affection but my love language is merging souls

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*trying to solve a friend's problem* hmmm. well you could use me as a blade, perhaps? and slay your enemies? just a thought

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Till death do us part? Yea no you’re not getting out of this that easily

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girls love developing debilitating crushes on their friends. it’s one of girls’ favourite pastimes even

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“Fighting that leads to sex” this “fighting then making out” that

Fighting that leads nowhere. Fighting fully clothed, then dragging our tired asses out for a strong drink and some trash diner food. Not talking much. Maybe one of us breaks the silence and says ‘man, I kinda liked that’, and then the other says ‘shut up, jackass’

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Re-release: [-The Dark Guardian-] Gothic Lolita Ouji Lolita OP Dress and Jacket

◆ Shopping Link >>> https://lolitawardrobe.com/the-dark-guardian-gothic-lolita-ouji-lolita-op-dress-and-jacket_p8436.html

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force de-dollification is that anything

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99% OF MOURNERS QUIT BEFORE THEY ACHIEVE TRUE ETERNITY!!! JUST KEEP ENDLESSLY RECREATING THAT WHICH IS DEAD AND GONE!!! 💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪💪

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Gloves, Méret Oppenheim, 1985

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The Last Beat Of My Heart (1988) | Siouxsie And The Banshees

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I need people to understand that sometimes autism is just this

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With a grunt of effort, Fang pulls forth a bucket of water from the well. She said she was going to do a round of the house, to make sure the time Lance spent away hadn't left any obvious breaches. But what she needed was to be alone for this.

With some of the cloth she found, she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs. Golden tears drop down her face as she frantically tries to get every speck of Lance and Ruaria and Lupellan's blood out of her fur. Again. Twice in as many days, she didn't protect them. What good is all this power boiling inside her if it can't stop them from being hurt. Her fist slams down on the well and the earth shudders around her, a pillar of stone rising up as it obeys an unspoken wish.

Stronger. Boom. Faster. Boom. Tougher. Boom. BETTER. BOOM. Her apotheosis denies her even the twisted masochistic satisfaction of bloodying her knuckles as she beats the stone before her, of feeling the sting of cool air on split skin. If she brushes away that golden ichor, she knows there will be not a single mark on her. This prophecy, this destiny, has taken even true pain from her. With a snarl, she washes her hands in the bucket and tosses the newly holy water out on the grass. Ignoring as she walks inside the blood red flowers which bloom from it.

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ALT

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the five homoerotic love languages:

- intimate stabbing

- outright obsession

- confused pining

- "no one knows me like you do"

- lifelong promises that always sound suspiciously like wedding vows

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women keep coming up to me giggling and blushing and running their finger along the edge of my mighty greatsword like STOP theres literally evil afoot

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to bite. Fondly.