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Gold funerary wreath, oak leaves and acorns

Roman, 1st–2nd century

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angels angels aNGELS

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↪    REPLY:        ❤eve❤

                  > too bad!                    > they cant stay here                    > get them OUT                   > especially this one                   > img.png                   > he cant bring a cat this is a no pets building and i think it peed somewhere                    > i will dump you and kick you out                    > deal w this

↪    SMS TEXT   »   (   baby  ❤   )                  I would, but I ran out of places for them to sleep.                  Did you know, a single bed   &   a couch can only hold so many people?               🙎  🙎  🙎

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[ NEW MESSAGE ] to: ♥eve♥ @bitchsnake

     > stop bringing weird homeless people to my place      > run a cult out of YOUR OWN apartment  😠 😠 😠 😠 😠

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@bitchsnake. continued from here.

        “different how?” is she another one like him, or is he being crazy? the parts that stick out of his hoodie -- her face, her hands, the bit of skin between her pants and her shoes -- all seem to glow, but that could be a trick of the light. sure. how much longer are you going to use that excuse? 

 ( the last time, he’d gone after someone that made the visions fade and the voices go silent. he’d ended up almost getting sacrificed. oh, well. giving the opposite a try couldn’t hurt. )

    “sure,” he said, even though he’d meant to say something more like there is no way i’m going back to your place, it’s one in the morning, you creep!! whatever. it was cold. he exhales, and the fog twists and roils in a way wholly unnatural. he looks away before it can resolve itself into more creepy prophetic bullshit. “mine is probably closer.”

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AESTHETIC MEME. anyone can do this. list your muse’s personal preferences regarding each of the following things. add as many subjects as you’d like; it can help people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things for your muse!

tagged by: @lizardbraiin​ tagging: @bitchsnake​, @broadcastiing​, anyone else who wants to do it tbh.

REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

TASTES. that pill-bitter dry-swallow. mint gum over vomit. bitten-down nails. 

SMELLS. purell. smoke -- not from cigarettes, but from candles, paper, incense, everything else. cold day-old takeout. 

SIGHTS. worn over-ear headphones. the inside of the toilet bowl. folders and cabinets and notebooks full of writing no one can ever see. the thousand-yard stare of someone who knows just how to ignore everything he doesn’t want to see. light and heat and teeth.

SOUNDS. whispers. shouts. loud music, drowning it out. “don’t you know you’re meant for more than this?” “i don’t care.”

BODY.  smiling eyes. bird bones. barely shaking fingers, with bits of gore under the nails. where did that come from? someone didn’t believe. 

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      out.    screams gently i’m here.

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out.     you know what it is! second semester is picking up, give me a couple weeks and i’ll be back here. 

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BARELLI, Agostino (1627-1687) et alii (architecture)

interior of the Theatine Church 17th century Theatine Church, Munich Ed. (Orig. by Schlaier) Lic. Ed.

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slydigged:

*gets down on one knee* will u…stop talking

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     “Of course you’re a pansy. Have you seen yourself? You’re, like, the Neil Patrick Harris of pansies, that hosts all the pansy awards shows, and acts super way-totally extra gay so all the other pansies feel better about themselves.” Kevin raises an eyebrow as the ember at the end of Silas’s cigarette turns and turns and disappears, an unspoken, disapproving burn this place down and it’s on your head passing between them. 

   Kevin takes care of himself first, popping a pill with a grin just big enough that the little yellow smiley-face pill is visible sitting on his tongue before he drops one in the palm of Silas’s hand. “It’s still kinda funny that I had to be the one to hook you up. I mean, look at you. Look!! And look at me. I go to church on Sundays! And here I am, buying you molly. I’m such a good friend.” 

    “Besides, if anyone was gonna beat me up, I’d want it to be you,” he offers, by way of consolation. And then, once the pill is on Silas’s tongue, “At least I’d know I wasn’t gonna get hurt.”

                              his name comes from a saint but he dwells only in sin; in the wrath and lust that courses deadly through his veins and twists his smirk wicked, wicked, bad.   ❛ —- you think i’m a fucking pansy, huh? ❜ he shoots back, shoving kevin ( A LITTLE HARDER ) even as he grins with a cigarette pinched between his teeth. he’s not pissed off — doesn’t really  care about the other’s insult. not now. not yet. 

❛ and will you fucking chill? ❜ he adds, smoke curling from his lips as he flicks the stub over the ledge and to the church below. he did two tabs of acid about a month ago. he’s done coke.  MULTIPLE TIMES.  he knows it’s a different experience entirely —- knows he won’t go out of his fucking mind  like he did tripping on acid and probably won’t throw a chair through a glass door and punch his fist through someone’s bedroom door —-  but he doesn’t like kevin’s tone. still holds his hand out expectantly, eyebrows raised. ❛ we’re doing it now. and it better blow my fucking mind, dude. ❜

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   “People are made of meat, aren’t they?” He is so going to hell for this, if not somewhere worse, but he needs to make sure. It’s not every day that monsters turn up digging in his yard, and any further, and ---- well. ( He’ll be headed a whole host of other places on his way to hell, and that’s that. ) “Across the street. The big brownstone. But quietly. Everyone’s asleep.” 

It’s not like there’s a homeless problem, and the streets aren’t exactly crawling with wildlife. Besides, that old bitch tried to have him committed for ‘ speaking in tongues ’ and ‘ acting strange, ’ as if there’s some sort of alternative for someone in his position. He supposes it had to come to this eventually.

no, not a DOG— well, close, but still a PERSON ! color the ghoul confused; brows furrow, he still keeps himself low, like an animal. doesn’t want to be hurt. tired of it. doesn’t want to be KICKED IN THE FACE or bitten or beaten. just wants food— that’s why he shows he’s so willing to submit knowing the other could possibly HARM HIM GREATLY. filthy toes curl, crusty mud falling. poor baby. called him baby. IF HE’D BEEN BETTER, he may have scoffed ( while loving it all the same ) at that, even spit. but right now it sounds nice. false care. pet names. MUST BE NICE, right ? crawls forward, just a little, stopping to maintain a safe distance. “ …..not a doggy, “ he huffs. “ i’m— hungry. NEED FOOD. meat ? “

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   Her voice gives him goosebumps. Not in a this-is-fated way or a this-is-creepy way, which is small comfort. Still, he has to question what stupid good-Samaritan urge had him give his hoodie up in freezing weather, to a complete stranger. A complete stranger, he notes, talking to him like she knows him. It’s no less creepy, even with the sight. 

    “Don’t ------ ” Yikes!! This, he thinks, is how people get murdered. This is a murder situation he’s dealing with now. Better to cut his losses and buy a new sweater than hang around and wait to see if she’s harmless. “I should go, huh?” 

     OH,   HOW SWEET!   he’s offering her his jacket in the frigid tinge of winter,   the wind’s bite licking her limbs as she reaches out for it,   crisp smile pressed against the   hallowed surface of her cheeks,   ruddied   &.   stained pink from the cold.   there’s something   honeyed about him,   something that gets the bitchsnake riled up,   scraping against her tailbone,   licking at the base of her skull.

     ❛   of course,   ❜   she murmurs,   faltering only to get the hoodie up   &.   over her head,   flaxen tresses scathed over her shoulders   &.   down her spine.   ❛   i’m here,   now,   with you,   aren’t i?   ❜   

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out.     i’m still out of the country but i guess lms and i’ll work on something when i get back??? ehhh. 

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