Hi, I'm Shannon! 17/california/INFP
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Casual outfit today, w/ blue eye stuff : ]

"Turning off the music, I heard something so obscene and intrusive
A thundering drone that had no rhythm, no end, oh it was everywhere
I felt as though walking in the early dawn light would kill me
But I ached for it, as though immersion in the silence would fulfill me" - Wardeofthewind (via wardeofthewind)

And SIKE I never fell asleep!
Jokes on me, really.


Marta Lipinski is a very talented tattooer based in Leipzig, Germany. She works at Dead Romanoff Tattoos.

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Whelp it is morning! goodnight!

Moving day.


There is something that guards the cramped, suffocating apartments behind the city’s bar. Sometimes you can see it, it’s writhing shadowy mass wrapped around it’s being like an old cloak, and it’s thick maggot-pale multi-trunked head,observing the casual jollity below, in the shadows of the rooftop level fire escape in secret. It’s small beady eyes glinting from either side of its head. No seeable mouth, though just the impression that it is not happy, and wants you to turn around and go home. Forget about it. To leave it in that place and time only. Once you step past the threshold of the hallway from the street, you can feel its eyes on you. Gauging. Judging and loathing. It’s so much darker in there. You see it, you sense it. It’s harder to breathe, the air sticks to the inside of your throat. Walk away from this building, DO NOT go any further, leave, please! Every fiber of you being tells you, demands that you leave at once. Turn the corner. This hallway is long. Everything, the doorways, the walls, the utility closets. They are old, much older then this town. The jaundiced lights sputter and retaliate. They die. One. By one. In perfect formation, like synchronized swimmers diving into place, they all dim into non existence. Oh, it is so dark. The temperature rises, climbs into triple digits in record speeds. You can’t see anymore. Only feel. The heat, your feet on the floor, the slight breath on you neck. You can only smell, the dust, your sweat, and the odd combination of rotting peaches and sulfur. You can only hear, the clicks of the utility closet, the distant, muffled laughter of people who know better then you to walk into a building with such a resident. A door from the ground floor slams. It shakes the floor, and everything becomes silent. You wait, counting in seconds and held breath that a pawn will make a move rather than the queen descend. One. Two. Three. You reach forty, and take a breath. The smell of peaches and sulfur has vanished, and has it gotten cooler in here? You exhale a stale breath of air, and turn to leave-
And run smack into a figure, draped with loose cloth, it seems. The entire hallways smells sickly of decay now, and the heat rises once more, in this tomb of a building. A clammy tendril, slimy and putrid caresses you face and pulls you closer, and you gasp to scream, yet you receive a mouthful of more tendrils and a low croaking sound in your ears. The last thing you see is the pasty, squid like face of hell as it curls into your organs, and nests inside your shell. Welcome home.

I accidentally wrote a short scary story, cause I was trying to sleep and had this image in my head. So, I’m gonna reblog it from my writing blog and then try to sleep, haha


fun fact: if you say ‘bucky barnes is a villain’ three times into a mirror then steve rogers will appear and punch you in the face


i can’t wait until october when there’s no sun outside and everything is cute colors and it’s cold and there are terrible horror movies on tv, my power is at its peak then

vivaldi’s “Autumn” sounds so cute on the first half

I never thought I’d describe a classical string piece as cute, but awwww!


Can’t stop thinking about PacRim roller derby AU…

GOOD > : D



I know I’m not the only one who does this but you know when you have this like boundary around you when you’re sitting at a table or a desk that only you are allowed to be in 


And then someone or something that isn’t yours


gets in that space


and you just







Holy fuck finally someone who understands

There was this kid in my math class who sat in front of me and would always stretch and lean all over my desk, like his head would be smack in the middle of it. He kept almost knocking over my coffee with his frickin head so one day when he started warming up his stretch, I started fake-coughing and sneezing so violently for like a minute straight. He got the hint, just turned around and gave me this look like ew, but like fuck you kid, you stretch on my desk and almost spill my coffee. This aint a yoga mat? I am attempting math here?? smh