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Mike Driver
DEAR READER
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@katastropa
ใ โ ๏ธ ACTIVE INGREDIENT: SODIUM HYPOCHLORITE 5% ใ
READ LABEL FOR WARNINGS AND INSTRUCTIONS.
INQUIRY: For any and all questions, consult the ใBlack Boxใ as soon as possible. (ASKS ARE ENCOURAGED; STICK YOUR FINGERS IN MY CAGE!)
my beautiful daughter daisy in clothes belonging to my culture :] (balkan) i was advised at all times by a congress of elderly balkan women (my grandma and her sisters) while drawing
โwhat kind of doctor was maia?โ
a white coat, goggles, and latex gloves were all that separated her from whatever blood vessels she may have had
and yet, i am loved
[Blood.
Blood. He is familiar with it. He has tough skin. The Lord once muttered "damn your hide, you take some time to bleed, huh?" while mindlessly drawing lines with his hunting knife across the boy's back. Yes, it wasn't that common for him to bleed. It took the bite of the Lord's hunting hounds, the harshness of the horse whip, it took effort to make him bleed. When he was younger, he didn't really find an explanation for why he began imitating his master and drew lines across himself with his own dagger.
At some point, he realized, it was because it felt good.
He didn't want to sully himself, he didn't want to sin by indulging the curious warmth below his navel. He didn't deserve it if the Lord said he didn't need it. He had to pray instead, because to indulge in sin is dirty. But once the feeling became too much, like a flood of warm blood inside of him, too much of a choleric humor, he had to let it out. With medical curiosity and divine instruction, he discovered only the sight of his own blood calmed him down.
Eventually the beatings felt good. Eventually the whip felt good. Eventually he began to misbehave to feel it. Eventually he started picking up fights in the guild. In the taverns. Breaking another boy's nose felt amazing. Watching the poor whelp cry as Vicenzo watched with a pleased smile was completely fever-inducing. Vicenzo quite enjoyed it when his squire started becoming possessive and angrier, dueling anyone he pointed at. An attack dog. Angry and foaming at the mouth and ready to kill. The little runt found out he liked to hurt others. The runt found out he wanted to be hurt. The marks of teeth over his tongue from a punch across his face, the bruises in his stomach, the raw knuckles. A savage. He stopped looking into mirrors. He began to collect scars like prayers and medals across his body.
Blood. The taste of blood. That hateful taste. That sweet taste. The metallic scent both of the armor, the weapons, the blood. Red swirls over a bowl of water meant to purify him.
Blood. The blood seeps through wounds. His master's hand, red and slick with it and with his own drool, providing the relief only he knew how to give him. Blood. His own hands covered in another man's remains. Blood. Over his boots, on the ground. Running down his nose. The fragments of a man's skull. Stabbing someone until he grew tired. Blood. The color of battlefield. Blood. The color of chivalry. Such a heroic color. Blood. His own or anyone else's.
Blood is the color of his purpose in life.
Blood is the color of life.
He shall not sin. He shall not weep. He shall not be afraid. Not even rage is... proper. Blood.
Blood.
Blood.
The only thing he was born for was to spill blood.
Like a pit hound. A soldier is decorated in blood. Blood, coloring the banners of noble houses. The color of bravery. Of life. Of life. Of prowess. Of joy. Blood. Yes, he knows it well. It is the shape of a sword and it is warm like another body. Yes.
Blood.]
happy last day of pride to the gay snails who hug and kiss for hours without mating
stuff (was thinking abt kairi sane + beverly katz when i wrote this)
Exactly a week later another one fell during a heavy rainstorm
Sorry I got heart pupils after watching you trip and scrape your knee in public and then you didn't feel comfortable with me putting the bandaid on you nor did you trust the bandaids I provided. That response did in fact make it worse, yeah.
not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing: locked in eternal psychological warfare
false goddess - watercolor and ink pen
can love interests in fiction and ppl trying to flirt w you irl stop fucking touching your damn hair. i didnt spend an hour doing my damn hair for you to press it back and put it behind my hair. you ruined my fucking bangs. do you know how hard that was to brush and you flattened it all. you are dirt beneath my shoe
terrible comic day terrible comic
saw a blonde lil fly ??? why tf are you blonde
