Idk why I bought these LastCraft and WizardOfBarge pins but now I need to figure out how to incorporate enamel pins into my wardrobe.
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Peter Solarz

pixel skylines
todays bird
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almost home

Discoholic šŖ©

Kaledo Art

Origami Around
d e v o n
art blog(derogatory)
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć

romaā

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Today's Document

shark vs the universe
dirt enthusiast
styofa doing anything
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola

seen from United States
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seen from United States

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seen from Canada
seen from Chile

seen from Singapore

seen from Saudi Arabia
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@werebattherebat
Idk why I bought these LastCraft and WizardOfBarge pins but now I need to figure out how to incorporate enamel pins into my wardrobe.
Anniversary card for my boyfriend. Two in one week!
An Undead Set of Four Zombie Christmas Ornaments
A compilation of cute, transparent halloween pixels in spirit of our favorite holiday.Ā
Here are some other halloween compilations on our blog that you may enjoy:
Sixpenceee Halloween Masterpost
Compilation of Short Creepy Stories
Creepy Lost Episodes Compilation
Compilation of Horror Pranks
Everything on Astral Projection
Everything on Terrifying Dolls
By Bob Vitale As funny as it sounds ā do their sheets have higher thread counts? ā the idea of gay ghosts isnāt too far-fetched if you believe in ghosts in the first place. We were dispā¦
WHOOPS
Guess Iām on hiatus for a bit.
When will I bring you ghost sex next in PolterGAYst?!?
When will I talk of insect sex next in Werebat?!?
When will I learn what Iām doing with these projects?
I started taking an old project more seriously and hired an editor for it but Iāll be back someday. Would love to dive back into these.
New PolterGAYst next time.
The author might feel like garbage post weekend-long festivities and might be ghosting. Text in vain. Text. In. Vain.
The Werebat Chronicle: Part 4
WEREBAT focuses on a gay guy who discovers that heās a werebat, and follows his experiences from there.
THE COLONIES, PART 1
ZĆ© woke slumped over the console between the front car seats, his elbow in a cup holder, his head in the passenger seat. As he curved up, a breeze winding through the open windows caressed him. A monarch butterfly fluttered over the dashboard. He remembered driving through downtown and over a main highway into a part of the city he wasnāt familiar with. He remembered graffitied warehouses next to gentrification, and a tall wooden driveway gate sliding open, and the woman whispering āStay.ā Heād leaned into his driverās door then, so sleepy.
How long had he stayed, sleeping? He stretched. The butterfly pumped its wings on the steering wheel. He admired it for a few moments, then gazed over it and through the front windshield. Dozens of monarch butterflies covered the space in front of him, blinking. Within the myriad slivers of black and burnt orange, he saw green vines and patches of a tall stone wall above him.
Where was he? Where was she?
Iām nerding out on this novel. I think I like the novel itself but Iāll admit that Iām so turned on by hypertext concept/execution that I might not be able to notice right now. Maybe the bats turn me on as well?
Excited to see the author, Zachary Thomas Dodson, speak/present at Wild Detectives Coffee Shop in the Bishop Arts District of Dallas tonight.
Boring at work. Useless shi Ā® t #drawing #art #graphic #illustration #shirt #thunder #magic #blackcloud #cloud #bones
PolterGAYst, Or a Cautionary Paranormal Romance: Part 3
POLTERGAYST focuses on a gay guy who meets a ghost gay guy via a Ouija board; their friends; and the sex and puns and sorta scary things that ensue. If it was a movie, it would probably be R-rated for the sex (and the little domestic abuse scene between exes in this chapter *trigger-warning*)
TWO TRUTHS AND A BOMER
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKOCKOCKOCKOCKOCKOCKOCKOCKā¦
Maybe itās been a trick all along. Maybe Jake - possibly with the help of Ouija-gifting Catch - controlled the planchette and the sock this entire time, pranking Bomer from some hiding place. Now that the funās started and Bomerās given in to the prank, Jakeās put down the controls and hopes toāwhat could he hope for?
But the sock! Itās swollen more since Bomer grabbed it, and it throbs within his grip now and seems to radiate heat. How does someone control that? How can anyone not present inside his locked apartment create this effect?
He steps around the table, sock still in hand. He listens. Of course, he wouldnāt hear the pulse or the breathing of an invisible man standing there. Of course, he wouldnāt feel that manās body heat. Or would he? Another flick of lightning brightens what seems to be emptiness in front of him; another series of poundings from Jake melds with the low rumble of thunder and Bomerās own heart rate.
Then a moment of quiet.
Then the sound of something crisp breaks. Lightning strikes. On the floor, Bomer sees a chip shattered. Some of the pieces slide backward, then lift up, then rain onto the floor. The chair closest to the strewn chips scoots backwards by itself, teeters.
I could see the streaming bats in the sky again. Tumbling toward a certain death, panicked. As was I. I watched my life's work, all the species I had discovered, escape over my head. The sharp clap of musket fire, though I could not see its source. Slow and beautiful, the bats fell from the sky. The burnt husks of extinguished stars.
from the prologue of Bats of the Republic by Zachary Thomas
The Werebat Chronicles: Part 3
WEREBAT focuses on a gay guy who discovers that heās a werebat, and follows his experiences from there.
THE MORNING AFTER
Jayden woke, warm and snug, surrounded in neon pink light and a soft crackling sound. His earlobes throbbed. In a mirror above, he saw himself on top of a glossy, black blob bound up to his neck in Mylar.
Iām a shiny mummy.
He tugged his arms as he saw them crossed over his stomach as if he were in a straight jacket. They felt glued to him. One leg crossed over the other, unwilling to uncross, and he assumed his feet were also bound, maybe just from the tight wrapping, maybe from whatever held his wrists taut. The black blob sunk and shifted like a bean bag chair as he twisted and crackled, and the top of it was segmented in triangles of black leather, the angles matching both the pattern of little folds in the shiny fabric that bound him and the neon pink rods installed at diagonals along the walls. In the mirror and in his peripheral vision, the room looked otherwise empty, the neon the only source of light.
What had that Freak Show Guy done to him?