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does the pain ever end

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come on and slam and welcome to japan

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tubular 

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stinky.

arent you the one they call an unwashed hobo?

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hello mr rat

*picks you up and hides you inside my pocket like a kangaroo mama* 

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I LOVE: 1. YOU

HONEY... I LOVE U SO MUCH

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RUINERS   :   COLLAPSED ANIMAL CRAWLING .

HERE   LIES   THE   ABYSS ,   OUR   DECEITFUL   BODIES   BARED   ONLY   IN   DARKNESS :   ❛   — inquisitor,   ❜   solas begins, the title spoken in a language of sacrilege,   ❛   how comforting it must be   *   to think that your own deceitfulness is not unmatched.   ❜    the liar’s voice, slick with violence, blooms in the frigid, tense air between them. he thinks, for a moment, that perhaps, he should be afraid. does fyodor see past his mortality? his soft-spoken lies, veiled over by dreams of the fade? but fear pierces him not. godhood cannot be feigned — it cannot be mimicked by desperate men, but a desperate god can make himself a man. 

the wolf whispers to the vile deceiver, you are sick with the odor of god. ( pray tell, what maker made you? ) admit to me your sin, your closest divine thing.   ❛   but — i welcome your confession. what lies do you tell? what treacheries do you hide?  ❜   let them be made known here, in this godless or god-filled room.

❛   lies ... no. half-truths, rather. words well-nigh meaningless, often depthless, chiseled by the masses into a false reflection of some altruistic god.    ❜    an unclean throat, a sinner’s mouth --- adorned with an avid thoughtfulness, almost as if only to masquerade the rough-hewn rancor of a wannabe god uncovered, its chrysanthemum petals plucked. some great, unspeakable evil shrouded underneath a counterfeit solicitude of his eyes for months passed and those to come unravels, crawls out a perjurer’s den   :   not fragiled, not in the least, perhaps even ... stronger in its resolve. destruction is what it seeks, a glorious unmaking. a cataclysm reaching deep as the roots of an ancient tree, reaching its arms throughout the rot-sprawled grounds . . . destruction, yes, destruction of the impure is what it desires. a repulsive lust. gut-splitting.     ❛  indeed, as you may know, it is far form laborous to delude the desperate. they���re all weak creatures. decrepit. in their snarling hunger they flock to whatever takes up the shape of a savior, however malicious their intentions.   ❜

with the absent clicking of a heel, he draws near, otherwise for the moment bathing in silence. his thoughts quarrel. between demands for physical departure and an escape through words alone stands he, now inches away from his audience, violet gaze staring point-blank into greyish purple. similar, sorrowfully homely.   (  vhenan, was it? there are rats chewing away at that word, now.  )   ❛   let’s speak, then, solas. sincerity for sincerity   ---   deceit for deceit.   ❜   

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smelly

yea

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tagged by:   @unoxidize thanks stinky tagging:   no idc

DEFENSIVENESS:

arms crossed over chest   /   crossing legs   /   fist-like gestures   /   pointing index finger   /   karate chops   /   stiffening of shoulders   /   tense posture   /   curling of lip   /   baring of teeth

REFLECTION:

hand-to-face gestures   /   head tilted   /   stroking chin   /   peering over glasses   /   taking glasses off   —   cleaning   /   putting earpiece of glasses in mouth   /   pipe smoker gestures   /   putting hand to the bridge of the nose   /   pursed lips   /   knitted brows

SUSPICION:

arms crossed over chest   /   sideways glance   /   touching or rubbing nose   /   rubbing eyes   /   hands resting on weapon   (   if carrying   )   /   brows raising   /   lips pressing into a thin line   /   strict, unwavering eye contact   /   wrinkling of nose

OPENNESS & COOPERATION:

open hands   /   upper body in sprinter’s position   /   sitting on the edge of a chair   /   hand-to-face gestures   /   unbuttoned coat   /   tilted head   /   slacked shoulders   /   loose posture   /   feet pointed outward   /   palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE:

hands behind back   /   hands on lapels of coat   /   steepled hands   /   baring teeth in a grin   /   rolling shoulders   /   tipping head back but maintaining eye contact   /   chest puffed up   —   shoulders back   /   arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY:

chewing pen or pencil (do fingers count lol)  /   rubbing thumb over opposite thumb   /   biting fingernails   /   hands in pockets   /   elbow bent   /   closed gestures   /   clearing throat   /   picking or pinching flesh   /   fidgeting in chair   /   hand covering mouth whilst speaking   /   poor eye contact   /   tugging at pants whilst seated   /   jingling money in pockets   /   tugging at ear   /   perspiring hands   /   playing with hair   /   swaying   /   playing with pointer or marker   /   smacking lips   /   sighing   /   rocking on balls of feet   /   flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION:

short breaths   /   twitching eyelids   /   “tsk” sounds   /   tightly-clenched hands   /   fist-like gestures   /   pointing index finger   /   running hand through hair   /   rubbing back of neck   /   snarling   /   revealing teeth   /   grimacing   /   sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in the brows   /   shoulders back, head up - defensive posturing   /   clenching of jaw   /   grinding teeth   /   nostrils flaring   /   heavy exhales

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uwu......... OWO?

rats off to you sir! :)

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come on ... and slam ... and WELCOME TO JAPAN

yall hear sumn..?

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Congratulation for Bungo Stray Dogs SEASON 3!!!!!

I’m so happy when I see official twitter and I thought I am dreaming!!!!!

I can see more Fyodor and Dazai now *sobs*

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come back

you called?

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DAZAI   OSAMU      :      UNOXIDIZE .       

          ❝   …   reclusive as always,   dostoevsky.   you make a terrible conversation partner,   if not a passable chess opponent.   ❞

          A CROWN IS THE STAKES FOR A GOLDEN PYRE.   he contemplates this as he traces the head of his king,   ivory acrylic splintering from under his nail.   they are in a space of absolutes,   of blacks and whites,   and a secondhand ticks to doomsday over a gamble for their pride.   a crown is a hunter’s trap,   pried wide at the maw.   the fluorescent glow casts him in monochrome,   renders him into a photograph that centers its lens on everything he resented about himself   —   the abraded smile,   the crease of insomnia under his eyes.   a crown is a serrated dagger,   hammered around the skull.   dazai presses the king to his lips before he returns it to its vassals,   and slides his pawn to slaughter a knight.

          (   a king is violence,   in the shape of a man   —   )

          ▶   PAWN,   E5 TO F6.

          ❝   so   —   let’s talk,   shall we?   in a game without consequences,   why keep playing your side?   ❞

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY   »   @unagonize.

what   are   we   but   ruined ,   but   the   split   mien   of   ruination ?   what   are   we   but   guiltless   monsters                man - created ,   godless   and   godlike .   we   are   nothing ,   at   the   end   of   each   luminous   night   ---   what   was   once   the   ghost   of   puerile   humanity   has   evaporated   and   left   not   a   tad   of   anything   other   than   piles   of   cinder   and   ash .   a   massacre ,   they   say   :    the   slaughterhouse   of   a   yet   innocuous   self ,   a   metamorphosis   from   the   silent   and   caged   into   a   beast .

look   :   we   are   heartless   creatures .   we   are   boundless   and   invincible ,   half   cadavers   /   half   men .    in   my   head ,   i   strike   a   match   over   my   own   self   as   the   skeletal   outline   of   my   lithe   finger   runs   over   the   queen’s   notched   crown   ---   i   await   the   stench   of   burning   flesh .   will   it   catch   on   fire   and   destroy   this   silhouette   of   me ?   or   will   it   smolder   :   churn   and   melt   the   garb   i   wear ,   whilst   all   the   vines   and   leaves   laced   with   soured   rot   continue   to   grow   in   their   robust   flourishing ?

i   lift   my   gaze   and   look   you   in   the   eyes ,   their   shade   flat    as   if   covered   by   sepia’s   honeyed   sheen .   “   because   i   have   nothing   left   but   this ,   ”   at   last ,   i   let   my   hand   move ,   the   queen’s   onyx   frame   walking   forward   with   it .   it   falls ,   then ,   a   ruthless   carnage   accompanied   only   by   the   click   of   a   tile .   the   impurity   covering   my   entrails   spreads .   grows .   “   whatever   it   is .   ”  

▶   QUEEN ,    D8   TO   F6.

“   but   aren’t   we   the   same ,   then ?   you   are   shunned   where   you   came   from   ---   in   the   end ,   you   have   nothing   but   this   boundless   hatred .   you   betrayed   everything   and   everyone   fatuous    enough   to   trust   you   for   the   sake   of   acquiring   what   you   can’t   have   .  .  .   and   what   was   it ,   again ?   a   way   to   end   this   hunger    in   you ?   to   satisfy   what   cannot   be   appeased   by   simple   words   and   actions ?   ”   the   bloodlust ,   the   starvation   for   something   beyond   our   reach   .  .  .   perhaps   we   are   merely   searching   for   the   hearts   we   threw   up   in   our   mileage   towards   salvation   ----   “   i   could   ask   you   the   same   question   and   receive   a   reflection   of   my   answer .   your   turn .   ”

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NO.

will the real zander dostoevsky please calm down

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i have some great ideas tbh

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russian death