i like your teeth

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.
But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.
Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?
Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

—  Hannah Baker (Thirteen Reasons Why)
Hannah's Poem

“Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.”

-Hannah Baker

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them
And underneath that
I am absolutely naked
And I’ve got skin
Miles and miles of skin
I’ve got skin to cover all my toughts like Saran Wrap
That you can see through to what leftovers are inside from the night before
And despite what you might think My skin is soft
And smooth
And easily scarred
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark
But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightning through the clouds?
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb
For a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook to scribble if not a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth
Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going in
I don’t need to be the water in the well
I don’t need to be the well
But i’d like to not be the ground anymore
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in
—  Hannah Baker, Thirteen Reasons Why

“Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.”

— 
Hannah Baker, 13 Reason’s Why

“Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.”

-Hannah Baker, 13 Reason’s Why

—  13 Reasons Why

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

—  13 reasons why.

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet

—  Hannah Baker, 13 reasons why
Hannah Baker's Poem

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

- Hannah Baker, 13 Reasons Why

“Today I am wearing lacy black underwear

For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.

And underneath that?

I am absolutely naked.

And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;

I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts

like saran wrap that you can see through

to what leftovers are inside from the night before.

And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.

My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.

But that doesn’t matter, right?

You don’t care about how soft my skin is.

You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?

So I can see lightening through the clouds.

What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?

What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?

But that’s not the story you want.

You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.

I don’t need to be the water in the well.

I don’t need to be the well.

But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.

I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.

They find harmonies in their laughter.

Their linked elbows echo in tune.

What if I can’t hum on key?

What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,

A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.

How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?

How long before I’m lost for good.

It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.

It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.

But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.

I keep finding stones tied to my feet.”

-Hannah Baker, 13 Reason’s Why

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.

But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.

Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.

Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?

Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

—  Hannah Baker, 13 Reasons Why


Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.
But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.
Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.
Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?
Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

- Hannah Baker, 13 Reasons Why

“I don’t play around that often
When I do
I’m a freak
So you’d better believe
I like it rough

Push up to my body
Sink your teeth into my
Flesh
Get undressed
Taste the flesh
Bite into me harder
Sink your teeth into my
Flesh”

- “Flesh” by Simon Curtis

So… Well, this kinda happened. Because I love galra!keith and dark!shiro/Champion. Okay and I love purple and pink hues and close-ups and smut and aaaah!

There are just not enough fanfics where both of them are Galra… It’s always Shiro having a split personality, so it’s more like Keith and Kuro. And it’s just not the same. I’d write some myself, but - as you may have noticed - my English sucks. So I’ll confine myself to drawing galra!sheith stuff. A lot of stuff actually. Like a shit ton of it. :D

honestly at this point i hope su fans who still 100% see nothing wrong with the show are starting to get it like…

su has been baiting us from day one. they baited us with bismuth and made it look like everything was gonna be cool and she was gonna be a new crystal gem

they baited us with the diamond arc promos, promising answers but giving none

they baited us with kindergarten kid and gem harvest

they’ve always fucking been baiting us. at this point i don’t know how anyone can ignore it. that’s like gritting your teeth as you eat terribly cooked, frozen food and pretending like it’s fine

steven universe has been shit since the third season. the third and fourth season were mostly filler, the art has gotten progressively worse and terrible on the eyes, and the storyboarders straight up don’t give a shit anymore. the new episodes honestly feel like they were written up when the crew was drunk. they’re boring and don’t make any sense in concern to the actual plot, which we haven’t had in years it seems

we’ve been forced to sympathize with colonizers, watch peridot yell at a monster for eleven minutes, lapis tell connie to suck it up when she pointed out that she literally tried to drown her

we’ve had to sit through a fucking 22-minute piece of shit episode about being nice to fucking racists because they’re your family or some bullshit, while the gem that actually gives a shit about other people is left to fucking rot in a goddamn bubble

where do y’all draw the fucking line? hasn’t it been enough? two seasons of complete shit and you’re still breaking your necks tryna defend the poor crewnibabies? at this point i’m done hearing whiny su fans cry over su criticism lmao. when will y’all wake the fuck up

Today I am wearing lacy black underwear
For the sole purpose of knowing I am wearing them.
And underneath that?
I am absolutely naked.
And I’ve got skin. Miles and miles of skin;
I’ve got skin to cover all my thoughts
like saran wrap that you can see through
to what leftovers are inside from the night before.
And despite what you might think, my skin is not rough; nor is it bullet proof.
My skin is soft, and smooth, and easily scarred.
But that doesn’t matter, right?
You don’t care about how soft my skin is.
You just want to hear about what my fingers do in the dark.


But what if all they do is crack open windows?
So I can see lightening through the clouds.
What if all they crave is a jungle gym to climb for a taste of fresher air?
What if all they reach for is a notebook or a hand to hold?
But that’s not the story you want.
You are licking your lips and baring your teeth.


Just once I would like to be the direction someone else is going.
I don’t need to be the water in the well.
I don’t need to be the well.
But I’d like to not be the ground anymore.
I’d like to not be the thing people dig their hands in anymore.


Some girls know all the lyrics to each other’s songs.
They find harmonies in their laughter.
Their linked elbows echo in tune.
What if I can’t hum on key?
What if my melodies are the ones nobody hears?


Some people can recognize a tree,
A front yard, and know they’ve made it home.
How many circles can I walk in before I give up looking?
How long before I’m lost for good.
It must be possible to swim in the ocean of the one you love without drowning.
It must be possible to swim without becoming water yourself.
But I keep swallowing what I thought was air.
I keep finding stones tied to my feet.

—  Hannah Baker , 13 Reasons Why
Your Move

The nine times Simon and Baz prank each other and the one time they don’t

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

March 30

Baz

I could have magicked the bleach out of my hair that same morning.  I could have left the room looking like nothing had happened instead of enduring constant stares all day.  Now that it’s been twenty-four hours, it would be child’s play to spell the bleach away.

           Except I don’t.

           Because Snow can’t stop staring at it.

           And some things are worth the embarrassment.

           Besides, I’m about to pay him back in full.

           I strike early, immediately after breakfast. Snow and his ducklings stand in the hall outside our first class.  Bunce sees me first as I stalk towards them.  “Morning, Malfoy,” she calls to me, “isn’t the Slytherin common room the other way?”

           They’re all looking at me, Snow, Bunce and Wellbelove. Good.  Let them watch.

           I whip my wand from my pocket as I reach them and cast before anyone can react.

           “Not a word.”

           Snow opens his mouth to say something… and his voice freezes before it can get out.

           He clutches his throat and his eyes widen, and then the storm breaks.

           “WHAT THE HELL PITCH!”  Bunce actually manages to slam me against a wall with one mighty shove, and her wand is already at my neck.

           “Get off me, Bunce.”

           “Basilton Grimm-Pitch, you give him back his voice right now or I swear.”

           “Relax, Bunce,” I hiss down at her, barely able to see her when she’s this close.  “It’s only temporary.  He’ll be back to babbling by tomorrow morning.”  It’s an unfair thing to say, because Snow never babbles.  Sometimes he has difficulty even articulating his spells.

           “And what about in the meantime?” she snarls at me. “How’s he supposed to defend himself against whatever horrors you have in store for him if he can’t do magic?”

           “What if I told you I don’t have any horrors in store for him?”

           “Still,” Wellbelove pipes up, “stealing a mage’s voice? That’s cold, Basilton.”  She says it like she’s discussing the weather or the homework or what she’d like to eat tonight.

           “Not to mention totally illegal,” Bunce chimes in, and I don’t know if she’s correct on that or not, but I’m not about to fact-check her, especially not with her right in my face.

           “He’ll still be able to retaliate,” I say with a shrug.  “He certainly didn’t need magic to pour bleach in my shampoo.”

           “Why haven’t you fixed that yet, by the way?” Wellbelove asks.

           I look Snow directly in the eye.  “The perks,” I smirk, and to my delight his face goes red.  Merlin, this is fun.

“Your move,” I tell him before turning on my heel.

***

           I don’t know what kind of charm Bunce has placed on Snow, but through some miracle he manages to get through all of our classes without being called on.  It’s a little bit unfair that he has someone interfering, but I decide not to make a big deal of it. After all, Wellbelove was right. The voice is the most important weapon to a mage, and now that I’ve taken his, he’s no better than a Normal. At least for the day, anyway.  And though the added humiliation of not being able to speak when spoken to would have been amusing for me to watch, I figure I’ve ruined his day enough already.

           Besides, there’s a storm on its way.  If everything goes according to plan.

           Football practice goes longer than usual, until the sky is almost dark, and I can see Snow starting to flag by the time it’s over. It seems like he’s been trying to compensate for his lack of a voice by playing harder, and while he was admittedly almost unstoppable on the field, the extra work has clearly taken its toll. He’s still in the showers when I gather my things and head back to the room.

           It’s another fifteen minutes before he clomps to the top of the stairs.  He’s back in his regular clothes and his hair is extra curly from the shower, and before the door has fully fallen closed he flops onto his bed face-first and just lays there, breathing hard.  I shake my head at him from my bed before returning to my tablet.

           Eventually I see him kick off his shoes out of the corner of my eye.  He hauls himself up slowly like he’s carrying a sack of bricks on his back and throws the window open, leaning out of it and into the cold night air, sucking it in like he could get drunk on it.

           When he abandons the window to take his nightclothes into the bathroom, I decide I’ve gone long enough without being an arse.

           I get up and shut the window, then sit back down on my bed.

           Snow looks at it a long time when he comes back out, no doubt trying to remember whether he closed it or not.  He opens it.

           I wait until he’s sat on his bed again to walk over and shut it.  It hasn’t even been open a full ten seconds.

           Snow stares at me with a dismayed expression as I return to my bed.  He holds my gaze when he opens it again.  This time I spell it shut from my bed just to rub it in.

           He stands in exasperation and starts wildly gesturing from me to the window and back again, his mouth opening and closing silently like he’s forgotten there’s no voice coming out.

           “What is it, Snow?  Use your words.”

           I regret it the second it’s out.  His hands fall to his sides and his mouth closes slowly. He looks so heartbroken and I hate myself.  I hate myself.

           So much, in fact, that I get up and leave, making my way down to the catacombs to feed and yell at the walls.

           When I come back much later, Snow is sound asleep.

           I take a long look at him, how his eyelids settle into place and make him appear so real.  Like if I touched his skin right now it would feel different somehow, more physical.

           I open the window before climbing into bed.