bear with me guys but im very in love with a small dumpling named bij and wow wow aaaa we just facetimed over a shitty internet connection b/c bij is still in iran but just seeing their lil face has made me incandescently happy

wow!!! i love them!!! im melting about it!!!

molonara asked:

*hugs him without fear of consequence* Your sister would like to tell you that she misses you very much and that she'll always love you. Your parents too, they don't blame you. They just wish they could have been there for you. They all do.

                   A fusion of sentiments wrought hatred. His eyes, incandescent sterling flints
                   staring daggers made of arctic ice. Cut diamonds to cut bone. Ruvik repelled
                   her, sheer force of will. Hand raised and intent on crushing her larynx. He smiles
                   a jeering smirk. Almost frantic, but controlled.
“Precocious little thing. Don’t
                   speak of matters you can’t begin to fathom. What makes you think your mindless
                   ranting is worth my attention? The only value you have is as temporary as a lab rat’s
                   life in my labyrinth. Your knowledge is laughable. Did you think I’d be moved?

ninjactionews asked:


“its called a footshot,” the bartyender explained to some fuck who came to get plastered, “very popular drin.k. we named it after…..a legend”

in the corner of the bar sits a man with a hat on, the focus of this intense foreshadowuing happening nearby. and a trenchoat. he is smoking a cigar very mysteriously. the smoke drapes the counter in mystery. from under the hat, the mans reddish brown hair pokes out as if grasping for the meager fleeting bare sparse passing few remains of an incandescent sunset

“hey,” somebody next next to him, and the man looked up slightly. it was a member of a rival gang, of course….they called him…. the Shark. he was known for his spunky gray hair, and having absolutely nothing to do with sharks. “youre the guy everybodys talking about,right…..i got a tip i could find you hear, Mcshooty”

blowing out smoke, he chuckled “so…..youve finally come for me, then. you want to know my secrets”

“well yeah,” the man said, shifting in his bar stool awkwardly, “everybody wants to know. you do it like noboy else. nobody can do it better than you”

“it’s true. nobody shoots their foot….”

BANG. the sound of a sunshot echoed in the bar, and patrons fled like rats scurrying into the gutters of this unnamed noir city. the trenchaoted man winced, biting his cigar. his companion watched in awe, listening closely to at last hear his words.

“……like foot mcshooty”.

Toby Barlow, Sharp Teeth
Something about him reminded me of one of those figures from old-fashioned playing cards or the sort used by fortune-tellers, a print straight from the pages of an incunabulum: his presence was both funereal and incandescent, like a curse dressed in Sunday best.
—  Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind