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Aye. I'm Laurina. Ehh I'm not any special kind of blog. You can find anime, pastel goth, funny shit here. Kinda a wide variety I suppose. Oh well. I suck.

Give yourself over to absolute pleasure.


Behind the Scenes: Rage Quit






Based on this post


"No but imagine the school jock and the nerd he beats up every day finally run into each other in the locker room or at a pool or something and their chest start glowing and they both look at each other and just go "Oh fuck no.”

this was really fun to draw LOL

He honestly didn’t know why he picked the nerd to be the target. It wasn’t like he had a problem with the kid. They’d barely ever talked throughout their high school career, but the nerd was such an easy target that Philo Domian couldn’t help himself. It was probably some social comment on his person; he was jealous of the nerd’s genius (not that he wasn’t smart, he made straight A’s), had low self-esteem (HAH!!), or something like that. He scoffed, placed his chin in his hand and stared at the blackboard where his English teacher was chattering on and on. God, he hated this class.

“Philo? Are you paying attention?” came his teacher’s smooth voice. He jolted straight up, amber eyes locked with hers. She looked unamused, but he flashed a giant grin, and saw her melt a little. That was his specialty: he was a charmer. He silently thanked his mother for his good looks as the teacher turned back to the board without so much as a reprimand. Philo grinned to himself, but the something caught his eyes across the room.

The nerd was shaking his head, disapproving. Philo narrowed his amber eyes, putting all his annoyance and rage behind the stare. The nerd, Forrest Hill, caught his gaze with icy blue eyes, but didn’t flinch. Out of habit, however, his hand pressed to the middle of his chest. Philo stared- nothing was happening, thank God.

It had been two months since the incidence in the locker room, and no matter how they tried to avoid each other fate kept pushing them toward one another.

“You ready for your daily beat down, nerd?” he slammed his fist into the side of the nerd’s locker, boxing him in.

“G-get away from me, you jackass!” the smaller boy snarled, trying to seem fierce but he trembled.

Bright lights, all of a sudden. Bursting out of the nerd’s chest, blue and beating like a heartbeat. Forrest blushed deeply and poked his finger into Philo’s chest, and the jock looked down with shocked eyes: a red light to match Forrest’s blue one… He forgot his words. He knew what this meant, and he refused to believe it. Soul mates… He pulled back as Forrest jammed himself closer to his locker.

“Oh hell no!” they both had screamed in unison.

Philo winced at the memory, his hand absently rubbing the middle of his own chest. They had figured out early on that if they were a certain distance apart, the lights didn’t show up. He was thankful for that, at least. It was embarrassing enough without half the school noticing. He’d stopped picking on Forrest after that. It didn’t seem fun anymore, he noticed, and whenever his friends egged him on he shut them up with harsh, clipped words. “Just leave him alone,” he mumbled, picking up his gym bag, casting a glance in Forrest’s direction, and escaping the locker room quickly.

Back to present times, he was lost in thought when his teacher handed him a number on a slip of paper. He took it, not understanding what it meant, but he could figure that out later. After everyone was holding their slip, the teacher clapped her hands together. “Okay! For our poetry project you’ll be working in pairs. I’ve handed you a number, and so you’ll be teamed up with someone who has the same one. I want you to pick a poem from the textbook, and make a poster for it. Include your own conclusions about the poems meaning. Please come pick up the rubric for it, find your partner, and begin the brainstorming process!”

Philo looked at his number: 7. He sighed, stood up, and looked around. Everyone was doing the same thing, getting into their groups and talking happily. His eyes searched the classroom, but he didn’t see anyone with the same number. Then it hit him. Forrest wasn’t with anyone. Oh fuck, he thought, and stared across the room at Forrest who was pale and gaping, holding up the number 7 on the slip of paper.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled, and praised the lord when the bell rang.


Forrest pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked around. The bleachers were empty, and the sun was setting across the football field. He fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket, and looked absently for any sign of other life. He’d slipped a note into Philo’s locker after class, asking him to meet at the bleacher’s an hour and a half after practice. The dumb brute probably ignored it, and this annoyed Forrest who cursed fate.

Philo had been his bully for the last year, and Forrest never understood why. He was a quiet, introverted person who didn’t like to get into other people’s business. So, why, pray tell, was Philo always picking on him? The thought sent hot anger through him. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to calm down.

“You need a paper bag to breathe in, or something?” came the low voice he had come to recognize. Forrest looked up; completely unaware of how bright his chest was shining, and saw Philo a few steps down, his chest glowing brightly as well. The taller, broader male was blushing, his lips pursed, and short hair ruffling in the breeze. Forrest bit his lip, gulped, and composed himself.

“I’m fine,” Forrest managed to get out, keeping his voice steady. He didn’t know why he felt so flustered around the other boy- his soul mate- lately. It could have been the year of ceaseless bullying, but Forrest didn’t think that was it. He’d made peace with the jock after the locker room incident; he was mature enough to look past the transgressions, even if sometimes it irked him deep down. It could have also been the embarrassment of being soul mates with someone you didn’t even know in the slightest.

Or, his brain supplied, it could be because he’s cute.

He choked on his own spittle. No, no, no. Anything but that. He was still fighting with himself when Philo sat down next to him. He flinched, feeling the heat roll off the other. The light in his chest pulsed happily, and he took a deep, steadying breath, and tried to ignore it.

“So, we’re stuck on this project,” Philo commented, staring straight ahead, refusing to look at Forrest.

“It appears so,” Forrest replied, and tugged on the collar of his shirt. For a chilly fall night it sure was hot, he realized. He wondered if Philo was feeling the same way, but he banished the thought as soon as it came. There was no way someone so brutish and full of himself could feel anything for anyone else. “Have you given any thought to what poem we should do?”

“Robert Frost… ‘Fire and Ice’.” Philo said, finally turning to look at Forrest with melted gold eyes.  The sun was almost gone now, and the only light was radiating from their chests, lighting their faces up their respective colors. Philo didn’t look annoyed or angry, the way he normally did when confronted with being near the nerd. And Forrest felt his lips twitch into a small smile.

“Clever,” he commented, eyes still locked.

“I thought so too. Matches us perfectly, don’t you agree?” Philo now grinned, pearly whites perfect in the light from their chests. He leaned in close to Forrest, and the black haired boy felt his breath hitch but he didn’t move. He found that he couldn’t. Philo poked a finger in the middle of his own red light that blazed from his chest,

“Some say the world will end in fire,” he quoted, his voice low and husky, “Some say in ice.” And at the last word his pointer finger landed in the middle of Forrest’s blue light, and it pulsed quickly. They were too close, Forrest thought, something bad was going to happen. He was going to get pushed down, or beat up, or something. And although his brain processed these thoughts, it was snubbed by how fast his heart pounded, and how his brain screamed at him to stay, stay, stay!

“From what I’ve tasted of desire,/ I hold with those who favor fire,” Philo continued, his voice nothing more than a whisper now, his face dangerously close to Forrest’s. He knew what he was doing, and he tried to stop himself, but his body craved the other boy’s closeness. It craved touch, and warmth, and Forrest. And why?? This wasn’t normal; this was the person he’d smacked around, teased, and taunted.

But his blue eyes were trembling, and his lips too Philo noticed. His face was pale, blemish free and peppered in light freckles. His glasses has slid down a little, giving him a disheveled look as his trendy haircut fluttered, and the smell of shampoo filled his senses.

This is wrong.

No it isn’t. Soul mates.

But if it had to perish twice,/ I think I know enough of hate/ To say that for destruction ice…” his lips were so close to Forrest’s, and the boy looked like a dear in the headlights. The lights in their chests radiated in time with one another, glowing warmly, brightly, and blinding them from their surroundings.

Philo watched Forrest’s eyes begin to close, and he felt himself do the same. This is wrong, this is wrong, this is…


“Is also great/ and would suffice,” he finished, lips brushing against Forrest’s and then the nerd was leaning forward and they were kissing, and lost in the moment (whatever that was). Forrest felt his whole body come alive, every sense tingled and vibrated and he wondered if this was happening to Philo, because he felt like he was on fire. Teeth bit his bottom lip softly, and he gasped, his mouth opening and the jock pushed forward and pinned him on his back to the bleachers.

Philo didn’t realize was he was doing until his teeth clanked against Forrest’s and he pulled back to look down at the nerd. Bruised lips, wide eyes, hair falling over the bleacher’s and face lit up by the red light. All he could do was stare, shocked at his actions, annoyed it was over… He shook that away.

“C-can you let me up, please?” Forrest whispered, eyes looking away from Philo’s.

“Er, yeah. Sorry,” he said and back up, scooting a foot away from the other. Forrest got up, adjusted his glasses and coughed into his elbow. He still didn’t look at Philo, but he could tell the jock was just as flustered as he was. “I’m… I’m sorry,” Philo finally said and Forrest turned quickly. The taller boy was blushing, fiddling with the skin around his nails as his eyes scanned the ground. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I don’t know why it did. Why did you let that happen?” there was an accusatory tone that Forrest did not appreciate whatsoever.

He puffed his cheeks out and snapped, “You’re the one who came onto me!”

“As if!” Philo sputtered, eyebrows knitted and mouth drawn into a tight line. “You probably have like… a huge boner for me or something!!” Okay, so it wasn’t his best line, but when he was at a loss for words he just let the thoughts come to him. Forrest sniffed contemptuously, stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’m not the one with the boner, you ass,” he sneered and headed down the bleachers as fast as he could, and then once his feet hit concrete he ran like hell until his legs gave out and the light faded to nothing. He caught his breath, hunched over, embarrassed, slightly turned on, and very annoyed. He adjusted his glasses, pulled himself together and headed home determined not to think about fucking Philo Domian anymore for the rest of the night.

And Philo stayed seated in the darkness of the bleachers until his own light faded and he found his words again. He groaned, and smacked himself in the forehead. Stupid, stupid he chastised himself. It took him ten more minutes to calm his body down, and another five to finally get up, grab his bag, and headed home. Never again, he told himself, never again would he get that close to Forrest. If he stayed away, nothing could happen again. Yes! That was a good idea, he decided as he broke into a jog to get home quicker.

But you know what they say about the best laid plans. 


No, this needs a whole novel. *cries*

Demanding more *-*

Howl’s Moving Castle Scenery Backgrounds for anon



He’s cute. He’s tall.
He’s got gorgeous eyes.
And a stunning smile.
I didn’t say a name, but he 
popped into your head,
didn’t he?



Michael Jones being hella adorable + his dope LoZ hoodie [x]


American Horror Story: Asylum