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Headcanon that Lil’ Rascal likes sleeping on Hunter’s head! He hated it at first, but now chuckles when it happens! Small gift for a friend

neurodivergent battinson doodles

Wispy Boy off the shits.

Statement begins

slaughter!melanie

az gothic

The sunsets sure are beautiful, they say. And they are. A celebration of the sun’s disappearance for the day; The sun rises are a sickly yellow-green, and only a warning of what is coming.

There are no clouds. The last time you’ve seen clouds feels like forever ago. You’re starting to wonder if they were even really there. The sky looks white anyway.

The sun is reflected in the sunglasses of strangers. They never come off; You can’t tell if they’re looking at you when they talk to you, or if they have eyes at all.

When did you get that tan? You’ve been inside as long as you can be, hiding from the bone-dry heat. Deep down you know it’s still going to find you. You close the curtains and turn the air conditioner up. Your tan gets darker.

It’s the middle of summer, and the sun has set. You look out your window. A large spider is splayed across the glass. You grimace and look away. When you look back there are more, pressed between the glass and the screen. One of them is something you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure it’s a spider. You close your curtains.

There’s a tarantula in your sink. You don’t know how it got there. “It’s illegal to kill them” you’ve heard someone say. You grapple with what to do for an hour. The tarantula never moves.

There’s a tiny snake in the kitchen. You can swear you’ve seen the same snake in your classroom, many years ago. You sweep it into some tubberware and put it back outside.

There’s a cricket somewhere. Only one. You can never find where it is, but you know it’s in your house. You know it’s watching you; It grows quiet when you move.

The Superstition Mountains have claimed someone else.

You only dare sit outside in the dare with friends. Together, in the light, on the porch, the roof, a trampoline. Anything that doesn’t touch the ground. The coyotes howl, and someone jokingly howls back. They stop when the coyotes sound closer, the next time.

The coyotes are miles away. One laughs, and the sound comes from right outside of your window. You tell yourself it’s in the distance, that sound carries. The laughter continues.

“It’s haunted, you know,” someone tells you. You’re not surprised. “It’s haunted, you know,” and this time it’s your voice. They’re not surprised.

There’s a Circle K on the corner. And the next corner. There’s two, across the street, facing one another. It doesn’t matter which one you go into. They’re the same one, after all.

The dust clings to everything. To the windows. To the cars. To the cacti. To your soul.

You pass by someone’s yard. There is grass, a bright emerald green. It is the only one like it on the street, still wet from the sprinkler. The heat makes it stand out more than it already did. You fight the urge to lay in it, for the umpteenth time. As you force yourself to walk away, you know that one day you will give into your urge. The heat will make you.

Tempe can say otherwise all it wants. It’s part of Phoenix. Mesa is part of Phoenix. Glendale is part of Phoenix. The entire Valley is Phoenix, no matter how loudly it is said otherwise. Only Tucson and Flagstaff are not part of Phoenix– They’re far enough to escape it. You are not.

“You think you’re the good guy huh? and I’m the big, bad bully.”

gettin full-named and receiving psychic damage

the superboys and robins go to school