Dude Im So High And Drippy Its Insane. Anyways Hapoy New Uear :3

dude im so high and drippy its insane. Anyways hapoy new uear :3

oh lord i need more of this

simon riley and the great urge to cover his face or change any aspect of him resembling his abuser, his father.

“you look like your old man!” He frowns.

“yer growin up like yer dad, Simon.” He clenches his fists.

“You take after your dad, ‘than your mum.” He takes a good look at the mirror he wants to smash his knuckles in.

The disgust. The inherent need to mar his face so not a single trace of him is on simon. He has his hair. He has his eyes. He shares the physical attributes as his father, and nothing puts greater shame than that. How can he tolerate himself when he’s a walking carbon copy of the man who made his life a living hell?

The nails have dug into his skin. The fat of his cheeks rubbed red and rugged, ready to carve his face away. He loathes it. His repulsive features would pull him into a meltdown, pushing him down on his knees, unable to stand up. It’s one of those days. One where he curls up crying in a room that wasn’t his, but he yearns it to be.

Friends are a gift in the world, his best friend was a proof of that. Their eyes see the twitch of his fingers, Simon’s avoidance towards his reflection, and the silent spell making him mute other than grunts and groans. The small signs of aggression was all it took to pull him away from prying eyes and into the safe space they made for him. It had now turned into a place of comfort for Simon. The various clothes and items were the proof of his second home.

His hands pull at the muddy mop of his hair, the dirt shade resembling his father’s, as he folds into himself. Quite pitiful, he knows that. But he can be weak as long as it was with them.

They cover him with their jacket, the smell of vanilla wafts him into a state of calm.

“It’s alright, Simon,” they place their hand on top of his. The sweet gesture making his heart die down a bit slower. “Just let it all out. I’m here for you.”

He leans into their touch. He caves into his weakness, and the weakness being something else than his horrible face. His weakness was formed from a bond grown from kind moments and patience. He’s weak for them. He doesn’t mind being vulnerable if it’s with them. His world be dammed if it wasn’t for them.

He pushes them on their back as he lays on top. His arm wrapped around their middle now as he eases himself into a short nap.

“you think I look good blond?” he mouths against your stomach.

They ruffle his hair, “I think you look good in anything, Simon.”

knaws at my fist cutely

literally what else are big titty sluts in the woods good for

my of since this post got kinda popular ;-)

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life.