I got nothin'


If bees become extinct we will have exactly 4 YEARS to live on this planet. I don’t understand how “not caring” is more important than your life…

Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged? You are iron. And you are strong.

n.t. (via thelittle-hobbit)

Damn right you’re iron, and do you know where iron comes from? Do you know how iron gets here? Let me tell you.

It does start with a star, but it’s not some dismal castoff from an eternal beauty, it’s so much more. Everything that makes our world came from stars, but nothing had as much effect on that star as iron.

See the sun burning in the sky? The light you see and the heat you feel are created when the sun fuses elements, the building blocks of our world, into new and heavier elements. The sun lives because more energy comes from that process than is needed to support it.


Fusing iron — burning it to make a star shine — is nigh on impossible. Iron is strong and iron is heavy. Iron is so strong and so heavy that to make new elements from iron takes more energy than it produces. The star can’t keep up, it starts to die.

The iron that flows through your veins KILLED A STAR.

Those other metals that we so value, like gold, owe their existence to iron. As the star died it collapsed, crushing itself and making gold and platinum and other precious and powerful things. Then it exploded and scattered those metals throughout space.

Chief among them was iron. The iron whose formation was the death knell of the star. The iron whose intensity made other metals possible. The iron that was the last thing the living star could make.

Stars lived to make iron.

Stars died to make you.

(via noctumsolis)

This is metal as fuck.

(via justpar)


Table confirmed for ssb4


Table confirmed for ssb4


hunger game AU



4 all u kids who wanna study some figure drawing/anatomy

All the downloads are free they only take a little bit time to download because these are big files!

The first one in particular I definitely recommend! I own a hard copy of the last one, so I’m not sure if it’s legal to download?

I’d also recommend, if you don’t mind dropping some money, the “Drawn to Life” books by Walt Stanchfield.


Elsa in Hanbok


Elsa in Hanbok

Lost two followers in one night

What’s up, can’t take my shitty ass poetry?

For real this time


Midnight Thoughts

For mirrormystic


(Curiously, I was born at 3 am.)

This is filled with inconsistent lengths and rhythms, without rhyme and without reason. It’s word salad. But that’s the way midnight thoughts go, just as the thoughts of the Witching Hour are enchanting.

(You are 2000 miles away,
And moving at 5 centimeters per second is a little too slow
for a wolf child like me.)

Now, some of the best stories I’ve heard
Were stories that I’ve read.
And those stories never needed the voices
Because I made them up in my head.

(Not to say I hear voices,
Although yours is one I’d like to hear.)

The rhythm of flowing text is simultaneously more comforting
And frightening than the voice I could hear instead,
And the beat of the words and paragraphs are more supportive than the hands I could hold.

That being said, our inboxes might not see the silver screen,
But they certainly see the grays and blues of blogs and photoshop.
(And, obviously, the browns of irises that twinkle in the dark.)

Clacks on my keys sound like stuttering, and your pixels sound like laughter and sighs.
(And sometimes a tease.)
My voice is small, like my size,
And of you I can only whisper.
But if it helps, I can safely say
I know a pianist who’s a shipper!

Jokes and insomnia aside,
I can safely say that our messages travel like stop motion,
Taking hours to form a whole picture.
Costly, because you can’t earn time back, but an art like any other.
(And of course, there’s such a thing as delayed gratification.)

But then,
The picture itself is unknown and impossible,
Because, technically,
Our plot is an oral tradition left unspoken,
A mythology in a godless land,
A musical without a lyricist.
(Never mind the budget)
It’s black and white (and gray, when I learn to see them as you do) in a world that likes technicolor dreams and coats.
It’s two people,
friends that have never been face to face,
throwing around ideas and loving everyone of them,
Even if not one will make it big.

But that’s okay.

Because even if there’s not an approved picture,
Only scrapped deleted scenes and draft scores,
There’s still an audience of two people,
2000 miles, 7 years, and 3 hours apart,
Watching the bootleg copy.

(Plus, we still have this broken old blog site to keep our invisible ties alive.)



For mistwolfkid.


We’ll never be our own Ghibli film.
(We don’t have that kind of budget.)
But if you asked, I’d be your Totoro,
And you could be my Arrietty.

We live in cities they’ll never see
(Thank the Lorde)
And our inboxes probably won’t
See cellophane or the big screen.