There was never butterflies. Just fire.

Anonymous said: hey not trying to pressure you or anything but when you do think you will be updating never let me go?

I wrote like a 10k Lip/Mickey fic today, so…

No pressure in asking, please, I absolutely need to be pressured/screamed at in order to update regularly — it’s the only thing that gets me going, knowing people actually care. It won’t be for a while because a) I’m forcing myself to write super long chapters so the next one will be 10k min hopefully and b) I intend on killing myself studying for the next 2 weeks.

I am going to start chapter 4 tomorrow though, just the first paragraph so I can get motivated. 

Anyway, just cause I say this doesn’t mean you should believe me, I mean, I’m so scatty I could upload chapter 4 tomorrow ffs.


Uhm, can we just talk about how relieved Mickey is the moment he sees Svetlana? Disgusting as it is, the moment Mickey realizes his father has hired a hooker to rape him instead of a hitman to blow Ian and his brains halfway to hell, he is so relieved. The ominous, “Send the Russian!” from Terry must’ve had Mickey thinking, ‘Fuck, what Russian’s do we know that owe Terry a favor? Are they just gonna take me out with a bullet to the brain or go for a good fag-bashing first? Don’t let them touch Ian.’ And then when he realizes that, no, they’re not going to be killed— Ian is safe, he almost seems to smile. This scene was terrifyingly powerful.


i want to lay in a field and absorb the sunlight with you

we can grow together

(via littlenypmh)

i had a class with my 80 yr old math tutor and all i could think about was rimming


“…photographs of girl-children; some gaudy moth or butterfly, still alive, safely pinned to the wall.”