Dreaming You're the Last

Black and white horror gifs piss me off so much. Like, what is the fucking point?

I had a strange dream a few weeks back about being a real estate agent and I was trying to sell this giant, old house with a massive back yard. It was a perfect house and in a perfect part of the county side, with no one around for miles. Well, living people, that is.

Right at the edge of this house’s backyard was a horribly unmaintained graveyard and all the coffins were pushing up out of the earth. I think I even saw a set of feet sticking out of a busted coffin.

I kept trying to convince the families that were looking at the house that it was no big deal and that they do that all the time, even making jokes like “It’s hard to keep the dead in the ground around here,” and stuff.

I really wanted to do my job and get the house sold, but then again I didn’t because I wanted that house and to live by a creepy graveyard. 

hybridisgross:

Millburn loves Fifield, but he also wants to cut him open. Wants to hear him whimper, wants to smear blood over his belly, streak it over freckled shoulders. He wants to carve into him, symbols like his tattoos and scientific formulae and maybe his name along a collarbone or the slope of his thigh. Wants to cover him in marks made by knives and teeth and nail, dig bruises into him, spatter him with purple and black and blue.

He thinks Fifield knows, feels it in the play of fingers, sees it at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t seem to mind, red rippling over his skin with every too-hard grab, bite, shove.

It makes Millburn want to slice open his back, tear open his belly.

He wants to be inside him every way he can, physically and mentally and metaphorically but more than that, more than that, he wants to pull all his secrets into the open, let him know that it’s okay.

Coo soothingly as he coaxes his fellow monster into the open.