Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR and HOLY FUCK are you ever GOTH.
I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great puzzle!
*Jane in Wonderland*
and a bonus photo
thestriderlalondes: I hope this is okay? (If it’s not I’ll take it down ASAP.) I was planning on putting up HS pictures in my room, and yours are some of my favorites, so I did this, and put up some others, but they’re yours, and I wanted to confirm it was okay.
omg you managed to print it 8’) and suure it’s completely fine!! uvu I’m glad you liked them <3
When I was twelve in Russia I killed my parents. Because I wasn’t a good person. Even at that age I was the worst. So I became a criminal. I sank into the criminal underworld. In those days, it was not a joke. Only the toughest of the tough survived. I married one of the most powerful drug dealers on the street. It didn’t last long I caught him in bed with another woman. So I dispatched them both from there I became a rogue. I started doing whatever I could, for safety or for money.
UGH NATASHA FEELINGS
Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”
On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”.
Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes.
I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was.
This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.