Remus: I'm An Artist!

Remus: I'm an artist!

James: *walks by eating a sandwich* The art of self-loathing doesn't count.

Remus: Everyone's a critic.

Poison likes to sit on the threshold of the diner's front door a lot, sometimes for an hour at a time. he stares ahead at the horizon with a look in his eyes like he's dazed but focused hard all at once, brow furrowed a little, solemn. if you ask him what he's looking at or what's on his mind, either he'll say nothing at all in response, or he'll mutter a few low words which sound cryptic, maybe even a little dramatic, maybe though-provoking. he likely doesn't actually mean much by them, though. and he'll never turn to look at you. he'll carry on gazing into the distance, almost as if he's waiting for something.

and i’m just sitting here. slowly scrolling through everything while nervously whispering a stream of, “what the fuck...” while nervously giggling and “oh no. that one makes sense”.

why have i cursed myself like this?

I’m being extremely clever over here and if you’re not gonna stand around and be impressed, what’s the point of having you all?

Val Velocity (via incorrectkilljoyquotes)

I hear I don’t owe anyone an explanation for my trauma, but what if I want one? What if I want an answer for all the questions that get thrown at me like bits of glass after a tree crashed through the window? Is it wrong to want to know why the lightening hit that spot at that moment? Why was it my house that was destroyed in the storm? What was it about this storm that I wasn’t prepared for? I have so many questions. Sometimes, I want answers more than I want to rid myself of my trauma.

- If it’s not my fault, who’s is it? // Olivia Larson

a recent colored piece that I’m actually pleased with! I might continue this with the rest of the killjoy characters…