#ASHELY IM COMMING

[scr-ppup]

Mm .. harmless Impulsive thoughts be like can the cosmos create a yarn wig for the event next week or not? *Two hours later* just finished braiding one of the yarn braids .. now to work on the face frame side pieces of the wi—

[goldiipond]

[raytorosaurus]

my twitter algorithm now only recommends me tweets about international test cricket and i think i'm finally having the ideal social media experience. just thousands of people roasting the english for blatant hypocrisy in the game that is so intentionally boring it's more of a podcast with incidental visuals where the commentators discuss ball seams and delivery lengths and ideal placement of the short fine leg and silly mid-off for several hours. they show actual graphs and strategic diagrams on screen every few minutes. on the field, seeing as it's often more of a psychological battle than a physical one, you will see grown men dressed in all white and wearing knitted vests attempting to intimidate each other using inoffensive language and creating hysterical drama over the umpire enforcing the rules of the game that every eight-year-old junior cricketer knows to follow. each match lasts for five days and you will stay up until 2am watching each one, riveted. ah the gentleman's game.

[climbing-starrs]

i finished banana fish.

[thedogsleg]

I've got like shit to do. And I just wanna draw postal dude.

[thegnomelord]

Shark

- 🦈

(WOBSVHDVUH. HOLY MOTHER OF SHARKS. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO GOOD. Gosh you, darn you, daum you. Fuel my god daum brainrot.

Now im thinkin of angst. DONT WRITE IT, I CANNOT HANDLE YOUR WRITING IN ANGST. THIS IS JUST A BRAIN BLURB.

Price is close to death whether it be the ultimte battle between the destruction of all that can die or of a horrid enemy, they have yet to defeat.

Price is alive, but too far to be ever saved. The boys want to summon their captain's ole friend, to say a well had goodbye, maybe even save him. But no books, no scrolls, nor anything etched in stone on the surface depicts them. Nothing.

Price dies knowing hes lived a good life, praying to all the gods that his beloved eldritch dosent destroy the surface he called home.

The only way the poor eldritch finds out, are when Prices ashes are swallowed by the waves.

In every storm, waves tower over the heights of skyscraper, to the point not even those that could fly can cross. Death is quick when it comes to the ocean, like it trying to collect all power it can withhold. Creatures are cruel when it comes to what has killed their gods beloved, relentlessly acttacting what they can. Sharks are rare, to the point their sighting have come near myth or legend. Yet, they will always come come towards any that is draconic for they miss them. Ocean creatures, humanoid or not, would cry with no control, close to fire, dragons or smoke. They grieve. They all grieve.

But, Dragons seem to live longer when close to the waves. Saving them in dire situations when the fall from they sky, wounds healed when submerged in the salty sea. Even if you were pure fire, absolute whole magma. You'd be saftely cradled in any and all water. Water is the safest, the safest they have ever felt in all of their exsistence. They know this feeling, it is old, it is familiar, it is embedded in blood.

For the ocean rembers, it always remembers.)

Okay honestly your brain farts are always so good but. . . But . . . I'm so sorry sharky. This came to before you even wrote your ask and now I have to do it, you're just the sacrificial goat. . .

CW: SFW, angst, made myself cry :/ Got some idea inspo from @heliumknife

John Price doesn't die on a notable day. He doesn't die on the day of reckoning, doesn't die on the day fire rains from the sky and blood muddles your oceans, doesn't die alongside human gods, doesn't die on the day he may meet what made him and hear he was a good man.

John Price dies on a regular Tuesday night.

Not even a blip on the radar.

Having saved the oblivious world yet again he retches a bloodied cough as he stumbles on the beach he'd ended up on. His legs give out, the course sand rubbing his skin when he falls, red blood slowly seeping between the grains. Distantly he can hear his boys calling for him, watching the waves wash onto the shore, the tide too low to reach him; too low for you to sense him.

He can feel Gaz scrambling to stem his bleeding, Soap desperately searching through the first aid kit, Ghost barking on the coms that Price is hit. And as the world begins to grow quiet, the low murmur of waves washing upon the sand filling his ears, washed up amber glittering in his blurring eyes, the scent of seaweed and brine filling his rapidly slowing lungs—

Price smiles — he'll slumber with you soon.

Only when the morning tide comes in do you sense his blood, do you rouse from the depths like lightning, waking from a nightmare to find it has followed you to the waking world.

You're too late.

Like always.

He's so still.

Peaceful — worry lines and wrinkles smoothed out and face relaxed you could delude yourself into thinking he's just sleeping. Oh those dragons with their slumber; he'll grumble when you go to wake him, demanding five more bloody minutes of your attention as if he's the god here. Cling to you like a barnacle and growling like a kitten until you give in and lay down next to him. Give a rumbling purr and laugh at how he got a god wrapped around his finger until you shut him up with a kiss.

But you can't.

Your vessel's eyes keep darting to the blood staining his clothes, the crusted red lines trailing from his lip down his chin, the stillness of his chest, the silence.

They tell you John Price died protecting his team from a brutal foe. John Price died protecting the world. John Price died protecting the very people who in your recent shared memory had been happy to sharpen sticks and melt rock into to steel all in an vain attempt at glory. . .

John Price died a hero.

Your John died.

And you weren't there.

"Hey. . ." You look at Gaz when he speaks, standing on the opposite side of the medical table they've laid his body on. ". . .I know you two were, close." He chokes up, voice rough and nasally, fresh tear tracks staining his cheeks.

You envy him for it. For once you wish you were the ant on a circuit board instead of it's maker, just so you could see the world like they do, mourn like they do — open, visible, showing you cared, showing he wasn't just a toy in your sandbox. That Price was the voice you'd hear when loosening the noose of the rope, the beckoning call beyond the reach of your waves, the one that held that wretched excuse you call a heart.

But you can't.

All your treacherous vessel manages to achieve is a small dip in the corner of your lip. "So were you." Your voice is low and garbled like you're drowning, the rumble of icebergs scraping on the ocean floor filling the silence behind each syllable.

Gaz flinches like he'd been slapped, unable to look at the man he loved as much as you did. "Yeah," His gaze flickers everywhere like fleeing fishes in a reef, "I'm sorry." He blurts out.

"Don't be." You don't look at him, your cold hand reaching out to trace Price's jaw, coarse beard scratching your flesh. "You loved him when I couldn't." A part of you wants to be angry at Gaz for harboring John's affection and attention, that it's not fair for him to be able to mourn when you've known your John long before Athenians and Spartans decided to throw hissy fits in your waters. But you can't call yourself a lover he deserved when you met him so rarely, a blink of the eye for you and a century passes.

"Are you going to kill us now?" Kyle asks, not scared, as if he's expecting it.

It shames you, but you thought about it; of sea life growing gigantic and voracious under your influence, of making the sky weep in your stead, of violent waves rising up and devouring the planet for taking away your world. What's the point of it's existence when the one who made it shine has been snuffed out?

"No," You sigh in resignation. You can't, not while there are still people and places John loved, not while vestiges of him remain. You can't kill what's left of him, protect them like you couldn't do with him.

Gaz tells you they plan to cremate him in line with dragon customs, only to take a step back when you pick your John up to cradle in your arms, his loose wing draping over your shoulder, his head resting on your shoulder, nose buried in your neck as if he's scenting you once again.

"I'll come to collect the rest of you when you pass." You say before disappearing with Price, because if you had to answer Gaz's questions — Why are you taking his body when you weren't even there when he died? Why do you act like you care when you saw him so rarely? Why are you taking him away from Gaz when he was the one who loved Price? What gives you the right? — you would have drowned a country.

Water rushes around him the moment you are back in your element, holding him in a cradle made of your waters like the first time he'd fallen into the ocean so many millennia ago. Water bubbles escape his open mouth as your waves caress and kiss each inch of him, crusted blood muddling the brine around him as you pull him as close to your real body as you can.

Searching.

You can feel his soul once your waters have kissed every inch of his skin, faint yet stubbornly clinging on somewhere in the aether, no doubt giving Death a headache.

You were once a soul too were you not? Just a dead thing too dumb to know it died; somewhere deep beneath the individual writhing sharks and decaying corpses and fossilized bone making up your body resides your original one, nothing but a chunk of rock with the imprint of what you had as a skeleton at the time.

For if Death doesn't come to claim it, a soul won't die until the body's gone. You had slipped past the cracks, grew fat and large on the other souls until Death could no longer touch you without fear of being swallowed whole.

You doubt it would let Price slip through like it had with you, fortunately you put claim on his soul long ago. You swim to the deepest part of the earth where burning geothermal vents spew minerals into freezing cold waters, where you slumber and feed on the souls of the dead.

You curl around him, living and dead bodies parting until Price rests wrapped around the oldest part of you.

Embracing you like he always wanted to.

He waited so long for you.

Now it's your turn to wait. This time you will be there.

And if the oceans above rage for months, if the season long rain floods the streets, if the weather makes it so that in the crushing depths no one can pick out your tears from the ocean brine, all the better.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Cuddle Party

George figured a new couch was in order, given the last one kinda uh. Exploded. Might as well help him break it in!

I blame @george-weasleys-girl for this. It literally all stemmed for this pic

Warnings: Heavy petting. ((Yeah it seems like a vanilla warning, but hey sometimes you aren’t in the right headspace for sexual content. Even if there isn’t sex. You valid sweetie!)) lots of fluff, and some wholesome “teaching your kid about deafness”

Writing coms open

“See? As if nothing had ever happened!” That nothing being your son, Fred the second, inherited someone’s pyrotechnic passion. Wasn’t Freddy’s fault. He wasn’t even old enough for a wand yet, but he was showing brilliant magic. Even so young. You two made sure he understood it was an accident, but also used it as a good learning lesson that when accidents happen you do your best to fix them. Gentle parenting was what helped Freddy best, and like hell you would ever yell at him for such an accident.

“You wanted an excuse for this, didn’t you?” You would tease, as you leaned over the massive thing. Was pretty much a alaskan king, with many purple cushions to accent the orange material. It was loud, and that was how you liked it. It was also perfect for when family was over. Just move the furniture around, and the couch was suddenly much longer with many seats. You did like that. This would make having company over far easier. You really did like it.

"MAYBE~" He cackled, before he jumped onto the thing. A graceful flop he went, with so much space to move around. That had you rolling your eyes, but you were smiling. Your husband. Such a adorable man, and that made you so happy. Kept you feeling young, even with so much happening. With that being said, it also meant you had a streak of mischeif all the same. Before your husband knew it, you jump right on him. Making him wheeze, before laughing.

"NO FAIR! IM DEAF I COULDNT HEAR YOU COMING!" He, playfully, argued. Along with took advantage of your laughter to pin you down. Made you laugh more, as you would fight back. Your wrists pinned, and sock feet flailing, as your were attacked with kisses. Left you squealing, as he made sure to attack your sweet spots. Leaving no mercy, as the two of you broke in the new furniture.

“You are a menace to society, just my type~” He growled, as he gave you a kiss. Then another, and another, and before either of knew it. It was more than just kissing. You two were just engulfed by each other. Utterly addicted to each other’s flavors and scents. The fresh ash, and sweet pastries.

Suppose you two were breaking in the new couch, that’s for sure. As if either of you could complain. That is, until your passionate moment was interrupted by someone jumping onto George’s back. Made him wheeze, before tumbling across the furniture. Leaving you to have someone fall on your stomach.

“ITS LIKE A BIG BED-!” Junior shouted, before he crawled off of you. Quick to stand up, and jump on it. Meanwhile, you two needed a moment to breathe again. You caught your breath far quicker than George did. Since he was full on WWE-ed.

“Dad! DAD-!” Junior shouted, but George was busy with a bruised back. Not to mention his good ear was forced into the cushion, so he didn’t hear Freddy at all. You used that to your advantage, and soon scooped Freddy up.

“Remember, Daddy doesn’t hear to well. Right?” A nice learning moment. With Freddy in your lap, as you sat crossed legged. “Yeah yeah-! He hears only half the stuff we do-!” Junior would agree, and made the sign for ‘silent’ on his left ear. Just like where George’s was missing.

“That’s a good job-! Oh you did so well, you remembered!” You praised, making your son beam. Learning languages sure comes naturally, when half your family’s speaks more than one language. Romanian, Mandarían, French, Arabic, Latin, and throw in some British Sign Language.

“And you remember what we said about yelling?” You asked, as he nodded. “Not everyone likes it! So you gotta ask em first. Cause yelling is scary sometimes. Like when grandma Molly yells. She yells loud!” Junior said, making an explosion motion with his hands.

“Oh she got lungs alright-“ George huffed, as he caught himself again. Once he was steady, Junior was quick to camper over to George. Yanked into the older man’s arms, and held high in the air. Then, he collapsed on the couch. With Junior plopping on his chest. You were quick to snuggle your husbands side, as Junior sat on his chest. Having to much energy.

“Your kid-“ You tease, before kissing your husbands cheek. That made Junior stick his tongue out, and George mimicked him. Having a silly face off. That made you laugh, as you enjoyed the cuddle session with your family.

Eh, that old couch had been here since you three had got the permit for the place. Some things needed to be replaced. But memories like this? Never. You wanted to simply keep creating, and keeping, more and more. Forever, and ever.

[intertexts]

GOODMORNING ITS TRIVA TIIIIME

EPISODE 29 TRIVIA:

- they actually rerecorded this episode. bizly wanted dakotas lesson to be strategy so ORIGINALLY they were fucking. playing chess. for two hours. according to charlie "they had chess dot com open. I don't know where condi was but I was physically prone on the other side of my room like hiding behind something" SO THEY HATED IT. AND THEN RERECORDED IT AND ENDED UP WITH THIS.

- DAKOTA IS OFFICIALLY 18. HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. really funny that this happens in the hyperbolic time chamber where time in the real world doesn't actually move.

- THERES ART FOR THE BOULDER THING !!!! ITS AWESOME I LOVE THEM

- grizzly: "in the beginning were you guys told to tell me that you were quitting the Prime defenders?"

condi: "no, not at all. that just came out naturally I think"

charlie: "I was so sad to see how heartbroken dakota got at that"

EXPLANATIONS:

condi: "I mean vyncent doesn't really... get it. a lot of hardship has come from being the prime defenders I don't think he sees it as worth all that. dont worry i dont think this is a permanent state of mind for vyncent, hes a malleable little boy, but its where hes at right now. itll change with time but right now hes a little jaded"

charlie: "williams whole plan was, now that he's basically wisp-free and given a new lease on life (< side note. phrase that causes me harm specifically) his plan was to find a way to return this smoke soul and help save ashe and then after that.. who knows"

- dakota ended that scene with "I never wanted to do it alone" and that's what gave him the idea to have them help him with the boulder. he didn't want to do it alone

- the only reason william is still here at all is because of dakota and vyncent. if they weren't here he would've been gone ages ago

- YIPPEE. YOU GET TO SEE JASON ORIGAMI FINALLY. 3/3 OF THE PRIME FORCE COLLECTED. HI JASON <3

- THEY KEEP QUOTING ANGEL WITH A SHOTGUN IN REFERRNCE TO WILLIAM. DO THEY WANT ME DEAD.

- chaos beano :]

- cue anime talk for like 10 minutes. prime defenders the weeb podcast ever <3

- OK AWESOME. BIZLY TALKING ABOUT THE CHAOS DEMON: "the way it kinda works is like... the chaos demon lost all sense of personality. yknow it was a soul at one point, but the longer you're in a place like where he was, you just lose what makes you you. imagine you're in a place where people are screaming all the time and you don't even know if the screams are coming out of your own mouth and it's just eternal nothing and everything (< horrifying!). and then when he latched onto you, dakota, it became like feeding off of your negative emotions"

- "What is dakotas worst fear personified? Who is dakota afraid of the most?"

grizzly DOES NOT ANSWER THIS >:| however he does say "it was a really good choice to show him the fall right away. had he not turned into le frog I think I would've played dakota a lot more serious. but because it went from the fall to doug to le frog *then* to ashe, I think it just pissed him off more than it scared him"

- "people try to scare us by looking like ashe a lot"

"okay, no, its only been TWO people and one of them IS ASHE."

- charlie: "yeah I was nervous about that encounter considering I looked at my sheet and all I have is a chainsaw and a shotgun in the middle of an active volcano"

- charlie slime has put together a william playlist it's it's my life mission to find it now. I found the ashe playlist I can do this. I need to judge his music taste.

- theyre talking about jason dying in one of the big darkstar battles and everything and grizzly goes "wow it's crazy how dakota was there and saw all of that"

HELP THAT'S SO FUNNY. frankly i would love to see the two hour chess hell session that's so funny to me oh my god. ALSO DAKOTA 18 WHOOOO he can get shot now!!! great!!

literally took so much psychic damage over the quitting the prime defenders talk. head in hands. im so ill over them... oh boy can't wait to see william stay wisp free and enjoy his new lease on life and be a normal uneventful teenager again !! im sure thats what the next few episodes are about!! ^__^;;

but mac he's literally an angel with a shotgun fighting til the wars done!! he wants to live not just survive!!!

prime defenders weeb podcast of all time... were they talking about one piece. thats my guess. one piece & dragon ball. also the more they talk about chaos demons the worse it is!!! fucked up!!! especially with the new knowledge from the oneshot etc! can't wait for someone to get tossed in there!!

all he has is a chainsaw and a shotgun in the middle of an active volcano.... i love u william wisp. god. also PLAYLIST... good luck finding it....

[innocent-cat]

Can I get some genji and/or ashe x reader comfort for a reader whose friends broke off friendship with them? im going thru it man

I'm sorry to hear you aren't doing too well:'( BUT I LOVE ASHE AND GENJI SO I WILL POUR MY SOUL INTO HEAD CANONS OF COMFORT FOR YOU

for lack of better context clueing, youre dating genji and ashe in these scenarios.

(A/N - pls specify /p and /r you guys confuse me and make me think im doin the whole thing wrong(っ◞‸◟ c))

Ashe Caledonia x Reader Genji Shimada x Reader Head cannons

Warnings - None

"Homesick", Ashe x Reader, Genji x Reader

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻

Ashe

Ashe had been wondering where you had been all day, and you had scared her a little

You hadn't responded to her calls, texts, and let alone read her texts.

All she could think about was how she could have gotten you killed just because of her living the life she strode

Coming home to you curled on your bed SHATTERED her bro

i don't care how cold hearted she is she loves you with her whole heart and wants to comfort you in any way possible immediately

"Hey- hey- darling? Are you alright?"

if you had said yes she would have said something jokingly snarky about how 'you aint' okay n she can tell'

She of course rushed to your side kneeling, rubbing your back, kissing your head, and whispering to you whats wrong

she genuinely wants nothing more than to help comfort you in this moment and its amazing

When you eventually explain to her that one of your closer friends had decided it's best to cut ties with you, she can't help but look at you with pity

"Oh my love.. I'm so sorry about that"

Expect cuddles. ur the small spoon.

movie night for the rest of the day

she literally just hold you in her arms 'protecting' you from harms way

Still rubbing circles into your back when you fall asleep

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺༻

Genji

Poor boy thinks you ran away in the night when you're ignoring him

like

he's genuinely terrified he's gonna go home and UR NOT GONNA BE THERE

he's literally crossing his fingers that you're laying in your shared bed with him when he opens the door to the house

HEAVY sigh of relief when he sees you're safe and did not in fact abandon him

im so tired right now guys

he low key walks to the bed slowly like you're gonna leave the moment you hear him creeping around

"Helllo?｢(ﾟﾍﾟ)"

so confused and soft spoken mann

he literally went to poke you before you turned around and just

hugged him

completely full body embrace wrapped this confused boy

okay he's now less terrified but more terrified for you

"Whats wrong??"

When you tell him what happened he's kinda just like

(・へ・)

It's not his fault guys he's just a little skringly

After an awkward few moments he starts rubbing circles into your back, and low-key playing with your hair

"What can I do to help?"

literally anything.

so you did.

you guys played Mario kart all night and he let you win every race

like. he'd go out of his way to fuck with the COMS just to make sure they don't beat you

He's playing dry bone bowser. I don't make the rules, but I also kinda do

Literally just giggling your sadness away with him doing stupid things to impress you or make you laugh

even if you cant tell he's trying like. super duper hard to make you happy

[moonttaeil]

i've been waiting for you;

▶ Pairing: Jaehyun x reader. 

▶ Word count: 5k.

▶ one shot; very angsty; talks of violence; talks of domestic violence;if you're not comfortable of the idea of Y/N being abused please do not read; it does not have a very happy ending; im sorry; it has both jaehyun and Y/N pov's; (also jaehyun is not the abuser pls dont be scared)

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, still not looking at me. Something inside of me broke, scratched my organs, and made me bleed. Something inside of me cried out, harder than when receiving blows on my ribs. Something inside of me died the moment I heard his empty voice. I kept silent but he did not say anything else. It was an ending sentence, for me, for him, for what he could’ve been. We both knew, but we were both too scared to say it out loud. 

The first time I found myself in front of her the world around me fell. It is blurry, and I hope someday I’m able to make out what my thoughts on that precise moment were, but for now, all I know is her bright red lipstick draws me in like a month to a flame. Oh, what a flame she was. 

Her eyes silently called my way and my feet moved, pulled by the inevitable forces, a magnet she held close to her heart, hidden from the outside world, only felt by my hands that itched to touch her skin, burn themselves while trying to hold her near me, burn myself to ashes while trying to conquer something that was way out of my reach. 

It was a dark night. Not even the stars had shown up for our meeting. Her smile made up for that, although she was not keen to show it to me. Her lips moved; I heard her voice. I was entranced. I was hypnotized. I was immediately obsessed. Was she aware of how her presence affected me? If she was, she did not show a sign of it, not a flinch, not an intimidating glance. 

Somehow her glass was always full. She drank, and the moisture left behind on the edges of her mouth begged me to come closer. The stains on her glass, red, passionate, every second farther from me. I remember I answered her every question, I tried to be gentle, not raising my voice through the loudness of the bar. She seemed to be able to hear my every word, even the whispers that escaped from between my lips without my permission. 

I do remember the first time I saw her—I hoped to one day to forget. 

I always anticipated her entrance, and sometimes I was left only with broken hopes. She appeared and disappeared from time to time, leaving me wanting more, craving her presence. “I’ve been waiting for you” I would mutter out when she spent more than five days without checking by the bar, our place, our seats secretly reserved for ourselves. She would smile at me, slightly, almost imperceptible to the human eye. 

“Careful with waiting too long,” she would say, “some people become ghosts of the past while holding tightly on a dead idea.” 

I should’ve listened. 

Although we always sat by one another and talked, it had been the fifth time I saw her that I asked her the name that would stick with me for the rest of the years I had left to live. “Y/N,” she said, and I dreamt with her voice repeatedly. She did not ask back, and I felt uncomfortable. I wanted her to know—I needed her to think about it, to put a name on my face, to dream with it. “Jaehyun,” I answered back, trying to remain complete after being broken so many times by her eyes. 

She hummed in response. “I know.” I never asked how. 

Eventually, she decided to let me into her world. We stumbled out of the bar, her arm was wrapped around mine, trying to steady herself while she laughed at something, anything. Her eyes were shining so bright that night, the stars never dared to appear in her presence again. I couldn’t deny what was obvious, her trap for me had worked, excellently. Brilliantly. Her feet couldn’t walk straight, and in the end, I found a way to keep her on her feet without falling, dangling from my side. She never stopped laughing. 

“You drank more than usual tonight,” I commented, with no malice. No second intention. She was happy—disoriented, but happy. I was content to be able to spend time with her. She stopped and looked up at me, the remains of her happiness still written all over her forehead, cheeks, and chin. It was a second later, she sat on the curb, her knees finding their way to her chest. 

“Sometimes I feel like…” her voice trailed off, her eyes getting lost somewhere in the dark, in front of her, “like I have a lot of important things to say,” she muttered. I stood beside her, still on my feet, uncomfortable, trying to understand her mind. I realized I was still very far from the world inside of her body. “I know I have important things to say,” she repeated, but she was not talking to me, directly. “I simply…” a sigh, “don’t know what they are, yet.”

“It is hard to translate feelings into words.”

I sat beside her, in silence. My back hurt due to the position; she forced a smile back at me. 

“It’s not feelings,” she said, “a long time ago I had those, you know?” her question was not meant to be answered. Not by me. I listened. “Long time ago, when my body was not bruised, when my life was not threatened—when I was actually obsessed with living, with waking up, I was that girl.” 

In my eyes, she was still that girl. 

She kept quiet, reminiscing about the past. Her memories. 

“What happened to her?” I asked. I thought about it for a moment—if she ever was more, more, more than what she was now than what I only knew of her, my heart would not have been able to take it. Her eyes darted to me before moving slowly to look down.

“She…”

No words were needed for her to explain. She was dead, her old self, the young girl that wanted to eat the whole world before it eats her. She was dead, buried under the new Y/N that had risen to protect the corpse, the soul, the passion. “I just wish I could stop missing the old version of me,” she whispered before standing up. 

That night she left alone. I could’ve jumped right after her, I could’ve followed, and may be accompanied her back home. Everyone knew the streets were not safe at night, with dark alleys, and hungry eyes. I could’ve offered a helping hand. A conversation back home. But I did not. Instead, I stayed where I had been sitting by her side. Her presence lingered behind me, even when my eyes followed every step of her body leaving me behind. 

She did not come back for two weeks. 

When I saw her again, there was no trace left of the sour conversation we have had the last time. Instead, she smiled, sat by me, and told me what a stressful day she had had. I listened to her, being back next to her lifting my spiring at last. As usual, I said, “I’ve been waiting for you,” she hummed. “Wouldn’t it be nice if I waited for you too?” she had asked. 

I knew that was not possible. She was not obsessed – not anymore, -- with herself, as I was. It was a dangerous thought and feeling. I was playing with fire every time I saw her enter the bar. I was burning my fingers every time I let her smile at me. I was consuming my soul every time we left together, and let her go alone, leaving me behind. I was aware I would end up cremated, somehow, because of her. 

“Can I take you out to dinner?” I once asked. We were outside the bar. It was late, as usual. Her eyes looked up at me, surprised. I had been gathering the courage to ask her that question for the last four months, ever since the first time, I saw her. That night she wore a leather jacket, bruises hidden from anyone near her. I knew her answer. 

“You know I can’t,” and I knew she couldn’t. She had never explicitly said it out loud, it would damage the little bubble we have both threaded with caution, not overstepping the limits we have imposed for one another. I sighed, defeated one more time. It hurt to know that I’d always be at an arm-length distance from her, inevitably. She sensed the discouragement. She knew she was walking on a thin line; she was scared, and she was scatred. She could lose me the same I could lose her. 

I couldn’t be sure who would be losing more. 

“I want…” she whispered. 

“I know.”

It was a difficult situation for her to be carrying on her shoulders. I knew I was obsessed. She knew I was obsessed. I knew there was someone else in her life. She suffered their presence in her life. I knew I wanted to be with her, to let my fingers meet her body, to kiss her and let her fall asleep on top of my chest. She knew it would be a suicidal attempt to run away with me. “What do you say?” I rushed out, “when you go home late when you arrive drunk, what do you say?” 

She contemplated if she should answer or not. Her hands were now secured inside the pockets of her coat. Winter was coming, and we both knew it wouldn’t be long before we had to stop meeting in that bar, due to weather, and maybe other circumstances. “Sometimes I get away with it,” she simply answers, a smile trying to catch my attention while she spoke. “Sometimes I don’t.”

Although the questions were slowly rising inside my throat, and the feeling of rage crept behind my back, I kept my mouth closed shut. I knew—she knew I knew. She wasn’t hiding it, but she wasn’t giving me any details either. Her position was harder than mine, her chances to lose, her chances to win. 

“Jaehyun,” and the sound of her voice interpreting my name, it held me captive, and it would hold me captive forever, I knew. Jaehyun. Slowly, her fingers found their way to mine. It was a shy movement, she was breaking our secret agreement, she was trespassing the limits, the boards that held our worlds separated. “I think of you when I’m sad.”

It was a hard feeling to swallow. 

“How often?”

“Every night.”

I nodded. I held her hand tightly, I pulled her in. She let herself be pulled. Her feet took a step closer to my body. She did not look up at me. 

“I cannot ask you to come with me.”

“No, you can’t,” she whispered. 

“I cannot ask you to run away with me.”

“No, you can’t,” her eyes closed softly. 

“Where can I find you, if not here?”

She stayed silent. 

It had been three nights since I last saw Jaehyun. Every time I met him, I took a step closer to an inevitable ending for me, myself, my body, and my soul. I was aware—but what else could I do? He gave me the slightest hope. When he looked at me, he did not simply look at me. He saw me. He saw past and through me. I felt his eyes rummage through all my memories, which all belonged to me, only to me. But he still entered, he still tried to pick up the broken chaos inside me. He did that, unconsciously. 

I felt alive under his gaze. I felt awake when he listened to me. I felt mortal every time I took a step away from him, leaving his body standing still behind me, looking at me. I always fought back my emotions when that moment came around. Don’t look back, keep walking. Don’t look back, keep walking. Don’t—

And I did. I always left, and never asked him to follow. 

Then, I was alone. The sound of my steps was the only thing accompanying me, along with my cracking fingers. Walking out of the bubble, the thin edges, the comfort. Walking out of the light. Walking out of the passion—out of Jaehyun. But I knew better than to stop. 

I always tried to come up with an excuse, even if it wouldn’t work. Too much work? A night out with friends? Simple walk that took me out of reality. That last one I hoped to come one day true. The lights of the apartment building were almost all out. A cat crossed by me, hurriedly. The beeping sound of the numbers being typed in the little monitor, the display shining light blue. A deep breath after another. Jaehyun. My mind screamed his name. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

Almost at my door—our door, what used to be our door, what used to hold so much meaning, now reduced to simple iron in front of me. The key was inside the lock. The lights are out, and then I know it’s imminent. 

I could’ve asked for help. But who was I to drag anyone, innocent, inside the hell that was built only for myself? Who was I to doom anyone else besides myself? The same questions repeat after I am inside. Where have you been, why do you come so late? Empty streets are not a suitable place for you—but if you've turned yourself into a whore, then I guess they are. I keep my mouth shut. 

He's in the dark. But I can make out the figure of his slouched body on the couch. He is not looking at me. I smell him. The booze. The weed. I turn around to avoid discussion, praying this night I’d be able to get away with it. When my body finally sides my room – our room, where we used to daydream about one day having a family, now reduced to an empty cage – my back is on the door. I hope he does not follow tonight—not tonight. 

Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

It had been a lie. I had lied to him. I did not only think of him when I was sad. His name popped into my mind whenever I crossed the threshold of this house. 

Knocks on the door. My mind goes blank. I did not hear his steps. He wasn’t drunk. No, not tonight. He was sober, he had power. I wouldn’t get away with it tonight, I say to myself, I communicate silently to Jaehyun. I’m sorry I keep you waiting, I’m sorry I don’t appear, but the bruises will be too noticeable for me to face you like that. 

I turn around and open the door.   

I don’t go back to the bar for the rest of the week either. I know she won’t be there; Y/N won’t appear. That’s why I always pass by the glossy doors, a quick glance inside before turning my attention to the crowded street in front of me. If I were to be asked how I knew—I wouldn’t be able to explain. 

It was cruel. I knew it was cruel to let her go each night we spent a few hours together, I knew it was miserable of me to not run behind her and catch her and keep her safe, but who was I to even consider if she was not safe enough?  Maybe I was just a coward whenever it came to the moment to move and act. That’s why I stood still every time she turned around to leave, just watching her, trying to remember every step she takes in the other direction until her figure is completely lost in the shadows of the night. 

I knew it was cruel, but I couldn’t make myself overstep the boundaries she had imposed on me. 

That Friday I entered my house without going to the bar either. I was met with loneliness. I had created for myself a safe place where I couldn’t be harmed, I have created that space for me, only for me, my nostalgia imprinting every corner of the residence. 

I turned the lights on. I took off my shoes. I sat down on the couch. I could hear the neighbor kids laughing through the paper-thin walls. I could smell the dinner that was being made at the restaurant in front of our building. I could keep count of every car passing by my window. I was not focused. I was thinking of her. I was missing her. I was envisioning her in front of me, next to me, on top of me. 

I had to close my eyes. Y/N. The name, the smell, the laugh, the touch. 

I was losing myself to the delirium of not having her right there—right then. I needed her, I was poisoned by her, and I was addicted to her. Jaehyun, I could almost hear her say my name next to my ear. I opened my eyes, shocked. A thin layer of sweat had formed on my forehead, and neck, and nape. She was there—almost there. She would never be there. 

I couldn’t stand there any longer. 

I went back to the bar. 

It was Friday night and Y/N did not appear. 

When I met Jaeyhun again, it was too late. I had taken the decision to flee from that life, away from the darkness that had engulfed me. He was sitting on his – our – usual spot, his back now to the entrance. It confused me because he would always be the one looking ahead to the entrance, waiting for me. 

Three weeks had passed since the last time I saw him. Apart from me being too bruised to walk, I was not mentally ready to face him and lie to him. Lie. Lie. Lie. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat when I saw him, the outline of his neck, his wide shoulders. The darkness of his hair, cut perfectly but styled messily. I stopped. 

I felt like meeting him for the first time. I felt scared all over again. I felt nervous. I felt nauseous. Jaehyun. His name threatened to escape from my mouth in a form of a sigh. Even when I knew he shouldn’t, even when I had pushed him away from meeting so many times, disappeared, re-appeared, lied. It felt like the first time meeting him, although there was a big difference now. 

I made my way toward the table. He did not hear my steps. My hand slowly found its way to his shoulder, and I could feel him tense under my touch. The few times our skin has touched, I have always received the same reaction. His eyes darted down to his glass of wine; he did not look up. I knew why—I felt ashamed. For him, I had spent two hours in front of my mirror trying to conceal any leftover trace of the jealousy that had conquered my home years ago. For him I had painted my lips red; for him, I had practiced my smile and my words; for him, I had cried all my tears before taking a step outside of the house. 

I sat down, he did not look up. My heart skipped a beat. I knew it was too late. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, still not looking at me. Something inside of me broke, scratched my organs, and made me bleed. Something inside of me cried out, harder than when receiving blows on my ribs. Something inside of me died the moment I heard his empty voice. I kept silent but he did not say anything else. It was an ending sentence, for me, for him, for what he could’ve been. We both knew, but we were both too scared to say it out loud. 

“Once I told you I had important things to say,” I said quietly, he nodded in response, “and I know what they are now, although it might be too late.” His breathing was not even, and he was nervous. Another sip. The glass was suddenly empty. He didn’t wait for me to continue before turning around and raising his hand to the waiter, two fingers up, two more glasses coming our way. I was silent until our order came. He drank, and finally, he looked up at me.

“I am sorry I wasted so much time waiting for you,” he spoke quietly, “when I should’ve been looking out for you.”

“That would’ve been the worst situation.”

He took another sip. He hated himself—I hated myself even more, for making him see me like this, how I really am, what I really am. The misery I’ve felt for the last four years crept onto my neck, my hair, my head. 

“I’ve been trapped—I am, still,” I said. He nodded in response. “Trapped in my own life, and even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to reach you, let you take me away with you.” He nodded again. His head hung low. “I am ashamed of myself, Jaehyun.” 

It wasn’t explicit. He didn’t need explicit. I had left one bruise on my forearm without concealing it. I have left it for him to see, the surface of the situation. “You shouldn’t.” He said back. I knew—but I couldn’t afford to not be ashamed, not now that I am what I have always feared. 

“Wherever I looked, I always saw you. On each surface, on each ad. Women passed by me on the street and my brain tricked me every time into believing it was you.” He held his breath and so did I. 

I wanted to apologize again. Bring me down to my knees, bow my head low for him.

“It’s not your fault.”

His words took me out of my imagination. Reality shocked me to the core. It’s not your fault. His words repeated over and over again inside my brain, burning deep down, burning into ashes. But it is, I wanted to scream. It is. It is. His eyes never left mine. My mouth never opened. Not a single sound. “It’s not your fault, Y/N.” He spoke. 

“You don’t know—”

“I don’t need to.”

I finished the alcohol in my glass. He didn’t know. He shouldn’t know. He was good—Jaehyun was not him. Jaehyun was not mad, he was never mad. Jaehyun would understand if she left. Jaeyhun always understood when she disappeared. “I’ve come here tonight to…” I repeated the sentence I had running inside my mind for the past three weeks, “to say goodbye.”

He was silent and suddenly the noise that filled the bar that we were so used to being in vanished. It was him and me. Me and him. His eyes were on my lips. My tears were in his hands. He was there, finally—I have wished for him for years. I have dreamt with him, for him. I have fought for him, because of him. I have made stupid things; I have dug my own grave. 

“You don't want to.”

He was hurt when he said that. His voice broke. I broke.

“You haven’t even kissed me yet, and you want to say goodbye?” he laughed, out of sadness. I couldn’t bare to look at him anymore. Because he was right, I didn’t want to—but I didn’t want to live scared, scarred, for the rest of my life either. I didn’t want to bring him down with me, down the spiral of self-destruction I have created. I didn’t want to snatch away from him the years he had left to find happiness for himself. 

I have burnt all the bullets. He has the gun still loaded. 

Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t be on the same page. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No—you’re not,” he whispered. He was not mad. He spoke his mind. His words were harsh. But still, there wasn’t a hint of him being mad. 

Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. Jaehyun. 

Mind screamed for my hands to reach out to him. Let him hold me. Let him take all the pain away. Please, Jaehyun. 

“I am,” I said back. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize… at least to me. But…” he stopped. “If there is someone you ought to apologize to, is yourself.”

I stopped breathing. The tears burnt inside my eyes. I had to close them, cage them. But the more I insisted, the more they burnt, the fire spreading down my throat and reaching my lungs, imprisoning the air. It was hard to breathe. 

“Y/N,” he was demanding, he was begging. “Y/N.” It hurt, listening to my own name slip was his lips. “Where is that girl you talked about? The one obsessed with life—with the passion that came with being alive?” he questioned me, it hurt. “Where is that girl that you talked about? Find her, Y/N.” His words stabbed me. It was impossible—

“Find her, Y/N, before you let yourself die,” and with each word, his knuckles turned whiter, his fist on top of the table, “before you apologize to me from your grave, for leaving me, again. Find her.”

I wanted to speak back. I wanted to tell him that she was no longer here. I wanted to—I couldn’t. Jaehyun. His eyes burnt holes in my face, I felt as if I was disintegrating. I knew I loved him—Jaehyun. I knew before I came tonight, that it was too late to love him. He, as well, had gathered hate. 

“Jaehyun.”

And a tear slipped down his cheek as well. It glistened under the dim lights of the bar. We were still surrounded by people, but it was us. Only us. Only our memories together, only the minutes we have shared, only the seconds we have left.

That was the last time I saw her before years rushed by trying to bury her face in the depths of my memory. She was right, she came to say goodbye. She left. She disappeared. She did not come back, not to me at least. 

How many years have passed since I burned my last shot with her? Maybe ten, maybe fifteen. Every day I went to the bar. Every day I sat and waited, lonely, surrounded by my nostalgia, silently crying while drowning in many, many, glasses filled to the rim with the disgusting liquor that somehow managed to blur her face from my memory.

Although it hurt to lose her completely, I managed to stand up again. I picked up the pieces, held them together, and I glued them to one another even if they didn’t fit. I refused to be held to my knees for her — for the girl whom I have never really met, for her ghost. I left the bar one day and I didn’t come back. I turned my back to the place, to her, to our memories, and to myself. I moved. I disappeared. I followed her steps, never knowing where the road led. I tried to not rot, I tried to make myself a great man. I survived, without her, without the part of me that she held forever. 

And I did. It consumed me, just as I have predetermined she would do even before meeting her for the last time. Because I knew— there was no one else to blame but myself. That last time I saw her I held her in my arm, and let myself indulge in that little moment we had created for ourselves, the last moment we would share together. I remember her scent. I remember her hands holding tight to my arms, her fingers trembling. She did not want to let me go, and yet she did. She did not want to draw me to her madness, and yet she did. She did not want to hurt me, and yet, she killed a part of me that would never revive. 

And, although all that happened, I managed to get up from my knees. 

I couldn’t hold myself hostage in the past while grasping onto the thin threat that held the idea of her coming back to me. 

I also let her go. 

The years have passed and I sigh as I make my way to the kindergarten where my children await for me to pick them up. I walk slowly, thinking about all the tasks we have for today. I think about my wife, such a lovely girl, such a respectful woman, and such a responsible mother. I think about her, and my heart aches. Because I love her— I do love her. But I am not obsessed with her, with her existence, her passion. She has never had her lips painted deep red. She has never had me waiting for her, she was always early. She never kept her mysteries to herself, she shared her life with me. 

I loved her and yet— I don’t.

I pass by a bookshop. The path I take every afternoon is the same. I’ve been to that bookshop many times before. I’ve shopped there, and I’ve spent evenings with my kids looking for the right book for nighttime. And yet I stop, my feet suddenly forget how to move. Because she was there— her face was there. Her eyes were there. Her red lips were on the cover. It was both improbable and impossible. I had given up on the idea to see her again years ago. She looked at me, right at me. Her picture draws me in. I stepped inside the bookshop. 

Without giving it a second thought I pick up the books. 

It’s not your fault, it’s the title. She’s holding onto a glass of wine, and I recognize the surroundings of the photo. The dim lights and the chairs were where they used to spend every night when they saw each other. She was in their reserved seats. The entrance was behind her. It felt like I have been the one taking the photo. 

Years have passed, and they left a mark behind. She had wrinkles, she was thinner, and her cheekbones were way prominent now. Her bare shoulders showed in the photo, and more than one scar was recognizable. Time was not kind to everyone but to her— time did not exist. She glowed, she still had the magnet that pulled me in. I held the book and my mind drifted back in time to when I would wait for her, for hours, for days, and for weeks. 

“Jaehyun?” The voice of the lady who works there takes me out of the trance, the little bubble that appeared again after so many years of living like a mortal. I turn to look at her, stunned, pale probably. She smiles and nods towards the stack of books with her face on them. With Y/N smiling at me. “It’s the new best-seller, a biography by a survivor of domestic violence,” she explains, “but I don’t think Mariko will like that kind of book.” She’s talking about my wife. She believes I want to buy that book for my wife. Oh, how naïve she actually was. 

“Thank you,” I mumble and turn around to look at the book between my hands again. 

Slowly I open the first page. 

I’ve been waiting for you, J. I want you to know that it is not your fault I left.

[qulizalfos]

aftermath, bitter thing - by liza (im not putting my last name on tumblr dot com)

...

and again the light rose above ridges of green and ash

and again i whispered to no one,

we are still here because we are something more powerful than the things that kill our hearts

but what a lonely life under a shell of a sun

...

[shinytapuashy]

Something that would be so cute would totally be Ash being able to see in the dark and One time Ash scared professor Kukui because professor Kukui was doing late night research and heard noise upstairs in all he sees is glowing eyes And he was like

"AGHAGAHAHANNANENANHAHAHAHAG oh it's you"

"Ok ok, im comming"

After some time he gets used and burnet sometimes ask ash to get kukui ass off his cience stuff and bring her husband to his room

[adamsbulletwound]

haii ! this is a lil intro post :3

basic stuff

- my name is ash i use he / they [don't give me nicknames unless i know you]

- im 16 so don't be a freak toward me >:[

- im trans, bi and ace and very proud

- film enthusiast (horror movies save me), photographer (might make a side blog for that some day) and writer !!

sideblogs:

- @ashsgrapejuice - oc blog

more down below !

fandoms

- saw (crazy i know) i lobe the first and V

- gotham / dc

- portal

- sinjin drowning

- inscryption

- the stanley parable

- fallout games and show

- ihnmaims

- cornetto trilogy

- mcsm (stupid ass block game save me)

- idv (sighhhh get me out of here)

and lots of other stuff too that you'll probably see me reblog ☝️🤓

i also play d&d (i loveee paladins and warlock.. ough)

you should ask me abt music too...

AND i love my ocs and i will ramble about them someday

boundaries

- basic dni

- pro and com shippers are weirdos and should leave me alone 👍

yeah im just a guy tbh i love interacting with other people of the fandoms im in so just send me an ask or comment or something

thanks for reading !! wahoo !

[blurbgreenstars]

Why thank you @saintsnlancs for being gracious enough to tag me! <3

Last song: Dover Beach by Baby Queen

Currently watching: other than the ashes, its mlc, wimbledon and whatever else the tv throws

Currently reading: magazine cutouts (I'm arranging them actually or atleast attempting to)

Current obsession: bird watching from my window (that im doing regularly)

Bonus obsession: fighting on tumblr dot com with mentioned tagger

Anyone who wants to do it, you are tagged <3

[wheeling]

the kind mutual that hides behind the anon feature is here. thank you ash for being on this hellhole that is tumblr dot com. you not only write mike to a tee but you're also very kind and understanding and too patient imo after the somewhat recent events. i'm so sorry you had to go through all of that but i want you to know that there are people out there like me who truly love you for who you are. i am still shooketh by how maturely you handled everything. and shooteth by your writing. and aesthetics. and how you take one character and just bring them to life. and for the little i talked to you ooc. you make this rpc better with just your presence and for that i want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. you're an angel really. i hope no one dares to disrupt your mood in any way and, if by any chance (god forbid) that happens, just know that this one secretive mutual of yours will find out sooner or later and will defend you till the end of times. you deserve the best and nothing less. period. that being said, i hope you have a lovely day and know that your sincere fan i mean mutual is here, always ready to shower you with the love you deserve. again, thank you for being here and thank you for being you❤

WHO IS THIS IM GONNA CRY??? Oh my god 🥺 I’m soft help I’m melting into a puddle. Seriously, after all this recent heavy and stressful bullshit, this made my entire month. You have no idea how much lighter this made me feel. It legitimately brought a smile to my face. Thank you whoever you are, I love you sm and am sending you so many hugs <333

[c10v3r]

minor spelling error im gonna get called out on twitter dot com/SILLY

BUT HONESTLY even if pb didn’t stop them, their plans would end up fucking up somehow

like they’d get a little silly while trying to execute the plan and then everything they set up just spontaneously explodes for no reason

this is why they’re the girlfailures in crime fr/silly

them standing there in the ashes and smoke of their plans with like a single mario cough and then one of them is like "wanna go get mcdonalds." or something so they dont even end up doing it just failing and then going out to eat something anyways