#The background is just there to fill space

[mapiforpresident]

Forever

Leah x reader

~~~

The evening was calm, the world outside falling into a quiet hum as the lights in your living room flickered warmly. The two of you were curled up on the couch, just like you always were when the world slowed down enough for you to simply be together. Leah’s strong arms were wrapped around you, her fingers playing gently with your hair as you lay across her, your head resting on her chest.

You could hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, a comforting sound that matched your own. Every so often, she’d let out a soft chuckle at the random movie you had playing in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention to the screen. The real focus was each other—just the closeness, the quiet, the love.

You tilted your head back, catching Leah’s gaze, and without a word, she leaned in. Her lips met yours softly at first, but that didn’t last long. Soon enough, you were tangled in each other, kissing deeply, fingers tracing the contours of each other’s faces, mouths moving in sync. You melted into her, the familiar warmth of her touch filling you in a way that nothing else ever could.

But just as you were losing yourself in the moment, Leah pulled back. You blinked, her thumb gently brushing across your lips as she looked down at you, her expression soft but serious.

“We should get married,” she said suddenly, her voice carrying an unexpected calmness. The words hung in the air between you, almost like a question, but also a statement—a suggestion that felt more like a possibility than just a passing thought.

You blinked, not sure if you had heard her right at first. “Wait, what?” you asked, your voice a little breathless from the kiss.

Leah smiled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. We’ve been together for three years now, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. So... why not make it official?” Her thumb brushed over your cheek, and she added, “What do you think?”

The quiet that followed was almost deafening, the weight of her words sinking in. You had never really talked about marriage before. You’d been so content with just the two of you, building your life one day at a time, that it had never occurred to you how serious Leah was about it. But now, hearing it from her lips, everything clicked into place.

A grin tugged at your lips, and your heart swelled in your chest. You sat up slightly, just enough to look at her more directly. “Leah, you’re serious?”

Leah chuckled, running a hand through her blonde hair. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I don’t want to wait forever to make that official. But only if you want it too. No pressure.”

You took a moment to let her words sink in. You thought about everything the two of you had been through—how you’d supported each other through thick and thin, how your love had only grown stronger with time. It felt natural. Right, even. You had always known that Leah was the one, but hearing her say it aloud made your chest ache with a love so deep that it almost felt like you couldn’t contain it.

“I want it, too,” you whispered, a soft smile pulling at your lips as your hand gently cupped her face. “I can’t think of anything more perfect.”

Leah’s eyes lit up, and before you knew it, she was kissing you again—gentle, sweet, and full of promise. Her lips moved against yours as if sealing the new bond between you, the world outside seeming to fade away completely.

When she pulled back again, her face lit up with a grin so wide it made her eyes sparkle. “We’re going to make this work,” she said, her voice full of certainty. “We’ll figure it out together. I just— I just want you to know that I love you. So much.”

You smiled, brushing your forehead against hers, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. “I love you too, Leah. I always have.”

And in that quiet, cozy space between you, with nothing but the soft glow of the lamp and the sound of your synchronized breaths filling the air, it felt like the world had just shifted, rearranged itself into something even more beautiful than before. The idea of forever was suddenly real, and it was with her.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader

BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.

(I love your writing btw😼)

Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader

The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughts—the whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.

You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, not really. You weren’t like them, never had been. You didn’t need the comfort of their companionship. You didn’t want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.

And yet, they tried.

Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questions—no, that wasn’t his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.

His silence was a constant reminder. He didn’t need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.

It was unsettling, but you never let it show.

Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know you’ve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."

His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didn’t care about family. You didn’t care about any of them.

“I’m busy,” you’d say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.

But it wasn’t enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, he’d turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, you’d change your mind.

Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itself—always there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

"You know, you could talk to us more," he’d say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something more—something deeper. “We don’t bite, you know.”

You didn’t respond. Of course, you didn’t. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didn’t try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.

And you? You weren’t going to let him.

M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."

Her kindness wasn’t forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasn’t like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gann’s attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.

But you didn’t need help. You didn’t need her to reach you. And so, you’d quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.

And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didn’t waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You don’t have to be so closed off, you know," she’d say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemis—her eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "We’re all in this together."

She had a point, of course. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about being “in it together.” You had your own path to follow, and they weren’t a part of it. You didn’t need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, you’d give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasn’t really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.

Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didn’t push you the way the others did. He didn’t try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.

But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, you’d let them in.

But you wouldn’t.

In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.

But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.

They didn’t understand it, not really. They couldn’t. You were not like them. You didn’t need what they offered. You didn’t need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.

But it wouldn’t.

You weren’t there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.

And that, for now, was enough.

(A/n: thank you kind fellow fur🤭😽)

[kinzhae]

He Only Dated You For Your Sister

Gojo X Fem!Reader

You always thought love would save you. That it would sweep in and make everything hurt less—less lonely, less empty, less… you. And for a while, with Satoru Gojo, it felt like it had.

He wasn’t just charming; he was magnetic. His presence filled every space, his laughter echoing louder than anyone else’s. He made you feel seen, plucking you out of the background you’d been relegated to your whole life. He chose you, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

But the truth is, he never chose you.

You see it now, in hindsight, with a clarity that cuts like broken glass. The signs were always there, but you ignored them because you wanted to believe in the illusion. You wanted to believe that, for once, you were enough.

The final blow came the night it all unraveled.

You had planned a quiet evening—dinner at home, candles flickering on the table, the kind of intimate moment you craved but rarely got. He arrived late, as always, with a lopsided grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You tried to ignore the ache in your chest when he barely glanced at the effort you’d put into everything.

Halfway through the meal, your sister’s name slipped into the conversation. Again.

“She’s doing amazing, isn’t she?” he said, his tone laced with admiration. “I mean, she could do anything she wanted.”

You froze, your fork hovering mid-air. It wasn’t the first time he’d talked about her, but tonight, something snapped.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Do you even realize how often you bring her up?”

His expression faltered, surprise flashing across his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I can’t go a single day without hearing you talk about her,” you said, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m talking about the way you look at her. The way you… God, the way you light up around her.”

He blinked, leaning back in his chair, his usual confidence suddenly absent. “You’re imagining things,” he said softly, but the guilt in his eyes betrayed him.

“No,” you shot back, standing now, your heart racing. “I’m not. Don’t you dare lie to me. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. You could feel your hands shaking, your breath coming in shallow gasps. And then, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible, he said the words you’d been dreading.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

The room tilted. Your world tilted. You gripped the back of your chair to steady yourself. “What didn’t you mean, Satoru?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and that pause—that damned, suffocating pause—told you everything. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I care about you,” he said. “I do. But…”

“But it’s her,” you finished for him, your voice breaking.

The look on his face was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of his betrayal pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. You had known, deep down, for so long. But hearing it—seeing it—was something else entirely.

You grabbed your coat, your vision blurry with tears, and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called, his voice laced with desperation. “Don’t go. Please. We can fix this.”

You turned, your hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it hurt. “Fix what, Satoru? The fact that I was never enough for you? The fact that you used me to get closer to her?”

He flinched, the weight of your words hitting him like a slap.

“You don’t love me,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “You never did. And I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

And with that, you walked out.

---

The night air was freezing, but you didn’t feel it. You walked aimlessly, your chest hollow, your tears blending with the light drizzle that had started to fall. You thought breaking up with him would bring some kind of closure, some kind of relief.

But all you felt was loss.

Loss for the person you thought he was. Loss for the love you thought you had. And most of all, loss for the part of you that still wanted him, even now.

When you got home, your phone buzzed relentlessly—texts from him, voicemails pleading for another chance. But you knew there was nothing left to salvage. He had never truly been yours to begin with.

You deleted the messages, one by one, until your phone was silent.

And in the quiet, you made a promise to yourself: you would heal. Not for him. Not for anyone else. For you.

[deathricedrawn]

big wide open galaxy

here's my thought process on this drawing... i wrote this in google docs... I hope this is coherent lol:

I am very normal about Andromeda (the song, the constellation, the galaxy, the myth…), if you haven’t noticed already. My love for Andromeda is why I’m doing a bachelor in physics and astronomy (my course is kicking my ass but we stay balling)

I think Andromeda as a concept fits Anya very well. As the myth, Andromeda is chained to a rock as a sacrifice to save her parents’ kingdom. However, it is Perseus who comes along and unchains Andromeda and takes her as his wife. A common critique of the myth is that it’s very much centered around the male gaze: Andromeda is basically a submissive trophy wife for Perseus as a symbol of his bravery. Really, Andromeda has no say in the matter. I feel like there’s a lot of ways you can tie this to Jimmy and Anya, though I’m struggling to come up with the words for it.

Later on, Andromeda is put into the stars as the constellation by Athena. There’s a lot of different reasons as to why this is, but a commonly accepted one is that it’s to commemorate Perseus’s brave deeds. Once again, Andromeda is reduced to Perseus’s acts, even in her death/eternal life in the stars. This, I feel, is fitting: Anya died as a result of what Jimmy did to her. Her death is, in part, defined by Jimmy, similar to how Andromeda is defined by Perseus. Aside from that, just like Andromeda, once Anya dies, she too is put into the stars but in a much more literal sense. Her final resting place is literally in space. 

This also ties in as to why I think Andromeda (the galaxy) fits Anya. Currently, the Andromeda Galaxy is set to collide with our Milky Way Galaxy in 4-5 billion years. This can be tied to the crashing of the Tulpar, but, obviously, in a much smaller time frame. Jimmy’s reason for crashing the Tulpar is, ultimately, because of Anya. He feared the repercussions of what he did to Anya once they returned home, so he chose to crash the ship and take everyone else on board down with him.

A deeper dive into my art: Anya’s pose is reminiscent of the pose the Andromeda constellation is in. Furthermore, she’s held by the wrists and ankles with red chains that resemble the centipede version of Polle. This aspect is meant to touch on the idea of Andromeda being dubbed ‘The Chained Woman’, but also as to why she (Anya, in this case) feels tied down. She feels chained by what Jimmy did to her, what she’s forced to live with, and the fact she can’t feasibly escape through any means other than death. She’s chained by her pregnancy too, which explains the Polle motif.

I depicted her skin as pale and glowing. This is to mimic the brightness of a star (tying her to both the Andromeda constellation and Galaxy). Her expression is mostly neutral, though it bears traces of sadness and acceptance (you can make of that what you wish). In the background, the space is filled with eyeballs reminiscent of Curly’s. These are meant to be stand-ins for space debris, or planets. It’s meant to represent how Curly, even as she neared death, was a big part of Anya’s life on the Tulpar. She took care of him after the crash and she died next to him. The space background behind her was also meant to be similar to a womb with Anya taking the place of a fetus, next to just being there for framing and contrast purposes.

[chillypowder]

A Future Without You

Pairing: Ekko x Reader

Word Count: ~2,050

Genre: Angst, Tragedy

Summary: Years after encouraging you to leave the violence of the Undercity, Ekko discovers you’ve returned—as an Enforcer. Old wounds reopen as duty and ideology threaten to pull you apart once more. In the end, love may not be enough to bridge the divide between your worlds.

Warnings: Violence, major character death, emotional conflict

Ekko sat on the rickety railing of a Firelight hideout, the glow of the Undercity flickering below. The humming engines of passing drones were drowned out by his own thoughts—visions of a face he hadn’t seen in years but could never forget. The reader. You.

He’d told himself he had done the right thing back then, encouraging you to leave. “This place ain’t safe for you,” he’d said, his voice trembling under the weight of unspoken fears. Back then, you’d both known that staying meant being swallowed by the violence that consumed the Undercity. You’d begged him to come with you, but Ekko had stayed. He had a cause. A family. A purpose.

But what was the point of fighting for tomorrow if you weren’t in it?

He sighed, his thumb tracing the edges of the Z-Drive strapped to his wrist. It was a constant reminder of the choices he couldn’t undo and the moments he couldn’t relive, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Boss.” One of his scouts interrupted his thoughts, climbing up onto the railing. “You’re gonna wanna see this.”

Ekko leapt down, his boots landing silently on the metal grating. “What is it?” he asked, trying to push the pang of longing back into the recesses of his mind.

The scout hesitated. “Enforcers. We spotted a squad near the border. They’re armed, but they don’t look like a raid party. One of ‘em… they look familiar.”

His heart stopped for a moment. He followed the scout to a hidden vantage point. Through the scope of his makeshift binoculars, he spotted a small group of Enforcers patrolling the alleyway below.

And there you were.

You moved with confidence, your armor glinting in the sickly green light of the Undercity. The years had hardened you; the softness he remembered had been replaced with a sharp, almost dangerous resolve.

Ekko’s breath caught. It had been so long since he’d seen you. So long since he’d heard your voice. So long since he’d broken his own heart by letting you go.

The confrontation came faster than he expected. The Firelights intercepted the Enforcers before they could make it further into the Undercity. Ekko stood at the forefront, his mask hiding his face but not the determination in his stance.

“Enforcers don’t belong here,” he said coldly, his voice amplified by the modulator in his mask.

Your hand hovered over your weapon. “We’re not here to fight.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

The tension crackled like a live wire. Ekko’s crew had their weapons drawn, and the Enforcers shifted uneasily. Then, you stepped forward, lowering your weapon—a gesture of trust.

“Please,” you said, your voice softer now, more familiar. “We just want to talk.”

Ekko hesitated. He could feel the eyes of his crew on him, waiting for his decision. After a moment, he gestured for them to lower their weapons.

The conversation took place in one of the Firelight hideouts, a dimly lit room filled with the hum of machinery and the faint scent of oil. Ekko removed his mask, and the shock on your face was impossible to hide.

“It’s you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“It’s me,” he replied, his tone flat.

You reached out as if to touch him, but stopped yourself, your hand falling back to your side. “I thought you were…”

“Gone?” Ekko finished for you. “Yeah. I thought the same about you.”

The room seemed to shrink around you as the weight of everything unsaid hung in the air. Your comrades stood awkwardly in the background, but Ekko gestured for his crew to give you space.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, crossing his arms.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you shot back. “The Firelights, the raids… This is what you stayed for?”

“This is my home,” he said simply.

“And look what it’s done to you.”

The bitterness in your voice cut deeper than you intended, and Ekko flinched. You took a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I joined the Enforcers to make a difference, Ekko. I thought… I thought I could help. But seeing you here…”

“Seeing me here makes you what? Guilty?” His voice was sharp now, laced with anger he hadn’t meant to show.

“No,” you said firmly. “It makes me remember why I left.”

The argument spilled out like a storm, years of frustration and heartbreak fueling every word.

“You don’t get to lecture me about choices,” Ekko snapped. “You think I wanted this? You think I didn’t want to leave with you?”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because someone had to stay and fight for the people who couldn’t leave!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“You don’t understand,” Ekko said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like to watch everything you love fall apart and not be able to do anything about it.”

“I do understand,” you said, your voice trembling. “Do you think leaving was easy for me? Do you think I didn’t hate myself every day for it?”

“Then why did you come back?”

“Because I thought I could save you!”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered.(like the air😭)

The reunion didn’t end in resolution. You left with your squad, and Ekko let you go, his heart heavier than ever. But the encounters didn’t stop. Over the next few weeks, you crossed paths again and again—on the battlefield, in negotiations, in quiet moments stolen from the chaos around you.

Each time, the old feelings resurfaced, tangled with the new scars you both carried.

One night, you found yourselves alone in the ruins of an old factory, the only sounds the distant hum of Shimmer labs and the occasional drip of water from a broken pipe.

“I never stopped loving you,” Ekko admitted, his voice barely audible over the din.

You looked at him, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then why does it feel like we’re further apart than ever?”

He didn’t have an answer.

In the end, it was duty that tore you apart for good. The Firelights and the Enforcers collided in a brutal skirmish, and Ekko found himself face to face with you once more.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, his weapon lowered.

“I have to,” you said, your voice cracking. “This is bigger than us.”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s not. It’s always been about us.”

For a moment, it seemed like you might lower your weapon. But then, a shout from one of your comrades broke the spell.

“Stand down!”

The explosion that followed sent you both flying. Ekko woke up to find the battlefield eerily quiet, the smoke and debris settling around him. And then he saw you.

You were lying a few feet away, blood pooling beneath you.

“No,” he whispered, scrambling to your side. “No, no, no…”

Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled weakly. “Ekko…”

“Don’t talk,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “I’ll get you help. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you both knew it wasn’t true.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“For leaving. For coming back. For everything.”

“No,” he said firmly, his hands trembling as he held you. “You don’t get to apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

You reached up, your hand brushing against his cheek. “I’m glad… I got to see you again.”

And then you were gone.

Ekko sat alone in the hideout that night, your words echoing in his mind. He stared at the Z-Drive on his wrist, the temptation gnawing at him.

He could go back. He could save you.

But no matter how many times he replayed the moment, no matter how many ways he tried to change the outcome in his mind, he knew it wouldn’t work. Some things couldn’t be undone.

Some things had to be let go.

Ekko’s grief became a part of him, woven into the fabric of who he was. But so did your memory. He carried it with him, a reminder of what he’d lost and what he still had to fight for.

And though the future felt emptier without you, he vowed to keep moving forward. For you. For the Undercity. For a tomorrow where love and sacrifice wouldn’t have to be the same thing.

Masterlist

[sur-i-ki]

ok this one doesn't get a chapter title. I've spent a lot of time writing and re-writing this because of how much of it is from what I've experienced. but. it needs to happen. so imma js post it tbh.

14/20

You try not to go into his room. It’s still his room, though he’s been gone long enough for the world to expect you to call it something else. A storage space. A guest room. Anything but what it is—a shrine.

The mere thought of it used to paralyze you—the weight of what you’d see, of what you’d feel, too unbearable to entertain. But now, standing here in the doorway, you realize you didn’t choose this moment. It chose you, dragging you here on legs that don’t feel like yours, under a weight that has sat on your chest for days, weeks, months.

The door creaks when you push it open, and the sound slices through the silence like something alive. You flinch, but you don’t stop. Your breath comes shallow and fast as if your body already knows what your heart refuses to acknowledge: you’re not ready for this.

The room is the same as the day he left it. The air smells stale, untouched, yet faint traces of him linger like a ghost you can’t exorcise. That warm, earthy cologne he always used, the one you told him made him smell like sunlight. You breathe it in too deeply, and it punches through your lungs like a blade. Your heart clenches at the familiarity, at the cruel way it pulls you back to a time when he was still here, still laughing, still alive.

You step inside, each movement tentative, like the floor might crack open beneath your weight. The bed is unmade, the sheets twisted and pushed aside in a way that’s so him it hurts. He always hated making the bed. "What’s the point?" he used to say, grinning in that lopsided way that made you want to laugh and scream at the same time. The comforter is bunched at the corner where he kicked it off the last time he slept here. His shirt is draped over the chair in the corner, a crumpled thing that looks like him—slumped, careless, perfect. And the sneakers. You hate the sneakers. He left them by the door, one lying on its side like he rushed out, like he planned to come back.

Your knees buckle, and you sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. The fabric is cold under your fingertips, no longer carrying the warmth of him. You press your hands into the sheets, gripping them as if they might anchor you, but all they do is remind you of the emptiness that’s replaced him.

Your eyes wander without permission, catching on the little things that used to be invisible in the background of your life. The sneakers by the door, one tipped over, the laces undone. There’s a mug on the desk, dried tea leaves clinging to the edges like a relic. You pick it up because you can’t help yourself, the ceramic warm in your memory though cold now, the handle shaped to fit his hand. You clutch it so tightly your fingers ache. If you let go, it will shatter. If you don’t, you will.

A jacket draped over the chair in the corner, sleeves dangling lifelessly. Each item feels like a tiny wound, slicing into you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

There’s a photo on the desk. You almost don’t want to look at it, but your gaze is drawn to it like a magnet. It’s the two of you, grinning, arms slung over each other’s shoulders like the world could never touch you. The frame is crooked, leaning slightly against a stack of books he never got around to reading. Your throat tightens, and your vision blurs as tears rise unbidden.

You feel them spilling down your cheeks, hot and relentless, like a dam has finally broken. You try to wipe them away, but it’s useless. They just keep coming, each drop carving a path down your face, each sob ripping through your chest like shards of glass.

The grief is suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t escape. It’s in the air, thick and cloying, sticking to your skin and filling your lungs until you can’t breathe. It’s in your head, a constant hum of what-ifs and should-haves that won’t leave you alone. It’s in your heart, a jagged, bleeding thing that refuses to heal.

You clutch the photo to your chest, curling into yourself like you can fold away the pain. But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. He’s everywhere in this room. In the things he left behind, in the silence that’s too loud, in the memories that play on a loop in your mind.

You remember the way he used to sit at that desk, scribbling notes or sketching ideas he’d never finish. The way he’d hum under his breath, always a little off-key but somehow perfect. The way he’d glance up at you, his eyes soft and full of something you didn’t realize you’d miss until it was gone.

You can almost hear his voice, the teasing lilt of it as he’d call your name, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a hug. You can almost feel his hand brushing against yours, a casual touch that felt anything but casual. You can almost see him, standing in the doorway with that smile that made the world seem brighter.

But it’s all in your head. He’s gone, and no amount of wishing will bring him back.

The tears slow eventually, leaving you feeling hollow and raw. Your chest aches, and your head pounds, but you don’t move. You can’t. The thought of leaving this room feels impossible, like walking away would mean letting him go for good.

Your fingers brush against the comforter, tracing the patterns he used to complain about. “Too busy,” he’d said, but he kept it anyway because it was your choice, and he always let you have your way in the end.

A shaky breath escapes you as you lean forward, resting your head in your hands. The grief is quieter now, but it’s no less sharp. It cuts through you in waves, each one leaving you more worn down than the last.

You think about all the things you’ll never get to say to him. All the moments you’ll never share. All the times you’ll have to face the world without him by your side.

The room is a graveyard of what once was, each object a headstone for a memory you can’t let go of. You want to gather them all up, to keep them close so you won’t forget, but you know that’s impossible. The memories will fade, no matter how tightly you hold on.

And that terrifies you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the ache of what you’ve lost. Time seems meaningless, stretching and twisting until it feels like you’ve been there forever.

Eventually, your body moves on its own, your fingers reaching out to touch the photo again. You trace his face with trembling hands, as if you can somehow bring him back to life through sheer willpower. But the glass is cold under your fingertips, a harsh reminder of the distance between you.

He’s everywhere, and he’s nowhere.

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the walls pressing closer, the air growing heavier. You stand abruptly, the motion making your head spin. You stumble toward the door, your legs shaky and unsteady.

You pause in the doorway, glancing back one last time. The room looks the same, but it feels different now. Or maybe you’re the one who’s different.

As you step into the hallway, the air feels cooler, lighter, but it doesn’t help. The weight of him follows you, clinging to your skin, your mind, your heart.

You don’t look back. You can’t.

Because if you do, you know you’ll never leave.

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[impistry]

Hurry! Post some art in the middle of the night while no one is looking XD! FYI, this was designed this so I could have it in time for FWA in May (debating on doing a wood engraved badge or printing this off in color and laminating it)

[leeeeeeef]

the steadfast facade of little miss wright

[ivythyrsus]

i tried coloring in sonic adventure 2 artstyle fire emoji

[loveletterworm]

Sonic OC inspired by that kind of weird retcon-ish thing where Silver can't actually time travel on his own and instead just has random time portals happen to him, something that I affectionately refer to as him being "Cursed By God". This character is also cursed by god in a different manner. She doesn't really get to have any especially useful powers or go on fun adventures or anything like the other sonic characters she just has to live in a Twilight Zone episode for her whole life. I got kind of excited about her so she comes with an excess of information and an arbitrarily high effort picture. Her extremely long name amuses me

[charlieswebb]

my favorite genre depends on the medium

movies? scifi/ thrillers

books? fantasy

audio plays? horror

[doctorsiren]

Here’s just the art I did for my Death Shroud song :D

[jichanxo]

beloved patriarch (inspired by the lower mv)

[ghoul--doodle]

A ver in her pjs I doodled during a lecture :}

[cuteniaarts]

Part 2 of my set of presents for my dear @katkastrofa’s birthday, combined with a small belated commemoration of LaF’s tenth anniversary :)

I know I’ve said it countless times yesterday, but once again, happy birthday, Kat!! I hope this year brings you many, many good things, everything you deserve and so much more. Thank you for being my friend <3

[mortemcatabasis]

Labyrinth Angel