#do tell me if more tw's need to be added! yea im not a good tagging guy

[24-hours]

Can we get some c!hc!Tango icons with a dreamcore/traumacore/hurtcore aesthetic?

Hiya Tango I don't know exactly what dreamcore traumacore or hurtcore look like but uhhh I sure I'd try? The art used is by @/breoasis on tumblr [x] and @/periwinkle-moonlight on tumblr [x]! Thanks for requesting pal! -Boo!

[i-am-an-arson-enthusiast]

Here at i-am-an-arson-enthusiast, we i am dedicated to bringing you top quality content such as but not limited to: gay things, random thoughts, and even live arson that you don't even have to tune into!!

hi this is my intro post :D

Hiiii!!

here, have some basic info about me :3

name: anything goes pretty much but please use multiple names :] HOWEVER not neptune as that is reserved for @marcysbear :3c

OBLIGITORY QUEER SECTION!! i say that like i dont actively want this here. anyway! the labels i use are queer, bi, lesbian, gay, genderfluid, trans, gnc, non binary, genderqueer and arospec. arospec as in i am largely aromantic and use that as an umbrella term, however i am capable romantic attraction/ am flexible with such labels bc its all bullshit anyway.

i have audhd! i get hyperfixation and sometimes talk abt that if i so wish and my special interests are space and generally queer shit. also pls use tone tags i will think u hate me im too anxious for my own good sometimes

i am dogshit at spelling so. ignore the typos and misspellings!!

if u send me chain asks dont expect me to keep the chain going, ill answer it and say thanks but i wont actually do the thing

BOUNDIES!! GENUINE, ACTUAL BOUNDRIES!

-pls don’t send dono asks i don’t got money bc im a minor

-dont think if i have a take like "i dont like taylor swift" i am personally attacking you. you can like whatever the fuck u want idc everyone is entitled to their own opinoins. i just dont like her as a person

-DONT call me the reserved names if you arent that one person

-try to refrain from calling ppl (including me) baby/babe/bae around me it makes me want to die sometimes and i dont want to constantly be a romance repulsed little shit around u guys (this means dont use those names for anyone if i am in the conversation i cant control past that) (it also isnt a problem here i dont think ive ever seen it here its really just discord tbh)

-dont ask for my discord unless were friends or close in some way and dont get offended if i say no

-u can call me a faggot or dyke or tranny as long as you are the slur you are using

-if you have my discord and were moots you can call me a slut and a whore all u want idm :3 (bc i am a slut and a whore.) (really really sorry if you didnt want to read that btw /gen)

OH TAGS UH

i try to consistanly use them but sometimes i dont. sorry.

woah i’m using queue - i’m actually queuing a post for once instead of spam reblogging (which i mostly do sorry not sorry)

woah a real text post - me positing an actual text post for once but it’s becoming more common

cool ass art - art that i reblog (it’s all cool)

arson does half way decent art sometimes - my art. art i made. yea

moots feel free to ask for tags <3

i will keep adding more as i remember them and make them so yea :D also i try to tag for things but i often dont add tw or cw because. idk. just havent ever done that. if you need me too you can tell me in any form and ill try my gaddamn hardest to add them. feel free to *kindly* remind me if i forgot. (as in no verbal abuse ya know. if ur scared ur probably fine)

~~~~

i think. thats it. if u follow me and u didnt like this post dw im gonna screen u anyway <3

thank you for reading all of that i know it’s long. your cool so here’s a cookie 🍪 also here have this

~~~~~ blinky time ~~~~~

credit to @jeweledviolets @v-4-l-0-n and @theprideful :)

[dilfhakyeon-moved]

"Why are you still here?" with either Sparcy or RedFinch?

hmmmhm bold of you to assume i’d write for redfinch but well tried i don’t have anything against the ship but ppl made me dislike it from the start i’m sorry hh

anyway here’s uhhhh sparcy idk if i should put a tw ? tell me what i should add if needed !! it’s sort of angsty i think though so uh yeah

“Why are you still… here ?”

“Oh. Uh.”

The question had come off as a surprise, for Darcy certainly hadn’t heard the other step in the room. Oh, he’d just been too focused on other things, like… the really bad sensation everything was offering at the moment, including the clothing. Especially the clothing.

“Feeling bad. I forgot to get out.”

“Darcy, no one takes baths with their clothes on.”

“Contributes to the feeling bad part…”

This was concerning, for Spot at least. The other didn’t seem very phased by anything, except the fact his clothes felt all sticky and gross. It did make him feel awful, but nothing in him had given him the courage to take them off. So he was stuck there, in water that was just cold at this point, and he didn’t move. Just… rocking back and forth kind of staring at the water, but he wasn’t really staring. Looking at nothing would be a better way to describe it ; Spot understood what that meant and his heart broke, every second he spent watching him before he decided to make a move and step closer.

“Can I touch you ?” He enquired, cautiously leaning against the bathtub and waiting for Darcy to nod before he leaned closer, struggling to take his shirt off - but managing. Setting it on the floor next to the tub, he then got onto taking his pants and underwear off, making them join the shirt and shifting to turn on the water. He didn’t want to see his boyfriend get sick because of this. He needed a warm bath, not this cold water.

With the hot water now running, Spot tried to mix it with the rest of the water to warm it up. Soon enough, he was also gently poking Darcy to bring him back to reality.

“You should sit more comfortably, hey… Do you want bubbles ?” His tone always kept soft and quiet. Noise would only worsen things, and he’d been very careful to be a better boyfriend lately. Darcy seemed more responsive too, more… aware. And he laid back against the tub, humming quietly as he closed his eyes. “No bubbles.”

Spot was about to nod, but the other added a gesture to it - a hand gesture. Gesture that meant, ‘leave the room’. This time, he nodded, and with that he left the bathroom.

Half an hour later, Darcy was back in the living room, where Spot was waiting on the couch. Quickly joining him, the shorter of the two offered him a smile and shifted closer.

“How’re you feelin’ ?” All these questions were always genuine, and full of both love and worry. But Darcy was smiling as well this time, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Good, thank you for the water. You forgot to take care of the wet clothes, so I put them in the washing machine for you.”

“Oh… yea. Sorry, I kinda forgot about these…”

“It’s fine, I’d told you to leave anyway. It’s nothing big.” Darcy wheezed softly, reaching out to hold Spot’s hand and leaning against him with a sigh. “Didn’t really wanna get out, though. The bath felt really nice without the clothes.”

“Yea, usually people don’t like wet clothing,” Spot retorted with a sort of sarcasm, but Darcy was quick to smack his arm lightly. “Don’t be such a smartass, that’s my job,” he joked, then pecking Spot’s cheek. “Thank you for helping me out, even if you’re being mean.”

“I’d be a shit boyfriend if I didn’t help you when you need it.”

“True.”

Silence settled in. Just lying against each other, Darcy with his eyes closed and Spot fondly watching over him. He preferred the peaceful moments, the ones when Darcy was happy. That was all he deserved, and he was so stupid for not having managed to do it right before. He was always trying - Darcy deserved someone who tried for him.

“What do you wanna eat tonight ?”

“I’d say Chinese.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll order it.”

“Thank you.” A pause. “Hey, Spot ?”

“Hm ?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Then both of them were.

Tag list:@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@i-got-personality@imjusttheoutgoingsidekick@thatfancyclam@we-dont-sell-papes@ben-cook-can-cook@not-your-cigar@nverkept@jackhasdreams@racescoronas@suddenly-im-respecsable@purplelittlepup@hopeful-broadwaybaby@broadwayandbookblog@crazymecjc@maiawakening@awwwwwwdang@albertdasillva@daveys-pet-snake@be-more-chill-evan-hansen@marcusisaprettygay@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

[2dap-blog]

“The Mask”

EDIT, 3/31/17: i noticed a few errors / typos and fixed it

TW: Death mention. I think that’s it?

Word count: 2,691

so i had this assignment in class to write a narrative about anything and... well i might’ve taken it a lil too far.

the title has some form of significance but now?? it’s slightly less relevant. u know what im sayin? but yea i hope yall like this read.

When I was little, my older brother used to scare me all the time with a mask he made. Well, it wasn’t really a mask— it was a cardboard box with a face on it. He usually chased me around the house, right on my heels. I remember how much it had shaken me up, especially when he tackled me. He used to laugh about it all the time behind my back.

I had nightmares about it. The mask always was on the face of a man— someone I didn’t know. He carried a huge weapon—often a scythe— that seemed weightless in his hands. The only noise he made was from the chains rattling around him. He used to chase me down a hallway, with an end that I couldn’t see. The sequence always ended in my brother’s laughter. These nightmares occurred often, and I’m glad they stopped.

Time moved on. We grew older, our interests changed, and my brother didn’t find the “joke” very funny anymore. He handed the cardboard box over to me and told me to do something with it. He didn’t want it, and neither did I. I threw it somewhere and never looked back.

Before my brothers and I even realized it, our 18th birthday came around. Our mother told us to pack up and move out in a week. I remember being really stressed and trying to find anything that could hold what we might need— this was completely new. My younger brother found a few containers scattered around the house to start us off.

“Golly, Joey,” my older brother joked as he watched him lug everything around, “Mom said that we’ll have to move out in a week, not a day.”

“Shut up and help me,” Joey grumbled, who was busy packing whatever he could fit into the boxes. He threw one at my brother’s face, which he looked at and grinned. He put it on and slowly turned towards me. It was the smiling cardboard box.

I didn’t see it for very long, though, since Joey walked over and yanked it off his head. “Take things seriously,” I remember him saying, giving him a death glare. My brother just laughed and nodded.

The box began to pop up more often. In the shower, in my room... anywhere that my brother thought I’d go, he put it there. It shocked me when I first saw it, but it didn’t bother me all too much after a while. This lasted for about half a year until spring cleaning came by.

I saw my older brother carrying out a heaping pile of materials in the smiling box. I stopped him in his tracks and asked him if he was throwing the container away too, in which he replied, “Yeah.” He was making his way through the door when he added, “Thing takes too much space and doesn’t do anything. Joey wants it out, anyways.”

Joey’s word was surprisingly final, despite me and my brother being the older triplets, but I tried to make a deal with him anyway. We settled on cutting out the side where the face was drawn on. I took the piece and cut out the face to fit mine before attaching a string on it to make a mask. The rest was thrown out with the other stuff.

The mask surprisingly came in handy later on. Reality came fast, and my brothers and I had to find jobs. I decided to work as a truck driver, but the pay wasn’t enough. I couldn’t find a part-time job with a schedule that I could work with except...

I became an executioner. In the beginning, the whole ordeal didn’t sit with me very well. I kept having second thoughts and was wondering about how the felons’ families would feel after they died. Now, I just tell myself to swing the axe— no deeper thought required. But I still feel guilty for doing it.

That’s why I wear the mask. I can somewhat see the person’s face, but they can’t see mine at all. I don’t want to watch their faces twist with horror as I decapitate them. But why do I care? Those people deserved it— they’re proven killers. They deserved to die...

I never expected to become an executioner, but we live in a pretty rough part of town. Plenty of crimes going about— theft, arson, and murders— so the state found it necessary to find one. But lately, there’s been less and less. The police has been cracking down on the criminals and has been throwing them in jail. There had been a serial killer on the loose, but the department hasn’t found him yet.

Well, not until a few months ago.

It was on a warm Tuesday afternoon. Joey was working overtime, so I was alone with my older brother. I remember him making dinner while I was sitting at the table cutting coupons out of the paper. The windows were wide open— the kitchen was always hot whenever he cooked. I heard a car pull up into the driveway.

“Is that Joey?” my brother asked, looking at me. “He said he’d come in... two hours. He’s early.” I shrug and lean back in my chair, putting my feet on the table. “We’re eating on that, J.”

“Sorry—”

When we heard a knock at the door, we both knew it wasn’t him. I put my feet down and walked over to the door and looked through the peephole.

There was a policeman standing at the doorstep. I felt a nervous jolt go through me. Why were they here? I reluctantly opened the door. “Hello, Officer,” I said, trying to be polite as possible.

“Hello. Do you know this man?” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, showing me a picture.

I felt sick to my stomach. “Yes, he’s my brother.” I saw the officer’s expression change ever so slightly.

“We have to take him into custody. Where is he?”

And speak of the devil. My brother had walked over and was standing by me. “Here, Officer.”

He was smiling. It didn’t look grim, it didn’t look snide, it just looked... happy. I still don’t understand why he was smiling. Didn’t he regret anything?

The policeman took him away, and my older brother flashed me a grin as he was escorted to the back of the car. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t I say anything? I had so many questions then, and they’re still unanswered.

The next few weeks after came as a blur. Court, hiring lawyers, the trial— I don’t remember much at all. I don’t remember what he said to the judge, what I did those days... I sometimes wish that I did, but at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t.

What I do recall is that Joey had been even quieter than usual. Still is. He didn’t speak to me for a long time after I broke the news to him, except for one single sentence: I don’t believe you. I wouldn’t have believed me either. After all, for what reason would our brother be arrested?

Even though this was answered about a couple of days after, it just didn’t make sense to either of us. Why did he do it? What was his reason? Joey didn’t know, and nor did I.

Joey is working harder now that our brother’s gone. He’s beginning to stay at the warehouse into the late hours of the night. I worry for him. He’s going to kill himself that way. I don’t know what to tell him, though, because he doesn’t listen to me, only our older brother.

It’s been two months now. Today, I was called down to the office. It was early in the morning, but I was alone in my house. Joey had already left for work.

I sleepily went through my morning routine, with a coffee brewing in the meantime. When I was done, the coffee was piping hot. I grabbed the pitcher and poured it into a thermos, then headed outside to the car.

Another execution. What a shame, I think to myself blandly, trying to blink the tiredness away as I sipped on my coffee, it’s such a fine day, too. Sunny. I don’t feel like listening to music, so drive’s going to be a long, silent one.

I arrive at the building. It’s tall and a little intimidating, with the worn-down brick. I park off somewhere and walk inside.

The sudden cold’s like a slap to the face. It isn’t usually this cold in the place, but I guess it’s a little reasonable, considering the temperature outside.

I head down to the office and see the chief sitting there, leaning back with her arms folded. “Jason Dixon, how are you doing this morning?” she asks me, a smile on her face.

“Fine, thank you,” I tell her, avoiding her gaze. I always feel a slight sense of unease whenever I look at her; I don’t know why.

“That’s fine and dandy. Now, we have another prisoner on death row. We’re expecting you to execute them today.” She’s still wearing that smile. I feel a chill come down my spine— maybe the building is a little too cold. “Can you do that?”

“Of course,” I say. I lied. I never want to do this job again, never want to see another dead body again, but I have to support my family somehow.

“Good! I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyways.”

“May I ask who I’m executing?”

“Sorry, sonny, law forbids it. You know the drill.”

“Of course. I apologize.”

“It’s no problem. You’re still young.” She points me over to the outside. “A prison officer’s going to go drive you to the jailhouse. He’ll be here in a moment. Sit down and wait.” I nod and sit down in the chair in front of her desk, a little awkward.

A few awkward minutes later, her phone rings. She picks it up and listens for a bit before nodding at me. “He’s here.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly, heading out the office.

The officer’s sitting on a bench outside, looking occasionally from left to right. He’s smoking a cigarette. I open the glass doors and go back into the humid outside world, clearing my throat.

The man turns to look at me and gets up from his seat, putting the cig out in an ashtray beside him. He doesn’t say a word to me as he walks over to his car and unlocks the door.

I make my way over and slide into the shotgun seat. The whole car smells of cigs, and I struggle to not cough as he starts the drive.

It’s been an excruciatingly long time— I can’t stand it anymore. I quickly ask him if I can roll down the window. “Yes,” he says simply, never tearing his eyes off the road. When the window was down and fresh air rushed in, I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to feel wind in my face in my whole entire life.

After long trip of silence, we arrive at the jailhouse. It’s big and pretty bland-looking— a huge building of tannish concrete. The officer gets out of the car and motions for me to follow.

The place is just as boring on the inside as it is outside— white floor, ceiling, and walls— and as cold as the department building. This was nothing new to me, of course, but I shiver anyways. I hear a woman laugh scornfully, probably at me. The man shouts at her to shut her mouth, and I try to keep staring ahead.

After a long walk, he turns to me and tells me to go to set up. As I walk past him, he stops at a cell and barks, “Wake up, you’re getting out of here!”

I was about finished with sharpening my axe when another officer walks in. “Prisoner’s ready for you.” I nod and tell her that I’ll be done in a few minutes. She says okay and leaves.

I put on the mask that I brought from home and head out once I finished. I walk down the white halls and head into the execution room. Inside laid the prisoner.

I walk over to him and see his expression change from crazed to shock.

“It can’t be,” I hear him whisper, his voice familiar. His eyes are wide. “It can’t.” I don’t know what to say; everyone else I’ve executed never reacted like this when they saw me.

The prisoner’s looking at me from head to toe, his eyes darting up and down. I hold my axe tighter in my hands as I do the same. He looks disgustingly unkempt— hair everywhere, emaciated, bags under his eyes... like all the others.

He has dark brown hair— or black, I didn’t know— with brown eyes. It reminds me of Joey, but Joey isn’t in jail.

“Jason?”

My eyes widen. He says my name again, and I feel something in my throat. It’s him. He looks so different now.

Why him? I can remember what happened two months ago now, after his arrest. He was found guilty of first degree murder and petty theft. He was sentenced to death. It felt so long ago, but now the day is here...

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” he asks quietly, stopping my thoughts. I see the pain and confusion in his eyes. “Take that mask off...”

But I don’t want to.

“Why?” I manage to choke out. “Why did you do it?” My brother doesn’t reply. I drop my axe to my sides. “Please, just answer me,” I beg, struggling to keep calm, “why did you do it?”

“I had to,” he says to me. I could see him look away.

I stare at him. “You didn’t have to kill anyone!” I nearly scream, my face hot, “Why do you think that— that killing and stealing was the right thing to do?” I feel my body shaking from anger.

“... It was for money.”

“Money, money, money!” I blurt. “Is that all you think of? What about us? What did you think we’ll do once we found out that you’re a criminal?” My vision blurs. “Why are you so— why are— w-why are you so damn selfish?”

“It was for the both of you— not just me.” He looks back at me, tears in his eyes. “Now you got me crying, huh, Jason?” He grins at me. “I— I didn’t expect this to affect you both this much. I’m still as stupid as ever. Guess some things don’t change.”

“You aren’t stupid,” I say to him, “you— you just don’t think things through. You don’t think about the future enough.” I don’t think I worded it well. I take a deep breath and try to settle my nerves. “God, please don’t call yourself stupid...”

“Well,” my brother begins after a moment of silence, “I know what to expect right now. Come on, J.”

“Come on, what?” I ask him, trying to avoid the topic.

“Hey, now you’re being stupid,” he jokes. “You’re stalling. Aren’t I supposed to do that?” His eyes move down to the axe.

I sigh. He’s right. I have been stalling. “It’s only because I— I don’t want to kill you,” I mutter, looking down.

“But you have to. Or someone else will.”

He’s serious. I hold back a sob, then nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll do it.”

I try to gain my composure again, tightening my grip around the axe’s handle. “Any last requests?” I ask him.

“I want to see your face again.” I hesitate before I take off my mask. He smiles at me again, and I feel myself smile back. “Ah, there’s the Jason I know.” He then grins, this time without scorn. “I’ll miss you two when my ass is in Hell.”

I snort, then lightly hit him. “Don’t make this funny,” I say to him.

“Alright.”

And that was the last word Steve said to me.

[chiromantic]

hi its ya boy c ( he him / 18 / gmt / all that jazz ) back with another muse highly different from my Sinnamon roll jitae. i now introduce you to Magic man Min™, and let me direct you towards a strong piece of evidence that he is an otherworldly fairy irl:

see what im talking about ? i hear you asking, why have you brought a fairy to a gang rp... and for that... i have no answer at all. still i hope you love him all the same, since he’s pretty different from the usual person you’d find on seoul’s streets . ps: pleAse don’t kick his ass he’ll cry for a while, go home, and proceed to put some sort of curse on your muses family that lasts for generations

TW FOR death, mentioning of car accidents, infidelity, addiction and rehab. 

if you’re into harry potter, he’s a boy version of professor trelawney, in that he has precognition of future events but they could be years into the future, making people think that poor min is bullshitting them because the events he predicts doesn’t necessarily happen in the here and now.

okay, he’s got to admit. sometimes he’s off with what he predicts; nobody’s actually ‘ magic  ’ but he does believe some people are born with this sixth sense, a feeling deep in the pit of their belly that something may happen and that his dreams are more realistic than others. 

he's had this talent since as long as he can remember and, sometimes he isn't sure how long that is. he feels like every time he has a premonition or a precognition he loses a piece of himself to "the chaos" that he associates his gift with. he can deal with the headaches and the random moments when they hit, but he hates not remembering memories that he should know.

he grew up relatively sheltered and wealthy, always attended church on a sunday, mother and father strict catholics. so you can imagine their reaction when their teen son suggested that he was seeing visions of the future, they sent him to a therapist who then recommended he be put into rehab - which he was for 5 years until he was old enough to get out and take care of himself. 

he bought a small shop in sinchon straight away upon escaping confinement. years of isolation made min a quieter and more hesitant person, yet that just added to the allure of his occupation. he loves reading tarot cards, tea leaves, because he can interpret them without really knowing and just following what his gut instincts tell him. 

he's kind of got a somewhat unhealthy addiction to sleeping tablets and pain killers. it's the only way he can sleep soundly without having a nightmare o/ headache that's actually probably some sort of precognition regarding the future. if he's out of it, he'll literally do anything and everything he can to stay awake.

however min does, of course, see nice things sometimes, but he feels like his "gift" likes to fuck him in the a*s and give him the bad stuff nine times out of ten. he's seen people cheating on their significant others, deaths in the family, even his own sister dying in a car crash that happened that very night etc. sometimes he doesn't even know WHO the vision is for until he hears a name or sees a face. but don't get him wrong, he doesn't mind his gift, he just wished it felt more like a gift instead of a burden.

he's generally a nice person, except on bad headache days or when he's not slept because of his nightmares. so he might snap occasionally at people but he really is a lovely person.  he likes people and believes they’re good at heart, but he’s wary of their intentions for him. he likes feeling secure and having people who know him in case he forgets, because some of his memories are usually mixed up with his dreams. tragic, yea. i don't see him having a huge group of friends, but probably a select few that he really trusts enough to let them in and know his secrets and share his memories with. bc he'll need people to help him remember at some point or another.

he's appreciative of the fact that he is one of the very, very few people blessed with such a rare gift, but he's just like "it doesn't define me, i need to be my own person" and because of the memory gaps he suffers with sometimes, he often times doesn't feel like he is his own person.

lbr: if you ask him to tell your future, he'll tell you that you're going to die. ( like that’s not how it works, and he's technically not lying, either. )

there’s more general info about him / his shop / just generally a Less Shit introduction to his character here

so if you wanna plot something, throw it at him or just like this. generally he's a lonely boy looking for friends, but i wouldn’t mind some frequent customers and people who truly believe he’s talking out of his Ass too