#paint splattered teardrops

[melshome]

paint splattered teardrops

↪︎ scaramouche x f!reader ↪︎ highschool au ↪︎ status; ongoing

summary; you're known as the overweight girl who paints overweight people. it's bothered you, but you've kept quiet. you weren't expecting scaramouche to talk to you, but he did. scaramouche gets interested in you, a small feeling deep down of wanting to become friends with you, after seeing a painting of yours that reminds him of something from his childhood.

★﹒ｃｈａｐｔｅｒｓ chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6

[salmonight]

Free Title Ideas Pt. 1

I am always looking for new title ideas trying to find the perfect match for my meager amount of fics actually published ( I got a ton of wips mind you) so I have this little file full with title ideas I got from here and there and I thought I share them! Feel free to use them and all! I only actually used a few of them myself so theyre up for the take! Enjoy!

( I suck at categorizing mind u so take it however u want)

Low Mood:

Paint Splattered Teardrops

A Mournful Radio Song

The Quite Ivories

20 Minute Too Long… Too Late-

No Third Round Up

My Heart's An Artifice, A Decoy Soul

If These Walls Could Talk

Like Drying Paint on the Walls

Withering Memories

Bury Our Secrets Shallow

Isn't It Tragic How Far You Came?

The Best of the Worsts

Your Wings Are Failing, Icarus

Let Your Wings Carry You Away From Here

Cry For Reflection

The Scream of Winter

Much Madness in Divinest Sense

Family Doesn't End in Blood

In This Castle Of Glass

All the Same (Once a Liar, Always a Liar)

Crack:

Law is Where You Buy It

Miles from Normal

Stop Screaming - It's Me

Between Two Liars…

Lost My Soul and All I Got Was this T-Shirt

Dude, Where's My Soul?

When Life Hands You Demons Make Demonade

Demon-Blend Straigh From Hell

Nothing to See Here Officer, Just a Bunch of Blobs

Hey Kid, Wanna Buy a Blob Ghost?

Gingers Have No Souls

This Little Blob of Mine

Feral Goose Hunting: A Beginner's Guide (Just Don't)

10 Ways to Connect with Your Feral Goose by Robin

A Guide on Ruining Your Life

It IS and Idea (Just NOT the Brightest)

I Am totally NOT the One to Blame for THIS

Dead Men Won't Shut Up

Encryptid

Cryptid Crash Course

Shakespeare Has Nothing on Me!

[insert name]'s Observation Diary of the Weirdest Boss(es)

The Devil’s Eyes and His Voice of Reason

Romance:

Makeshift Chemistry

Stargazing, Coffee and the Mystery of You..

Play Love Like Killers (We All Fall)

Good Vibes:

Sunshine Riptide

Come on Baby, the Laugh Is on Me

Fair With Some Rain

Star Light, Star Bright, First Arrow I See Tonight

Bitter (?):

Ah, Lay Waste to it, then Laugh at it

Believe, We Were Never Gonna Lose Control

Die, but too Blind to See

Too Latte for Smiling (yes thats a pun there no miss typing)

And as the Scribe Said, Mark Me Up With Words

Vodka Shots in the Dark

What Lingers, What Waits

Dr.Sunshine is Dead

Action:

Swing 'em Sword, Comin' in Swarms

Droppin' Guns all on the Floor 'till it look like River Styx

Black on Black at Night

Rifles, and they're Useless in this House

Dropp the Dagger

Watch Us BURN

Death:

Leave Your Body and Soul at the Door

Dead Man's Party

'Till the Reaper Call

'cause the Hangman's Waiting

A Night in the Ice Box

Stars Fall Underground

Can't Reach the Stars from the Underworld

Dance on Your Grave in All Whites

I Will See You Down Below

A Toast to the Passing Lights

I am a Ghost, but Only If You Remember

A Forray into Thanatology

Do You Want to Build a Snow-ghost?

In the In Between

Deceased When Last Seen

They Only Murdered Him Once

Colder Than These Bones

A Ghostly Collection of Stories once Untold

Dearly Departed

Hopeful:

City of Last Hopes

Bright Foggy Skies

This Bird Has Flown

A Bard's Tale, so Bittersweet

In the Winter, the Van Keeps Rolling

Oh Raven (Sing Me a Happy Song)

A Light to Call Home

Lost and Found

Towards the Sun

Khmm I have quite a few ghost/death and Dc related ones cuz I mostly wrote DC and DP fics so I looked for tittles for those. Those who know, know those who don't can ignore them.

Pt 2 |

[voids-colourful-creations]

Glass Roses - A Kanna Kizuchi Fic

[Read on Ao3!]

Rated: T Your Turn to Die - Up Until the end of Chapter 2 Words: 2,550 Warnings: Canon Typical Anguish, Death, and Depictions of Torture

Kanna, in the shards of glass that remain after everything falls apart.

This was written for the amazing YTTD Epilogue Zine! Be sure to check out the other amazing artists and writers in this!! This project's a bit old, I wrote this over 2 years ago! But this is still one of my favourite projects to be apart of, it was so much fun!

--

Teardrops are sliding down Kanna’s face slowly, taunting her. They taste terrible, salt, sweat, snot and sorrow, but Kanna isn’t sure she’ll be able to breathe right if she closes her mouth.

Kanna sits on the floor, it's hard and cold and she can feel tiny pieces of grit and dirt digging into her skin. They’re tiny needles and barbs, small whispers and reminders. Each tiny pinprick sings to her, “you deserve this.”

Reko’s hand is resting on her back, making light circles. Her hand is wide and warm, the tips of her nails blunt. Not her sister. Kugie’s hand was slim and cool to the touch. Her nails were long, painted in perfectly even strokes.

Kanna’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. She knows the hand attempting to comfort her isn’t Kugie’s. It won’t ever be Kugie’s. Not anymore.

Everytime she thinks about that for a moment too long, her lungs seem to have the air siphoned out of them, until she’s wheezing and choking on her own lack of oxygen.

But on the other hand, Kanna doesn’t need Reko’s hand to pretend that Kugie’s beside her.

The voice is already whispering in her ears; or rather, it hasn’t yet stopped.

Kugie screamed when she was crushed. A loud, raspy scream accompanied by a grotesque splattering, splintering, crushing noise. Within the echoes of that scream, a whispering voice remains, ringing around and around with no end.

Kanna stares at the floor as Reko murmurs, touch still light and gentle.

It only makes things worse.

The floor is so shiny. So pristine and clean. Was this building freshy built to torture them? Or did the kidnappers simply scrub it clean before they had arrived.

It’s so sickeningly shiny. Kanna can see her reflection. Kanna can see Kugie’s reflection.

The more Kanna cries the more her vision blurs, the more her reflection distorts, her features melting away leaving Kugie in her place, sobbing still. Melting, melting, melting, like snowmen (they’d never make one together again), like crayons in heat (they’d never draw together again), like ice cream (they’d never eat together again) that Kanna could still taste. Disgusting, sickly sweet, burning against the back of her throat.

It’s stinging, sickening pain as Kanna shakes.

She can’t tear her eyes away from her own reflection (or is it hers?).

The sallow eye sockets stream with tears, mouth wide open.

Why’d you kill me Kanna. Filthy disgusting Kanna. It should’ve been you, Kanna.

Kanna, Kanna, Kanna.

She hasn’t noticed that Reko’s hand has left her back until it’s coaxing her forward, pulling her gently into an embrace.

“Kanna, Kanna look at me, okay?”

Kanna tears her eyes away from the reflection.

Reko’s eyes are sharp and defined, but her expression is soft and concerned.

“Kanna, can you just take a breath in for me? Just one nice big breath, good, good that’s a good girl. Now breathe out- you got it! You’re doing incredible, Kanna.”

Kanna watches Reko’s face carefully, focuses on matching her breath. She doesn’t look away, tracing her eyes over each smudge of makeup, each hair in her eyelashes, the crisscrossing pattern of her braid.

And if Kanna focuses hard enough, she can almost convince herself that she can’t see Kugie’s crying face reflected in Reko’s eyes.

--

There’s a dull hum in the monitor room, but the sound is starting to get to Kanna. It stings, this buzzing sound that won’t leave. It’s dozens of tiny sparks in her brain.

She keeps staring at the screens unblinkingly. To any observers she appears frozen in place, but her heart is pounding hard and fast.

It’s not here.

Even with no picture on the back of any monitor, Kanna keeps staring at one monitor in particular, hoping that somehow a mistake was made. That somehow, the screen will flicker to life, and her sister will smile back at her, scold her for being so silly.

She stares, unblinking.

She stares.

It stings, but she’s too terrified of missing something in the split second she blinks.

Nothing changes.

It won’t stop being Kanna, staring back at Kanna. Her own eyes, growing shiny the longer she stares into them. If she looks hard enough, within the reflection on the screen, she can see the reflection of the screen in her own eyes, and so on and so forth down a never ending hole. The sort of hole Kanna feels herself on the edge of ever since she got tangled into this mess.

Why? Why not her sister? How come Kanna couldn’t see her again? Now that the possibility had been presented to her, ripping it away was unimaginably cruel.

It’s an ugly and selfish guilt that pricks her stomach. A ball of thorns, woven around and around in ringlets and coils. What made Professor Mishima so much better than her sister? How come Nao got this splinter of relief, while Kanna fell further, further, into a world she knew she’d be alone in?

She doesn’t tear her gaze away from the monitors until they flicker to life, blaring reds and glaring yellows, flashes that light up the dark room. 

Kanna’s eyes burn. 

Taunting, laughing dolls address them with amused expressions. Ranger looks down at Kanna like she is the doll instead, a plaything, something to break if bored.

His skirt (though it’s not his skirt, she can’t call it his when it's what little remains of her sister) sways back and forth as he paces around them in circles, eyes swirling. It’s nauseating. She wants to deny it, but she knows. Can’t deny the familiarity of the tiny tear at hem’s edge, the loose thread that gets longer the more it's pulled at. 

Ranger’s laugh slashes away at Kanna’s heart, and with her vocal cords cut she remains silent. 

--

The cage is transparent, but Kanna can still see hints of her reflection in the glass. The tips of her fingers, pale and clammy, clutch at the edge of a jacket barely visible in the darkness. Her scarf, creased and crumpled, digs into her neck as she strains herself, trying to get a better picture of what’s happening. As all the color continues to drain from her face, her own fearful expression becomes more and more defined. All except the eyes, empty holes into the view beyond. The tiny figures of those strangers, those friends, those people playing unwillingly with each others’ lives. Sara, Reko, Nao, suspended high on a platform, their panic playing out in Kanna’s empty eye sockets.

It’s not the Reko that held her, the one on that platform up there. It’s not the Reko who comforted her, who told her things would be alright when they first entered the game. But it still looks like Reko. It still talks like Reko.

Dolls are, Kanna thinks, confusing. Non-human.

A manifestation of memory, maybe? But then, these weren’t created of their own will, were they? Unnatural beings…

An idle memory floats to Kanna, an inopportune time for it, as always.

She’s still holding onto her sister’s hand, scuffing her feet as she tries to keep up with her pace walking home. Her shoes scrape the curb, brushing against the tiny wildflowers that grow over the edges of the pavement.

Kugie is complaining again. About schoolwork this time.

Kanna listens intently to her sister’s words. Everything her sister says is interesting, and this is no different.

It’s something about a psychology class she’s taking, or philosophy? 

Some theoretical that she has to do a presentation on, and Kugie couldn’t care less.

“How about you explain it to me, then?�� Kanna had asked, and Kugie’s expression had softened just a bit, her grip squeezing Kanna’s hand for a split second.

“Basically, it’s this dumb idea some really old guy came up with a really long time ago, or something. This guy claimed that every person’s “being” or sense of self or whatever it was, was like… made entirely out of their memories? I think…”

Kanna nodded, that made sense.

“But then it gets complicated because then like… if you lose your memories, are you not the same person? What if you misremember things, or lose your memories and get them back? See, it’s silly.”

“It sounds… scary.” Kanna decided on.

“Then that leads to this other idea,” Kugie continued, “that moment to moment, each version of you is a different person from the second before.”

“Then, Kanna would be talking to a new sister now, wouldn’t she?”

Kugie smiled, nodding.

“Yeah, exactly. Hello, newest Kanna.”

Their footsteps filled the silence for a moment. 

“And… What happened to the other Kanna?”

Kugie hesitated.

“I guess… she died.”

Now, Kugie’s words echo in Kanna’s mind, a loop that won’t end. She tries and tries, but her sister’s voice is ever present, never ending.

It’s terrifying. The thoughts that keep swirling, the idea that Kanna let go of. Regardless of her wishes, The Reko That Never Sang a Requiem was created of Reko’s memories. If she has Reko’s memories, is the Reflection That Isn’t Reko as real as the first Reko?

Maybe it’s the atmosphere, the distance, the fear, but Kanna’s stomach squirms when she looks at The Reko That Doesn’t Breathe. It’s Not Kanna’s Reko. There’s nothing about The Reko That Is Pleading For Its Life that’s wrong , per se, no single trait Kanna can point to and say, “there! That’s not the Real Reko!” Then again, maybe it would be better to say there was nothing more wrong with this than to be expected. Because everything about this is wrong, nothing about this is right, Kanna is scared and tired and she wants to go home with her sister and sleep.

When Kanna squints, she can see it. Not physically, not in a way she can describe, but she can feel the difference. That’s not Kanna’s Reko.

The scary part, Kanna knows, though she tries not to think about it, is the lingering feeling that it could’ve been.

Kanna can picture it even, this Reko, though slightly more brash, being Her Reko. This Memory of a Reko. A living ghost for a woman who hadn’t died. Not yet anyway, but from the way Ranger was laughing, Kanna couldn’t be sure how long that would be.

This Reko, The Reko That’s Not Quite Right, is nothing like Ranger, or Safalin, or Miley. Nothing like the Reception Doll. 

She’s Reko, but she’s not.

If this Reko, the Reko that’s crying, make-up staining artificial cheeks, had been the one Kanna had met before, would they still feel the same way?

She doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter. 

Reko tumbles back with Sara’s shove, and Kanna squeezes her eyes shut. 

--

Kanna’s fingers tremble as she holds the phone she’s finally retrieved in her hands. Clumsy Kanna, stupid Kanna, how could she have lost it.

Kanna shakes her head, not that it quiets the voices. 

Taking a deep breath, she begins to type her apology. 

It’s her turn now. She knows it’s her turn now. She’s made this choice, she’s earned this fate, she’s prepared for what it means. She thinks. She hopes.

The tips of Kanna’s nails clack against the phone screen as she types out her message. They didn’t used to. While Kanna was trapped here, they must have grown. The thought unsettles her more than she was expecting it to. Letter by letter, slowly and carefully, she types. She’s not quite hesitant, not quite unrestrained. 

Kanna will be the big sister. She’ll protect her big sister, her Sara, that’s what matters. She can make up for her mistakes, she can atone for her sins. Kanna can do it. Even if her fingers tremble. 

The screen is dark, though Kanna can still make out each letter she types. Her own face reflects back at her, tinted red by the phone’s screen. 

She doesn’t look like herself, really. Or perhaps, she doesn’t look like Kanna? Does Kanna not look like her? The longer she stares at the screen, the more she wonders if Kugie would recognize her. Does she even recognize herself? Though, perhaps recognition is not the top concern. Kanna wonders, more idly than she should, if the Kanna from last year would resent the Kanna who stares back at her now. She wonders if she ought to care either way.

This can be her apology. To her sisters, the both of them, to herself.

When the message is complete, Kanna’s fingers slowly slide off the phone's screen. They’re sweaty, she’s shaking harder than she realized.

But she can’t stop yet. She’s got to atone. 

And she will.

--

Sara’s sobbing when she votes, and Kanna watches her shake. Kanna smiles, softly. She had done it, hadn’t she? Finally, she’d done something right. Just like her big sister, what a good girl, Kanna. Wasn’t that just how things went for a Kizuchi sister? To die to protect her sister? It hurts Sara now, Kanna can see, but she’ll move past it, Sara’s excellent at moving forward. Much better than Kanna in every way. And with Sou, the group will be even stronger. Much stronger than they would’ve been with silly little Kanna.

Yes, this is much better for everyone. 

So Kanna doesn’t see herself when she looks at Sara’s sobbing face. Not in the slightest. 

--

The moment Kanna feels the stabbing, pricking pain, she closes her eyes. She can feel the seeds spreading, flowing through her veins. It’s an awful, horrible feeling, and she screams out despite herself. She wants to slash her skin open with her own hands, rip herself to pieces. At least that would be less painful. She’d prefer the running, dripping agony, than the buzzing, stinging growth that swirls inside her. 

Her eyes stay firmly shut though she wails, mouth wide open.

There’s a saying about memories playing back as someone verges on death, Kanna can’t be certain if it's true or not. But she sees it, playing on the back of her eyelids. The Kanna of yesterday. The Kanna that will never exist. The current, tangled, Kanna, wilting and blooming in unison. They’re smiling, all of them. It’s comforting.

At the very least, it’s Kanna. Her selfish scrap of comfort is that it’s her name she can hear them yelling. I don’t blame you, she wants to say, thank you, she wants to cry, but the vines have replaced her vocal cords.

Kanna’s not sure if it's a mercy or a cruelty that her brain appears to be untouched by the flowers. Her mind whispers out its last message, it repeats and repeats in her brain, the same words rewind and reply, echoing over and over. A reflection, a shadow, a regret. Kanna’s final lament.

Sister… 

Are you... watching?

Are you... proud?

...Kanna

Is just like you... now.

...Kanna did it.

The screaming stops.

I... protected someone with my own death.

...Kanna ...died knowing her sibling would be safe.

Just  

Like  

You.

...Right?

Two girls walk home, holding ice cream in either hand.

Sister?

Kanna made sure sister’s gift wasn’t wasted. But Kanna’s a big sister too now. Kanna’s learned to share. So if it’s me… then it’s fine.

It hurts, sister.

A flower blooms. 

I’m coming to see you again, sister.

…

I hope Kanna hasn’t left you waiting too long.

[Ending.]

[offstage-euthymia]

Pub.

Something else on my mind

As i walk down the old town.

A wordless sensation.

Another formless formation.

Thoughtful travel from pub to pub.

Notions in herbal remedies

And other brewed alike ales.

In the bottom of the city

Pub in a tub.

With a screaming radio.

Some ratio along showering water

Splatter paint and old scrubs.

In the hub of a walking down into the pub.

Showed up in the alleyway of shaded old town.

Frowned faces, some excited.

As metal rings along the waves and vibrations.

The stereo system swinging like rodeo.

Along broader beer hoarders.

Empty glasses.

Teardrops on the edge of a bar.

Old people old rockstars with depleting light.

Decaying along the sips, swigs and cheers cracks with mugs.

Muggle on and toggle on the music.

For the night and day, cheers and tears fill and drain the faces of strangers and their own dangers.

- by Marko Tivanovac - MT.

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober 2023 Day 3 - "Make it stop."

Skybound angst time to shine! This is the first time I've ever tried to write Skybound anything so it was a brand-new experience for me! I don't know if I quite did it justice but I gave it a shot. Little disclaimer that all of these may read as a bit disconnected and that's mostly because I've written 30k words in like, less than a week and it's hard to keep things diverse. I'm def reusing phrases and words but oh well!

@splinnters your third tag of the day! Hope you're doing great man!

Words: 2.2k

He cried out as his head collided with the stone behind him, blood splatterings from previous beatings painted across the wall. Ducking his head, it took everything in him to hold in the meager scraps he had been given for lunch, and in his despartation he tried to tuck his legs up, flinching as the one weighed down by the vengestone ball and chain ached in response.

Another fist smashed into his face, and Jay felt his nose break under the force. It was far from the first time. Someone else grabbed his hair, yanking, holding his head up as he was punched again and again and again. The rough hands cradled his chin, fixing it in place and leaving Jay’s bloodied face on full display for the pirates in the room.

Pirates?

Why the fuck was he back here?

Jay tried to plead with them, but one of them drove their boot straight into his injured stomach. The bullet wound Flintlocke had given him screamed in protest, and this time Jay did vomit onto the ground, and his head started swimming when he saw tiny flecks of blood mixed into the bile. He couldn’t make out any of the pirates’ faces, but he didn’t know if that was because of how dark it was in his tiny cell or because of the vision loss in his left eye.

“Look at him, Flintlocke,” one sneered; it was the one pulling his hair. “Ain’t he such a cutie?”

“Quite right,” Flintlocke drawled, and the accent alone almost made Jay want to shit himself, “but I think he’d look a lot better if we roughed him up some more.”

“Would the captain be okay with that?”

“I think Nadakhan would give you extra if you did that,” and Jay could hear the smile playing on the firstmate’s lips. “And we all know how much pirates like extra.”

Everyone else started cackling, and the sound made Jay’s blood run as cold as Zane’s ice. He needed to get out of here; he didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he had to get out of here. Someone must’ve seen him struggling to get away, because his head was quickly slammed back against the wall and someone else’s foot slammed down onto his injured leg. Jay yelled but bit his lip, determined not to let them get another peep out of him.

He wasn’t breaking. He had survived this ship once, he could do it again.

Not again.

“Listen here, boy,” Flintlocke said, and his face was blurred even though he had crouched right in front of Jay’s sight. “We’re not looking for information. The only thing we want is to see that precious face of yours as bloodied up as we can possibly get it. And you know what that means.”

“No,” Jay breathed, panic rising when he saw the firstmate walking away. Flintlocke had never been friendly to him, but he always kept the rest of the crew in line. Without him here…”You can’t leave me here with them! Flintlocke!”

“Have fun, boy!” he hollered, flicking a two wave salute behind him that had Jay’s heart plummeting, “and good luck! We both know you’re going to need it!”

“Wai-” Jay didn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence before another fist was flying into his face at an alarming speed, throwing his head to the side and cracking his jaw. He coughed, spit flying from his mouth as the other pirate kicked him hard in the ribs. Jay felt something crack in his chest, and dark blood tinged the spittle dribbling down his chin.

His head was wrenched upwards again. “Aw look, he’s crying!”

Jay didn’t even realize that teardrops were rolling down his face until it was pointed out, but now that he knew they felt white-hot against his skin, but the shame welling up from inside of him burned more.

“Please,” Jay whispered, trying to dislodge the man’s grip on his hair, “you don’t have to do this.”

“Except I do, little boy,” a wicked grin filled with sharp teeth and breath that could melt acid, “because orders are orders. But I guess you would know that more than anyone, right?”

A metal pipe came flying in from the side that Jay couldn’t dodge in time. The blow sent him to the floor, reeling, gasping as his vision went white from the pain. He thought that it would’ve been the good ol’ one tap two tap system where they would hit him once, ask him a question and then hit him again.

It was not the one tap two tap system.

Again and again, the pipe came down with the force of a thunderclap, bruising and breaking his skin with resounding smacks, and Jay did his best to escape to no avail. Before long he was hauled up by his armpits and forced to sit there and take it as the pirate assailed his ribs, crack after crack as they snapped one by one. Jay was crying out with every blow, yelling when the pirate went after his knee, dislocating his kneecap with ease. He grinded the heel of his boot onto the kneecap, making Jay yell and sob with pain as the other pirate forced him forward.

Now bent in half, Jay tried to push himself back up, only to quickly give up once the man had started raining punishing blows against his spine. It stung against his still fresh lash marks from the most recent whipping, and Jay could feel his breath leaving as his face was pressed farther and farther into the floor. Never before had he been so glad for Wu to give him so much flexibility training.

One of the pirates was chuckling as Jay was finally given a reprieve. “Guess I can see why the captain likes you so much, eh? I don’t know a lot of men who can do the things you can.”

“Make it stop,” Jay gasped, and he was ashamed of himself for begging. Why was he begging already? Hadn’t he taken worse on this goddamn ship? “Please, make it stop.”

Sighing, the pirate with the pipe leaned down next to Jay’s ear, making him shudder in disgust. “You know as well as I do, boy, that there is no stopping once we’ve started. Now, care to sing for us a little more?”

Taking a hold of his hair again, Jay sobbed as his face was lifted off of the filthy wooden floor, and he barely had a second to catch his breath before it was being slammed back down into the planks.

But it was different this time.

The pirate kept smushing his face down. Jay could feel the blood coating the bottom of his mouth as blood was forced out of his nose, and he very quickly realized what the pirate was planning to do.

Jay was going to drown.

First Master they were trying to drown him in his own blood.

He thrashed in place, desperation forcing his already chipped nails to claw at anything they could grab until his hands were pinned under someone’s boots, standing painfully on top of his bruised fingers. Jay tried to thrust up with his hips and dislodge their grip on him, but the pipe just came back down with a harsh blow, and nothing he tried was working.

Vision blurring, Jay could feel his chest to constrict and turn in on itself, his awareness starting to fly away in a dreamy haze. He opened his mouth to yell, to cry, to beg for mercy but the only thing that filled it was his own blood. Choking on it, Jay tried to spit it out, but opening his mouth again only made it worse when the pirate pushed harder.

Nothing. There was nothing he could do.

Crying profusely, tears mixing with the blood rolling down his face, Jay let his vision go black, only praying that the ship wouldn’t be the thing to greet him if they ever let him wake up.

“Jay!”

What? Who was that?

Thinking that it was impossible, Jay opened his eyes, seeing the white walls of his room at the Airjitzu Temple greet him as he woke up. There was a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently, and lips pressed to his hair before giving kisses to the skin behind his ear. Belatedly, Jay realized that the person’s other hand was rubbing soothing circles on his chest, and the flood of panic that had been overwhelming his senses finally subsided.

He knew who this was. “Nya-”

“I’m here, Jay,” she said softly, moving her lips down to his neck and pressing more feather-light kisses to his collarbone. “I’m here, so let’s just take a deep breath and try to relax.”

Inhaling, the breath got caught in the back of Jay’s throat and he started, hand going to his chest and checking for any injuries. Nothing fresh, but the raised bumps of his scars made his fingers tingle with repressed feelings, and Jay curled into himself as he started feeling like he was floating. He needed grounding and he needed it now.

“Do you need your gloves?” Nya asked, watching as his hands started shaking uncontrollably, his element threatening to encompass his fingers and sparking at the tips. Jay nodded wordlessly.

Reaching for the garments on his bedside table, Nya was quick to stuff his hands into them and make sure that they were secure, and relief crashed over his body when the pressure started giving him something to focus on and from the knowledge that his lightning couldn’t hurt Nya. Apparently Nya had been here longer than a few minutes, as she already had his weighted blanket out and ready. She unfolded it and spread it across the both of them, and Jay reached for her wrist when she moved to get out of the bed.

“Wait,” he said, feeling his voice crack with emotion. He didn’t want to be alone, “please, I need you here. I-I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Nya said, and Jay sobbed from how gentle her tone was. “Sit up for me, okay? I’m gonna spoil you a bit.”

He did what she asked, sitting up and watching as she laid down against his headboard and boxed him in with her legs, crossing them over his waist and cushioning his head against her shoulder as he laid back down. Pulling the covers up and over both of them, Nya whipped out her phone and set up the kickstand so it would balance on Jay’s bed. Jay had his eyes shut, so he didn’t see whatever she clicked to start playing, but he immediately relaxed upon hearing the sound of his favorite Starfarer movie.

The sounds of Fritz Donnegon and his trusty crew washed over him, drowning out whatever remnant of the nightmare that still clung to his skin. He was flat on his stomach on top of Nya, and he was all too happy to just watch the movie as her hands started doodling random shapes across the skin of his back. At least he thought they were random until one of the lines was unmistakable: she was tracing his scars.

Both of them had spent so much time getting him readjusted to positive touch, and one of those exercises had been tracing the scars littering his back. Jay would sit crisscrossed on the floor with a stress toy or a pillow, doing whatever he needed to do to keep himself calm as Nya would rub her hands across his back from top to bottom. The memories brought back some joy, and Jay wrapped his arms around his girlfriend’s waist, only giving half his attention to the movie; the other hafl was going to the way her hand was carding through his hair.

“I think I wanna start growing my hair out,” Nya murmured, and Jay gave her as much of a surprised look as his sleep-adled brain could conjure.

“Any reason why?”

He was pretty sure he knew why, but Nya only shrugged. “No reason in particular, I just want to try something new.”

“Something new is always good,” Jay said, a large yawn escaping his mouth. The hand on his back drifted further up to his shoulderblades, and Jay knew that he would’ve started purring if he were able to as her short nails scratched the melt spot right below the nape of his neck. “I can do it too.”

“You hate your curls,” Nya chuckled, “even if I think they’re one of the cutest things about you.”

Jay blushed, and Nya giggled as the red stretched from his rosy cheeks to the back of his neck. She was quick to wipe his tear tracks away, kissing his forehead and then his cheekbones.

“Maybe I can learn to like them,” Jay said quietly, “at least, I think I want to start trying to.”

“And that’ll be good for you, dear,” Nya said. “It’ll be good for both of us.”

“Mhm,” Jay agreed, and he craned his head up to press a kiss to Nya’s chin. He kept trailing kisses downwards until he reached her breastbone, where he knew the scar from the poison still lingered under her shirt. He nuzzled against it, hearing Nya’s breath catch and her hand still on his shoulder. Having Starfarer play in the background wasn’t exactly how he envisioned this moment going, but Jay wasn’t particularly picky.

Until Nya had to go on and rain on his parade.

“We’re going back to sleep, Walker, that’s enough action for you.”

“But I didn’t even get to do anything!”

[pink-tiled-bathroom]

angels don't fly in december, 09/12/2024, 09:39

angels were made for roaming highways. angels were made to breathe dew upon the grass when the nights hit below zero.

it's gotten cold here without you. i wonder if you ever got any of my letters, or if they got intercepted halfway by the choke of "no, not yet".

i don't know if i ever got a silver platter. maybe god gave me one someday long ago, but i tucked it under my wings in some spin of fury for not answering prayers.

sometimes being a teenager means abandoning any faith of being a child again. sometimes being an adult means abandoning any faith at all--

red wings furled out across the span of a three lane county highway, half dead with the breath of americana fogging up the night breeze;

you can't find a love like mine across the midwest. you can't find spite, spitting flames in the face of a god like mine across the north.

michigan came a close second but i'd be damned if i let another god try to chisel a blade into an already-open wound, clawed-up hands gripping the hilt.

bloodshot eyes staring at me from across an old fucked-up toyota camry, the angel of a truck bed sitting atop the roof of the fading red paint--

your name is chiseled into my bones; my insides are guts, red-black blood, and runes. i have all it takes to encompass divinity in its rawest form.

but the pastor says i'll always be a fallen angel. the priests all say i'm beyond help. maybe this is some fucked up attempt at redemption, self-saving.

maybe this is all some fucked up joke only told in alleyways behind bars at 3am, too drunk to think and not sober enough to hold back.

there is no solace in this december snow. all it brings is cold. the wind bites, and all the scars peppered across my shoulders open up in blooming carmine streaks.

it comes as no surprise that my name rhymes with heaven. but what happens when the pillars holding up the ivory gates come crumbling down?

defiance comes as the definition of early december, no matter how much you try to fight it. the fight is all you have left in you this time of year.

my wings are bitten and bruised, plumes coming out in bundles. there's not much left of me but fire, fight, and spitting in the face of god.

your god has never been benevolent to me. i was three years old, already praying for the fear to go away. i was three years old, prayers unanswered.

i was fifteen when i knew god was dead. i was fifteen when i figured gabriel would hide his trumpet beneath his wing upon locking eyes with me.

these buckeyes and milkweeds have always reviled in disdain in secret whispers behind the bushes. ain't no pride in this americana.

bruised conscience painted purple across the city skyline--the city don't take away from the fact that it's still all grassland and hometowns here.

her eyes got lighter. they're the lake frozen over, the cold january ice creeping up on your front porch, covering the grass in a layer of steel blue verglas.

starlings carry your voice outside my windows. i wake up to endless cries of what that fated november night must've sounded like.

there ain't no rest for the damned in the silence, only evening in and evening out of choked-up sobs of purity taken and lost by now-strangers.

gold glimmering in the only sunlight left of the season, salty glass teardrops splattering down on the still-warm pavement--

the blood on my thighs runs down my legs in some pathetic attempt of discouraging another stab of taking away whatever innocence i have left.

cure this malady with your divinity. cure my bloodlust with the ferrous touch of your sacreligious breath.

angels were made for leaving god. angels were made to fall from grace, to roam this desolate wasteland wondering if there's any salvation in the whiskey at the bottom of a glass.

[kiss-my-freckle]

"I love her, Damon."

Give me love like never before 'Cause lately I've been craving more And it's been a while but I still feel the same Maybe I should let you go You know I'll fight my corner And that tonight I'll call ya After my blood is drowning in alcohol No I just wanna hold ya

It's gonna take me a while to pull 3x14 together, so I'm doing this quick overview of Stefan's manipulation. He refuses to let Elena go even though he knows he already lost her. And he does this in his belief that he can fix Elena's love for Damon by fixing Damon. The concept is simple enough. "Is that what you're doing? Trying to make me hate you?" The quickest way to fix love is by pushing hate, and all he has to do is push Damon to lash out.

"So do I."

Give me love like her 'Cause lately I've been waking up alone Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt Told you I'd let them go And that I'll fight my corner Maybe tonight I'll call ya After my blood turns into alcohol No, I just wanna hold ya

Stefan in 3x14 is killing two birds with one stone just like Damon in season one. This isn't just about revenge against Klaus for him. This is about putting a wedge between Damon and Elena because it's also about love.

Stefan: This isn't about love, is it? This is about revenge. Damon: The two aren't mutually exclusive.

And he does this without disregard to the changes Damon made since he's been gone. He'd rather Damon go back to being the bad brother than lose the girl. "Well, you're good Stefan again. You're in control. Sorry, you might get the girl but you lose the edge." The very point. Every bit Stefan's way of putting the girl above his brother because he's selfish with her love.

When they get to 3x20, he basically pulls Elena into his denial with him. So she becomes a vampire for the sake of living true to herself and her love for Damon... because there's no fixing love.

"Maybe I should let you go" is his key lyric. He definitely should.

[snnynaturalarch]

— FIVE SONGS. FIVE QUOTES. | b.j.h edition.

here  comes  the  sun  by  the  beatles:  here  comes  the  sun  and  I  say,  it's  alright.  little  darlin',  the  smile's  returning  to  their  faces.  little  darlin',  it  seems  like  years  since  it's  been  here.

golden  hour  by  jvke:  i  was  all  alone  with  the  love  of  my  life.  she's  got  glitter  for  skin.  my  radiant  beam  in  the  night.  i  don't  need  no  light  to  see  you  shine.  it's  your  golden  hour.

no  matter  what  by  jamie  miller:  even  on  the  dark  days,  even  through  the  heartache.  even  when  you're  too  afraid  to  say  you  need  someone.  even  when  it's  hopeless,  darling,  you  should  know  this,  i'm  not  givin'  up  on  you,  i'm  here  no  matter  what.  no  matter  what.

give  me  love  by  ed  sheeran:  give  me  love  like  her.  'cause  lately  I've  been  waking  up  alone.  paint  splattered  teardrops  on  my  shirt.  told  you  I'd  let  them  go.

rose  garden  by  nick  jonas  and  the  administration:  she  was  young,  but  not  naive.  always  wise  beyond  her  years.  hoping  that  no  one  would  see  every  time  she  dried  her  tears.  in  the  rose  garden,  where  the  rain  is  falling,  and  the  thorns  are  sharp  in  the  rose  garden.

tagged by : @bloodsalted <3

tagging : whoever wants to <3

[missamyshay]

Hello Miss Amy! A quick question I could come up with for Talk Shop Tuesday before I have to run off again is: I have a document of potential titles that I collect and sift through when I needed to name a fic. Do you have/do something similar? If so, how do you come up with your titles?

Love you lots even though we don't talk much ❤️🫶🏾

Hey girl, hey!!! 🫶🏾

This is a great question! I too have a document that I collect potential fic titles in. This is what it looks like atm:

So, there’s a kind of system to it. A lot of the time, a title comes to me the same time as the idea for the fic does. If I’ve started actively working on the fic, no matter how much or little, then the title won’t go into the list above—it’ll be the name of a whole new doc where I start to map out or jot down my ideas for the fic.

The list of titles in the top half of screen grab above are for fics I have the basic idea for but haven’t started writing on yet. For these ones, I could potentially start writing at any point, if the whims take me. But the title is enough to remind me of what the story would be. And then the ones at the bottom, with question marks, are titles that have absolutely no ideas behind them, no vibes other than me just liking the title.

Title inspo can come from anything really. Just random words or phrases that come to my head (like Soap Bubbles or Between Raindrops), or a detail from the source material (like 0902 which is something from The Bear), or song lyrics (like paint-splattered teardrops which is from Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran), or something from an unrelated book or TV show (like And we’ll be fine, which is from the final scene of Normal People: “I’ll stay.” “And I’ll go.” “And we’ll be fine”).

I know some people hate having to come up with titles but I think that’s one of the most fun parts for me!

Talk shop Tuesday

[kiekiecarrera]

hi i just wanted to say i love all of your fics so much. i’m not really the biggest AU kind of gal when it comes to fan fictions… idk why. i just read the benefits of being under the influence(r) and that was AMAZING. i’m about to read some of your other ones right now. but i knew your name sounded familiar on archive. it’s because paint splattered teardrops on my shirt is my favorite stydia fic, EVER. i saved it when i was 15, in 2015 under “best stydia fic EVER” and re-read it in January, at the age of 22. thank you. you are beautifully talented.

hello omg wtf how did i not see this before?????? This is amazing thank you so so so much this is absolutely the nicest message ever?? It's actually insane that you read paint splattered teardrops on my shirt (and that you reread it now because it really really really doesn't hold up), and that you're now reading my jiara fics (benefits was a really fun one to write even tho the second chapter got so angsty), it makes me so unwell <3 I really dk what to say other than thank you your support means everything <3

[melshome]

paint splattered teardrops - chapter 5

cw angst, fluff, body shaming, bullying, slowburn??, harassment, abuse characters scaramouche, childe mentioned a lot, other chars mentioned a/n THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT!! thaNK YOU sm, omg I love you guys so much ahh you all are my motivation to write these.

forgive me if the writing is a bit off- i haven't written anything since the last time i posted. </3

im also going to change Tuecer calling Kuni, to "Big bro Scara"..

not sure if you two still want to be pinged for this series, let me know if you want me to not ping you anymore!! (let me know if you'd like to be pinged for this series!!!) @local-mr-frog @moonbyunniee

"Oh, there you are Y/N! Scara, you too?" Childe jogs up to you two.

Kunikuzushi watches as Childe hugs you gently. "If you ever need something, or someone to talk to, Childe is here," he winks at you.

You smile, praying that your eyes aren't red or puffy. "Thank you Childe, you're a good friend."

Kunikuzushi scoffs, walking to the rest of the class. Childe playfully rolls his eyes, and walks with you to the rest of the class, letting you know what they got up to while you were gone. He watches each stroke of the paint brush touch the canvas, staring at the colors blend together.

He glances at her face time to time, staring at her eyelashes, how the sun the shining on her eyes, showing how long her natural eyelashes really are.

Her hand is steady as she paints in the fine spaces, and there is confidence filling her eyes as she continues painting, a small smile rising up.

"Oh, I'll be right back. Toilet," Kunikuzushi says, standing up.

She looks up, and nods her head, "alright."

He closes the art door behind him, and walks to the music room, immediatly knowing where she'd be.

"Ahh, scaramouchie~" Signora jumps down from the table, and hugs Kunikuzushi. He pushes her off, Signora hitting herself on the edge of the table.

She winces, groaning at the pain. "Ow.. What the hell did you do that for?"

Kunikuzushi glares at her, clearly pissed. Signora frowns at him, and stands up straight. He chuckles, remembering how Y/N sobbed on his shoulder.

"You piece of.. how dare you hurt her? How long have you been hurting her? Threatening her just for being friends with Childe and I?" Kunikuzushi takes a step towards her, but she clearly doesn't think he's intimidating, as he's about half a head shorter than her.

Signora smirks, "what? Did I do something to your precious little bun?"

Kunikuzushi scoffs, before grasping the front of Signora's shirt and he pulls her down onto the ground.

Signora screams, holding her arm. "YOU (swear word/s, use ur imagination~)!"

He shakes his head, balling up his right hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her cheek.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" The teacher bursts into the scene, with another student, next to her. Y/N is standing there, her face pale like a loose leaf of paper. "Scara.." Childe says, but Kunikuzushi glares at him. Childe closes his mouth, and goes back to cooking.

"Big bro Scara!" Teucer sits himself on the stool, and stares at Kunikuzushi, frowning.

Kunikuzushi tries his best to not glare at Teucer, but he ends up glaring anyways. "Why are you upset? Is it because Big sister Y/N isn't here?"

Sadness fills his face and his glare , before Childe takes Teucer away.

"Time to go do your homework Teucer.." Childe whispers, shooing Teucer away upstairs.

"Is.. Y/N doing okay?" Kunikuzushi manages to ask Childe.

"She said she's doing okay, but I mean, knowing her.." Childe shakes his head, sighing quietly, stirring the soup.

"I'm going to go check in on her soon, giving her this soup for her dinner," Childe says, turning to Kunikuzushi.

"And no, you're not coming, I don't think she wants to see you."

Kunikuzushi gives Childe a dirty look for knowing what he was thinking. You lay on your bed, staring at your starry ceiling, wondering what you should say to Kunikuzushi after the week. He got suspended for a week, he could've done worse, but Childe somehow persuaded the principal for a week.

"Y/N, Childe is here!" Your mum says.

You sit up quickly, wondering what he's doing here. You look down at your bunny pyjamas, and scrabble to get changed into something a bit more nicer, but right as you open your closet, Childe knocks on the door.

"Y/N? Can I come in?"

You sigh quietly, just hoping he doesn't laugh, as you say he can.

He opens the door, and stops when he sees your pyjamas. "What wonderful attire.. you've got on," he smirks, placing down a plastic bag with some sort of container in it.

"Shut up, I wasn't expecting you. You should've called," you gesture him to sit on the office chair.

"So what brings you here, Childe?" you ask, sitting on your bed, hoping he doesn't mention anything that happened.

"I bought some soup for you, it's a cold night tonight. Make sure to eat it and then stay warm in your room," Childe nods his head as he talks.

"Ah.." You try to swallow the ball of worries, all the overthinking thoughts, but they linger.

"Thank you.." you smile, thankful for his small gesture of kindness towards you.

"Scara.. he uh.. he doesn't know what to say to you. He just hopes you don't think bad of you," Childe suddenly blurts out, after a few seconds of silences.

You look up, and sees Childe's pleading eyes. You chuckles, your face turning warm at the thought of Kunikuzushi saying that.

"I don't think bad of Kunikuzushi, I would never. I know what he did was.. bad.. but.."

"He didn't deserve it, Signora did. I wish Signora got some sort of punishment instead.." you try to avoid Childe's eye contact, as he stares at you in shock.

"Me and Scara were expecting.. you to be mad at him.. But this is even better. I'm sure Scara would be glad to hear that.." Childe smiles, standing up.

"But, before I go..." He says, as he stops opening the door.

You tilt your head, confused.

"You should tell Scara all what you told me, he'd be secretly happy to hear those words from you, than from me," Childe closes the door behind him, not letting you speak up.

You open the door and watch as he leaves your house, thanking your parents.

Oh my god... I hate confrontation..

[ao3feed-renga]

paint splattered teardrops

paint splattered teardrops

by ezra_writes

A painter with no face. A student who needs more.

Words: 960, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Kyan Reki, Hasegawa Langa

Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki

Additional Tags: They are in love your honour, Kyan Reki is a Ray of Sunshine, Kyan Reki Loves Hasegawa Langa, Hasegawa Langa In Love

From https://ift.tt/BVGbeER https://archiveofourown.org/works/46415347

[221b-bitch-st]

i used to think tears falling and splattering on things in animated movies was fake because i had never cried hard enough to make that happen. then i grew up, and my world has been painted by the beauty of a teardrop hitting the ground

[hisgrief]

Give me love like her 'Cause lately I've been waking up alone Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt Told you I'd let them go And that I'll fight my corner Maybe tonight I'll call ya After my blood turns into alcohol No, I just wanna hold ya

[probablynotasquid]

Imagine an SAGAU imposter AU with gold blooded creator!reader but with a twist. The characters know the creator has golden tears of pain and gold blood but what they don’t know is the gold isn’t visible until it complete dries in open air. Poor reader is chased though the plains of each land and shunned by all except the very young, very elderly and typically hostile creatures that live across Teyvat. While on the run in Inazuma they are caught by the Tenryou Commission and tortured (like the fake vision smith but worse) for days. Various government members from each nation join in the punishment. The red blood and crystal teardrop splatters are constantly being layered and added to so they can never fully dry. Itto and his gang hear about a tortured prisoner and go to bust them out after another session when they know they’ll be alone for a while - not recognising them as the ‘imposter’ until much later on.

The Tenryou torturers + Sara arrive for another session only to find the room empty and immediately sound the alarm about their escape. They’re so focused on finding the escaped reader that they never clean the room they used for several days on end and by the time they return it’s all dried. Reader is found running from the Arataki gang in fear they’ll be turned in and end up getting caught anyway. They’re dragged back to the room through the centre of Inazuma City but when they arrive there they see the floor and walls splattered and layered with thin swirling layers of solid gold. By this point the reader has given up fighting and slumps over in their captors’ grip, oblivious to the horror dawning on everyone’s faces as they realise what they’ve done, the crimes they’ve committed and how badly they f**ked up >>>>:)

AAAAAAA YES OMG

i absolutely love this idea aaaaaa

running through the nations, leaving splattering trails of gold far behind in your wake. occasionally spotted by a local child, recalled to parents and waved off as a wild imagination.

it was all a big misunderstanding. if they had only waited just a little longer, they would have seen it sooner. but they didn't. and now you're standing defeated before them, in front of the very cell you had previously escaped. the one you endured horrible and utterly unthinkable torture for hours, days, weeks on end. your body still ached with the echoes of the endless pain. your blood stained and seeped into the stone dungeon, now a shimmering spectacle of a room. a masterpiece with you front and center as the guards shakily loosen their grip, stepping back in horror.

they finally see, with grief unmatched, their creator. head turned back, confused and lifeless, and the painted wall behind them their golden wings.

i have a very vivid image of that scene in my head and i cannot descibe it well but holy woww yes your mind is brilliant thank you for sharing this with me