#with angst

[matchamiko]

Sitting cross legged on the couch opposite Ochako, kissing her softly, nipping her lip and licking into her mouth in the amber light of the evening, glasses of wine sat forgotten like the washing up in the kitchen; Kissing her because she doesn’t know if she likes girls and feels like she wants you, kissing her because you know you like girls and definitely want her.

[sillygoofyqueer]

I'M BACK WITH MORE ANGST

(but first of all!!! i loove that characterization of wei qingwei, the pirate-dad-peak lord; i can see him being the only peak lord/person who is allowed to casually fix stray feathers on shen qingqiu's wings, because he never makes a big deal out of it or acts like he's made of glass. he fixes it like he fixes someone's hair or clothes, which is a bit of normalcy shen qingqiu is probably desperate for)

so i was thinking: water prison. the whole jin lan city debacle goes roughly the same, only of course with the added accusations of sqq having been an untrustworthy, scheming demon all along and the accusations being a bit more dire. public opinion turns against him badly and he gets hauled off. the old palace master would probably go all in on his demonic heritage and accuse him of a slew of other things too, and then demand his wings be clipped because he'll "escape otherwise". it's not great but shen qingqiu doesn't use his wings to fly that often, and he'll molt soon anyway so he agrees with the conditions (if only to soothe things over). but then ofc in private they do whatever they want and the old palace master changes clipping to pinioning, which is significantly worse, very painful, and cripples him (bonus points if the little palace mistress comes to the prison with her whip and gets a few hits in too cus his wings are drenched and hurt and difficult to maneuver<3).

i do think in this case luo binghe doesn't visit bc if he already got furious at the little palace mistress for using her whip, he wouldn't accept his shizun's wings being mutilated (however, if binghe does come it would be a similar kind of frustrating miscommunication as in canon, and when binghe gets furious when he sees shen qingqiu it's not at sqq but at the state of him, but sqq doesn't know that, and reacts in fear and self-preservation (moving away, tucking his wings tight and close to his body, eyes flashing pale blue (like a crow's!!)), which of course makes it worse; maybe binghe assumes that shen qingqiu thinks this was his idea, which he would NEVER).

when gongyi xiao (love this good boy<3) comes by ofc he's horrified to see the state of shen qingqiu's wings (clumps of blood-slick feathers on the floor, one wing clearly shorter than the other, ripped clothes and bruises), and just like in canon he immediately goes to free him bc it's unacceptable and vile, and maaaybe he jumps to the conclusion that binghe must have done this to him to punish him. with the last of his strength sqq transforms into his full crow form, which is easier to smuggle out of the prison bc gongyi xiao can bundle him up in his robes (for extra drama binghe can be like "shizun will let gongyi xiao swaddle him in his robes and hold him but not binghe??🥺🥺😡😡" "binghe please don't say it like that")

*Gripping the sides of my coffin as I force myself into a sitting position and yes, I do look as - if not MORE - fit than Tianlang-jun in that one illustration (you know the one I mean)* Hey.

This angst just hit me incredibly hard in the stomach and that's why I've been ill so...it's ALL YOUR FAULT (kidding, kidding). Anywhosles, Gongyi Xiao is precious and of course he would smuggle crow Shen Qingqiu out of the prison the moment he sees the mutilation of the poor guy's wings. If he believes Binghe did it? Another reason to dislike the guy that practically stole everything from him (I love this precious guy and he deserves better in canon 😔). He has heard so much about the peak lord grieving the loss of his disciple, and Luo Binghe repays him by practically destroying his wings?? Shameful :(

From the Zhuzhi-lang angle, imagine he's in snake form, going to find the fit guy dilf half demon cultivator that saved his life and helped him out when he should have killed him, and finding a Huan Hua Palace disciple holding a brutalised crow with overly intelligent eyes. It's not hard to jump to the conclusion that the Huan Hua disciple has either caused or helped cause these injuries upon Shen Qingqiu, and is possibly even about to kill him. Keep in mind that all Zhuzhi-lang knows is that Shen Qingqiu has been taken into custody by Huan Hua, held within the Water Prison with his wings to be clipped, multiple accusations thrown his way linked to him being a demon, and that it's the snake boi's job to save him because Shen Qingqiu saved him that one time. What would you do in that situation? Because Zhuzhi-lang attacks with no remorse. Does Gongyi Xiao die?? The real question is if I could bear the poor guy dying twice just for doing the right thing...

The miscommunication between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu always makes me want to die because just ONE CONVERSATION WOULD FIX EVERYTHING. But that's also why it's so silly and good and I love it. The idea that Shen Qingqiu believes that Luo Binghe is the reason why his wings are so fucked up could go deeper with the idea of, back when Luo Binghe was a disciple, he was practically the only disciple that was ever allowed to touch the man's wings, and he always seemed very upset when the other peak lords got to help Shen Qingqiu with his feathers - jealous of them, in reality, but the man thought that maybe he was jealous of how Shen Qingqiu was treated despite being a demon (it was a tidgy bit of the reason). So, when Shen Qingqiu is in the Water Prison, Binghe's first order of business could be perceived as: "you want to be treated as a pathetic human? I can help with that" and ruins one of Shen Qingqiu's defining features of a demon, making him vulnerable and weak - which is how Bingge felt humans were, and how Shen Qingqiu thinks Binghe views humans. So. Angst. Yay.

[chococara25]

Saw the ideas floating around where Tommy and Abby has a kid together and Buck had a hand raising her while he was dating Abby before Abby giving the kid to Tommy before running to Europe and I'm like 🤔🤔

So I'll raise one better. One where Abby left for Europe and left Buck raising her child cos she wants to live her own life for once. Tommy doesn't know he has a child and Buck never knew Tommy's full name, raised the girl and after a year without news from Abby, adopted her and gave her his last name.

Tommy adores the sweet girl and dotes on her the same way he dotes on Buck and Buck loves how Tommy is the first person he has relationship with that's adores his little girl.

Until one day he saw Abby's pic with the baby and does some serious maths and realized that the girl is his daughter and broke up with Buck out of sheer panic!!

Will he find his way back to Buck and the girl? Will he confront Abby? Will Abby try to take the little girl away from BuckTommy? 🤔🤔

Tagging @rubydaiquiri @weewookinard for putting this idea in my head 😅 *shakes fist*

[tommysm0ondust]

hey teen wolf fanfic writers, PLEASE make more badass stiles fics. I need more. badass stiles but also with angst

also shocks me that I haven't seen ANY stiles centered fic use one of my fav stiles lines in the whole series from season 4 bc it has SO much potential

when he's tryna get Malia to stay human kinda he tells her Abt how he remembers everything he did when possessed but worst of all he remembers liking it because he felt POWERFUL? AND FEARLESS?? AND MOST OF ALL IN. CONTROL.

and then he says the best line which was

"But when I came through it, I learned something else... control is overrated"

LIKE??? WHY IS NO ONE FUCKING USING THAT???? ITS SUCH A COOL LINE.

anyways that's it done with my rant, I should go to sleep now💔

[onigirintarou]

I Don’t Care If You’re Insincere

Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader; angst

WC: 590

 There’s a faint buzzing under your pillow. You groan as your bleary eyes squint trying to shield themselves from the too bright light of your phone screen.

1 missed call.

Despite it being two-thirty something in the morning, you feel your heart rate pick up as your eyes take note of the number beside the notification.

1 voice message.

Your fingers work on autopilot as you tap in your pin and unlock your phone. Your thumb hovers over the notification. Was there a point in even listening when he hasn’t heard you in so long? Your thumb slips and presses the button.

You hear the sound of laughter in the background and know that he must be with the rest of the team. The laughter grows muffled and more faint. He must be moving away from the group. There’s silence for a while and then a quiet sigh.

“Hi sweetheart.”

His voice, a sound that once washed comfort over you, now prickles at your skin. But despite yourself, you close your eyes. If you shut your eyes tight enough maybe you could delude yourself into believing that he was with you, lying right by your side. But that’s wrong. This. No, you. You aren’t where he belongs.

“You looked too peaceful this morning for me to disturb,” he says with a quiet chuckle and you realize your face has contorted into a scowl as the now familiar feeling of irritation settles in your chest. You had woken up that morning, arm immediately stretching out to hold onto Kiyoomi, but all you were able to grasp were the already made sheets on his side of the bed.

“I know we have a lot to talk about when I get back.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a man who chooses his words carefully. Most would call him blunt, but you’d prefer to call him sincere. He does sincerity as easily as breathing. He says get back with an air of nonchalance, but you notice it; he doesn’t say come home. And to be honest, there is a part of you that’s relieved. These four walls you had moved into with him all that time ago hasn’t felt like a home for the two of you for a while now.

“I know you must be sleeping. I’ll call in the morning,” he promises and then there is silence on the line. You almost tap the button to end the call, but then you hear it.

“I love you.”

Damn him.

You shouldn’t be well acquainted with the growing feeling of resentment in your chest, but here you lie with sobs wracking your body. You love this man, there is no denying it. And he says he loves you back. You replay the voice message just to hear the last three words.

I love you.

He had sounded so genuine, so goddamn sincere.

You tap his contact on your phone. One ring and then two.

“Sweetheart?” his voice crackles over the line. The connection must not be the best wherever it is that he and the team were heading to.

“Kiyo,” you gather your breath. “I love you.”

He says your name. “Have you been crying?” And although you two aren’t connected via video, you can see the scrunch of his brow in your mind.

You laugh, and it sounds hollow even to your ears. “I love you, Kiyoomi,” you repeat. “Please tell me you love me too.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he breathes. “I love you too.”

“Kiyoomi.” You pause.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

[vonev]

The Executioner (and the judge) III

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Chapter 3: because wherever you go, I'll follow; even through hell, I'll find you

Part I Part II Part III

Words: 3.6k Summary: This…KorTac guy is kinda weird, but you finally meet Ghost, so yay, right?

a/n: i may or may not have lost a braincell or two but the grind dont stop baby

Warnings: VERY suggestive themes in this one, be warned!

Bzz-bzz-bzz—

—you awake with a headache deep in your noggin, hand feeling around the side of your head scrambling for your phone, only to feel the unpleasant buzz against your thigh.

Right.

Amidst your slumber, you forgot you don’t live in that poor excuse for a bunker anymore; as nice as it had been during an emergency, you have come to appreciate the soft linen below you that hugs your body in all the right ways. That’s not to say you’ll have the privilege to continue indulging in said comfort; because the sun shining through your tinted windows said otherwise. 

With a soft grumble you sit up from your face-down position, your hand instinctively reaches up to rub away the sleepiness off your eyes, yawning, you take a brief glance at your phone.

7:39 a.m. Thursday.

To be honest, you could head back to bed and relax, who’s to say you can’t?

Right then, a solid knock sounds from your door, and with that, you push yourself off the bed with an irritated groan; your body functions on auto-pilot, hand extending out to twist the doorknob before you could fully process your surroundings. You flinch at the harsh coldness of the doorknob as you groggily crack the door open.

Your eyes meet the midsection of the person, a man’s, because you’ve only ever met men that wear shirts too tight for them just to show off. Tilting your head backwards, you slowly lift your gaze up to see that it’s the same man you spoke about with Kate the day before—König—he’s infinitely taller in person, yet you don’t feel threatened by his presence; which is odd, but a welcome change. 

Neither of you speak up, only ever stare at each other; the cold morning air breeze past your body, you shiver, your arm trailing up the other to rub some warmth into your body. 

“...yes?” 

Upon hearing your voice, the man blinks once, then twice; you can’t tell if he’s silently judging you—or just lost. 

“Kate wants to see you,” his voice is surprisingly…light, for a man of his stature; you’d have expected a deep bass, maybe even grain in his voice. But he speaks softly, like the small raise of his voice would scare you off. He’s gentle, you think, and respectful, because he doesn’t try to stare you down as though you’re inferior. Maybe you judged him too harsh earlier.

You nod, “I’ll…get changed, I’ll meet her in about,” you glance down and check your empty wrist as though you wore a watch. “…15 minutes?” 

König only nods in response then stepping aside, presumably walking back to wherever he came from.

Sighing, you gently close your door, the hinge doesn’t scream this time—providing some much needed quietness in your morning. You drag yourself over to the sink and pull out the cabinet, amenities sitting in its creamy insides. Your eyes scans and falls onto the period products tucked away to the side; you make a mental note of thanking Kate later. Grabbing some products you then strip yourself off of your sweat-coated clothes, you don’t look in the mirror as you approach the bathroom.

Jumping in the shower you wince as the sudden sputters of cold water hit your back, you let out a much needed breath of relief, your body soon adjusts to the brutal temperature of the flood sliding down the curves of your exhausted figure. You haven’t had a proper shower in a while, either, relying on damp cloth gets old after a while; so this change of routine puts a small smile on your face, lifting some weight off your tired shoulders.

It doesn’t take long for you to get ready; a couple of minutes to dry up, slipping on undergarments and a casual shirt and jeans, you run the hairbrush through your damp hair for the final time before heading out.

The noise of birds chirping outside pierce through the thin walls, a pleasant sound that swells within your heart, your steps halts as you stare out of the window next to you; the beautiful sight of nature going about catches your attention. Trees sway along with the autumn wind, leaves fall into the already bundled piles on the ground, the sky a gorgeous hue of orange, blue, pink and white—like the display of painter’s hard work, of their blood, sweat and tears all pouring onto the sky outside as clouds resembles blotches of white paint. 

The soft breeze outside pushes past the tiny crack of the window, leaving gentle kisses across your skin as it passes.

It all blends so well together, harmonizing with minimal effort; if any at all.

You took leisure for granted, after being cooped up with only yourself and the smell of death outside as your company, you missed the small things in life: the glorious nature, the gracious flow of things as they came and went, the casual habits of the world around you.

The people.

“…are you okay?” 

Holy mother of Jesus.

Turning over to the voice, you catch König’s curious eyes boring into the back of your skull. Being built like 5 tons of trucks didn’t stop this man from being a master in stealth, it seems, because you don’t get sneaked up on a lot—a necessary habit of the war; indented into your DNA. Only one other person catches you off-guard, the same person that has you sweat under your thin shirt even with the cool breeze. 

A brief projection of a skull printed mask enters the back of your mind before you quickly suppress it.

“I’m alright, thank you,” your eyes flicker toward the scenery outside once more, imprinting it into your mind. For some reason, it makes you feel better about yourself. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Kate already?” looking back, and up, at him with your head tilted, you don’t miss the way his eyes widen. 

“Yes, yes I am.”

With that, he turns on his heels and paces back down the quiet hallway; his boots emit a soft thump with every step he takes. You follow behind, keeping a respectful distance, both of your steps creating their own rhythm that echoes in the empty concrete hallway walls.

Along the way, you zone out, your mind running off to another realm while your body carries itself in a routinely manner toward the hall where the meeting room sits.

You zone out too much, because you walk straight into a wall—er, König’s back. 

“Ow—fuck.” 

“You okay, little maus?” 

“Yeah I’m fine—little what?” your eyes snap to his, confusion smothers your face.

“I’m—sorry, it’s nothing,” he doesn’t elaborate, his shoulders slumps and twists the other way to open the door.

He stands there to the side, hand on the doorknob and peering back at you. You cock an eyebrow, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one of your legs. A soft Ding! rings in your head, your lips part, and a grumbled Thanks slips out of you as you enter the dimly lit room. 

What a gentleman. 

You see the woman before she sees you; and when she does, a small smile spreads out on her lips, nodding to you in regard. You hear the door click quietly behind you as you sit down on a seat chair; König sits right across you, his head facing Kate’s way. 

Kate starts off simple, straight to the point—you’ll both be dropped in one of the designated safe houses near the Russians’ territory, and you’ll start off slow, steady. 

Okay. You think, I can do it slow and steady. 

If someone were to ask you your specialty; you’d come up with no answers. To simply put: you’re good at killing, and dragging information out of the victims in your grasps. 

But you can’t say, Oh, I’m very good with knives. Or, I can drop heads like flies. 

You just manage, and it was enough—because it landed you in one of the best task forces known to the people in the know. 

Adaptable, Perhaps? You’re unsure, nor do you have anyone around to question such things casually, especially during a serious briefing.

“From then on, we’ll move on the fly, I know you both are extremely capable at handling yourselves.” Kate’s eyes dart to your face momentarily before turning to König. “So I’m gonna need you to keep me updated.”

You decided; if it means you’re not good with a certain thing—you’re good with everything.

“Remember, this is a secret mission for now until we send out the team—absolutely no words about this should slip out of this room today, or tomorrow, and the day after.”

“Yes ma’am,” König pats his palm over his heart, his version of commitment to the cause.

Kate nods at him, appreciative, then looks over to you in anticipation.

You shrug.

“I’ve nothing to lose.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

This is it, you think.

With a blanket draped over both your shoulders, you find yourself seated at the bench right outside your room; thoroughly enjoying the cold yet inviting breeze that carries strands of your hair into the air. 

This is what life is about: the moments of serenity that can’t be bought, when the weather is just right. Not too in your face, yet present. 

It calls out to you, a gentle touch manifested into the form of the winds blowing past your slightly shivering frame. The moonlight illuminates your surroundings, shadows fall into their respective places, and where the darkness is the most prominent, the light shines brighter. 

Yin and Yang, like nights and days. They contrast, they fight. 

Like you and him—back in the good ol’ days, back when you both latched at each other’s throat with no remorse, a spit here, another spit there. The both of you would clash; where you’d want something, he’d want it entirely differently. 

For example: when you all had been deployed to bumfuck nowhere in Alaska, your belongings naturally came with as well. In the kitchen, everyone shared the same lackluster cabinets. You’d store your snacks all in one side of the cabinet, and you would wake up the next morning to utter confusion when said snacks couldn’t be found anywhere—

—anywhere except Simon’s side of the cabinet, of course.

For some odd reason it started an all-out cold war, you’d both purposefully misplace things: towels atop the toilet seat, storage boxes not being in the storage shelves, badges in-between sofa cushions. You and him would manage to find every single one of them; to your frustration. And seeks out to correct them. 

The cold war only ended because you hadn't been able to find the gauze to stop his actively bleeding wound one stormy night. 

It served as a lesson: don’t fuck with each other’s things.

And especially don’t fuck each other.

Of course, you’d have gone and messed that up.

Ghost sits with his back against the window, a propped leg on the still supporting the weight of his arm. 

His dark eyes follow your every move as you skillfully maneuver around the kitchen, a pun-based apron tied loosely around your waist, your hands busying themselves chopping up some onions and red pepper to go with the steak sizzling in the heated pan next to you.

You count in your head, 1, 2, 3, repeat, all to steady your breathing and not mess up dinner; you wouldn’t want to suffer through a fucked up steak then cry yourself to sleep. That wasn’t your plan, no. But you’re incredibly sleep deprived, the only support system being the thoughts that circulate your head. Or maybe it’s the deep wound you still carry on the side of your stomach? You don’t quite know, nor do you care—you’re starving, all you can think about is eat, eat, eat—

Amidst your haziness, the knife slips from your buttery finger, and cuts through the thin barrier of your fingertip. 

“Ouch—fuck me.” 

“Let me look at that.” 

Jumpy, you feel your heart leap out of your throat at Ghost’s sudden appearance behind you. Cautiously you hold your finger to your chest, and it takes Ghost’s hand prying at it to get you to release them. 

Blood seeps out the curve of the knife wound; it’s rather deep, but not enough to warrant any emergency care, give it a day or two and it’ll disappear as soon as it was there. Ghost stares at your fingertip, his eyes emotionless, darting from between your face and the blood that continues to flow out of your skin.

Then the unexpected happens—he hooks his free thumb under his mask and lifts. Your mouth left agape as you tried to process the commotion happening in front of your very eyes. 

His scarred lips come into view, he slowly brings your hand closer; your fingertip now grazing his bottom lip. A shudder rippled through your entire body; you remain motionless, uncertain and absolutely bedazzled. 

“It’s…it’s fine, really—“ 

You almost let out the loudest yelp that would’ve woken everyone else up from their evening naps. Because as the words get caught in your throat, Ghost pushes out his tongue and licks the tip of your finger. 

Your heart steadily pumps in your eardrums, fast yet too slow, and his eyes didn’t help soothe the concerning pace, either—with how sultry his gaze screams as he peers up at you from this angle, you could feel a familiar pool of wetness rub against the fabric of your underwear. You try to hide it by squishing your thighs together for some friction, hoping, praying, that it’d evaporate. 

Ghost notices, because he always does. 

His free hand glides up the exposed skin of your thigh; and of course you had to be wearing shorts that convenient night. His gentle touches send bolts of electricity through your nerves, igniting the suppressed part inside of you hidden away for so long; the part of you that you’d always deny—because you can’t have him, not when he hates your guts, right? 

…Right…?

His eyes say otherwise—God, those eyes, how you’d kill to stare into them day and night. 

He drops your injured hand, and instead, reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb over your flushed cheek, then gradually over your plump lips as he slots his finger right into your mouth. All the while he held your eyes with his, never once diverting his attention to anywhere else but you. His thumb crudely explores every nook and cranny of your mouth, settling to rest above the soft pad of your tongue.

“Tell me no,” he breathes out, exasperated; the actions had affected him as much as it did to you. “Tell me no and I’ll stop, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

You hesitate, the desperate longing for his skin on yours too much to bear—

—with a gentle shake of your head, his eyes lit up; the fire that once burns quietly behind his orbs now cackles into life. 

The situation soon escalates from Look, I’m touching you in all the right places to I’m touching you in all the right spots inside, with my cock. 

You had woken up very sore the next day; though incredibly satisfied. You swore he smirked at you when you both passed by each other that morning in the kitchen, drowned in the loud noises of your teammates’ banters.

The hunger you’d push away before now comes back tenfold whenever you’d see him sauntering over to you at night, in the quiet of your bedroom, only filled by his rough grunts and your muffled moans. 

It was how you’d spend the rest of the months, always sneaky and unsuspicious, both of you had an unspoken oath to keep things private; not daring to put a label on the sticky situation you found yourselves in.

You sigh, your breath visible under the cold autumn weather.

Just as you were about to get up from the bench, something moved from the corner of your eye.

You freeze up, your body left hanging in an awkward position in the air with your arm supporting your weight on the armrest, your eyes dotting around the scene in front of you, unmoving. 

Everyday, you live by fear that something would eventually catch up to you; the efforts of your runaway gone to ash. Were you ever not restless? With the ghost of your past constantly etching your back in scars that would haunt even your worst nightmares—skittish, that’s what you are. Forever molded into the remnants of your history, not moving on, letting yourself melt into the shape of a new you; yet just as empty if not more. It makes you doubt yourself. Question your life choices during somber times; what led you here? What compelled you to do the things you did? 

For love, you think. Everything you did up until this point had been for someone else. What about yourself?

You never had the pleasure to sit down and self-reflect, even as you were contained within a small bunker for years, the memories never once left you the way everything else did. Rusty; as your grip tightens on the armrest, you feel the practiced measure of the way you used to hold a gun slip out of you—it doesn’t actually, but it sure feels like it.

The wind sings out to you, and in this small area where you exist, you could feel the presence of something else: something more. Larger than you, perhaps. Maybe even commanding with how the leaves seem to have stopped swaying, though the gust keeps on moving.

Something moves, something undetermined. 

But you can tell; pinpointing its position based on the fraction of second their figure was exposed to you.

Right behind the large tree trunk that loomed over seemingly everything else, the person is shrouded by the shadows, you figured.

“I know you’re there,” you sigh. “Come out.” It wasn’t a request but rather a demand—because whoever this person is, they’re starting to graze your thin nerves.

And they do. 

Leaves crunches underneath their heavy steps, muffling the noise; but you know they’re there, and they’re right beside you.

You turn your head—and suddenly, it’s as though you experienced an icy whiplash over your entire body; your blood runs cold, your fingers numb.

He’s there.

Towering over you, his presence is as domineering as you last remembered it; and for just a second, you’re pulled back to that winter, one where you could’ve taken your last breath in the stormy blizzard, should’ve.  

He crinkles his nose slightly; it’s not noticeable enough, but with you, you always notice, you always know.

Know how his hand once felt in yours, the twinkle in his eyes and the sly curve of his lips behind that mask as he’d stare at you like you were the best thing in his life. That autumn, when his knees touch yours in a way that has you choking on your hot drink, spilling the beverage all over yourself—and he’d stare, he stared because he found it amusing; found you absolutely breathtaking with the way the light from the fireplace had hit you just right. How he liked it.

Right now, as you sheepishly peer into his eyes for a void, you’re not sure if you’re looking at the same person you used to know; the Simon that had you wrapped around his pretty little finger. Maybe he’s Ghost, in an ironic way. How he’d fleet away just as easy as he slots in, still the same man that haunts your every dream, every nightmare. Everywhere you go it’s him; him that now looks past you—and God does it hurt.

He’s never been a man of many words, only a little where it matters the most; or none, yet you know he’s consumed by the thoughts running around in his head, clouding his conscience, unreadable, unreachable.

And certainly not present; his mind is always far away yet grounded—you could never understand that part of him, but everything else? You do. You do because in the back of your mind, you reserve a very special place for him: the crows feet whenever he’d break a smile, the specific spot of his mole no one else knows about (except for Johnny), the musical notes of his laughter, the rough calluses on his hands. 

“...hey,” you lift a hand up to wave at him, timid, sweat starts breaking through the skin of your palm.

He doesn’t respond, only listens. That’s what he does all the time—so why does it make you extra nervous now? You supposed the meeting would’ve gone way smoother, you know, if he hadn’t believed you were dead for years.

His eyes seem so far away, like he’d up and go to another realm you couldn’t follow with. And it worries you to no end. Unsure; you take a huge leap in chance, your other hand extends out to brush his sleeves. Except, he retracts himself away from you; his body twists slightly further back to avoid your touch.

Have you ever learnt the true meaning of a heartbreak? You swore the deep cracks in your heart only worsens; all with just one swift move of his body, and you’re a mess.

“Simon—”

There it is; the look.

“...don’t call me that.”

An excruciating chill runs down your spine; you stay as still as your arm that still sticks in the air, you don’t move when he starts to turn his back to you, walking the same direction he came from, waltzing back into his own world—you used to live there, not anymore, though. Clearly, the few words he said pierce deep into your heart, and it bleeds; it bleeds until the streams run dry–-until you can’t breathe anymore.

You taste some saltiness on your tongue, when you reach up with your fingers, you realize you’d been crying for a good minute. Your tears flowing like a river—it flows because your heart can’t do the same anymore, it stops beating, and your world comes crashing down on you. 

[raylasrightbraid]

yall hear me out pls

I THINKKK THIS MIGHT BE HER????!!!! BC BC BC HEAR ME OUTTT

rayla is like leading the group to this dock, and pretty much from what it looks like she and the dragang are meeting up with the person in the cloak. which has to mean rayla knows this person, WHICH MEANS ITS REDFEA- i mightt be wrong sue me 😪 but redfeather seems like such an interesting character and i CANNOT wait to see/read more of her!! and maybe we’ll see her in the show??? 👀👀👀(redfeather is so fine)

[foxqueen211]

I kinda draw too much fluff now.... I didnt drew angst in AGES. Gimme some ideas for angst (linked with LMK for sure)

[genocidalfetus]

I need you to tell me everything will be alright To chase away the voices in the night

When they call my name Have I gone insane?

-Black Veil Brides

[abimopectcre]

Spirit whisper be damned, he supposed. With all of the work that Kafka and Elio put into suppressing his mind, was it worth it when they had to do it again and AGAIN? Oh, how he longed to simply become mindless, to give them an excuse to gift him with RELEASE from the pain his BONES carry. [ He is not a human, but a blade. A simple blade made for RETRIBUTION. Only then will he get his end. ]

Even bathed in moonlight, the hunter regards coldly. It has lost meaning to him, the shadows of the light more in tune with the light itself. [ Yingxing enjoyed this, and he died long ago. ]

"You're here."

@thalassancharm

[madcatdaderpydrawer-blog]

Tickle drunk Eclipse would be so incredibly distressed about Bloodmoon disappearing. They’re the ones who have wrecking him down to an art form. They’re the ones home most of the time. They’re the ones he’s been around almost constantly for months. They’re his brothers.

Killcode gets there and Eclipse is so incredibly snippy because his brothers have been missing for a day, he’s been sober and without affection for a full day. And they piece together that Bloody’s probably dead. And he actually cries, because he made his little tickle toy body very expressive so he can’t just hide how upset this makes him.

And it’s not like Killcode can just be there all day to give him his fix, Moon has shit to do. And being left by himself while tickle drunk is torture. So, he’s going straight from being soup and getting cuddles most of the time back to being sober and alone most of the time, but with even more bad thoughts than before.

I wonder if that would bother Bloodmoon at all, like if they survived and found it out. Because while it's not as bad as Eclipse and Killcode just not caring about them, it still wouldn't feel very good you know? Like, presumably they care about Eclipse or they wouldn't be tickling him all the time, and seeing how upset he is specifically about the topic of not getting tickled enough when for as much as he knows they got disintegrated? I feel like that would hurt ngl

[jinxquickfoot]

Guardians 3 time :D

[kyri45]

I didn’t realize you were the person who did the fanfiction tag drinks.

ahah yeah that's meeee!!

If you guys are interested they are all available as stickers on my RB!!

[bebx]

[shamefulzombie]

Not Perfect