an ind private plot and muse focused dash based tumblr single muse blog. devoted by khai, 30s any pronouns ph. gl.

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Stranger Things

#extradirty

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Claire Keane

izzy's playlists!

JVL
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
taylor price
Jules of Nature

if i look back, i am lost

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Andulka
AnasAbdin
Xuebing Du

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Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
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@sqcrificed
an ind private plot and muse focused dash based tumblr single muse blog. devoted by khai, 30s any pronouns ph. gl.
Hollow? Did this younger man has the audacity to call him hollow? And said his struggles were lies? What.... what does Bogum knew about him? The audacity of this piece of shit. Minjun was stunned that the other manage to draw those conclusions pertaining him without even diving deeper into him as a person, and that... that angers him further that for few seconds no words were formed within him his throat but only the urge to deck this man down puts a rythmn on his once idle hand.
"Fuck you, Bogum. For someone who barely knew me, you put those thoughts against me. Are you fucking projecting on me? You're the one who walked into the room as if the world owes you something but maybe it does. It's not my fucking fault that you got bad end of the luck but I would never sabotage you this way if you ever wanted to put your tracks on the album. Ho—" stop playing at being an idol and start being one.
Oh. That was his last straw.
"I am fucking trying, dammit!" Hands grappled onto his dongsaeng's shirt and purposely shoved him onto the mirror wall that is the solely witness of their bickering for now. One hand letting go off the latter's shirt and a fist immediately formed but the voices in his head telling him not to because what would he say once the management finds out that he had hurt their precious main visual? He would get in trouble. His mother would gave him disapproval look and his father would not look at him in the eyes and the bungalow would be rendered in a silence that would suffocate Minjun. It would made him cry into his pillow again. Not that anyone knows. No one needs to know. He is here to serve happy time for their fans. Appear fine all the damn time. And it is obvious that Bogum thinks he does not have struggles of his own. He would not understand. He is just the same as the rest. Thinking he had easy. Thinking he is blessed with anything and everything. He is tired of looking for someone who would. Who would love him as he is. So he let go and spat, "Fuck you. Do what you want." His eyes were immediately hollowed out and looking away then to face Bogum head on. "Whether I contribute or not doesn't make any fucking changes that people think I am here for a free ride to fame. Yeah. I admit that I am playing idol. I did not want to be an idol in the first place. Does that make you happy? I don't deserve the spot here. Would that make you happy that I admit it out loud? Fuck, just say you hate me, Bogum. Punch me on the face. Shit on me. Do what makes you happy"
the impact against the mirror wall vibrated straight through bogum's spine, a sharp, cold jolt that rattled his teeth. but he didn't wince. if anything, the sudden, violent press of minjun's weight against him, the tight bunch of his jersey gathered in minjun's white-knuckled fist, was the most grounding thing he had felt in months. for a fraction of a second, as minjun's fist pulled back, bogum didn't prepare to duck. he waited for the blow with a sick, desperate sort of anticipation. he wanted the bruise. he wanted the physical proof that he existed, that he was flesh and bone capable of bleeding, rather than just a flawless, airbrushed mannequin standard-issued by the label.
but the blow never came.
instead, bogum watched the micro-expressions fracturing across minjun's face the sudden, suffocating hesitation, the phantom weight of expectations pulling their arm back down. he recognized that look. it was the invisible leash of their industry, the quiet terror of disappointment that lived in the back of every trainee's throat. when minjun's hand dropped and the older boy spat those venomous, self-deprecating words, something shifted in the humid air of the studio.
i did not want to be an idol in the first place. does that make you happy ?
the confession didn't bring bogum the victory he thought it would. instead, it felt like watching a monument crumble. minjun's eyes, usually so bright they seemed to catch every spotlight in the room, went entirely hollow. dead. it was the exact expression bogum saw every morning in his own reflection, and seeing it mirrored on the one person he thought was invincible made a cold, heavy knot form beneath his ribs.
❛ happy ? ❜ bogum's voice was barely a murmur, losing its hard, defensive edge. he stayed pinned against the glass, even though minjun had let go, his body refusing to claim the distance. ❛ you think watching you break yourself into pieces makes me happy, hyung ? ❜
he took a slow, deliberate breath, the scent of minjun's citrus sweat mixing with the bitter taste of their shared adrenaline. bogum's hand, trembling visibly now, rose between them. for years, his fingers had only known how to curl into fists or pose elegantly for concept photos. he had never learned the gentle geometry of comfort. hesitantly, his fingers brushed against the fabric of minjun's sleeve, not gripping, but lingering there like a ghost trying to learn how to touch.
❛ i don't want to punch you, ❜ bogum said, his gaze dropping to minjun's mouth, then back up to those fiercely empty eyes. the admission felt raw, stripping away the armor of the arrogant main visual. ❛ if i wanted you gone, i would have stayed quiet. i would have let you put that hollow track on the album and watched the critics tear you apart. i wouldn't have said a word. ❜
he stepped off the glass, closing the small pocket of air between them until their chests almost brushed. the proximity was terrifying, a voluntary plunge into the heat of minjun's orbit, but bogum was tired of being cold. he was tired of the cavernous silence that had followed him from his childhood home straight into the dorms.
❛ you think i have a bad end of luck ? i have nothing, minjun, ❜ bogum whispered, the usage of his bare name without a honorific slipping out, heavy with a dangerous, underlying intimacy. ❛ i have a face people like to look at, and a bank account controlled by the company. i don't know how to talk to people. i don't know how to keep them from leaving. when you look at me with that casual affection you give everyone else, it... it makes me feel like i'm suffocating because i don't know how to give it back. ❜
a bitter, self-deprecating smile touched the corner of bogum's lips, gone as quickly as it came. he reached out again, his palm finally making full contact, pressing flat against minjun's chest right over their frantic heartbeat. he wanted to absorb that warmth. he wanted to steal a piece of the fire that minjun carried so effortlessly, even if it burned them both to ash.
❛ i don't hate you, ❜ bogum confessed, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of a truth he had spent a year trying to bury. ❛ god, i wish i did. it would be so much easier if i just hated you. but i'm jealous because you know how to be real. and i'm angry because no matter how hard i push you away, you're the only thing in this entire building that feels alive. ❜
his fingers curled slightly, bunching the fabric of minjun's shirt, pulling them just an inch closer into his personal space.
❛ don't you dare say you don't deserve to be here, ❜ bogum murmured, his dark eyes locking onto minjun's with a fierce, pleading intensity. ❛ if you leave... if you give up, then i am completely alone in this room. fight me. hate me if you have to. but don't you dare look away from me. ❜
the neon sign of the twenty-four-hour ramen shop flickered in the oily surface of a rainwater puddle, casting a rhythmic, sickly pink glow over bogum's boots. he stood just outside the circle of light, his hands buried deep in the pockets of an oversized black hoodie that swallowed his frame. even now, as a grown man and a debuted idol, bogum felt like he was constantly trying to shrink himself, a difficult feat when nature had seen fit to make him broader and taller than most people in any given room.
he checked his watch again. 1:14 AM. the air was crisp, smelling of wet asphalt and the faint, savory saltiness drifting from the shop's vents. inside neverland's echo, bogum was the quiet one the silent pillar, as some fans called him. but pillars were inanimate objects, and sometimes bogum felt just as heavy and unmoving. he had spent his entire life watching the world through a glass partition, wanting to join the laughter but never quite knowing how to synchronize his pulse with anyone else's.
until kai.
bogum's gaze shifted to the figure walking toward him. kai moved with a certain cautious grace, a fellow outsider who seemed to carry a world of unspoken thoughts behind a youthful face. bogum felt a strange, protective heat bloom in his chest whenever they were together. it was a primal, older-brother instinct he hadn't known he possessed. to the rest of the world, kai was an idol ; to bogum, kai was something precious that needed to be shielded from the jagged edges of the industry.
❛ you're actually here, ❜ bogum murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the quiet street. he offered a small, hesitant smile the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but carried a genuine warmth. ❛ i wasn't sure if you'd sneak out. the manager has ears like a bat lately. ❜
he stepped forward, his long shadow stretching out to meet kai's. being the taller of the two always gave bogum a sense of duty, a physical reminder that he could and should stand in the way of whatever might hurt his friend. he reached out, briefly patting kai's shoulder to usher them toward the sliding door of the shop. the contact was fleeting, but bogum hoped it communicated the stability he struggled to put into words.
the bell chimed as they entered. the shop was cramped, steam rising in thick, fragrant clouds from the massive vats of broth behind the counter. it was the kind of place where identity didn't matter only the hunger and the steam. they took two stools in the far corner, tucked away from the windows.
❛ order whatever you want, ❜ bogum said, sliding a laminated menu toward kai. ❛ and don't look at the calories. tonight, the company's diet plan doesn't exist. i'm paying. ❜
he watched kai under the warm, yellow glow of the hanging lanterns. bogum had always struggled with friendships because he feared he was too much or not enough, a paradox of social anxiety that left him exhausted. but with kai, the silence wasn't a void to be filled ; it was a blanket. he felt he didn't have to perform the role of a charismatic idol here. he could just be a man who worried about his friend's well-being.
as the cook set two steaming bowls of tonkotsu ramen in front of them, bogum meticulously broke apart a pair of wooden chopsticks, sanding them against each other to ensure there were no splinters. he handed the smooth pair to kai first, a silent habit of care.
❛ i know things have been… loud, lately, ❜ bogum began, his eyes fixed on the swirl of black garlic oil in his broth. he didn't look up, afraid that eye contact might break the fragile honesty of the moment. ❛ the practice rooms, the filming, the constant noise. i see you getting tired, even when you're smiling for the cameras. i just wanted you to know that you don't have to be on when it's just us. ❜
he took a slow, deliberate sip of the broth, letting the heat settle in his stomach. it was grounding. he looked at kai then, his expression softening. there was a fierce, quiet loyalty in bogum's eyes, the kind that didn't ask for anything in return. he had spent years being the guy in the corner of the classroom, the one who was invited to parties out of pity but never sought out for his company. being kai's protector gave him a purpose that transcended his own insecurities.
❛ we're the odd ones out, kai, ❜ he said, his voice barely a whisper above the hum of the refrigerator. ❛ and that's okay. if the world feels like it's moving too fast, or if the group feels like a whirlwind you can't catch your breath in… you can just stand behind me for a bit. i'm big enough to block the view. ❜
he gave a short, self-deprecating huff of laughter, finally picking up his own chopsticks. he nudged a soft-boiled egg from his bowl toward kai's.
❛ eat. you need the strength. tomorrow we're back to being products, but for the next hour, we're just two guys getting ramen. okay ? ❜
bogum lowered his head, finally digging into his meal, the steam fogging up his vision. he felt a rare sense of peace. for the first time in his life, the silence wasn't lonely, it was shared. and as long as he was taller, as long as he was older, he would make sure kai never had to navigate the dark corners of this life alone.
Look at him. Blessed him to be a son of a very popular singer in the generation before. Blessed him to have such a handsome face in due to his parents' favourable gene. Blessed him to have an entire money in the world because his father was a well-known who fell in love with an heir. Oh how blessed it is to be Seo Minjun.
Yet nothing ever prepared him to be fickle with anger and irritation for his own teammates whose eyes often looked at him with disdain, though, Minjun would say he had done the same a couple of times in the past. How should he remain neutral and friendly with the man when all he has received are just words and statements laced in torn? It often angered the main vocalist because of how long he would put up with this uncivilised act? It is expected from someone who was shaped well since childhood but that is a topic for another day. Heavy feet stomped against the wooden dancing floor and with one swift movement, he shoved the face of his group in utter annoyance. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" There was no hello or hi. "You have something against me or some shit? Fucking hell, Bogum, if you hate me, then fucking fair, but what gives for you to tell our producer to scrape my work down from consideration? You think I would not find out? Heo told me. You fucking jealous piece of shit" // for @sqcrificed
the studio air was thick, clotted with the scent of pine-scented floor cleaner and the sharp, metallic tang of recycled oxygen. bogum didn’t flinch when the shove came. he let the force of minjun's hand against his shoulder stagger him back a step, his sneakers squeaking unpleasantly against the polished wood. he didn't even raise his hands to defend himself, he simply stood there, a statuesque figure of curated perfection, while the golden boy of the industry came undone in front of him.
bogum's gaze remained unnervingly flat, his dark pupils tracking the frantic movement of minjun's lips. to anyone else, bogum looked like a wall of ice unfeeling, arrogant, the main visual doing exactly what he was paid to do : look expensive and untouchable. but beneath the ribs, there was a frantic, rhythmic thrumming, a heartbeat that felt less like life and more like a trapped bird beating its wings against a cage.
you fucking jealous piece of shit.
the words hit bogum with more force than the shove. he tasted the bitterness of them, the salt and the heat. he didn't answer immediately. he couldn't. words had always been clumsy tools in his hands, things that broke or bent when he tried to use them. growing up, the silence of a cavernous, empty house had been his only consistent companion. he didn’t know the shorthand of brotherhood ; he didn’t understand the casual, rough-housing affection that seemed to come to minjun as naturally as breathing.
bogum slowly straightened his practice jersey, his fingers trembling slightly ⸻ a detail he hoped the low light of the studio hid. he looked at minjun, really looked at them. he saw the silver-spoon legacy, the untouchable pedigree, and the raw, incandescent talent that minjun wore like a second skin. it wasn't just jealousy. it was a profound, aching resentment for the ease of minjun's existence. minjun didn't have to learn how to be human. they just were.
❛ i didn't tell him to scrape it because i was jealous, hyung, ❜ bogum said, his voice coming out lower than usual, textured with a gravelly exhaustion. he took a step forward, reclaiming the space that had been stolen from him. ❛ i told him to scrape it because it was safe. it was easy. you write like a man who has never had to bleed for a single thing in his life, and the fans... they'll hear the hollowness. i won't let this group debut with a lie just because you’re too comfortable to dig deeper. ❜
it was a lie, or at least, only half the truth. the other half was buried under years of social isolation and the crushing weight of being the face of a brand. bogum hated minjun's guts because minjun represented everything bogum could never have : a history, a foundation, a sense of belonging. and yet, the irony was a jagged pill in his throat. every time he snapped at minjun, every time he looked at them with that practiced disdain, it was a desperate, twisted bid for attention. he wanted minjun to look at him, even if that look was filled with hatred. better to be loathed by seo minjun than to be a ghost in the same room as them.
❛ you think i have something against you ? ❜ bogum let out a short, humorless breath that might have been a laugh if it weren't so sharp. ❛ i have everything against you hyung. i hate the way you walk into a room like you own the air we're breathing. i hate that you think a few hours in a dance studio makes you refined. but most of all... ❜
he trailed off, his eyes dropping for a fraction of a second to minjun's collarbone before snapping back up. the anger in the room was a physical heat, and for a moment, bogum felt a terrifying urge to reach out not to shove, but to grab the front of minjun's shirt and pull them close enough to feel that fire. it was a sick, lingering pull in his chest, a yearning that he had tried to bury under layers of professional rivalry. he didn't know how to be a friend, so he became an enemy. it was the only way he knew how to stay close.
❛ if you want your work back on the table, then make it better, ❜ bogum challenged, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper. he stepped into minjun's personal space, close enough that the scent of minjun's expensive, citrusy sweat filled his senses. ❛ stop playing at being an idol and start being one. or is the great seo minjun only capable of throwing tantrums when he doesn't get his way ? ❜
he watched the flicker of minjun's eyes, searching for the explosion. he wanted it. he craved the contact, the friction, the raw human connection of a fight, because it was the only time bogum felt like he wasn't standing behind a glass partition anymore, watching the rest of the world live.
⸻ bogum bang, member of fictional boy group neverland's echo with a very special gift that he'd rather hide away. gl & starter call.
dash is super dead right now so who wants a starter or even send in a meme or even respond to some of my opens instead ?
bogum bang 25 uses he/him choi beomgyu fc.
he did not know the sound of his mother’s laugh or the shape of his father’s smile. to him, parents were a concept built entirely from faded photographs and the heavy, melancholic silence that occasionally settled over his aunt and uncle’s small apartment in daegu. they had taken him in when he was just a toddler, a sudden and tragic addition to a household already stretched thin.
growing up, bogum was a ghost in his own life. his aunt and uncle worked grueling, overlapping shifts at a local textile factory and a late-night diner just to keep the family afloat. left to his own devices in an empty home, bogum never learned how to make friends. the neighborhood children played outside his window, their shouts and laughter echoing against the concrete, while bogum remained inside, sitting in the dim corners of the living room where the light couldn't quite reach.
it was during those endless, solitary afternoons that he realized the darkness wasn't just empty space. It was alive.
it started with the shadows stretching unnaturally toward him when he was lonely. by the age of ten, bogum could command them, weaving the dark silhouettes on the wall into shapes of birds and wolves to keep himself company. but his true, terrifying potential didn't manifest until the winter he turned twelve, when koko, a stray dog he had secretly fed and loved as his only true companion, was hit by a truck.
devastated, bogum had dragged the dog's stiffening body into the woods behind his school. crying silently, his grief triggered a desperate, dark surge of energy. the shadows around him pooled into koko’s fur, and with a sickening, shuddering breath, the dog’s eyes flew open devoid of life, yet completely obedient. it wasn't healing, it was reanimation. from that day on, bogum knew he was entirely different from the rest of the world. he kept koko hidden in the shadows, a secret guardian born of darkness. as bogum entered high school, the suffocating quiet of his life began to clash with a burning, unexpected desire : he wanted to be an idol. music was the only thing that had ever made him feel alive, a way to project the intense emotions he kept locked away.
when he first voiced his dream to his aunt and uncle, their faces fell with hesitation. they knew the entertainment industry was a meat grinder, and they lacked the money to support a pipe dream. but bogum begged for one chance. he entered the school’s annual talent show, executing a self-choreographed routine that captivated the entire auditorium. watching him move with an otherworldly grace almost as if the stage lights themselves were bending around his silhouette, his aunt and uncle saw a spark in him they couldn't deny.
they gave him their blessing and whatever meager savings they could spare.
at eighteen, bogum packed a single suitcase and boarded a train from daegu to seoul, completely alone. he enrolled in a rigorous dance and vocal academy, surviving on convenience store meals and working a grueling night shift at a 24-hour convenience store to pay his rent.
the turning point came on a rainy tuesday midnight. exhausted from a twelve-hour day of training and scanning barcodes, bogum was walking back to his cramped goshiwon. he was quietly humming a melody, his shadow stretching long and fluid under the flickering streetlamps. a talent scout from neverland entertainment, heading home from a late-night evaluation, caught sight of him. the scout was mesmerized not just by bogum's striking, sharp visuals, but by the intense, magnetic aura that seemed to pull the very air toward him.
he was handed a business card on the spot. the training period at neverland entertainment was a blur of sweat, blood, and secrecy. bogum had to keep his macabre abilities tightly under wraps, ensuring his shadow puppets and undead companion never caught the glare of the practice room mirrors.
but the darkness he commanded proved to be his greatest asset. it gave his performances an unparalleled, haunting edge. when neverland entertainment finally announced the lineup for their highly anticipated new boy group, neverland's echo, bogum’s name was on the roster.
on the night of their debut showcase, standing backstage beneath the roaring chants of thousands of fans, bogum looked down at his own shadow. it danced restlessly at his feet, carrying the faint, comforting echo of a loyal dog's spirit. he had come a long way from the lonely, silent apartment in daegu. as the stage lifts began to rise, bogum stepped into the blinding lights, ready to let the world finally hear his echo.
neverland's echo, a five member boy group from neverland ent with the core theme of the beautiful, terrifying transition into adulthood, and the temptation to stay frozen in a perfect, magical world.
in the real world, they are five kids facing the crushing anxieties of growing up academic pressure, broken friendships, and the fear of the future suddenly vanish during a solar eclipse.
they wake up in æthelgard, a vibrant, living world that looks exactly like a high-fantasy anime. in æthelgard, their emotional scars manifest as magical abilities, and they are hailed as the "prophesied heroes" destined to defeat the shadow realm and return home.
the twist ? they don't want to.
as they heal from their real-world traumas through the unconditional love of this new world, they realize that defeating the final boss means growing up and returning to their painful realities. they decide to intentionally fail their quest, choosing eternal youth and magic over the harshness of the real world.
standard roleplay rules apply no god modding unless plotted beforehand and please cut down your post when you can low activity and will probably not be active during the work week but will always be lurking and i will be highly selective about follow backs and threads as i'll be writing with mutuals only . will never associate myself or this blog with the krp community and there will be dark & even dead dove topics written on here that will not be tagged so please soft block me if anything i post triggers you will not be writing any smut with anyone below 21+, mun or fc otherwise and with trusted mutuals only please reblog everything from it's source as to not clog up my activity . this muse is multi everything and bisexual with a strong preference for mxm ships will be heavily formatting post but i will not require my writing partners to do so and please don't be obliged to match my thread length as well banned faceclaims are as standard . please don't save or steal any of my icons. icon cred , sharpening action.
we were lovers in a past life but in our first life i killed you to protect you (and because i love you) and you cursed me and my next lives to never find love until i find you again
drunk beomgyu is so attractive!
TXT :: THE STAR CHAPTER - STARLIGHT CONCEPT CLIP
not arguing w a dude that has big brown eyes. whatever u say beautiful.
이름의 장: TEMPTATION - Jacket Shoot Sketch
blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! a collection of icky, bloody prompts for those who like to choose violence. actions are reversible. general warning for blood, violence, murder, death.
𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :
" that's a lot of blood. "
" it isn't mine. "
" what did you do ? "
[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "
" come on. have a taste. "
" holy shit, are you okay ? "
" it looks worse than it feels. "
" you should see the other guy. "
" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "
" lean on me. "
" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "
" . . . gross. "
[ standing over a body ] " oops. "
" is that a fucking body ? "
" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "
" what the hell happened ? "
" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "
" at least it wasn't me this time. "
" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "
" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "
" i'm not scared of you. "
" you don't scare me. "
" shut up and let me help you. "
" i got your shirt all bloody. "
" let's get you cleaned up. "
" that looks like it hurts. "
" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "
" we are so fucked. "
" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "
" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "
" the fucker deserved it. "
" red looks good on you. "
" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "
" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "
" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "
" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "
" this isn't what it looks like. "
" it was an accident. "
" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "
" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "
" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "
" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "
" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "
" you're bleeding. "
" what the fuck happened to you ? "
" you're getting blood on the carpet. "
" sit down before you fall down. "
" that looks like a you problem. "
𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :
sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet
sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver
receiver finds sender covered in blood
sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding
sender helps receiver clean up after a kill
sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth
sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb
sender licks receiver's blood off a knife
sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb
sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver
receiver finds sender stood over a body
sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]
sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]
sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood
sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean
sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood
sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed
sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)
receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze
sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone
sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand
sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face
sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them
sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver
sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall
sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled
receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off
sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver
sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse
sender takes an injury meant for receiver
sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood
sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone
sender punches receiver in the mouth
receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust
sender helps receiver bury a body
sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3
sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3
sender leans on receiver for support
sender kills someone to protect receiver
receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it
sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver
receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself
sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip
sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning
tag drop !