#floweredophelia

[ohfiendangelical]

HOW BAD DOES Z WANNA SUCK ALO'S DICK LETS BE REAL HERE

taking into account zero’s unresolved issues with good vs. evil & humanity vs. monstrosity, along with the extreme jealousy & insecurity that comes along with seeing someone who is so unapologetically a monster but still human, & the angry vengeance he always wants to let reign on alo both due to what he’s done to zero personally along with the very essence of what (a hunter) and who he is, paired with an annoyance that there is someone out there that rivals him in the looks department & also happens to have more people afraid of him, plus zero’s constant need to make his hatred toward other male figures as homoerotic as possible,

VERY FUCKING BADLY

[kickassisms-blog]

“You, you sabotaged me! Look! Look at what you’ve done to my hair! Look!”

          “No I didn’t!! I didn’t know you were even behind me, otherwise I would have held the door for you!”  Even so, Dave feels horribly guilty, trying desperately to untangle Abra’s hair from the door.  She was so small and quiet; how was he supposed to know she’d been there?!

[ohfiendangelical]

floweredophelia replied to your post:imagine: a type of sickness similar to going rabid...

thanks

i feel like this could also happen if a dark childe is under extreme distress & starts showing symptoms of being rabid but isn’t really, like a short-lived sort of blackout, a kind of last-resort defense mechanism to keep the creature alive, though this is rare & usually tends only to happen if the dc in question has had/does have other sort of ailments or has been in lots of situations where their stress levels rise to extremes, that render them susceptible to this defense mechanism kicking in. like something in the dna at one point just goes “your body and mind can no longer take this, the backup generator will now take over”

[thedevilsinhim-blog]

floweredophelia;

Matt’s hand rests, or rather, hovers, lightly over Abra’s little shoulder, fingers embedded in strings of fair hair as he guides her along the sidewalk.  He feels her duffel bag, filled with her things for ballet, brush against his leg and smiles.  His fear for her not being able to stick out to him among the the stimulators for his senses that fill the city was, as he believed, unrealistic.  The honeyed smell that followed her wafted up to him easily, along with her little chirps while they moved briskly between crowds to her dance studio.  

“So,” he asks, tilting his head toward her a bit, eyes still cast ahead.  “When is that recital of yours?” 

[lisbthslander-blog]

“They deserved it.”

She’s nodding, but her features are vacant.  Silent anger still floods through Lisbeth’s tiny form, either unaware or uncaring that her hands, baring bloodied and torn knuckles, are trembling visibly.  After what seems like a long string of drawn out and warped minutes, she raises her gaze to Abra.  “It’s not enough.”