#icameasiam

[a-daevilhorns]

—————      never   𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃   𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅   this   way   ,   life   is   ours   :   𝚆𝙴   𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴   𝙸𝚃   𝙾𝚄𝚁   𝚆𝙰𝚈.      all   these   words   i   don’t   just   say   ,   and   𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄   𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.      trust   i   seek   and   𝙸   𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳   𝙸𝙽   𝚈𝙾𝚄   ,   every   day   for   us   something   new.          〔  𖤐  〕         @icameasiam.

[feardrawn]

                       ❛        𝐈’𝐕𝐄  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍  𝐀  𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐎  𝐘𝐎𝐔       ❜

        words  spoken  needlessly  ,  words  spreading  out  through  the  air  in  the  cool  context  in  which  he  uses  them  ----  distance  bars  as  a  hand  reaches  ,  two  fingers  pressed  beneath  the  curve  of  her  chin  and  a  moment  is  taken  just  to  study  better    .  it’s  true  ---  he’s  done  countless  horrid  things  ,  destroyed  regimes  with  a  mere  thought  and  knows  the  power  held  deep  within  the  veins  of  his  demonic  aura  .  a  turning  point  to  any  apocalypse  ,  yet  there  is  a  piece  of  him  that  is  simply  designed  with  human  soul  laced  through  it  like  shards  of  glass  longing  to  slice  across  the  misgivings  of  a  questionable  existence  .  in  this  ,  they  share  a  similarity  .  ❛   i  think  it’s  only  fair  for  you  to  get  what  you  deserve  ,  after  all          ❜

@icameasiam​  said  ❛    love  made  the  danger  in  you  look  like  safety.  ❜  // milk & honey

[irluuk]

Darth Yoda

                       [  LABORED BREATHING ]

[unseencne]

                               icameasiam  asked :        # { He'll have to get her one and show her how to use it - haha }

- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone : belle. ❤ - what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone :

- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone : florence and the machine - never let me go. - my muse’s last text to your muse : i will be late today, have a meeting please be careful.

           cell phone headcanons.   ↷  accepting  /  @icameasiam

[notloaded]

@icameasiam sent: 😞 - have my muse press their head against yours’ chest tiredly. { These confuse me a bit - so Dallas to Belle? Or whatever you want 💙 }

Glory, he was tired. Bloody knuckles, lip split open, and bruising around his eye and ribs had made for both a tiring and eventful day. It wasn’t anything like New York was; there was always some sort of gang fight going on that made for a good way to blow of steam, but the occasional fight still happened around Tulsa. Rumbles were his favorite, but those didn’t come around all too often either. Some of them were downright dangerous, with chains, pipes, knives and sometimes even guns being used by the more ruthless gangs that wanted more than just fist fighting.

After climbing through the window to let himself into Belle’s place (the front door was locked and he decided to go with the other route instead of knocking. It was what he was used to since he and his buddies always left their doors unlocked just in case they were kicked out and needed a place to crash), he found her lounging on the couch and dropped down beside her. His head came to rest against her chest for a moment, his eyes closing and hands gripping at her slender waist. He felt like he could fall asleep right then and there, but it was still only six o’clock in the evening.

“Hey, so I was thinkin’ you should come to the fire tonight. Call off work tomorrow or somethin’.” It was just a get-together with the boys, but they could run pretty late--especially when Two-Bit got to drinking. He was a loud, rambunctious type of drunk who cracked jokes and refused to leave people alone. Dallas had socked him pretty good one time because he wouldn’t lay off, and Two-Bit still told the story about it to this day because he thought it was funny. 

[zoneral]

Send me a URL and I’ll tell you what I think of their blog

@icameasiam

I don’t even know where to begin, because there’s so much amazingness here in one place. The mun is an absolute angel and breath of fresh air in a community that can sometimes radiate negativity. She’s kind and genuinely cares about the people she interacts with, and it makes both writing and talking with her stress free and easy.

As for the writing? It honestly blows me away. Every time I write with the character Annabelle and see such beautiful and descriptive writing, I’m always wanting to push myself to try a little harder to be a better writer. It’s so easy to get lost in their writing and stories because there’s so much effort and dedication put into them. All those words just create a sort of movie in your head and when you’re done reading you’re left kinda bummed out that it’s over haha.

Also, it’s amazing that Annabelle has so many verses. She’s been in so many different fandoms / stories and I really admire that. There’s no limits. All in all, I just really adore and love this blog & mun. Whether I’m writing with them or just reading their stuff, it makes me happy because they’re a wonderful addition to the community ♥

[penguinpositivity]

@abyssclaimed

[archived-sidyancy]

➿ {Sorry if it sent twice. Oops.}

This meme. // Always accepting.

⚜️

Everyone’s limit is different. Sid drank till his—till last call.

Someone took his keys, and someone did him a favor, sitting him down on a parking lot bumper outside a place he had no business getting that drunk. The concrete slab he sits on is cold, he smokes and he pulls his jacket tighter around himself waiting for his ride.

Twin headlights blind him as his DD pulls up and turns, parking at an angle showing him the passenger door.

The sound of the older car idling and the exhaust from the tail pipe, combined with the cold, makes Sid happy to flick his cigarette away and get in.

Opening the passenger door causes the car’s interior dome light to switch on. Sid sees Annabelle inside; an old friend—a trusty one.

Even after a few drinks, Sid can find the seat adjuster beneath the passenger seat. Her car is small, but with a creak, he moves his seat back as far as it can go, before comfortably ducking to get in.

He hated cramped spaces.

He hated depending on people, but he sighs an overly sweet, fermented sigh of relief once he’s inside. He tilts back on the head rest and closes his eyes for a moment, oblivious to Annabelle looking at him like something was wrong with him.

With his door closed, only the dash lights illuminate her expression he can’t quite read.

They drive off.

They drive for an hour, maybe more.

Sid’s so comfortable he doesn’t ask where they’re going, he doesn’t tell her where to take him, because where could he go?

She plays only the radio at a low volume.

It’s pleasant, but it isn’t personal.

Maybe she’s afraid of judgement, maybe she’s afraid to give her opinion, but Sid has a quiet Annabelle to ride with while they go wherever they’re going.

Later she’ll confess, that she was driving with the heat on till he could pass out or sober up because she was afraid to take him home, and afraid to leave him somewhere.

Whatever raw emotions Sid was trying to novocaine alone in a bar, Annabelle was ill-equipped to handle, and apparently, so was he.

Finally, he sits up, switches on the dome light above their heads even though they’re still driving. Finding the aux cord hanging out of her radio, unused and plugged into nothing, he tilts to the side in her small car so he can maneuver and fish from his pocket his iPhone.

His thumb on the home button, he has to punch in his girlfriend’s d.o.b. to unlock his phone. It lights up. The clock at the top reads nearly four a.m. The glass on the screen is heavily broken, Sid slips the aux cord in the audio jack, anyway.

He selects SOURCE on her radio till they begin to hear his music on SHUFFLE.

Frank Ocean in spoken word coolly sings from the car speakers interrupting the FM drone on of generic pop rock on the radio.

It’s a comforting instance, like looking up and realizing you’re home.

The car is still going the speed limit. They ease around a slight curve on the freeway; they were in one of the three right lanes, one of the very few cars on the road. It was mostly semi-trailers; trucks hauling nonstop all night. Their many lined-up trailer lights look like Christmas. Sid’s features light up under every street lamp they zoomed past.

Sid closes his eyes, lolls his head back on the seat. He sings his favorite part of “Solo”, and he’s not bad:

“It's. hell. on. earth. and. the. city's. on. fire,

Inhale~in hell, there's heaven.

There's a bull ~and a matador dueling in the sky,

Inhale~in hell there's heaven.”