#tragicthing

[duskoon]

I saw your design, got inspired, and absolutely had to draw Eta. I hope you like it!

Holy moly!! That’s actually amazing. 🤯

I don’t know where to start, the shadowing, the accuracy, the vibe of the mc. I feel pretty honoured that I inspired you. 😊

[lavahime-a-blog]

❝Me and God, we don’t get along.❞

lana del rey sentence memes. | accepting!

–  god didn’t exist. COULDN’T exist. not after the monstrosities that she’d seen, that she’d been forced to participate in. god would not allow children to grow up together, learn together, and then be led to slaughter each other, fight to defend their lives, their honor.  innocent blood spilled, staining the hands of a child of not even ten years of age. 

      her eyes lock on the others, arched brows raise. ❝ i know the feeling. ❞

[lavason-blog]

☎️

Put ☎ in my ask for your muses info in my muses phone:

NAME: TH E FUCKIGN WIFE

RINGTONE: x

PICTURE: none available.

LAST TEXT RECEIVED: (6:39 PM:) can i take your husband out for drinks ?

LAST TEXT SENT:

(6:40 PM:) i promise i wont try and suck his dick or anything.

(6:41 PM:) scratch that. no promises.

[pcised-blog]

♠

kind gestures || accepting !!!!

          a creature of darkness curls in on himself. he’d gotten into a fight —- he had taken it too far. he had taken it too far. he knew he wouldn’t be prosecuted — no, the one he had… the one he had hurt had been a nameless face to be forgotten. he was gifted, in a twisted way. blood on his hands did not often bother him. he was trained to kill, to taste the satisfaction of death… he had grown to find comfort in it. but he hadn’t been able to stop. he hadn’t been able to reign instinct in, he hadn’t been able to suppress the instincts of a beast. of a weapon.

perhaps that would be useful one day, perhaps it made things easier for him in a world where bloodshed was all he was good for. but he was more than bloodshed. he was araya. he liked cacti & cats, he liked sitting in trashcans & he loved his new little family. he was more than the hiss of a blade & his opponent’s last breath. 

he had said nothing to nana of what had happened. he had come home covered in fresh blood that was not his own, rage burning out & leaving ashes of fear. what would he become? what would he be — tears burned at his eyes beneath crimson-stained mask. his fear splatters the inside of his lungs, burning holes in the flesh & causes his breath to escape him. 

                  he was more than this. he was more than this. he was more than this. 

an example of gentleness, of control… of what he found comfort in moves towards him. a soft touch removes mask & silent tears turn into an ugly sob. it was not a beautiful kind of crying, like what could be seen in books. books where a child’s tears would fall delicately off of eyelashes & inch slowly down cheeks. it was ugly. it was ugly & it was terrible. it was the sobbing of a child who feared what he was, what he would become. tears burn trails in marred flesh & each time they are wiped away they are replaced with new ones. when nana reaches out — when she brushes away tears… he feels guilty. she doesn’t know what he had done, what had happened. a stranger. a street rat. someone who hadn’t been a problem, who hadn’t been worth drawing his blade… their blood was now pooled on the ground in the street. 

            “ no !” word rips from his throat & he steps back, hand finding a place in his hair. nails dig into his scalp, panicked. he knows she was trying to comfort him, to make him feel better. but he was a monster & monsters didn’t need love. they didn’t deserve it. his voice is small & it hurts to breathe, “ no....no.....no....no....”