#trauma!!!!!

[uxoriousdyke]

what's your favorite yj season and why is it season 2

[cornbread33y2]

Huh, guess that comic I made about Banban being called Syringeon's favorite wasn't far off lmao. Poor fucking Banban tho, damn, he literally started teaking!!!

[chibi-tsukasa-tenma]

Rui...

What happened?

[cheeryfairykiss]

anyways just thought of something funny. Both of my sources have a damaged eye/have a missing eye. i wonder how they'd react to each other.

captain 3 🤝 siffrin

missing eye

they'd probably bond over their trauma too. being stuck in a time loop... being an agent and being forced to kill people at the ripe age of 14 and also getting brainwashed at 16???? Yeah. they'd be friends.

[r0ttingsystem]

Oh to be a dog girl...

*remembers*

I don't want to be a dog girl no more

[milteine]

@vampirekilling​ asked: “ you smell like home. ” 

   What does home smell like, to him? She traces patterns over his chest, little stars and baby ducks. Her hairs a mess, brown ringlets spilling over the creaminess of her back, her honey gold eyes fixated on the way his skin looks. She’s fascinated by it, somehow. It’s like he fits under her palm perfectly -- like his chest is made for her. Maybe that's too egotistical of her to think. But she’s selfish. Caramel rests her cheek on him, her ear pressed to his breastbone, where his heart thuds sweetly. 

   Her skin still carries the flush of exertion. The back of her neck is still damp with it. She curls up on him like he’s her own personal heater, rich dark eyes meeting his. “You feel like home,” she says back to him. She’s been alone for so long. The only man who ever showed her companionship is Simon -- and she knows solace with him. She knows him like the moon knows the sea. A gentle push and pull, an ebb and flow, serenity in the differences, the empty black spaces filled with understanding. 

   Caramel reaches up to gently press on his nose.  “What was your home like?” she asks.

   Hers was cruel. Not in the beginning, no. Her childhood was filled with sweetness and endless green fields. Her teenage years were filled with... her eyes grow glassy, and she rubs at her cheeks, indignantly turning her head the other way, ear still pressed against his heart. She feels him stroke her hair. He’s not entirely good with words, but she knows that he only means well -- perhaps he’s telling her to take her time. 

   She curls an arm around him, and buries her face in his skin, breathing in home.