#um ouch

[myshortshavetigersonthem]

Whoever wrote that fanfic where Geto was a curse born from the feeling of betraying your own morals come outside I just wanna fucking talk-

[akuzeisms]

WHAT DOES YOUR HEART LOOK LIKE?

molten lava and charred flesh

Your heart burned so fiercely that it burnt itself out, leaving horrible scars in its wake; scars inside your chest and on the hands of those who touched you, the hearts of anyone who got close enough to connect to yours. The person you are now is no longer recognizable, burnt up by your own anger and passion and love. The injuries can never be fully erased, but they can be soothed with time and trust and forgiveness.

stolen from @pessimistics

tagging: @haereticae @smokedanced (garrus) @waywardfeathered @diewithaname @oddlies @storiedhistories @chaotiicgoods (garrus) & anyone who’d like to steal!

[lennyguardianistheonlyright]

Guardian: If a stranger came up to you and said, “I’m Guardian’s friend” what would you say?

Miles: You’re a liar because Guardian doesn’t have any friends

Guardian:

[inara-a]

if we would be dating I would protect you at all costs because you're a precious lil gem and I would sing songs to you. We would go stargazing and laugh at the dumbest of stuff. I would also annoy you alot by calling you dumb and stupid names and we could probably go window shopping and stuff

oh wow i never expected this in a million years tbh but I would love that so so much 🥺 uwu stargazing, songs and the names have my heart and soul 🥺

thank you so much, this is the most precious thing 🥺

[joanascock]

[1dclowns]

[taughtdefense]

Send 🫂 to comfort my muse after an upsetting or traumatic event

you don’t remember getting to the hallway.

one second, you're watching robby fall—the way his leg twisted underneath him, the sound of something snapping where it shouldn’t—& the next, you’re in motion. you don’t remember sam’s reaction. don’t remember if you yelled. just moved, like instinct took the wheel & didn’t stop to ask if you were ready.

silver looked satisfied.

that’s the part you can’t forget.

he didn’t blink. didn’t flinch. just watched the fallout like it was always part of the plan.

sensei wolf—the iron dragons shifu—stood behind him, unreadable. zara, their female captain, looked pleased. cold. like this wasn’t a fight. it was a message.

the match was over. robby was already down, already hurt—& silver watched.

your body lit up.

you don’t remember throwing yourself at silver, or maybe wolf—whoever was closest, whoever wasn’t running from what they caused—only that wade caught you mid-sprint with a full-body tackle, nearly knocking the wind out of you, & vanessa shoved you back so hard it cracked the tension in your spine.

you fought them. tooth & nail. like your body didn’t know the difference between enemy & family anymore. your mom's voice cut through the fog, but you barely heard it. everyone else was noise. even chozen grabbing miguel from the edge of the mat. even tory, who nearly tore her own throat screaming.

all you wanted to do was get to axel or wolf or silver. to end him. to make it right in the only language that had been screaming at you—the only language the other versions of you give into whenever robby's hurt—violence.

but now you’re here in the backstage hallway. concrete under your bare feet, sterile arena paint on the walls. robby’s behind a closed door. & you—

you don’t feel real.

your hands shake. your skin buzzes like it’s peeling itself away from your body. the wall next to you is solid, but when you press your palm to it, it blackens instantly.

not fire. not heat. decay.

the hallway flickers. light shudders in the ceiling like it's glitching.

you’re unraveling. again.

you drag a breath in through your teeth. bad idea. your lungs clench up instead of opening. there’s no oxygen. just that sick taste in your mouth—like blood & metal & memories you thought you buried in barcelona.

you see him again.

robby.

his hand on your arm, shaking. his voice gone. his leg bent wrong. & his eyes—

he looked at you like it was okay. like he wasn’t in pain. like he was more worried about you.

like he was trying to protect you.

the crack in your chest doesn’t open—it splinters. the shrapnel is sharp, crooked. & brutal.

your fist slams into the wall before you can stop it. it sinks deep.

the concrete groans under your hand. craters like paper. your knuckles split. you feel the heat rise from your skin, but the pain doesn’t register. you feel nothing.

that’s what scares you.

because this doesn’t feel like sadness. it feels like relapse.

like you’re back in that locker room in barcelona with kreese whispering in your ear: "emotion is a leash. break it."

"you don’t need them. you never did."

"he’s a weakness you keep choosing."

you press your forehead against the wall. dig your nails into your palms. you're trying to stay. trying not to let this swallow you whole. but you’re fraying too fast & your vision’s starting to tilt & you swear if you close your eyes, the entire arena is going to burn.

you’re going to lose control.

you’re going to lose him.

another breath. another hit.

this time, your hand sinks in deeper. blood trails down your wrist, painting the wall in streaks. the air warps around you—heavy, wrong, thick with static. like your eldritch nature is clawing its way outward, demanding to punish something. anything.

you want axel dead.

you want the mat burned.

you want the universe to feel what you’re feeling—because this much pain should never be quiet.

but you can’t do any of that.

you weren’t fast enough to stop it.

& now robby’s gone. not gone gone, but gone enough—gone into that room behind that door, & you weren’t strong enough to stop him from getting hurt.

you failed him.

again.

you grit your teeth. your jaw aches from clenching too hard. your eyes sting—not from tears. you wish it were tears. but it’s not that clean. it’s some broken thing underneath your ribs trying to get out & not knowing how.

meanwhile, somewhere out in the stands, henry & harper had been watching. their friends, their found family, their aunts & uncles had all been with them—keeping them close. when it happened, when robby went down & the room erupted & everyone heard his screams of pain, harper panicked. henry screamed.

seth shielded harper with his entire body. gracelyn threw herself in front of henry. their arms went up like second nature. protective. desperate. they didn’t let the kids see what happened next.

& you didn’t see them either.

you weren’t even aware of the screaming.

then you feel arms move around you. no words. no warning. no permission asked. just a hug.

your first instinct is to fight it, flinch, shove away. the world’s still too bright around the edges & your body isn’t safe to touch. your hands are still burning.

but—

you don’t move, you just go still.

& then you lean forward.

you don’t mean to. it just happens. your chest hits theirs, & suddenly you’re holding on. tight. tighter than you should. your fingers dig into the back of their jacket & your head drops & your breathing shudders.

the scream inside you doesn’t come out. but the pressure cracks just enough that you can breathe.

it’s not pretty, & it’s not clean. but it’s something.

you bury your face in their shoulder. you grip them like they’re the only thing anchoring you to the earth. your powers curl inward again, shrinking back from the edges. the light stops flickering. the rot on the wall pauses in its spread.

you let the grief hit you, finally.

not rage. not revenge. just hurt. just love. just the feeling of almost losing him.

you don’t say anything.

but in that moment, held in someone’s arms & not fighting, you don’t need to.

not when you know it’s @vipersunion now. not when the smell of her shampoo finally cuts through the static. not when her heartbeat presses steady into your chest like she’s willing to hold the world up for you just this once.

talia.

your sister.

you’re still here.

& robby’s going to be okay.

you have to believe that.

"i'm gonna fucking kill all four of them." you growl, voice dark & cold. first on your current list is silver, then axel, then shifu wolf, then zara. the list changed frequently in barcelona, & it still is.

[myshortshavetigersonthem]

If I had a nickel for every time studio mappa made me wanna cry my guts out over a white haired character who was never treated like a person I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but if it happens again I'm gonna think it's personal