#yeah mood

[polyfrag-culture-is]

Polyfrag culture is a lot of ppl are curious about trying to have a census in headspace but absolutely no one wants to take on the sisyphean task of tracking down several hundred ppl across every mile of every layer cuz that's just too much damn work

.

[awfullybigwardrobe44]

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer, Our Spirits by Thine Advent here; Disperse the gloomy clouds of night, And death's dark shadows put to flight. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel

[mariposa-suelta]

sza // my turn

[ctrl-lupin]

…i mean, that would be my reaction if someone presented me with fanfiction they’d written about me

[accidental-spice]

Cue me getting personally ATTACKED

[bloodycoffee-s]

Me to @myself

[w4yf1nder]

for @126dvtn

scaramouche has always been a puppet. nothing but a mere tool to actualize the goals of a misguided god or two. and as a puppet, he has a duty to fulfill. he has no desire of his own.

someone had once asked him a question a long time ago, a question that has stumped him to this day.

the memory of their face is long gone, he sees nothing but a blur of colors shifting in and out of existence and a disembodied voice just out of reach, "what do you want, kunikuzushi?"

the voice was so soft, but try as he might, he cannot remember what it sounds like anymore.

"i don't know." he speaks softly, a voice so unlike his own but so unmistakably his.

"you don't understand..." the voice says, "what do you want, kunikuzushi?" i know, is what he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. i know what you're asking me, and all of a sudden his vision clears and you're standing in front of him again.

your eyebrows are drawn in concern, those eyes of yours that always seem to know, are questioning, searching for an answer that he knows he cannot provide because it will be unfair to you.

"'kuni?" you ask, but he cannot bear to look into your eyes. he doesn't deserve it, that look of pure unadulterated affection. it seems these memories of you have remained unchanged after all of these years. "i will be leaving now." he says softly, all previous traces of emotion gone.

"kuni!" you call, but he wasn't listening. he puts his hat on, turning away from you, not because he was ready to leave, but because he cannot bear witness to what he is about to do both, to your heart and his.

"you haven't answered my question yet!" your voice takes on a pleading tone as you try to grab his hand, he takes a step back, watching the hurt settle into your features, good. he ignores the way his own synthetic heart breaks a little at the sight of you.

"it matters not what i want, or what you want. what matters is that things are the way that they should be." cold, is the only way you can describe his words now. devoid of the poetry and theatrics that he had wooed you with.

"but—"

"i may not know what i want," lies. "but i know what you need and it isn't me." he hopes this is a lie.

"kuni—"

"so, i will leave. i hope you lead a life worthy of someone your status."

that was the last he had seen of you. and today, five hundred years later, these memories too have begun to fade, like the ones before it.

oh, how he wished these were the first ones to fade.

[danlarussc]

I don't think I'll ever get sick of seeing the two of you together.