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@theinkmage
Reblog if you are insecure about anything below:
-weight
-appearance
-intelligence (or lack of)
-skills (or lack of)
-weird hobbies
-friends (or lack of)
-body
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Who ever reblogs this will get a message in their inbox.
I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:
IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.
1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.
2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.
3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”
4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”
5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.
TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.
Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isn’t a joke, and neither is someone’s life. If you didn’t know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.
why on earth doesn’t this have more notes
I actually had to do this once. She lived.
if you scroll past this on your dash you are absolutely heartless.
Reblog this!! This can save somebody’s life!
reblog.
help.
do not scroll down.
I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE SCROLLS PAST THIS WITHOUT REBLOGGING I WILL LITTERALLY FIND THEM AND GIVE THEM A LECTURE
may I just update this?
see the little thing that says help?
Don’t ever scroll past this post. FUCKING NEVER SCROLL PAST!!!
🌸🌸🌸
Anyone know where it is on mobile ???
You report the user, choose “something else”, scroll down and choose “suicide or self harm”
DO NOT SCROLL DOWN
REBLOG TO LITERALLY SAVE A LIVE
PLEASE REBLOG
This is to important to pass up. Save someone’s life.
Everyone reblog this. This could save someone’s life
I highly recommend reading this blog. This is a VERY important issue that can literally save lives. So please………
Heartbreak
hI guysss sO i gave myself a prompt : The hero and the villain have been tasked with getting close to one another to obtain information for their respective teams, yet both are unaware of the other’s task. And one of them kills the other in the end.
TW/CW : death mention, stabbing, blood
"Remember, your sole mission tonight is to eliminate the opposition. If you fail, don't even think of coming back here, or else it will be your head on the chopping block."
The hero threw an arm across the villain's shoulders, pulling them closer as a sudden bout of gusty wind blew across the dark street, adding to the sharp biting chill of the night. Winter was close, which meant that the hero's year-long mission was about to come to an end. The hero should be jumping for joy, really, that if they managed to pass this level, they would be promoted. But they couldn't find an ounce of happiness in them.
"Your job was to get close to this particular hero and extract valuable information that will be of utmost importance to us. I assume you have managed to get most of the data that we need to bring down the heroes, given your competence. If that is so, then we have no more use for them."
The villain swallowed nervously, the cold metal of their dagger nudging uncomfortably against their arm, nestled snugly in its arm wrap, hidden out of plain view by the long sleeves of their coat. The villain might be callous, but only towards those who had wronged them. All that cruelty on the surface masked a deeply hurt and aching soul within, with friendship and love being its only salvation.
"This villain is smart, too smart. And evil. A threat to society what with the manifestation of their destructive powers that they have chosen to harm people with. For all you know, they might be catching onto our little plan. Or, they might even have a plan of their own."
The hero tightened their arm around the villain subconsciously as the two strolled through the almost-empty streets. Just ahead lay the park, herded by a small forest of trees and the usual pond. This was where the hero had asked the villain out for the first time. It was where their mission had first failed, considering the fact that they weren't supposed to catch feelings for the villain at any point in time.
"I hope you haven't gotten too attached to your subject. That simply won't do. You are supposed to kill them tonight before they have the chance to strike, do I make myself clear? And if you were to hesitate, think about who took you in when you were starving and injured on the streets."
The villain tried to stem the amalgamation of emotions that flooded their soul as their superior's words echoed in their mind. It was true that the villain had been abused and maltreated just because their powers were seen as destructive. The villain had never wanted to hurt anyone in the first place. They had hurt the villain first, and as a form of self-defence, the villain hurt them back. Years of hatred and tears and insults, all jumbled together into a huge roiling ball of anger and violence and revenge, set on destroying those who had made the lives of villains a living hell for something that they could never control.
"I hope you bear in mind that I do not take failure lightly. I shall be awaiting your success tonight."
The hero groaned internally, a deep nagging sense of dread coiling deep in their stomach. The air in the park was cooler, supposedly because of the many trees clustered around the area they were currently walking in. It was quiet, with the ducks bobbing silently in the clear blue water, the flies buzzing near the heat of the streetlamps, the slight rustle of rodents searching for food in the undergrowth. Peace settled over the hero as they tugged the villain onto a bench, plopping down onto it and staring up at the night sky. They wouldn't do it.
"If you want to show those heroes that we are not to be trifled with, then you will do as I see fit tonight."
The villain gnawed on their lip nervously, fingers sliding inconspicuously towards the dagger tucked in their arm wrap. Guilt sank its claws deep into the recesses of their soul, images of their dying friend and lover running through their mind. No, no, they would not be responsible for another death.
"Return before midnight."
The villain's fingers had been dancing nervously along their arm, almost as if trying to satisfy an inner itch that they couldn't reach. The hero leaned over, taking both the villain's hands in theirs, letting a smile appear on their countenance. God, they were so deep in already. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.
"Return before midnight."
The villain started as the hero grabbed their hands, rubbing soothing circles over their knuckles. Looking at the smile gracing the hero's lips, the villain couldn't help but let their lips quirk up in a little grin of their own. This was all that they had ever wanted. Yet they had a duty to fulfil.
When the hero let go of the villain's hands to tug them close for a kiss, the villain's fingers immediately slid to the arm wrap beneath their sleeve, gripping the handle of the knife and yanking it out in one smooth, practiced motion. The hand that was holding the knife was quivering badly, caught in limbo between wanting to slide itself back into its sheath or plunge its blade right into the hero's body. A single tear slid out of their eye and curved a path down their cheek.
As the villain released the knife, a sharp pain in their side made them yank away from the hero, hand clutched to their lower abdomen. Red seeped through the white shirt and pooled between their fingers, dripping slowly onto their lap. Betrayal and anguish tore through the villain like a hurricane as they gasped out shaking breaths, fingers curled slightly around the knife embedded deep in their stomach.
Guilt and regret was plastered all over the hero's face as they gently lowered the villain from the bench onto the ground. They were crying, too. These big fat tears that didn't look right on them.
"I…I'm sorry…" The hero choked out, holding the villain tight in their grip, hands clutching fistfuls of their shirt and hair, trying desperately to hold onto every single part of them.
The villain shook their head, wrenching out a choked laugh from their throat that morphed into a silent cry of pain. Yes, pain from the inflicted wound on their stomach, but also pain that stemmed from their supposed friend and lover's betrayal. "I c…couldn't ki-kill you, you know?"
At that, the hero sobbed even harder, tugging the villain closer to them, mumbling apologies over and over again even though there was no turning back. They rocked there, on the spot, for what felt like eternity, feeling the villain's blood drip-drip-dripping onto the floor, seeping into their clothes. Their limp shudders, small but close enough to be felt. Their sharp intakes of air, the grunts and whimpers of pain left unspoken and tears. The tears were the worst.
The villain had just one last ounce of strength left in their body before they departed for good. Their body felt so cold, so numb, bleeding out on the ground.
"H…hero." They gasped, panting for their last breath of air. "Th-thank you f…for eve…rything. I l-love you."
And then, the villain was gone.
The hero broke.
Hope
Tw : self-harm mentions, attempted suicide, bleeding
I lie. Still. Not telling the truth.
The blood pours, but I deny pain. It trickles down, below my navel, runs the width and length of my right arm. The crimson red pools on the ground, the white hot tarmac, like spilled ketchup.
The plan failed.
Part of me is swamped with guilt, the feeling long gone from the sketches of my very existence. I haven't felt it for eons, the stab of a knife in my gut, twisting until it hits its mark. Bullseye.
The other part swims and drowns in regret. Regret and guilt are closely intertwined, but different. You can regret, but not feel guilt. You can also be guilty, but spared from regret.
I didn't mean to take lives. I didn't want to. But as one of the Darker Beings, they expected you to. Why resist something expected of you? Something so many of your kind are already doing with no qualms?
My guilt stems from my betrayal of my friends. But life isn't fair, we don't get to choose what or who we want to be. We can only accept what we are given and move on.
The expression on his countenance is still etched firmly in the dredges of my mind. Her shock too. So many of them. Not the friends. So the right word should be 'much'. Much shock, much hostility, much aggression. Of course, I didn't expect them to understand. They were born Lighter Beings. It was always Good versus Evil, and the latter would always be defeated no matter what. Who ever watched a movie where Evil triumphed? That would take the fun out of it and probably insert terror and unsatisfaction in its place.
This world has been stigmatised too much to be changed. And too few of us want it. Who would want change, in a world where ninety-nine percent of the odds are against you and you've already gotten used to it? Not to mention hope for it. That would be foolish.
Extremely foolish.
The Chief had wanted blood on our hands tonight, as a test. I know, I do admit, blowing up a building full of innocent children was too cruel. I wasn't given a choice. We all weren't. Maybe the Chief had a choice, maybe he didn't. Maybe he thought he was supposed to always do this. I can hear the clamouring at the back of my mind, screaming and yelling, "Ridiculous!"
Who are you to speak, if you are not one of us?
Whether blood did get on our hands tonight was a totally separate matter. What actually mattered was the defeat, which could be counted as a relief. The ones who had come with me had done their job well. Thrown the bombs well. Aimed, deft, precise accuracy. Almost deadly. Sharp like a sword. A flash of lightning and a peal of thunder.
Their encouragements still rang in my ears. I threw. I had thrown. Launched the black object like a curled up bat into the air, through the glass windows into the facility. It took only thirty seconds to detonate once released.
I heard the babies crying and shots from below. Honestly, I couldn't find it in my heart to blame them. I only watched, unwilling to betray my own kind, as those posted on the mission together with me attacked. I stayed up in the air, hovering, like a dark guardian angel.
He was below, battling fiercely while the others rushed in to get the babies. A slight twinge had tugged at my heartstrings, something so foreign to me I had almost forgotten it. It was a memory, something stronger, a fragment of the past always slipping past my fingertips like sand in an hourglass. Back when we were kids, back before the segregation, back before everything else that divided and conquered.
He had been my first true love, and still is. I had willed my resolve not to crumble there and then. The aches remained and flared, the smoke from their flames rising and intertwining into a monster in front of me. Porous, unreal. A living epitome of me.
My soul had risen into the air, cut itself out of my real physique, and watched silently as I dove down, slicing a spiral out of thin vapour. It took only seconds before my body collided with his, knocking his hands off my allies. The word tasted bitter in my mouth now, apart from the metallic sting of blood and the salty wash of tears and rainwater. I had watched the astonished, stung look on his dirt-streaked face, then fought against the longing in my heart. This was a good chance to win, to cut it all off once and for all. Human emotion was a tricky thing, not to be toyed with.
I haven't toyed with it for a while.
Even so, the years spent in numbness and coldness were for naught. I had felt the sprigs of flowers blooming inside my bosoms, threatening to unfurl their petals and burst in a radiant splash of colours. But before they could, I bit down hard on my tongue, tightened the iron fist, and rammed into him with all my might and force of my wings, sending him crashing into the glass behind.
The hurt and agony was something I would never forget, even as I lie, almost dying, on the pavement.
They had gotten the children out, fortunately. My allies had gotten away before the bombs had exploded in a fury of volcanic ash and red-hot lava. My wings had gotten burned, their black edges charred even further until the feathers singed and littered the ground. They had once been white, soft vanilla cream, until the segregation. And now they remained inky, jet-black.
The grit tasted hard between my molars and I spat it out, along with a mouthful of fresh red blood. Now I could feel it, the raw pain and anguish. A remembrance of human emotion. I clung to it in my last breaths, reluctant to let go of something I once had that made me human, something that defined me as virtuous and morally upright. Had defined me.
Now, no more.
I might have killed him. Murder. Assassination.
A lump formed in my throat and bobbed quietly. Why wasn't I dead yet? When would the descent to Hell begin? Angels, or Demons, come and take me away. I want to leave without any struggle. I have played my part in this horrific world, branded myself as Evil, now ruined by my own doing.
This was what I deserved.
The world around me blurred, coalesced into water and sharpness. The mist came, and left, and everything was crystal-clear again. Too clear. Each breath was harder now, the intake much more difficult. It was coming, I could feel it. Death arriving on my doorstep, ready to take me away to where I belonged. I would make its job quicker and more efficient.
The knife blade felt cool in my hands. I remember feeling it thousands of times before, the edge cutting into my soft skin, the blade ripping through, drawing just a tinge of blood, not enough to kill me. And then whenever I began to feel human emotions again, I would rip it through again, patch it up, and continue. Until I became a living breathing block of ice, unfeeling. With no feeling came no pain. That was what I had come to realise over time.
But this time, I wouldn't just be drawing a tinge of blood. My eyes took in the world above me – the shattered glass, the wails of babies, the shouts and yells ricocheting all above. Large wings flapping, white against the night sky. I hoped he was fine, I hoped they were all fine. But what could hope do if he wasn't, if they weren't?
My cold fingers shifted up to the handle. It would just take one plunge into the already bloody area. No pain, and I would just go like that. How ironic, that I had always longed for human emotion, but when I am given the chance to take it back, I don't want to. I want the feelings to spare me before I die.
I shut my eyes, expecting to feel fear encasing me in its shell. Instead, I don't. I feel an otherworldly peace shrouding me in its silent holy veil, draping me in its cloak, caressing the tears and blood from my face. Even Peace took pity on me, this ruined, broken thing longing to leave the surfaces of Earth. I positioned the knife, its shiny blade facing downwards, raised it high above my abdomen.
Then with a determinedness, I brought it rushing down. The air swept above bare skin, bringing with it a tint of frost and chilliness. Flashes, memories, pictures raced before the blackness in front of my closed eyes. Brightness soared in my mind, spreading wings and taking flight as I braced myself for the ensuing farewell.
It never came.
I blinked. The eyelids lifted. A blurred image knelt in front of me. Was this Hell yet? The Demon, Satan, coming to kill me himself? The rain fell harder, disorienting. The edges of wings lay below me, fluttering helplessly as I struggled to discern between living and dying.
That was when I could feel them. Warm fingers, holding mine around the handle. The blade was poking my skin, drawing just a tinge of blood. Even without seeing, I knew who it was and I struggled to remove my fingers from his grasp, desperately wanting to sink the blade into me even more. Anything to get away from cold, hard reality. No one would miss me.
The fingers refused to let go, retained their hold around mine and tightened. The drops of water above hardened their fall. I shut my eyes again, and felt the hands shuddering. Both of ours. Not because of the cold. We were both crying, me and him, while around us, the world lay torn, shredded into pieces.
A white flash of something, like a piece of cloud ripped from a clear blue summer sky of the past. Through the drenching cold rain, I thought it was his wings, burning with a light and righteous glory of their own. But no, they were a normal shaking white, encased with streaks of blood amongst the dripping feathers. Warm energy flowed from his hands to mine, and I turned slightly to look at my outspread wings. I forced my unseeing eyes to take in their shining surfaces, white slowly pooling in from the edges.
The tears came, now free-flowing like the rain, down my wet bloodied cheeks. He was hoping in me. It had been hope all along, that fuelled him to stop him from killing myself; hope that allowed me to hesitate in the last few seconds of throwing the bomb, praying for a chance to redeem myself; hope that gave me those last few moments of hesitation before plunging the knife in, wanting someone to come and untangle me from this ruined world as an alternative ending.
It was hope that almost killed us, but also brought us back to life, even stronger than before. It was hope that nurtured love, and love that nurtured hope. The two caught in an endless cycle.
"Hope, now!"
The thunder was loud, deafening, a splitting crackle of electricity above and the rain its tears, pitter-pattering down. Yet I could hear him over the crash, his voice ragged and hoarse and desperate. And hope I did. Our fingers intertwined tighter, palms pressed together, the handle of the knife between us.
An amalgamation of emotions came crashing onto my shores, flooding the gates of my memory.
First was Happiness, like a bite into the sweetest chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven, baked by my mother.
Second came Pride, like clinching a trophy in a competition.
Third was Anger, its red-hot flames washing over me, devouring all my senses in its explosions.
Then came Disappointment, with the disappeared notion of believing something good was about to happen only to have it snatched away from you, right under your nose.
Guilt, with its sting in the gut, sharp and raw, tearing into your conscience like a monster burrowing underground.
Sadness, with its poignancy and something broken deep inside, breaking the dam of tears.
Then Disgust, mud on clean carpets and all over pretty white shirts and dresses.
Regret, replaying the same scene ten different times in your head, each playing out differently, but having apologies as one thing in common.
Hope, its wings spreading to embrace you, cushioning your fall, believing that you can fly.
The hands clenched tighter and sparks flew. The glow around me lightened considerably, a halo around two figures crouching under a lightning-split sky.
Last came Love, a burst of cherry blossoms and rose petals fluttering all around you, the sweet fragrance of honey and clean washed clothes.
His lips came down on mine, gently, almost as if unable to believe that it was happening. Hope could make anything happen. The brushing of a feather, light as breath, the rainwater and blood and tears mingling into one dark bitter taste, overcome by the sweet pleasantness of touch and intimacy. Using up the last of my energy, I returned the kiss, lips pressed against each other, hard and firm and safe, yet soft and dream-like and humane at the same time.
To love and to be loved were things I had yearned for for as long as I could remember.
Now, I could feel my body burning, my wings heating up and flaring out with a brilliance never felt before. The white swirling faster and faster behind my eyes was now dotted with numerous black spots, tightening into a circle of white and black.
I hoped for Change, and the change it would in turn bring into the world, like a rippling effect of pebbles on still water.
The circle spun faster, dancing on the edge of my vision, white-washed waves painted with black. Would Good and Evil truly coexist together?
A flash, darkness, then light. Freshness of petrichor in the air, and then once more, the airy feel of new spring raindrops against skin. I opened my eyes, noticing the wings first. Black and white. Both his and mine. Together, two colours on the same pair of wings, a mixture of colours filled in in startlingly intricate tones and patterns.
Hope had brought us together. But more than that, it meant that this destroyed world had a chance of being healed after all.
Home
"Do you wonder?"
"Wonder what?"
"Wonder what we would become."
"I leave that up to fate. It's not really my place to decide."
"It can be." The hero said, reaching up to cup the other's face in his palms, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. Brilliant purple meeting stormy grey, like the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt on the cusp of dawn. "If you let it."
The villain looked away, pursing his lips. "Not everyone is as lucky as you."
The hero sighed, his hands falling away, fingers tapping listlessly against his thighs. "That I admit, but my point still stands." After a pause, he continued, "If I didn't know better, I would think you were scared of failing. That would most certainly explain your reluctance to meddle with fate."
He could almost predict the villain's response to that.
"I'm not scared of anything," the villain snapped, glowering at the city that sprawled before them from the rooftop of the building.
The hero had guessed right after all.
"And fate is fixed. It's supposed to be inevitable because it's determined by the cosmos. You can't change it." There was a hint of desperation there, barely, but the hero had known the villain long enough to pierce through his veiled attempts at subtlety.
"Yes…" the hero said slowly, staring resolutely at the villain.
"I sense a 'but' coming."
"But…" the hero let a faint grin slip onto his face. How he had missed these friendly banters with the villain when they were younger. "Destiny isn't."
The villain blinked, the epitome of baffled. "Destiny isn't what?"
"Destiny isn't fixed. It isn't determined by the cosmos. Even if your fate was given to you at birth, you don't have to follow its course. You can change it, by embracing your destiny."
The villain looked ready to argue, but the hero jumped in before he could. "And who's to say what's what? All we have are pre-conceived notions that are rubbed off onto us from the people we are surrounded with. They may be right, they may be wrong. For all you know, your notion of fate may be wrong."
"If you go according to that bizarre philosophy of yours, everything's going to end up wrong, you nitwit."
The hero snorted, his lips quirking up to the side. "The sky's grey."
"No, it's black."
"How do you know that the colour of the night sky is black and not grey?"
The villain scowled. "I just do."
"Oh really? Do you know what makes you happy in life then?"
"The two are not related."
The hero merely grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to face the villain completely. Oh, how they had both grown. Into two different people, so different, yet so similar. Their paths had crossed once when they were children, young and innocent and naïve to the works of the world, then separated as they had grown, as they had each accepted Nature's calling. And now, here they were. Their paths had led them back together.
"Do you trust me?" The hero asked quietly.
The villain frowned suspiciously, but a soft "yes" ensued after a period of time.
"Try to keep up then." The hero smirked as he brushed past the villain, leaping onto the next rooftop without so much as a glance behind his shoulder.
The villain grumbled, but the faint traces of a smile etched themselves onto his countenance as he followed close behind.
Above them, the faint crescent of a new moon shone, sending slivers of white cascading over the houses and the grass and the stone of the paths. For a moment, it was just the two of them, silhouettes against the backdrop of a starry night sky and the brilliant moon. Surreal, yet concrete.
The villain could have left before the next rooftop. He could have melted into the shadows before the sight of their old childhood spot popped into sight. He could have gone home or returned to base before standing at the top of that very hill where they had once stood, many years ago. Yet he did none of the above.
"You haven't been here in a long time." Somehow, the hero made it sound accusatory.
The villain lowered his head, scuffing the grass at his feet with the tip of his shoe. That, he could not deny. "I didn't have time."
For a long time, the hero didn't say anything, and the villain began to think that perhaps he had been forgiven and the hero would drop all this that was going on between them. He had never meant for both of them to turn out this way, him more than the hero, but life was never fair. Neither was it predictable.
"I don't think so." The hero mused, plopping down onto the soft green grass, palms flattened against the ground. "I think you were afraid. Of this place. Of the memories it would bring back. You think they would go against what you were taught you would become."
"Who I've become is the path I've chosen for myself. No one else forged it for me." The villain snapped harshly, with a little more bite to his words than he had intended.
The hero fixed him with a knowing look. "Is that what you really think? Listen to your heart, and tell me. Honestly."
The villain bit down on his lower lip before sinking down onto the spot beside the hero. He said nothing. Just stared into the distance ahead, and fixed his eyes on the heavens above. It was going to be early morning soon.
"Doesn't being here make you feel small? Infinitesimal? With the land stretching on as far as the eye can see and the stars littering the sky above? I have always come back here, even after you were gone. It made me feel free, like…like an escape from reality. Here, I…we can be whoever we want to be. No one to forge our paths for us, no one to decide what we could be, no one to force us to be what we could never be."
"Life is rarely that simple, Hero." The villain intoned, hands fisting clumps of grass on either side of him.
"And again, you're right. But that would merely be following what the cosmos has planned for you. Many people lament that life is difficult, that it can never give us what we want. Yes, but a few break through life's barriers, because they believe. They believe in what they want, they believe in a happier ending, they believe in embracing destiny and revolting against fate. You don't have to be who you don't want to be just because others have carved the path for you, because others like you have done it before you. You are not like the others. You are unique, and you are what makes you you. I'm not asking you to drop everything all at once, I'm just asking that you rethink your life choices that you have obviously made not for yourself but for others. I'm asking that you give yourself a chance. Just a small one, in a world that's too big for us."
An amalgamation of emotions rushed through the villain, and his heart ached. The words were on the tip of his tongue, struggling past one another to spill past his lips, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He swallowed the chunky letters back down, tasting bitterness and the acridity of them burning sharp against his throat, pressing his lips tight together, stinging eyes staring resolutely ahead.
They sat on the hilltop for a while, the crickets chirping around them, the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees, the brook singing merrily downstream.
"It's getting late," the hero said quietly after what seemed like eons. "I should go. Rest well, Kaison."
The villain started. He hadn't heard the hero use his real name since they were children. It evoked something in him, a stirring deep in his gut, something primal and raw and so achingly sweet and sour at the same time.
"Did you know, your name means "son of fighter or rebel"?"
The villain shook his head and the hero smiled sadly, slowly rising and making his way past the villain.
"Just now," the villain blurted out in a panic, the hero's back the only thing in his vision. His feet had stopped, and he had not turned around to face the villain, but the villain knew the hero was listening. He always had.
"You asked me what makes me happy. You did. When we were kids and all that. You've always been the one stable thing in my life, even after we went down separate paths. You were always there. You never left."
By now, the villain was struggling not to cry. But it was hard, as the tears pooled in his eyes and he bit down on his lip harder, angling his head downwards to stare at the patch of grass between his feet.
Suddenly, the hero was there, kneeling down beside him, taking his hands into his and holding on tight. "It's okay to cry. It's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to be free, to be whoever you want to be. It's okay to give yourself a chance."
The villain's emotions betrayed him, and the dam broke. It had been more than ten years since he had last cried, since he had last allowed himself to cry.
The hero squeezed his hands tighter. "You don't have to do this alone. If you're ready to try, I'm here to help."
The villain nodded, and he could see the relief in the way the hero's shoulders sagged, the joy in the beautiful smile that broke across his face. The hero pulled him into a hug, one that was long overdue, and that exact same feeling from earlier arose in the villain. It felt like regret, like relief, like a certain kind of joy and bliss, the only kind you could find when you were at home. And it felt like love. The love of an old childhood friend, the love of someone you could call home. It was the love of someone he had loved dearly since day one and had never stopped loving over the years.
As if reading his thoughts, the hero pulled away, cupping his tearstained face in his warm soft palms, resting his forehead against the villain's, their noses touching and their breaths misting in the cool air between them. "I missed you."
"Missed you too." The villain croaked, managing a shaky smile.
One minute, they were barely an inch apart, and the next, the hero's lips were on his. They fit perfectly, like a last piece fitting into a jigsaw puzzle. The kiss felt soft and sweet and slow, something warm and burning that crashed through their veins and threatened to burn them from the inside out. It felt like home, something the villain hadn't had in a very long time.
In the distance, brilliant purple met stormy grey, as the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt appeared on the cusp of dawn.
Tumblr Code.
If I ever see any of you in public, the code is “I like your shoelaces”
that way we know we’re from tumblr without revealing anything
I’m just going to say this to strangers until i find a tumblr person
must keep reblogering!! Im going to be so suspicious if any one tells me this now!
Remember the answer is: I stole them from the president.
always reblog tumblr identification
This is an absolute tumblr relic. I feel like an archaeologist right now. This is incredible that this is on my dash.
date of origin: 2nd of july, 2012.
Bro what it’s the second of July 2020. Happy 8th anniversary of this classic tumblr post!!!!
happy 9 fucking year anniversary
I remember this post, I didn’t even have an account when I first saw it. I was just scrolling. Oh how ⁹ füçkïñg yëãrs come and go
Starburst
A shower of glittering stardust
in hues of red, pink, gold, blue
Powder trickling slowly through the spaces
swirling in a slow descent to the ground
She cups her hands in a desperate attempt
to salvage the pinpoints of colour
Now mere dust particles
grey and small, insignificant
"We are made up of stardust, you know?"
echoes his voice in her mind
Soft, gentle, with the hint of a smile
a painful reminder of what could have been
It was strange, shocking even,
how someone standing there a second ago could be gone just like that
Moonlight falls and sweeps in a graceful arc
the tall grasses sway and dance in the lone wind
A girl sits silently in their midst, cupping her hands
in a desperate attempt to salvage
What could have been.
The Forest of Mystery
She dances in solace, feet leaving the ground, a blur of tiny shoes and light.
In the dark gloom of the mystical forest, surrounded by a ring of trees, she dances. It is nightfall, and the birds have ceased their chirping. A lone owl hoots repeatedly and the moon breaks through the dense canopy of leaves, only lighting up the vast circle encompassed by the grove. The yellow glow besets her small frame and her translucent white wings shine and flutter. Her gossamer gown shimmers and seems to undulate with each passing motion. The crown of flower petals encircles her head of long black locks, soft and shiny, falling past her shoulders.
She hops and twirls, a colour of rhythm, motion and beat, to the music around her – the sound of Nature. The dewdrops sing, the creek bubbles, the leaves whisper. The wind speaks. Its hoarse rusty voice carries for over a thousand miles, stretching over the forest and brings with it a touch of magic. The music is deep, soulful and strikes her heartstrings.
Alone, she dances. Until dawn.
The sun peeks over the horizon and the music of the night ceases. She slows down. Her feet, cupped in little shoes carved of acorn shells, finally touch the moss-covered ground. Before the first ray of sun touches her figure, she changes. She spins in a bright hollow of light, whipping up leaves around her like a mini hurricane. Now, all that is left is a black snake with glittering obsidian scales in the middle of the clearing. It quietly slithers away into the forest, under the deep dark ground.
Until the next nightfall.
Choice
He is knocked to the ground again. Not by accident, nor chance, but choice.
He scoops up his spilled books dejectedly, with the stretching hallway empty. Of people who are willing to help. By choice.
He files out of the gates and down the cobblestoned pathway, taking a big round to the forest behind to embark on the long trail that sets him in home's direction. The sparse trees upfront turn into a denser cage of foliage as he sticks to the path. He pauses, listens and widens his eyes.
The stones beneath his shoes rattle and roll off the trail; the trees overhead wave their fingers at him, the creek bubbles and sings. A fairy flutters dangerously close, a gnome wobbles on unsteady feet, a unicorn approaches the clear clean water and lowers its head to take a long sip.
He smiles in wonder, and allows his eyes to see things no one has ever seen.
Dragons belching clouds of smoke, phoenixes soaring over the frosted white peaks of mountains, leaves hiding gold inside them that leprechauns gleefully prise open. It is all around him, a burst and swirl of colours and glazed flame.
He allows himself to open his five senses, and reach further than ever.
Then he hears his mother's voice at the end of the path, sees that she's waiting with her hands on her hips. The world starts to fade. He swallows hard.
It is a beautiful choice to let your eyes see, but he knows that he's old enough to make his very own. He shuts his eyes, and opens them again.
The world is gone, replaced by the sharp slap of his choice – reality.
