big dogs so many @xiao-chang - Tumblr Blog

its ☁ ✉ ♆ ☾ (rock paper trident moon and pick whoever)

fuck you and your rock paper scissors thats a goddamn cloud dest.

☁ : Describe how they would spend a stormy, overcast/rainy day.

(yoshi 5) he isn’t a fan of the rain at all, it makes the ground really dirty and it makes his hair get all frizzy and overall it’s not fun. rather than pay any attention to it, he stays indoors and tries to focus on writing his next video’s script, or maybe read some books. whatever it is, he keeps himself as busy as possible.

✉ : Do they tend to rely on words or actions more?

(guozhi) as a diplomat and an heir to the throne, he values words very highly, though actions are also important. guozhi’s a pretty touchy-feely dude and likes to express things with lots of hand movements. he also believes that words can perform strong actions on their own, and the words written on his arms and back can possibly perform actions themselves. who knows?

♆ : Are they prone to violent outbursts or thoughts?

(aratahiko) he’s prone to a lot of violent things, really. although he’s weak as all hell his reactions to almost everything are over-the-top and borderline attack-worthy. his outbursts are numerous and ridiculous and he can scream for a very, very long time.

☾ : On a sleepless night, what would they be found doing?

(kyou) he tries to keep busy. he’ll either be rearranging his own things or putting dishes away or something to use up his energy in a productive way. sometimes he can be found baking cookies at 2 in the morning just because he can’t sleep.

#kaneko yoshi wave 5 #prince guozhi song #hanamori aratahiko #miura kyou

Don't chase the rabbit, Meilin Kim!

It was almost like a dream, how strange everything felt. How disconnected you felt at the time. Though your arms went numb ten minutes ago, you can still feel your fingers trembling, making the wrinkles in the sheet under you move. Your eyes are shut tight, eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of agony and fear. You’re close to the edge of your bed, shoulders pulled in and head hung low. Things felt slow, hazy, as if your mind was filled with smoke, low and heavy, rolling carelessly through trains of thought.

You remember feeling alone. No, you remember feeling empty. You remember small spots forming on your short dress as tears fell from your face. You don’t remember much else, it was hard to see. You remember wailing, a siren song you were all too familiar with. You remember feeling phantom hands dragging their rough fingers along your skin. You feel like you’re on fire but you also feel so cold. You slowly lower yourself to the wood floor, nails digging into your arms as you hold yourself tightly, bruised knees pulling into your chest.

You find it hard to breathe, as if the smoke in your mind was caught in your lungs. Your throat is dry, but you can’t stop crying. Your entire body heaves as you try to find air. Your bangs start to stick to your face. You feel doomed, like you’re dying, your heart is pounding so much you can feel it from outside of your chest. You can’t stop shaking, you want to die, you want to die, you want to die.

The phantom hands start to feel more real, you don’t even think before your hand shoots out to slap at it.

“Don’t touch me!” you scream.

But your hand makes contact with something. You hear a reply.

“Meimei, it’s me. Please don’t cry.”