I Take It Back Writing 1983218942893 Paragraphs Is Not Enough I Gotta Add One More And Then One More

“ this you? ” 🙄

" your drawing skills have improved. i can't say the same for mine, but i tried. you can keep it. " @limel1ghts

me watching you reblog our old satosugu like:

Stop smiling and bring back gojo I am no longer asking @crucifor

writing ship replies for geto feels like an instant bullet to the heart because he's the type who offers gentle gestures whether it's to make you get used to it or to make you want it he's that way and also he teases a lot and it kills me because I have to write his dumb charming smile and imagine him with so much tenderness in his eyes I'm physically ill (punches a wall) he's a lover like that.

Scold me; deny me. Tell me you want what you want and damn me forever. But don’t leave me. - sherliam

he’d call this a poor excuse of a foxhunt, if he’d intended to hunt william at all.

what you are is chasing skirts, Mycroft had said, mistaking alliance for attraction: Irene — who is no more, had never been source of interest, much less temptation. but Mycroft had been right about one thing: he’d been bewitched, possessed by something unearthly and older than mankind. it festered up on his bones, left no trace of his original components. it’s the damnedest thing, really, to want something that eludes you, runs from your grasp. he’d seen it fall through his fingers like quicksand.

right now, it’s all entirely his. petty possessiveness, maybe, but he’s long since accepted that this is what william provoked in him: he brought out the madman in him, blood dripping into water, and the mixture had become an unholy union of good and bad. william may be a sinner of his own kind, and sherlock had chosen to play the role of his juror, butcher and the devil if he must. sherlock shifts in place, elbows placed languidly on his knees. from the bench, the city’s buildings almost look like bricks on the playground. william’s still quiet, as if waiting for his response.

“since the bridge, this is the most honest thing you’ve told me. excluding the confession from a moment’s ago, of course.” he jabs slightly at william’s pride, maybe payback for the scare of walking up into an empty room and messy sheets. satisfied by the remark, sherlock smoothly waltzes back into the next sentence, “you know exactly what i want. i’m betting a big coin that you’ve known for a long time, and still you denied me it above everything else. it’s late to ask me to hold back, knowing how far it’s taken me — us for that matter.”

a smirk escapes him, throwing a sideways glance at him. william’s hair glows under the sunlight, and though his face is partly scarred, none of the beauty that’d drawn him in from the start like a moth to a flame is marred. before he can stop himself, two fingers take a stand of gold-bathed hair, places it aside to take a long, good look of those features. yes, the face is a lure, and the mind behind it even more so. “it’s you.”

“what i want, i mean. it’s you, liam.”

@cursedfell

⋞ 憂国のモリアーティ ⋟ : Sherlock Holmes

Happy Belated Birthday Erica! @qvalcuno

❛  no matter what, i’ll always be here by your side.  ❜ tousen, for aizen

code geass: lelouch of the rebellion starters // @foremyth

long before dawn, tousen had approached.

the uncharacteristic silence that came with his visit felt foreign, where there would usually be simple words and remarks about the weather, all that he could perceive in a way that others couldn’t. and he followed, from the chambers to the pathway leading to the gardens, far from eavesdroppers. 

it is until then that conversation begins: undisturbed, sincere, masks off - or what he intends to appear as such. 

what he doesn’t reveal is that, although his own mask has since been buried deep into tissue, what remains true is that he enjoys the kind of company that doesn’t question, or expects more than it offers. that’s unlike the selfishness of captains; the ego devours. this is different. sousuke falls into step with him, flowers grow in their binary colors - white and yellow, silk and gold -, picked and bred to appease the high-ranking officers. 

‘ …there is a tale among the villagers about a bird that can mimic human voices. it’s shared mostly with the kids or the people who wander outside the limits. why do you think that is? ’ leaves break under his feet, voice tangling in the networks of the wind as it carries the midday scent of sunlight and wet soil. the pause is brief, methodical, listening for any sign of activity that doesn’t resemble feet on cobblestone. 

‘ surely, it must be to keep explorers from getting lost in the wide expanse of the forest. and yet there are reports of people going missing, witnesses claim that a relative, a lover, a friend called for them. that is what piqued my interest. a very human-like response to follow without questioning, the sort of undying devotion that leads you to certain death. it’s naive. ’ 

‘ loyalty like yours is rare. it’s not mindless obedience but a concession: the justice that you seek, i can offer. in exchange, i am permitted to count on your strength to topple outside forces. thank you, kaname. ’

birds sing, tousen’s inquisitive stance breaks him from his reverie.

‘ ah - sorry, i trailed off. in the end they were thieves . they used spiritual energy to echo sentences that had previously been said and heard. ’ it seems sufficiently honest to not dwell on the specifics. even so, his words rekindle in a last fluid statement, ‘ …and as you can probably imagine, they were disposed of. ’

not me getting notifs that you rbed our thread thinking i was getting more tojisugu content........

Worry not I will make tojisugu real even if it's the last thing I do before collapsing on the floor, geto will get his birthday death today @inverteds

❝  you feel misled; you were promised victory.  ❞

song of achilles rp starters // @inverteds

extremities go limp, gravity's pull coming from all directions as his back flattens perfectly against the wet soil. mud clings to his hair - he figures it’ll be a hassle to wash it off the tips when he gets back, if he makes it back at all. the man’s heel buries deeper into his sternum, a heron’s hungry dive into the water, pressing the last mouthful of air out of him.

victory is one thing. success on the mission meant keeping riko alive, make her choices worth it and all that came afterwards. but this? this is worse than loss. if suguru didn’t know better, he might interpret it as the hunter’s reticent way of pointing out his failures, of calling him weak. the snide in his sharp eyes tells him a different story.

‘ promised is a strong word. it doesn’t matter at all to you, does it? save your pity for the ones who want it. ’ voice flat, careful. the perpetual calm is replaced by asinine courage: lying there, beneath his foot, nothing about his stance cautions for upcoming danger. it’s pitiful, the quivering in his throat treacherous as spring ice. his eyes narrow, preparing for whatever that’ll become of him after this:

‘ you don’t need to worry about it. worry about that luck of yours running out before the pay out for this hit and kill does. ’

his expression becomes inscrutable, looking him dead in the eye, before everything turns dark. 

there’s only black water beneath, a cold and grasping undertow. 

and then, nothingness.

trying to watch sinners of the system without getting distracted by kogami’s boobas mission failed