a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

No better day for The Man himself to finally arrive at my lovely home (sliced my finger open at work last night and when I got home, there he was)

@veryluckyclovers despite my wound, he is so very precious and I adore him very much, so thrilled to be able to cuddle your very cuddleable art <3

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

[The Golbo Plushie campaign has gotten an EXTENSION! Golbo is now available for seven (7) more days!]

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Aye aye boss, more Charlie propaganda to come for sure 🫡🫡🫡

For real, though, im so glad you enjoyed!! Now that im not in the trenches of actually writing it, I'm very happy with it lololololol

Charlie really is such a romantic, I can tell. The way his romance is characterized in the movie is very "im gonna dance around this because whatever maybe I dont feel like I deserve it maybe im scared of being vulnerable" right but then when he's finally being open about it at the end oh my god, its so tender and sweet and genuine. Its very very fun to write for him 😌😌

Mindless "Slow" Burn Cute Stuff (AKA I don't know what to call this lol)

Charlie Kenton Mechanic AU for @rosenclaws

I sincerely hope the wait was worth it! I'm still only mildly happy with this but I genuinely hope you enjoy. Happy one year!

Contains: very vague enemies to lovers (like very vague), about as slowburn as a one shot can be, reader is gender neutral, reader is a owns a small restaurant

(unfortunately has nothing to do with Max, I couldn't figure out how to work him in without it feeling forced, I just love this gif)

An old Guns and Roses album blared through Charlie's, the little auto shop in town. It didn’t matter to Charlie how late it was; he hated silence when he worked. Yeah, sure, he'd gotten complaints, but the compromise to keep the shudders closed on his place when he worked seemed to suffice enough to at least keep the authorities off his ass. The same couldn't be said for the people around him, occasionally coming by to bang on the flimsy metal door of his garage and yell at him through it to keep it down. It usually didn't bug him until some new, sweet looking thing moved into that decrepit storefront across the way from him. Charlie saw the way the neighbors whispered to you an pointed at his shop, unaware that he was upstairs in the office and watching through the dusty window. He couldn't hear them, but he could probably guess what they were saying. That he's an inconsiderate jerk and completely unapproachable by anyone who isn't just passing through town with a rundown truck. And Charlie agrees. He wasn't always bitter, but shattered dreams leave those little bits of glass deep in your skin that you can't really ever get out. And Charlie's pieces lay deep in his skin. Forgive him for being a little abrasive.

The first time he meets you properly, it's the middle of the day, and more old rock all but shakes the walls of the garage. Charlie’s forearms are covered in grease. He's huffing and grunting beneath another obnoxious pickup trying to fix the damage done after his lovely (terrible) client “accidentally” ran over a downed buck on the road and had no forethought toward what the antlers might do to the underside. Charlie grumbled to himself as he worked, combined with the sound of scraping metal and loud music, he doesn't hear you shouting at first. But then that familiar tickling he gets when someone walks into his normally empty shop starts itching at his mind and he pulls himself out from under the truck to see you, cupped hands around your mouth as you try in vain to overpower the music by shouting “Excuse me!”

“Need somethin’?!” He shouts back, an obnoxiously cocky smirk twisting his greasy, sweaty face into an expression that immediately makes you think God, what a prick.

“The music!” You try again, but you can't hear yourself. You put one hand over your ear and use the other to point at the concrete floor, “Turn it down!!”

Charlie cups his own hand around his ear, still smirking and now he has the audacity to raise an eyebrow like he doesn't know what you said.

“What?” He mouths.

You scowl, turn heel, and stomp on back to your place across the street without another word. It had been a while since anyone new had come to stay in that sleepy little rural town, Charlie realized, and he could smell the fresh blood clear as crystal now.

A restaurant. That's what you decided to create in this tiny, nowhere town? A restaurant? Even Charlie wouldn't be caught saying that this town was beyond a little life being breathed into it, but that felt a little ambitious to him. Nice as they were, it was hard to get the old folks to change their ways, and they liked their food the way it was. Still, Charlie couldn't complain about having a new option for eating out. On the odd day he ever did, at least. And that's provided your food is even good. Charlie was quite set in his ways too, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

The mechanic would occasionally watch you come and go, returning from the supermarket with armfuls of groceries and receiving shipments of big heavy boxes he could only assume held kitchen supplies or plates or some shit. 

The only time he could ever properly see into your storefront was at night. The lights would be on, the only place across the street still “open” so late at night. Charlie would find himself spending a few extra minutes up in his office watching you setting up the little tables next to the front windows and setting them, cleaning the glass you'd had to get replaced since they'd long been smashed out by rebellious children with too much time on their hands. You'd disappear into the restaurant for a while, his high vantage point only allowing him to see into the very front of your place. He felt like a creep at first, but how is what he's doing any different than people watching? Sure, Charlie could give half a rat's ass about anyone else, but that's just because he knows everyone in town already. Right? Right. He doesn't find your passion attractive. He doesn't see himself in a past life when he looks at you buzzing around your half-finished restaurant, frantic and scattered but impossibly happy anyway.

No. No, nothing like that…

~

It’s opening night. Your sign is out. The lights in the window flash with the name of your new restaurant. You wait behind the counter, your back to the stove. And you wait. And wait. A couple folks pass by. One old couple look in. But no one enters. An old town will always be a little resistant to change. You understood that when you bought the place. So why did it still sting?

You think of closing early, about to step away from the counter before the bell on your door jingles loudly. And it’s him: that asshole from across the street that always plays his music way too loud and annoyed you from day one just like everyone told you he would. He says nothing as he enters. He barely even looks at you, his eyes drawn to the chalkboard menu above your head. He looks naked without that dumb smirk. He almost looks sincere.

Despite who this is, you’re determined to be a professional first.

“Hey, what can I get ya?” you ask, you hand drifting to your little notebook next to the till. You’re honestly expecting him to make a snide remark and leave, but then he meets your eyes and you see something in them. You aren’t sure what exactly, only that maybe there’s more to this jerk than you previously assumed. It feels like he’s looking right through you, like he can see your every thought, but that can’t be right. You’ve barely spoken to this guy!

“You make burgers?” He remarks, trying to sound snide. It doesn’t work.

“I make a burger,” you clarify, professionalism quickly flying out the window, “There are other things, too.”

“I see that.”

Then it’s quiet again. He’s still looking. You’re just waiting for when he decides to laugh in your face and leave, when he speaks up again.

“That burger any good?”

You squint at him, searching every crease and curve for something, anything that could tell you if he’s making fun of you or not. And… there’s nothing.

“I wouldn’t serve food I thought was bad.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“Everyone’s taste is different. How am I supposed to know if you’d like the way I do it?”

“Guess I’ll just have to try one.”

“Right.”

He’s stopped talking. He’s smiling at you. And, much to your surprise, it’s not smug or insulting. He’s waiting for something. When you don’t get the message, he sighs exaggeratedly and tugs his wallet from the front of his jeans.

All of a sudden, you’ve forgotten how to do anything. You fumble with the till, shaking hands receiving the cash and ringing up Charlie’s meal. A burger and fries. Charlie is your only customer that night. And it’s the best burger Charlie thinks he’s ever had.

~

It’s been months now. Business is better, and Charlie still comes in every so often for dinner. He’s really not so bad, you’ve come to discover. Maybe he’s a little prickly, but you’ve gotten the hint over time that it’s mostly for show. He’s just… a little scared for others to get close. Exactly why, you’re not sure. You don’t feel like it’s your place to ask, so you don’t. Still, when he comes in at the end of the night and asks for the same thing he always does, you feel that tugging in your chest that wants to know him better.

You’ve closed, lights off and store locked up. You hold a to-go box containing Charlie’s usual as you cross the street to his place. You’ve noticed he doesn’t play his music as loud anymore.

The large metal shudder rattles as you knock on it.

“Charlie!” You call through the metal, “Let me in!”

The music pauses when Charlie realizes he has company, you’ve started to notice he does that more now too, and after a moment, the shudder is pulled up just enough to reveal Charlie Kenton in all his greasy glory. The front of his tank top is stained with oil, and so are his bare arms. He holds the shudder up and open so he can look at you.

“Doin’ delivery now?” He teases.

“Don’t get used to it,” You grin, stepping inside past Charlie, “I was bored and figured you’d be hungry, so I came over.”

Charlie’s laugh rumbles in your chest as he follows you inside, closing the shudder behind him.

You hop up to sit on the edge of his workbench and present the box to him.

“Here.”

Charlie takes the box from you, but his eyes never land on it. He puts it next to you on the workbench. Positioned on either side of your lap, his hands land on the workbench and he leans forward, but not too close. Certainly close enough to feel his breath just barely brushing your face, at least.

“You really come over just to bring me food?”

He smirks. He knows. But he wants you to say it.

“So what if I did?”

“You didn’t.”

You didn’t.

“…Are you gonna do something about it, then?” You murmur. Your knees separate so he can get closer, and he takes your invitation.

“You got something in mind?” He rumbles in return. His face is so close to yours now. Your cheeks burn, but you can’t find it in you to pull away.

“You’re a dick.”

“Can’t blame me for wanting to hear it, can you?”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

“That’s the plan.”

You expect him to dominate the kiss, to grab you and press you against the workbench and initiate an intimate night of arguably uncomfortable sex in his garage. It’s just how these things go, isn’t it? So, when it doesn’t happen, when all he does is lean in and press his mouth to yours, hums and smiles against your lips when your warm hands settle on his shoulders, your chest flutters.

Charlie leans back only just enough to speak against your lips. His eyes open, warm and holding something rich and real, and he smiles. And when he thanks you for dinner in a soft whisper, you’re only half sure he means the food.

~

Small note: I sort of tried to work Charlie's backstory into this, not in the boxing sense, but more the hint that he had a previous occupation that he's had to put away for unestablished reasons, because I love stuff like that, but honestly I couldn't figure out how to incorporate it otherwise. Still, I liked writing this even if I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out. Fuckin writers block...

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Mindless "Slow" Burn Cute Stuff (AKA I don't know what to call this lol)

Charlie Kenton Mechanic AU for @rosenclaws

I sincerely hope the wait was worth it! I'm still only mildly happy with this but I genuinely hope you enjoy. Happy one year!

Contains: very vague enemies to lovers (like very vague), about as slowburn as a one shot can be, reader is gender neutral, reader is a owns a small restaurant

(unfortunately has nothing to do with Max, I couldn't figure out how to work him in without it feeling forced, I just love this gif)

An old Guns and Roses album blared through Charlie's, the little auto shop in town. It didn’t matter to Charlie how late it was; he hated silence when he worked. Yeah, sure, he'd gotten complaints, but the compromise to keep the shudders closed on his place when he worked seemed to suffice enough to at least keep the authorities off his ass. The same couldn't be said for the people around him, occasionally coming by to bang on the flimsy metal door of his garage and yell at him through it to keep it down. It usually didn't bug him until some new, sweet looking thing moved into that decrepit storefront across the way from him. Charlie saw the way the neighbors whispered to you an pointed at his shop, unaware that he was upstairs in the office and watching through the dusty window. He couldn't hear them, but he could probably guess what they were saying. That he's an inconsiderate jerk and completely unapproachable by anyone who isn't just passing through town with a rundown truck. And Charlie agrees. He wasn't always bitter, but shattered dreams leave those little bits of glass deep in your skin that you can't really ever get out. And Charlie's pieces lay deep in his skin. Forgive him for being a little abrasive.

The first time he meets you properly, it's the middle of the day, and more old rock all but shakes the walls of the garage. Charlie’s forearms are covered in grease. He's huffing and grunting beneath another obnoxious pickup trying to fix the damage done after his lovely (terrible) client “accidentally” ran over a downed buck on the road and had no forethought toward what the antlers might do to the underside. Charlie grumbled to himself as he worked, combined with the sound of scraping metal and loud music, he doesn't hear you shouting at first. But then that familiar tickling he gets when someone walks into his normally empty shop starts itching at his mind and he pulls himself out from under the truck to see you, cupped hands around your mouth as you try in vain to overpower the music by shouting “Excuse me!”

“Need somethin’?!” He shouts back, an obnoxiously cocky smirk twisting his greasy, sweaty face into an expression that immediately makes you think God, what a prick.

“The music!” You try again, but you can't hear yourself. You put one hand over your ear and use the other to point at the concrete floor, “Turn it down!!”

Charlie cups his own hand around his ear, still smirking and now he has the audacity to raise an eyebrow like he doesn't know what you said.

“What?” He mouths.

You scowl, turn heel, and stomp on back to your place across the street without another word. It had been a while since anyone new had come to stay in that sleepy little rural town, Charlie realized, and he could smell the fresh blood clear as crystal now.

A restaurant. That's what you decided to create in this tiny, nowhere town? A restaurant? Even Charlie wouldn't be caught saying that this town was beyond a little life being breathed into it, but that felt a little ambitious to him. Nice as they were, it was hard to get the old folks to change their ways, and they liked their food the way it was. Still, Charlie couldn't complain about having a new option for eating out. On the odd day he ever did, at least. And that's provided your food is even good. Charlie was quite set in his ways too, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

The mechanic would occasionally watch you come and go, returning from the supermarket with armfuls of groceries and receiving shipments of big heavy boxes he could only assume held kitchen supplies or plates or some shit. 

The only time he could ever properly see into your storefront was at night. The lights would be on, the only place across the street still “open” so late at night. Charlie would find himself spending a few extra minutes up in his office watching you setting up the little tables next to the front windows and setting them, cleaning the glass you'd had to get replaced since they'd long been smashed out by rebellious children with too much time on their hands. You'd disappear into the restaurant for a while, his high vantage point only allowing him to see into the very front of your place. He felt like a creep at first, but how is what he's doing any different than people watching? Sure, Charlie could give half a rat's ass about anyone else, but that's just because he knows everyone in town already. Right? Right. He doesn't find your passion attractive. He doesn't see himself in a past life when he looks at you buzzing around your half-finished restaurant, frantic and scattered but impossibly happy anyway.

No. No, nothing like that…

~

It’s opening night. Your sign is out. The lights in the window flash with the name of your new restaurant. You wait behind the counter, your back to the stove. And you wait. And wait. A couple folks pass by. One old couple look in. But no one enters. An old town will always be a little resistant to change. You understood that when you bought the place. So why did it still sting?

You think of closing early, about to step away from the counter before the bell on your door jingles loudly. And it’s him: that asshole from across the street that always plays his music way too loud and annoyed you from day one just like everyone told you he would. He says nothing as he enters. He barely even looks at you, his eyes drawn to the chalkboard menu above your head. He looks naked without that dumb smirk. He almost looks sincere.

Despite who this is, you’re determined to be a professional first.

“Hey, what can I get ya?” you ask, you hand drifting to your little notebook next to the till. You’re honestly expecting him to make a snide remark and leave, but then he meets your eyes and you see something in them. You aren’t sure what exactly, only that maybe there’s more to this jerk than you previously assumed. It feels like he’s looking right through you, like he can see your every thought, but that can’t be right. You’ve barely spoken to this guy!

“You make burgers?” He remarks, trying to sound snide. It doesn’t work.

“I make a burger,” you clarify, professionalism quickly flying out the window, “There are other things, too.”

“I see that.”

Then it’s quiet again. He’s still looking. You’re just waiting for when he decides to laugh in your face and leave, when he speaks up again.

“That burger any good?”

You squint at him, searching every crease and curve for something, anything that could tell you if he’s making fun of you or not. And… there’s nothing.

“I wouldn’t serve food I thought was bad.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

“Everyone’s taste is different. How am I supposed to know if you’d like the way I do it?”

“Guess I’ll just have to try one.”

“Right.”

He’s stopped talking. He’s smiling at you. And, much to your surprise, it’s not smug or insulting. He’s waiting for something. When you don’t get the message, he sighs exaggeratedly and tugs his wallet from the front of his jeans.

All of a sudden, you’ve forgotten how to do anything. You fumble with the till, shaking hands receiving the cash and ringing up Charlie’s meal. A burger and fries. Charlie is your only customer that night. And it’s the best burger Charlie thinks he’s ever had.

~

It’s been months now. Business is better, and Charlie still comes in every so often for dinner. He’s really not so bad, you’ve come to discover. Maybe he’s a little prickly, but you’ve gotten the hint over time that it’s mostly for show. He’s just… a little scared for others to get close. Exactly why, you’re not sure. You don’t feel like it’s your place to ask, so you don’t. Still, when he comes in at the end of the night and asks for the same thing he always does, you feel that tugging in your chest that wants to know him better.

You’ve closed, lights off and store locked up. You hold a to-go box containing Charlie’s usual as you cross the street to his place. You’ve noticed he doesn’t play his music as loud anymore.

The large metal shudder rattles as you knock on it.

“Charlie!” You call through the metal, “Let me in!”

The music pauses when Charlie realizes he has company, you’ve started to notice he does that more now too, and after a moment, the shudder is pulled up just enough to reveal Charlie Kenton in all his greasy glory. The front of his tank top is stained with oil, and so are his bare arms. He holds the shudder up and open so he can look at you.

“Doin’ delivery now?” He teases.

“Don’t get used to it,” You grin, stepping inside past Charlie, “I was bored and figured you’d be hungry, so I came over.”

Charlie’s laugh rumbles in your chest as he follows you inside, closing the shudder behind him.

You hop up to sit on the edge of his workbench and present the box to him.

“Here.”

Charlie takes the box from you, but his eyes never land on it. He puts it next to you on the workbench. Positioned on either side of your lap, his hands land on the workbench and he leans forward, but not too close. Certainly close enough to feel his breath just barely brushing your face, at least.

“You really come over just to bring me food?”

He smirks. He knows. But he wants you to say it.

“So what if I did?”

“You didn’t.”

You didn’t.

“…Are you gonna do something about it, then?” You murmur. Your knees separate so he can get closer, and he takes your invitation.

“You got something in mind?” He rumbles in return. His face is so close to yours now. Your cheeks burn, but you can’t find it in you to pull away.

“You’re a dick.”

“Can’t blame me for wanting to hear it, can you?”

“If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

“That’s the plan.”

You expect him to dominate the kiss, to grab you and press you against the workbench and initiate an intimate night of arguably uncomfortable sex in his garage. It’s just how these things go, isn’t it? So, when it doesn’t happen, when all he does is lean in and press his mouth to yours, hums and smiles against your lips when your warm hands settle on his shoulders, your chest flutters.

Charlie leans back only just enough to speak against your lips. His eyes open, warm and holding something rich and real, and he smiles. And when he thanks you for dinner in a soft whisper, you’re only half sure he means the food.

~

Small note: I sort of tried to work Charlie's backstory into this, not in the boxing sense, but more the hint that he had a previous occupation that he's had to put away for unestablished reasons, because I love stuff like that, but honestly I couldn't figure out how to incorporate it otherwise. Still, I liked writing this even if I'm not 100% happy with how it turned out. Fuckin writers block...

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

We're wheels up and ready to go in 24 hours, soldiers. I hope you're ready... #PriceAppreciationWeek2025 is about to begin.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

I always adored how huge you draw soap… he’s a big boy! keep it going please (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

❤️❤️❤️ he's got that illusory build (huge when not next to his bf)

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

I think....I think we should talk abt all the more mundane stuff ghost cant do....yeah....

Ghost, whos trauma follows him everywhere. Its not something he can easily package away, not after growing up in that house, not after those months spent as a captive.

Ghost cant stand to eat most soups, because thats what his mom made when she was having one of her 'bad days'. He doesnt like to sit in certain chairs because they remind him of sitting at the dinner table and listening to his dad berate his mom. Its annoying, because ghost struggles to enjoy dinners with his team. Even after they're gone, his parents refuse to let ghost rest.

Fuck, he cant even enjoy dinners on his own. Grocery stores play mainstream pop songs that sound close enough to what one of the gaurds used to hum. It makes ghost anxious in ways he never is on the field, like his own home is being broken into. Invaded by memories of pain. Ghost takes the long way home because the street lamp in front of the deli flickers just like the one in his cell.

And thats how he lives. One big act to avoid feeling like hes stuck in a cage with a tiger. Not safe, but at least outside of its maw. He doesnt tell anyone this. About all the tiny things that freak him out. How would he do that? He can run into active fire, but cant eat carrots? What kind of a person does that?

So ghost keeps quiet. Dodges the things that scares him. Refuses to think about it at night.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

N S F W!!! . .

.

.

.

p i c k a g a i n .

. +)

yoga instructor au

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

I am actually begging some people to just let some spaces exist untouched by real-world issues and horrors.

Like I've lost count of the amount of times peaceful game or fandom servers have been ruined by people stampeding in with political rants, bitching about world issues, demanding internal activism, demanding vent channels so they can whine about their shitty parents, ect.

Like. Respectfully. Not every single space has to be inclusive of and welcoming of outside topics. The real world sucks. We don't needed to be reminded of that absolutely everywhere.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Since it could happen any day now, I'm just going to say it.

If Tumblr asks me for ID verification, I will probably just not sign in again.

I love you guys, I will miss you, and I don't want you to think anything bad has happened to me if I disappear off here.

But it's a tall order to ask me to attach my real ID documents to a social media site that might not have the means to keep my information private and safe.

You can find me... nowhere, because everywhere else will have the exact same problem. If it happens I will just... not have an online presence any more.

Maybe it won't happen. I hope it doesn't. But I'm putting this here just in case.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Gambit

By Rod Reis

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

I get Logan and my bf gets Leo 😌😌😌

So I asked you which hugh character is each zodiac sign. But which Hugh characters are people’s soulmates based on their zodiac? 👀

Oo this is so fun

You're Hugh Character soulmate based on your Zodiac sign!

Aries - Van Helsing

Taurus - Jean Valjean

Gemini - Robert Angier

Cancer - Leopold Mountbatten

Leo - Charlie Kenton

Virgo - Jack Willis

Libra - Duncan Jones

Scorpio - Eddie Alden

Sagittarius - Drover

Capricorn - Curly (Oklahoma)

Aquarius - Logan

Pisces - PT Barnum

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Simon Riley

Testosterone would save Simon "Ghost" Riley from the Call of Duty Franchise!

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

All im saying is that ghost can sense a trans guy from a mile away before the egg even cracks.

You'll introduce yourself at the new medic, hair slicked back into a bun with a hand outstretched. All ghost does is stare. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed, he looks over you a bit "im not fuckin' calling you that. What's yer real name?"

You glance away, a bit flustered because he can see something in you that you yourself have trouble looking at. But ghost just waits, like he already knows you will cave.

Timid, soft, you whisper the name thats only ever been spoken in the dead of night against your palms.

Ghost repeats it, and hearing the name in his low gravely voice does something to you. Hes masculine, big and capable. He says the name like it holds weight, and that has you looking away flustered.

He only grins, leans a bit closer to mutter "take your time adjusting to it. Dogs aren't trained in a day."

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

I really think we should stop saying "kid-friendly" and start saying "ad-friendly". We shouldn't indulge these companies and their excuses anymore. I also think that continuing to pretend that this is about "protecting the children" pushes a lot of the blame onto kids and teens, who don't have the political power to push through any of this censorship legislature. Corporations and governments are to blame.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

Story Prompt #3

Sleeping Beauty but in reverse: A kingdom cursed to never sleep again. If they do so they'll never wake up. Through sheer willpower, some coffee, and a new type of drug, the kingdom is now inhabited with sleep-deprived zombies.

[a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5]

“Dead Lover, Still Haunting Me” prompts

☾ “I still talk to you like you’re here. Maybe you are.”

☾ your new partner asks who the other toothbrush belongs to. you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

☾ “I dream of you every night. Is it dreaming if it feels more real than life?”

☾ the house creaks only in the spots they used to stand.

☾ they died years ago but their sweater still smells like them and you still wear it on the days when breathing feels impossible.

☾ “You never said goodbye.” - “You never let me.”

☾ candles flicker whenever you cry. the song you danced to starts playing with no source. you say, “Okay. I get it. You’re still here.”

☾ walking past their grave and feeling fingers brush your wrist.

☾ your new date says they feel watched. you know why.

☾ “You promised forever.” - “And I meant it. Death didn’t change that.”