#angsty stuff

[motiveloss]

It's Doodle Time!

Dream & Nightmare by @jokublog Ink by @comyet Error by @loverofpiggies Bill Sans by hwamyong

[bee-sidebranch]

loads of doodles i didn't finish for one reason or another

[kortsitron]

Falling in love with Romeo

✮ PARING Romeo × Gender Neutral! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS spoilers for the game, angst, fluff, going against the canon a little bit

✮ SUMMARY Headcanons of falling in love with Romeo and how your relationship goes based on the game lore

✮ A/N no thoughts, only Romeo

ao3 masterlist requests

⬦ Romeo is probably the sweetest, nicest guy you'll ever met. He may be a little shy at first when he sees you, absolutely enchanted by you. But with time, the shyness goes away

⬦ He gets smitten with you pretty quickly and really wants to spend time with you, Carlo obviously notices and can't stop teasing his best friend. After all, it's rather adorable seeing Romeo running after you like that

 ⬦ He obviously doesn't have much money, so he can't get you on any fancy dates, but taking you to buy some ice cream, go on a walk in the park, take you to a festival are a must. He’ll definitely try to hold your hand to if you let him

⬦ Every single time, Romeo insist on walking you home. He wants to make sure nothing bad happens to you, even if he knows puppets are patronizing the city. He himself needs to make sure you got home safe

⬦ From time to time, he might try to visit you during the night time, with your consent of course. Escaping from Monad Charity House during the night might not be the easiest task, but he will do it just for you! And Carlo will make sure no one notices his friend's disappearance

⬦ Confessing might bring back his shy side a little bit. After all, he is confessing his feelings to you, so he has every right to feel a little nervous

⬦ Romeo is a very gentle guy. He likes having you close, holding your hand, giving you a few kisses and hugs. And he enjoys cuddling with you too!

⬦ If you're interested, he will take some of his time to teach you how to use a sword and in general how to protect yourself if you don't already know how. He knows he can't be with you 24/7 to protect you if anything happens, so he would rather try his best to teach you anything useful so you can protect yourself when the time comes

⬦ Not everything is sunshine and rainbows forever. When he gets the disease, no matter how much he loves you, he will distance himself, worried you might get the disease from him. And he cannot bear a thought of you dying because of him

⬦ Before you completely lose contact with him, he sends you a letter. Apologizing for the fact that he cannot meet with you anymore, for what he believes is your own safety. He explains that he is worried for you and wants what's the best for you. He feels like a jackass, leaving you like that, but he believes he has no choice

⬦ After that, you completely lost contact with him. He doesn't answer your letter and you worry he might have died from the disease. And yet, there is no information about his death. No-one knows what has happened to him. One day he just left after Carlo's death and didn't come back

⬦ You wanted to search from him, but the puppet frenzy happens and there's not much you can do. You only hope that if your dearest Romeo passed away, it wasn't because of the puppets

⬦ You find yourself a shelter in the Hotel Krat where you meet Geppetto's puppet, that looks almost like Carlo, but you have decided not to comment. You only ask him to look for your lover. And if he sees anything, you want him to let you know. At the time, you already believe that Romeo is dead, but you still wish to know what happened.

⬦ It's not too long until Pinocchio comes back with a letter for you. And as you open it, it hits you like a train when you see a familiar handwriting, realizing it's Romeo. 

⬦ In the letter he begs for you to stay in the safety of the Hotel. He expresses his gratitude once finding out you're alive and well. But as always, your safety matters the most for him. He doesn't tell you where he is, not what is going on with him. He says that he will reach out to you on his own if possible. He explains that he is now safe and is doing okay

⬦ For now that was the only thing you knew and you were glad to know he was safe. Yet, you couldn't help but worry what happened. He had a disease, didn't he? With all respect given, he should be dead by now. So how is he writing to you?

⬦ You can't help but write back, Pinocchio being your delivery man. You express how glad you are to find out he's out there alive and well. And you promise to wait patiently for any news from him

⬦ As the time passes and you wait, one night, Geppetto's puppet takes you to the Estella Opera House. He makes sure you're safe from any danger as he takes you there and thanks to the existence of the stargazers, he can take you there without much problems

⬦ And that's where you see him. Your Romeo. Even as a puppet he looks tired. Even if his face is rather expressionless, you can see he is happy to see you. He kneels before you to hug you. He cannot communicate with you, unfortunately. Every word he says is inadible for you, but you are more than sure he is just as happy to see you as you are to see him

⬦ After you explain the situation, you try to get him to go to the Hotel with you, you want him back and you believe Venigni might be able to help him and that he will be able to communicate with you

⬦ He doesn't agree outright, worried that his presence at the Hotel might cause distress and trouble. But when he agrees, he patiently let's Venigni work on him, in hope he can do anything in his power to help him communicate better with you. And upon his arrival, Geppetto disappeared from the Hotel

⬦ And then it happens, no more letters or inaudible sounds. You can finally hear the voice you haven't heard in years, the only difference being that he sound metallic, but you do not mind one bit

⬦ In private he explains everything. He apologizes for leaving you, for distancing himself. He explains what has happened to him, what he has been doing since the frenzy and why he is doing so. He knows that with help Geppetto's puppet, or how he prefers to call him Carlo, all of this will end

⬦ And with something of a kiss your knuckles, he promises to come back to you once it is all over.

⬦ Him and Carlo go on, taking the enemies together, finishing it all and with a broken heart, helping Carlo fight Geppetto and his creation

⬦ After that, like promised, he comes back to you and promise to not leave you like that ever again. He wishes he could change the past, but still expresses gratitude for being able to be with you again. And like Carlo did, he wishes to be human again. To able to feel the warmth of your skin, be able to kiss you like he used to and hold you without worrying that he might hurt you

[gottabegenki]

🐉🌸 

 

"Sleep now, my love. While you lay in an ageless sleep, I will find a way...𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘈𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘺𝘴𝘴, 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘍𝘢e 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦." 

 

✨✨✨ 

 

Feeling a little angsty 😌 Jo promises all the time to Malleus that she would never leave him. So Malleus says he will try to find a way to extend her life, and since it could take time, he suggests to put her in an ageless sleep. Jo was reluctant at first, but eventually agrees.  

[xxlady-lunaxx]

spoilers to giyuu’s past<3 (under cut!) roughly couple hundred words?? (im too lazy to find smth for the word count)

He was young, he was scared, he was paralyzed from the screams. Yes, the screams. That he remembered for the next decade in his nightmares, waking him up with the same adrenaline-filled panic that ripped through his body and stunned him.

He could see, vaguely, through a slit in the door. It was dark. But he saw it. He saw something—something large and moving with a sort of brutal gracefulness. It lunged towards Tsutako’s silhouette. And then all he knew was the red—the splattering—the screaming—Tsutako’s screaming. The heart shattering, wrenching sobbing. And then— it stopped. And the silence was… so much worse.

Giyuu’s heart thumped loudly in his ears and he waited, certain the creature would come for him next. It didn’t. It just left, glancing around before charging back out the door.

For a few, horrible minutes, Giyuu lay there, the heat and plush of the futon’s blankets pressing against his body. And then he stood, unable to wait any longer. He didn’t care if the monster came after him. It didn’t matter. Was Tsutako okay? Maybe she was still alive.

He was fooling himself. He knew that. But he let himself hope for a moment as he nearly broke the bedroom door in his attempt to open it. Then he was standing amidst blood and limbs and—

His stomach churned and he sucked in a deep breath, but that only made it worse, the metallic smell of blood filling his lungs. He skittered back, pressing against the wall. His eyes stung as the whole of the situation finally got to him. For a moment, he wavered by the doorframe, shaking, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth and trying to stop himself from hurling. Then something caught the corner of his blurry vision and he stumbled forward, trying to avoid the splinters of white that peeked through the pools of blood. He reached out, barely able to control his hand as he grasped timidly at a piece of fabric; a bow, pink but stained red in places; Tsutako’s ribbon.

He clutched it to his chest, tears swimming in his eyes and making it impossible for him to see. He was kneeling on the ground and he could feel sticky liquid seeping into the knees of his clothing. He scrambled back upon coming to the conclusion—much too late—that it was Tsutako’s blood. His mind was hazy and he felt dizzy, falling back instead. Now he sat in the rivers of red, gasping as panic overtook him again and he stilled, though his chest heaved and his mouth gaped uselessly, trying to suck in air.

There was a clatter behind him and it was all he could do to turn around. Wet, hot tears poured down his cheeks as he moved and he stared at a man that stood in the doorway, unrecognizable to Giyuu with the moonlight framing his back, making his face shadowed. Giyuu cowered, letting out a choked cry as he tried moving away. Then the man was next to him, holding him, asking what happened and Giyuu realized it was Tsutako’s fiancé, rocking him in his arms.

For a moment, Giyuu sat stock-still. Then he let out a shuddery breath, drawing in another sharply. The exhale came out as a pathetic wail and next thing he knew, he was sobbing into his sister’s fiancé’s shoulder, blubbering as he tried and failed to explain. A hand soothed him, rubbing his back and calming him.

Giyuu was exhausted. He felt like he was drowning in his tears, somehow, and everything that had happened that night hit him like a tsunami. He tilted, dipping into the embrace, eyes fluttering and lashes dotted with salty water.

“Sleep,” he heard vaguely. “You can rest now, Giyuu. I’ll figure it out. Just sleep.”

The words echoed in Giyuu’s head like a mantra and he took it as a comfort. He was fine. He would be fine. He just had to sleep.

He let the next wave of exhaustion pull him under into the dizzying lull of sleep, ignorant to what might happen in the future as he clutched tightly at the bow in his hand. He was asleep before he could give it a second thought.

[light-fawn]

—"Sabine stared at the sky, her hand pointing different spots in the stars as Shin laid by her side in silence, looking at the way her lips moved with every word.

Sabine dreamed of getting lost somewhere, and keep traveling until she saw everything that the worlds had to offer.

Shin knew this.

But she dreamed of getting lost in Sabine, and that...

Sabine would never get to know."

[astarionposting]

The Dark Urge

CW: BLOOD/GORE/DARK STUFF IN GENERAL

We all kill what we love most, eventually.

Decided to make something dark after I was taking screenshots of NOT killing Astarion and failed the saving throw... gotta improvise, right?

Hopefully this isn't way too dark...

Also yes I know Astarion isn’t a butch 😭 I just like the first verse sooo much for durge vibes

[blisked-starkhalis]

"Past/Future"

Geno belongs to CrayonQueen Reaper belongs to renrink

[adrift-in-thyme]

Hehehe evil au ideas are stewing

[nyrx0no]

First post!

Was in bed one night thinking what if Leo got stabbed by his own katana in a place where you can’t die? Might make this into a comic but for now I have a drawing :)

[jazeswhbhaven]

I've been writing a lot of angst lately and just tucking it away lol.

Beleth getting in an argument with Nova

Nova sorting out their feelings for seeing Andrealphus help with Astra's needs of devil energy (Dre and Nova used to date)

Satan and Levi raising Cain but the parenting styles are clashing

Astra saying her goodbyes to return to Minhyeok and it's not going so well

Astra leaving Mammon at the altar (don't hate her btw, it's angel related) and Mammon crashes out badly I'm talking worse than combining a Satan and Levi tantrum.

So. Much. Angst.

Anyways I may or may not share some of these if ya'll are interested in how I showcase the devils having emotions that aren't horny or strictly sin related.

[uminohotaru]

Our Island

I'll write this here where you won't read it so as not to be tempted to write to you. I will tell this story into the void because I'm a coward, but also because it is better this way. Ghosts of the past may not be welcome—or worse, they may be destructive, like a sudden storm on a calm day. (And to the people who happen to read it: I hope it gives you some food for thought, or just entertains you a bit.)

It was an endless winter 20 years ago, followed by an endless spring that got imprinted in my memory almost day by day. You wrote to me first as you came across my profile amidst dozens or hundreds of others on that long-since-dead now website where people gathered to talk about magic. And the magic began—right away. It swept off my previous life, everything that seemed important, and put me on the turbulent journey of our strange relationship.

We wrote to each other every day, pages and pages of thoughts, trying to express, to put into words our very souls for the other to see, to understand. Never before had I met that kind of resonance, and never after. Thousands of miles apart, we wouldn't sleep at night, we would think about each other constantly, and we would write. About everything. Our life views, our dreams, our fantasy worlds, our childhood stories and current hardships. We were learning each other and we were learning ourselves. Still to this day, I remember the sweet tremble inside my chest, and the sensation of a free fall in my stomach every time I would open my inbox and see your letter. It is only virtual, my sanity tried to warn me, it's not all that real. How wasn't that real? The way your words made me feel alive, and the way your occasional silence hurt me. The way I almost couldn't breathe the first time I heard your voice—the connection of those old mobile phones was awful, even more so because I was on a beach; sea always calmed me but not that time. I wanted to reach for you in reality—but oh did I fear that! I was afraid we would not be the same people we imagined ourselves to be; I was afraid I would forget all the words I could string together so easily in writing; I was afraid that everyday life would destroy the magic of our connection. And still, I was waiting to meet you, I wanted to be close to you, I could not stop thinking about you. Even during the exams which I partly failed that summer (or did I? I don't even remember.) Crazy times. Instead of studying and cramming, instead of working on those 3d projects, I was writing to you, or I was thinking about you, or I was just daydreaming while waiting for your letter.

What would have happened if we have managed to meet that summer, after all? Who can tell. Maybe nothing good. Maybe the clarity would have ended our connection right then...or maybe it would have morphed it into something fully real. But we didn't meet. I don't remember exactly why, there were circumstances that were against us. Instead, I met that guy I'd had a crush on in high school. And everything changed.

It was but a brief meeting and almost instant parting, but it threw me into a labyrinth of hell. Oh, the rest of that summer and the autumn were scary. I was drowning in what I thought to be love for that guy, an unrequited one, but looking back, it was mostly just the pain of my hurt ego, and the shock of the first attempt of intimacy. I didn't even know him that well as a person. I still answered something to you, and I felt bad for being dishonest to you, the letters (or was it mostly texting by that time?) became excruciating to write and to receive, because I couldn't open up to you like I used to. And it didn't work that way between us. But I still needed you. Your mere presence, albeit virtual, gave me something I couldn't put into words. But you sensed, of course, the change. You tried to ask me what happened, and I couldn't tell you. At some point, the thoughts of killing myself overtook me, but I was saved by God. You know that story, since in a few months, I found the courage to tell you everything. Having prepared myself to lose you for good.

But you stayed. You still tried to understand the new me. It was only the beginning of the mess.

I wrote this line in one of my stories: "Regrets are only justified when you have chosen wrong. But if you were too weak to even make a choice, isn't regret just a self-indulgent delusion?" What choice could I really make at that time? I thought I had finally found myself, found God, found my path, but oh was I a self-centered moron! Next spring, I finally told you that I had been in love with you. Because, funny thing, we had been playing into friendship the whole time. I guess nobody truly believed in that, yet we were both afraid to give name to this thing between us. So, I finally did, and you answered, you laid your heart bare before me, and all the unsaid was finally put into words. The elation of that! I remember it, I remember the feeling of finally connecting to someone—not someone, You—on the deepest level; finally being allowed into your innermost thoughts; the elation of my feelings being reciprocated. That very day, I rejected a guy in RL who was asking me out, telling him that I've got someone I love. Right then and there, being voiced out, everything became undeniably real, no longer virtual. Then, we confessed that we still love each other. I was happy. You were happy. You said you had never felt that happy. And then it was over.

Why? Why, why, why? Why did I feel that emptiness right after the elation? Did I sense that I have nothing to give you for real? Why could I not feel the true connection to the person you had become over those few months of radio silence? You were the same you, maybe with a bunch of new interests, some inner growth, and experience. Why only now, rereading your letters of that time, I can finally read them for real, can see you in these letters? I was only seeing myself back then. I was so overwhelmed with my own shift of ideals that there was no room in my heart for anyone else. We still didn't manage to meet that summer either. It's actually good we didn't. I would've only hurt you, the way I was back then. I did hurt you anyway—with my words, dismissing your own changes and discoveries, criticizing some of your decisions from the position of a know-it-all righteousness. I spoke about God, about Love, but in fact, I didn't know Love. I could not love you. I was unable to give, I only wanted something for myself, I didn't even know what.

So, I continued to seek it. First, around me, then—once I ended up on the ruins of my current life—somewhere on the distant horizon. You still happened to visit me from time to time, to check up on me. I knew you were hurting. And you were still dear to me. I was still salty that you had gone on that mountain trip instead of visiting me even though I knew why; it was my fault, my coldness that stopped you. You were trying to keep your distance now, to heal, perhaps. I missed you so damn much. But my eyes were now fixed on the storms ahead of me, where I thought I saw that something. Remember you told me once: "it seems to me that you will find what you are looking for, perhaps even more:) And there will be pain, and there will be joy, and there will be many things:) Like the ship that is accustomed to stormy winds, and there is little that can surprise the captain… In a storm, many take their sails down. But you seem to expose yourself to the blows of the wind and pick up speed instead:)"

Like many of your words, this metaphor hit the nail on the head. Quitting the uni, going against my family, leaving for another city to start a completely new life... I was carried by the winds and waves, and I believed that in this fury of elements, I was about to find something real, something that is mine. At that time, I thought it was something I had to look for somewhere out there, beyond the murky darkness of the storm. Now, my mind cleared of the fog, rereading our old letters, I can piece together the fragments of my own self scattered across the pages of my life, and resurrect the forgotten memories. I remember the beginning almost day by day. But I don't remember the middle very well, and the further—or closer to the end, closer to the present day—the less I can remember. I feel like I'm reading some lines, entire letters even, for the first time. Who read them instead of me back then? And who wrote the answers? Where was Me? How many signals have gone into the black space, how many bridges have melted into the void… How many mazes have managed to draw me into their depths, luring me with false goals and desires, and the oddest thing is that I have always, always remembered you, and put you outside the brackets of that whole life of adventure. How could I not realize it back then?

That this was the reality. Not vice versa.

Was it your offer to meet from time to time on this Island lost in the oceans, untouched by the storms, outside of time and space—or was it mine? Probably yours, but I liked the idea, I shaped this Island in my mind. Here, you asked me what he must be like, the man who could stay by my side. He must be very swift and nimble in order to keep up with me—you joked—since I would take off for far away suddenly. "Today, your ship is moored in a tropical port, and you are lying on the sand and looking at the stars. And in the morning…you take your sword and sail away to the horizon, for example, somewhere to the north. And, probably, there are only two options here—either to stare at the sea, dumbfounded, or to set off after you…and be very fast at that, too, in order to catch up:)" Answering you, I was trying to outline that person in my imagination. Funny. You were talking about travelling through the storms together, but the Island always remained where it had been. I don't need someone who would keep up with me on my journey. I need You—did I tell you that? No; at least, never clearly enough. I didn't understand that consciously myself, although wasn't it obvious from the way I kept visiting our Island during various storms? What was I visiting it for? To have a deep conversation with a virtual friend? I thought so, sometimes. It was always the trap we kept falling into—the idea of that bond being something less (or something else) because of the physical distance. You told me that the uncertainty, the inability to comprehend what it truly was had been tormenting you. You wanted to say farewell to me so many times, you almost did once, almost. But you didn't. You gave me this Island instead.

That one time, you were very direct in your question. You asked if the ghosts of the past may still have a chance. I failed to give you a clear answer, and I'm sure you took that as a "no". It wasn't. It was just the same old fear, the same old doubt. I'd been treasuring our bond so much that I'd become unable to act, to put it at risk of being tested by real life. It was safer to think about you as my soulmate, someone out there whom I can remain connected with on the deepest level without the necessity to squeeze this relationship into some sort of dating or other things that scared me. What if we, indeed, were totally different people in RL? What if our RL goals would not match?

Now I understand there's no such thing as "virtual" between real people. Reality itself is a lace of interconnected threads, interaction of persons; everything else is but a background noise. Success, achievements, goals, interests...it all seemed more important back then. But every achievement will become a turned page, a dusty trophy on a shelf, and every interest will lose its motivating energy. What remains is threads dangling above the void, never really having been cut, the threads we pretend not to notice. But you're the only memory I don't want to run away from, the warmth of which I want to stay enveloped in. I would crave for my dose of this warmth, of You, through the years. You would give me a bit, and I would go on. We would meet on that Island, rarely, briefly. Until we finally—quietly—fell apart completely.

You have found your different shore.

I pretended not to notice it for a half year, and I pretended being surprised to find out. I offered you a nonchalant, joyful congratulation, that of an old brief acquaintance, not even a friend. I still can't believe you didn't see through my lie. Or maybe you did but realized it was better that way. (In truth, in a way, I knew it before you even posted about it on your page. Remember I told you about my dreams that showed me real events happening at the same time? Just like this, I saw it in a dream the night before. Only in that dream, I was in her place. You can imagine my shock the next day, and the catharsis or realizing many things at once. So, I needed that half year of silence before I could even attempt those few brief words.)

No one has been on the Island for a long time. The wind is hissing over the sand, the surf is monotone and unchanging, and the horizon is a flat, clear line. Hopelessly empty. The forgotten promise to meet here from time to time—at some point it even seemed enough. How could it seem enough? Now I can't figure it out.

"…sometimes I just want to get into the future and see what's beyond the "fog of war":) Where will I be, where will you be in a couple of decades:) But where we will be is not the main question; I'm interested in something else—what we will become."

Have that couple decades just passed?

It took me a very long time, and a lot of cruel mistakes, to finally come to understand what love is and what it isn't. So, have I found something in those stormy seas, after all? Have it all amounted to something, in the end? But the Island is deserted, and so it will remain. The world has changed. People have changed. The Island is still there.

[ribbondee]

My latest oneshot for Invader Zim is done, this time centering around an OC of mine.

Summary:

Alice is no stranger to the knowledge that her boss is a tired workaholic, and she wants more than anything for him to finally get some rest- also there's the fact that she's nuts about him. That too.

[isjasz]

nightmare fuel fr (i. dont know what possessed me to do this HASJDHAJWHEAWHEIJFKL)

[sillysmuttyputty]

New! Crackship moodboard

Tw:dark themes and power dynamics

[eighteenthofoctober]

Puppy want a fucking break