#THIS IS AN EMO PARA!!!!

[stigmvtas-archived]

it's 10pm on a monday night. tws for grief, brief suicidal ideation.

it's 10pm on a monday night - the sky's clear, the clearest it might've been all month; and all ducky sees as he stares up into the sky is a thousand stars glaring down back at him. it's 10pm on a monday night - and ducky doesn't remember the last time he's slept; everything's nothing more but haze, vision cloudier than usual - even in his bad eye. it's 10pm on a monday night - and freya's been dead for just about over 24 hours now, and ducky's calves throb a dull yet consistent beat against the cold, wet sand that the waves constantly exposed. there's snow in his hair - and snow still stuck to his lashes, and he can barely feel the permanent shiver that's begun to reside in his body; nor the waves lapping against his dull yet consistently throbbing calves - dancing over his knees, denim clinging like saranwrap. clinging like a tarp - clinging like the body bag that must've carried freya out. it's 10pm on a monday night - and the stars double over one another as warm tears melt away the snow on his lashes, cloud his already cloudy vision - salt mingling with salt; the tears grow colder the farther they slip, somewhere beyond his temple and into his rigid hair.

he doesn't really remember how he's landed here - flat on his back, probably letting frostbite settle into his bones; he'll be surprised if his pinky toes aren't already goners - he can't tell between cold - numb and regular - numb anymore. somewhere the lines got blurred - and even crying, ducky feels strangely devoid of emotion. ducky feels devoid of a lot of things; messy blonde hair, the warmth of a flannel - warmth in general, really. even her dry sarcasm and the callous nature she subjected others to when she meant to push them away - felt warm; warmer than ducky felt now, at least. he shouldn't have gotten - mad. no - he should've been mad, but he should've helped her anyways. he should've - stayed. instead of running from his fears - from vinny, he should've stayed. maybe he would've - seen her again. maybe he could've changed something. if freya was here - she'd probably make fun of him. prod his side with the toe of her shoe, hands stuffed into the pockets of a hoodie that hadn't been hers.

it's 10pm on a monday night - and ducky's high, and he's drunk, but sobering up - the small bottle in his pocket's got only a sip left, but it doesn't matter. he clambers up onto his elbows - stiff as a board, stiff as a body already cold on a slab of metal, stiff as freya - shaking hands and shaking fingers clumsily fighting their way into his coat's pocket, the bottom hem beginning to finally wet with the waves that hadn't quite reached thigh yet. the bottle's ice cold, or maybe it's ducky's hands - he can't feel much of them, either - and so is the liquor; but it's enough to warm his throat - to kick in some sort of survival instinct. he won't die tonight, even if he wants to - he's not somewhere remote, not on an island this small; there's lights dotting the beach to his left - a splattering of houses and businesses further down the boardwalk. maybe he'll lose a limb, at the very most - what's another, anyways?

it's 10pm on a monday night, and ducky's freezing - and he feels it now, the clatter in his teeth, as he forces himself up and towards the lights. part of him wants to fling himself back in the ocean, to wade farther and farther until his head's only a bauble above the surface, until his eyes match the double - vision stars that mirror against the ocean the further he looks - as the waves calm and steady, and become nothing but teasing laps at his nose and ears. ducky presses on - towards the houses, and the businesses, and the people he doesn't know are searching for him; his calves begin to throb again - how many miles had he run? how long - until he wound up at the beach? it doesn't matter, maybe. he doesn't know what does, anymore - at least tonight. maybe tomorrow he'll have - better sense. maybe tomorrow - it'll have all been a bad dream, and ducky will wake up against a lumpy mattress, and beside a warm body; and there'll still be crushed grapes that they hadn't brushed out of the bed, yet - because they would've had time to clean it up. there would've been time.

he doesn't remember when his feet hit sidewalk, and not sand - because nothing feels solid beneath his feet, anymore - and he's made it this far, but maybe it's not far enough - and he can feel the rest of his energy burning up; at least something's warm, if only the acknowledgment that he's run out of fuel. that there's nothing else to give - that he's barebones. it's 10pm on a monday night, and ducky finds his phone - and it takes a good minute to turn it on, because he has to physically press his hand against the fingers trying to press into the damn button, because his fingers barely work anymore - because it's cold, because ducky's damn cold. his damn - cold fingers swipe hastily - as hastily as they can move, at least - and he doesn't have to scroll to find the contact he wants - the contact he needs, before pressing call - before bringing the phone to his ear. he can feel how his knees buckle beneath him - but not their contact with the concrete, one palm firm against the cold - lungs trying their best not to heave, and he wants to just - lay there, again. in the snow, again - but he stays on his knees, back hunched forward, curling up into himself as if it'll bring the warmth back - though he knows nothing will. and he sits - and he waits, with all the patience in the world - as the phone rings on.

[theryoo]

⠀⠀⠀⠀𓏴⠀⠀ 𓌔𓌔⠀⠀messy dark bios

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ◞◟⠀† ͜ ◞◟⠀𝟷͟𝟷 / 𝟷͟𝟷⠀◞◟ ͜ †⠀◞◟

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♱𝔬𝔯𝔫⠀⠀◞◟𝜗℘◞◟⠀⠀𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯♱

ㅤㅤ⎛⎝( ` ᢍ ´ )⎠⎞ㅤㅤ𝕽𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑺ㅤㅤ𓏵ྀིㅤ ۪ㅤㅤಎ

ㅤㅤ◟ ◞◟ ◞ ㅤㅤ૮꒰ ྀི ´ ˘ ` ྀི꒱აㅤㅤbundles of

ㅤㅤ  ྀི◟ ͜  ◞ ྀི  ♱   ྀི◟ ͜  ◞ ྀིㅤ⠀⠀⠀⠀𝚛𝚘𝚝

ㅤ ㅤ۫།†︶　　˖　ㅤ૮𐔌ྀི ´ ཀ ྀི 𐦯ྀིა⠀　◞ ͝ ྀི ︵‿ℐ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓊆ྀི⠀⠀࿙。⠀𝔴ritten⠀⠀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 letters⠀ㅤ࿚。𐙚ྀིྀ

[chanyouchan]

⌕ um amante com um $ é um perdedor, txtmagicisland

⚠ em caso de inspiração, me credite.

📆 11/09/24 | ✎ @mnini (psd)

[zimmer-zupastar]

she said she wanna fuck

I said "IM SCARED!!!"

[ryan-waddell11]

if Paramore disbands, I will have the biggest mental breakdown anyone has ever seen.

[nikodimopoulos]

changes; self para

featuring: yiannis & helen dimopoulos mentions: @heyymikki

Even after watching the leaked security footage over, and over again, Niko couldn't quite believe what it was he was witnessing -- and for a person who put a lot of stock in the phrase seeing is believing, that was unusual.

Either way, Alejandra was dead. That much was for sure.

Everything felt like it was on fire; members of the lower ranks were going off the grid, skipping town entirely for fear of being next in line, higher-level personnel were high tailing it to Vegas, choosing to skip town and out of what was now seen as completely uneven territory between the cartel and the competition that had taken Alejandra out. After all, what protection could they possibly have in Tonopah when not even their most protected sovereign was safe?

Worst of all -- it was all because of two men he'd once trusted. Perhaps even with his life.

Word had spread like wildfire, so it wasn't a surprise when his parents had summoned him to their home, even urging him to close the restaurant down early to do so -- yet instead of getting right to the point once he arrived, they dawdled, sitting him down at the table with a coffee and making small talk. It was unusual.

Finally, after half an hour of runaround, Niko asked in his native tongue, "Can we cut the shit?"

This prompted a stern look from Yiannis from across the table. "Remember who you're speaking to, Nikolaos." The older man warned, prompting a heavy sigh to fall from Helen's lips only moments later.

"Stop it, both of you." His mother sat, topping off her husband's mug before taking a seat beside him, the both of them facing their son. "Nikolaos,we have something important to discuss with you."

Yiannis interjected, "and you need to keep your emotions in check for what we have to say. Behave yourself."

Niko's knuckles practically turned white as he tightened his grip on his coffee mug. "What is it?" He pushed, choosing to ignore the slight. Obviously it must have been big, not only because the Tonopah chapter of LS was dismantling, but also because Yiannis seemed to be deflecting his own emotions onto his son. That was how these things typically went, anyways.

The two of them shared a knowing look, and Helen nodded at her husband to go on. "Los Santos is done here. Which means a couple of things," he began, keeping his son's steady gaze. "One; there's no more of the cartel's money flowing through the restaurant. None. Which mean's Dionysos will be operating at a distinctive loss in the coming weeks, going on indefinitely. Two; if we wanted to continue operating, our best bet would be to contact the Vegas chapter, meet with their leadership, set up a deal --"

Helen interrupted, "but it's not a given that they'll bring our business in." She shook her head. "Las Vegas is a big city. Why would they bet on a small, local family operation when they're in the casino's pockets? The theatres? It would be a losing game for them to bet on us."

A pause lingered between them, and Niko could feel his stomach starting to churn. "What are you trying to say?" he asked, jaw clenched so tightly it was making the vein in his forehead start to pop. It was a ridiculous question, really -- Niko knew exactly what they were going to say.

"My son," Yiannis leaned forward, a hand resting on Niko's shoulder, "we're returning home. To Patras." He shook his head, gaze softening slightly. "There's nothing for us here anymore. It's time to go."

Niko stayed stoic, unblinking as the metaphorical bomb was dropped on top of him. Any words of protest sat thick in his throat -- that's not true, we can figure it out, we can make it work -- and instead he offered a simple nod.

Yiannis gave a wide smile, glancing back at his wife with a hearty laugh before giving Niko's shoulder a squeeze. "That's my boy, we knew you'd be on board." The man bellowed, as usual taking his son's silence whichever way benefited him most. They both did, really -- that was why saying anything at all was, at times, worse than just keeping his mouth shut.

"We always talked about going back. We didn't know it'd be this soon, under these circumstances, but..." Helen trailed off, offering a dismissive wave of her hand, "it's better this way. We can retire early. And you, my love, can set up shop back in Patras, maybe invest in another opportunity. Whatever you want to do, you'll have our full support --"

Niko's brows narrowed, a hand raised, "Mom, I --" he scoffed incredulously, unable to help himself. "Why would I go back?"

Helen's expression deflated, mimicking her son's -- for a moment, it was easy to see the resemblance. "Why wouldn't you?" She asked.

"Because I've been here for thirty years," Niko shook his head. "I have a life here, I have --" Mikayla's face flashed quickly in his mind, the thought of leaving her behind after all the promises he had given her, the commitment he had made not sitting well with him. Of course, he wasn't ready to open that can of worms with his parents, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't at the forefront of his mind in that moment. "-- that's not possible for me right now."

A moment of silence passed between the three of them. "But Patras is your home, Nikolaos," remarked Yiannis. "You would abandon it?"

"I'm not abandoning it. Christ, baba, do you hear yourself?" Yiannis tensed, opening his mouth to say something else before Niko sighed, placing his hand back down on the table. "I'm sorry, I don't mean any disrespect but you're the ones who brought me here in the first place -- you even pushed me into becoming an American citizen."

The logic seemed to assuage Yiannis, thankfully, his expression softening. "So, what?" Helen spoke up next, her eyes becoming glassy with tears. "We're supposed to leave without our son?"

Immediately a sense of guilt washed over Niko, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. This wasn't what he wanted -- wasn't what any of them wanted -- but he truly didn't see another alternative. There were a lot of choices he'd relented to over the years, a lot he'd sacrificed to become a man -- his mental health, his agency, his morals -- but leave behind the last thirty years? That's not something he was willing to do anymore, not when he finally seemed to have a chance at happiness. At something.

Swallowing thickly, Niko forced himself to tear away his gaze from his parents, looking down at the cold, untouched coffee inside of the mug.

Everything was about to change.

"Yeah." Niko answered softly, sliding the mug further away. "Yeah, mom. I suppose you are."

[eclvpses]

one bright morning goes so easy darkness always finds you either way it creeps into the corners as the moment fades a voice your body jumps to calling out your name but after this i'm never gonna be the same and i am never going back again

depictions of grief, overdosing, blood, and seizures below!

Once upon a time, New Year’s Eve had been Leo’s favourite holiday. Over the years he’d done the traditions - thought of resolutions and never not once followed through with them. If he really wanted to change something, he’d just do it. He’d had the sloppy midnight kisses, mostly with strangers. And when blacked out, so he never actually remembered them. None of them had ever really mattered, anyway.

He’d been mindlessly brushing his fingers through the tendrils of Philomena’s hair when he’d come to again. Going over how the night had played out over and over again in his head - it was supposed to be a good day. Leo had dressed up. More than dressed up, he’d tried and gone above and beyond because it was supposed to be a good day that led to a good night. He’d had his midnight kiss, held them by the waist to his side now, but he still felt carved out and worn. It was supposed to be his favourite holiday, and he’d ruined it royally. Leo was volatile when he was worked up, he knew that, but he didn’t know why he always took it out on the people he loved the most. You weren’t supposed to bite the hand that feeds you, but Leo had made a habit of turning his loved one’s limbs into a four-course meal with how quickly he could lash out.

“Gonna hit the bathroom.” With the hand still entwined through Philly’s locks, Leo bunched the strands and gave a light pull so that they’d tilt their chin back, allow him access for a quick kiss. They didn’t need an excuse to kiss Philly, but did it at every opportunity anyway. “If I’m not back in five minutes call the cops,” It was a poor excuse for a joke, given everything going on, but between the chaos of the last few months and Philomena’s own desire to cheer Leo up once they’d explained how they’d all but attacked Spencer and Junior, it felt weirdly appropriate.

There was a piece of Leo’s soul that’d been ripped into like a rabid dog and chewed to pieces when they lost Finn. Missed him so desperately that sometimes they couldn’t breathe. And it was easy to ignore amongst the other pains - stronger than anything else, but it meant more focus on the issue, made it easier to soothe over. It was like rubbing neosporin onto a third degree burn that fused a hole all the way through his chest cavity, but Leo had gotten good at sweeping it under the rug. He didn’t mind burying it, even if the smell of his ignited flesh choked everyone in their path. It was when the missing became evident that it became an issue. Leo had to face the fact that Finn was - dead and gone, and Spencer should move on with his life. Leo had said it once to him, that he still wanted nothing for the best for Spence and that they’d be by his side all the while. And then it’d gotten too much and Spencer had up and left and Leo - stayed and burned alive.

“Excuse me, sir.”

When the hell had Leo made it to the bathroom? And how long had he been standing there, stunned, instead of going inside? Blinking past the fog in his brain, Leo turned to glance at a server holding a singular flute of - whatever it was, it wasn’t champagne. The colour was too dark, but they still smiled at him expectantly, like he’d ordered whatever they were holding.

“I didn’t get a drink or anything. Must be some other handsome devil running around you confused me for.”

“It was ordered for you! Compliments from -.”

“Yeah, okay.” Leo didn’t need to hear more. The room had been spinning not long ago - drowning their sorrows in shots and one pill too many, and this had meant to be their break. He could see somewhat straight again, one more drink couldn’t hurt. Downing half in one, hasty gulp, Leo raised it in a cheers before finally making his way into the bathroom.

Staring at his reflection is like staring at a ghost. He’s sallow and clammy - it’s not a becoming look. A combination of the drugs and being so shaken up over the night. And his head, a relentless pounding behind his eyes that’d started a while back and only worsened as the night went on. With a trembling hold, Leo pressed his thumb and middle finger over the sockets while finally finishing off the offered drink. He’s parched, suddenly, and hot. So fucking hot - his skin really is starting to melt off of him. It feels like they’re on the brink of a panic attack and Leo’s not sure how to deal with that then. It’d been years since they’d had one, and Leo really can’t imagine dealing wi

-dying. I’m dying.

This had happened before. Multiple times, in various stages, but only once this bad. It was the only way he could figure out how he went from Point A to Point B - in front of the washroom mirror to staring at the ceiling. So he’d fallen, obviously. Collapsed, more like. And his head still hurt, but in a different way now. Still behind his eyes, feeling like they were about to pop out of his skull with how badly his brain throbbed - probably was swelling, that happened didn’t it? When someone was drugged, overdosed? His mum had joked he had brain damage from the last time, that he could use it as an excuse now when people realised he was all beauty and no brains. If only she could see him now. He must’ve hit his head on the way down. Leo couldn’t see out of his right eye, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of how hard his skull had cracked against the granite countertop or if it was just from the blood streaming down his face.

Assess the damage.

They heard Finn’s voice in their head. He’d talked Leo through a particularly bad night once, when they weren’t sure if the hospital was necessary or not. “Okay, lay it out for me Leo. Assess the damage. How bad we talking?”

Start from top to bottom. He already knew his head was bad, and it was causing his eyes to be bad. His mouth - was full of bile and foam, and it had no place to go except out of his nose. His jaw had locked, so there went calling for help. Everything else felt - hot and numb. There was no moving even i

Get it together!

They were seizing. Had been, were? Leo didn’t know up from down anymore - airway effectively closing now. The acidity of their own stomach acid burned their throat something fierce, but with his throat refusing to cooperate, it couldn’t even dribble out of his nose now. Foam still tried to bubble up and out between clenched teeth, but merely sat stagnant, rotten in his mouth. His body heaved, gagged around it, no exit causing him to regurgitate over and over. He was crying, probably - it felt like elastic bands were snapping over his eyeballs, blood vessels bursting with the strain. They remembered that well last time, had nearly gone blind from it and weren’t convinced his sight ever fully returned.

If it weren’t for the pain, Leo wouldn’t be surprised if they were crying just because they were scared. They weren’t really a crier ever, especially when faced with fear - anger was their go-to, but this was it. There was a murderer running rampant, and he’d been stupid enough to take an unsolicited drink from someone just because of a petty fight he wanted to forget about that he had no business starting in the first place.

Philly would find him. The thought ripped something out of him - a garbled whine that was meant to be a cry for help, so that someone, literally anyone would find him instead. He didn’t even care about living or dying, about when he’d be found, it just couldn’t be Philomena who wandered into the bathroom expecting to find him with a smarmy grin, waiting for them all the while. But they didn’t move, and their voice was useless. They’d never felt so useless in their life.

He wanted his brother. Any of them - Leo would even settle for Mikhael at that point. Finn wasn’t there to comfort him through this, Sawyer was sober and why shouldn’t she be? She’d seen Leo like this once before and it’d nearly killed both of them. Philomena couldn’t see this, premeditated grief wracked through Leo like a tidal wave at the thought. Leo wanted Junior. He was smart in these situations, he never panicked, he’d know what to do. Or maybe it’d be nice - just being held while he went. 

Stop. This isn’t how it’s meant to end. Get up.

Finn’s voice was soothing, at least. He was right - this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. New Year’s was Leo’s favourite holiday, and he’d had a plan. But if he had to go, he was comforted just a little to know his cousin waited for him. That had to be what this was, his own version of holding Leo back at the shoulders, pushing him away from the metaphorical warm, white light that threatened to consume him.

He would’ve said something different to Philly if he knew that’d been his grand send off. The last time he saw them. The last time. He hadn’t even had the chance to kiss his favourite freckle just beside their temple. Leo was no poet, far from a genius, but he’d much rather spend his last moments stroking alongside that freckle - but Philomena had said they’d find each other in every lifetime, in every universe. He’d just have to remember to tell them how much he loved that freckle in the next one.

Voices - there were people, just outside the washroom door. Chatting casually, verbose and loud. They sounded like they were a jackass in a business suit, sniveling down at the wait staff for the amount of time it took to get a refill on his champagne, but Leo could kiss him. He just might, if he would just open the fucking door.

Please. This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go, I’m not ready. Open the door. Jesus Christ open the fucking door - just open the door, open the door. Open the door! Open th

[dulcie-hernandez]

Am I Making You Proud? || Self-Para

The peak of Dulcie's intoxication had seemed to pass and as she started to settle down, she found herself in great need of some fresh air, especially as more and more couples started to make out around her. She told Odessa she'd be right back and slipped out the back door of the club, grateful as the cool air hit her. Even more grateful when she found the back alley empty. The muffled sound of the music was comforting as she found a crate to sit on and slip off her heels for a moment. It was definitely one of the better pride events she had been to lately and though her month was sure to be full of them, she couldn't say she was exactly ecstatic about all of them. Most of the time they often made her think too much about her loneliness, about the lingering eagerness that came along with wanting to be in a relationship.

As she thought about it, her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her dress pocket, smiling to herself as she saw her sister's name and a text asking how her night was going. She wondered if her sister could feel it in the universe that she was having this melancholy moment with herself. She hesitated in texting her back, instead scrolling through her recent texts, smiling as she clicked on her family's group chat. A couple of days earlier her father had sent a rainbow emoji with a 'Happy Pride' message followed by a rainbow gif from her mother. Her sister had called them corny but had sent her own message, accompanied by the tik tok clip of someone saying 'be who you are for your pride.." it made her laugh all over again and before she could stop herself, she found tears coming to eyes.

There had been a time where she could have never fathomed this happening. Where the idea of admitting even to herself that she was gay felt like the most terrifying thing in the world. If her younger self could see her now...the thought brought on more tears and she set her phone in her lap as she brought her hands to her face. She knew she was drunk but she also knew that these were feelings she rarely let herself dwell on because most of the time it hurt. It hurt to think about all the time she spent keeping quiet, watching from the sidelines and she supposed in some ways she still felt the same.

But things weren't the same. She wasn't that same scared teenager, longing for her best friends affection or attention. She wasn't hiding in that closet, so sure that God would hate her, that she'd be the biggest disappointment to her parents. She had fallen in love, gotten her heartbroken, in fact tonight she had already run into two of her exes. One who she was still on great terms with and whose partner she loved and another who she had avoided. A full lesbian experience depending on who you asked. She had made out with women she had never seen again, danced and laughed and learned so much about herself. Her confidence had grown tremendously and though her pickup lines were somewhat cheesy and she hadn't been in a relationship in over two years, when she really thought about it - she was happy. Not only that, she was comfortable in her skin. And when she looked at herself in the mirror, she genuinely loved the person looking back at her.

In the past couple of years, she had found her relationship with God again. She had seen how much it grounded her and understood now that whatever spirit was flying around in the sky loved her exactly as she was. Her family loved her. Her friends loved her. Dulcie was loved. Deeply and infinitely. In a way her teenage self could have never imagined or dared to dream of. She was so far from that Dulcie. The one who used to pull uncomfortably at her uniform skirt while pretending not to look at other girls in theirs. The girl who kept her head in the books and did everything she could to not disturb the trust of her parents and teachers. The girl who lived in fear every single day.

The tears were flowing freely now and she had to laugh at herself as she started to wipe at her face. Maybe she hadn't given herself enough credit for how much she had grown and learn. She knew she didn't. She had been too focused on being hard on herself. But tonight, sitting in the Kat's back alley, she could admit that she was so proud of who she had become. And though her teenage self would likely be a judgmental little bitch about it, she still felt confident that even that version of herself would be proud.

"Get it together," she mumbled to herself, laughing as she slid her heels back on, texted her sister that she was having a great time and got back to her feet. Inspired by the feeling that she hadn't come this far just to sit on the sidelines again, she took a deep breath and opened the door and went back inside, in search of her friends and all of the love (and alcohol) she deserved.

[jesskasb]

literal estoy en el gym escuchando el triste una y otra vez . es asi como se sienten esos tipos que se vuelven gym rats despues de que rompen con sus noviecitas??

[alaxaxdd3000]

¿¿Solo fue una simple etapa okay?? JAJAJA literalmente si pase por esa esta la en la vida real me alegra haberla superada XD

Was it just a simple stage okay?? HAHAHA literally if you went through that stage in real life and you are glad to have overcome it XD

[balladetto]

@hyaciiintho ( Link )

     He hadn't wanted to circle back to this particular inn, but there was little choice with the air so humid — ripe with the promise of approaching rain. As he feared, they'd come at a bad time. "Tourist season," the innkeeper had explained ( then complained ) when he last saw her. Tonight, she just wryly smiles. "Lucky last room. Only one bed though."

     He takes the key, of course. A bedroll on polished floorboards will always be better than a bedroll on cold, wet dirt.

     The room is a decent size. Or it would be, usually, except it feels a lot smaller when there are two travellers staring at the same bed. When there's Link and...bigger Link. In the same space. Sharing the same time.

     He really can't wrap his head around it.

     He looks up at that older face. Not for the first or most likely last time since— this, he thinks he remembers being that sort of big. Remembers being in that sort of body.

     ( In truth, it's not something he can ever forget. Something he can put away, maybe; like trinkets in a drawer, or some book on a high shelf, or pieces of something shattered buried deep where no one can find them. Here, in the face of those eyes — the near exact shade of blue he catches in his reflection — it's like damning bloodstains on fresh, pale fabric. )

     He flexes the fingers of his left hand, curling them in one by one and pressing the tip of each nail into the meat of his palm. With his other, he motions towards the bed. "You— for you."

[maddyphobia]

i'm scared to get 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢, and i hate being 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢.

i long for that feeling to not feel at all...

madson 'maddy' mcadams está no acampamento há onze anos e habita o chalé de fobos, deus do medo. empunhando seu florete de lâmina negra, ela é conhecida por ser leal e pessimista, além de ser amaldiçoada por dionísio, o que a faz ver a morte de amigos e entes queridos diante de seus olhos, como premonições vindo diretamente de sua mente perturbada. ela é capaz de identificar os maiores medos das pessoas ao seu redor e, com isso, realizar um mimetismo do medo, adquirindo características físicas inspiradas nas fobias alheias.

𝔄𝑹𝑴𝑨.

a sanguinária, presente do próprio fobos, é um florete de lâmina negra, capaz de causar temor apenas com a aparência em que foi forjada. o cabo bizarro e retorcido emite uma luz rubra quando empunhado por maddy, ajudando a intensificar sua aura amedrontadora.

𝕳𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑫𝑨𝑫𝑬.

BICHO PAPÃO: por ser filha do deus do medo, madson tem a habilidade inata de identificar os maiores medos das pessoas e, com isso, ela é capaz de adquirir características que representem essa fobia. é o que ela chama de 'mimetismo do medo' ou metamorfose, maddy consegue focar em um medo por vez, e não consegue se transformar aleatoriamente, ela precisa primeiro identificar alguém que tema a forma que ela deseja. seus olhos ficam escuros como uma noite sem estrelas, e seu processo de transformação é, em muitos casos, visível e pavoroso.

inspirações: bicho papão (harry potter), pennywise (it: a coisa);

𝕸𝑨𝑳𝑫𝑰ÇÃ𝑶

MADPHOBIA: como resultado de uma brincadeira doentia de um deus entediado, madson atraiu os olhos de dionísio ao se isolar após sair do acampamento meio-sangue. para honrar seu título de deus da loucura, ele a amaldiçoou fazendo a garota provar de seu próprio veneno. toda a vez que madson cria laços positivos com alguém, ela é atormentada por premonições de morte, frutos de sua própria loucura e mente perturbada, assim repetidas vezes visualizando como seus amigos poderiam morrer diante de seus olhos.

𝕭𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫

não pode-se dizer que madson sempre foi uma garota normal, mesmo muito nova seus olhos não emitiam o brilho juvenil e esperançoso de uma criança, muito pelo contrário, era como se uma escuridão sempre estivesse espreitando sua mente. desde vultos à criaturas que teriam se formado em seus piores pesadelos, a jovem se desenvolveu em meio a uma loucura, envolvida em alucinações tenebrosas e obscuras. foi somente com 14 anos que maddy recebeu explicações, pela primeira vez uma das criaturas a atacou, logo após sendo desfeita em pó dourado pelo sabre de um sátiro.

levada para o acampamento meio-sangue, madson descobriu toda a verdade a respeito de sua origem, gerando assim dentro de si um misto de sentimentos a respeito do que achava que era sua vida. as responsabilidades passadas a ela em uma idade tão jovem fizeram com que ela se tornasse uma pessoa distante e evasiva, incapaz de criar verdadeiros laços devido ao seu maior medo: perder quem ama.

[chanyouchan]

⌕ all teenagers scare the livin' sheesh out of me, newj-jpg

⚠ em caso de inspiração, me credite.

📆 03/03/23 | ✎ @mnini (psd)

[zimmer-zupastar]

Me when some girl at end of the year ceremony vomited everywhere

(it smelled so bad)

[p-n-gx]

my favorite brother lovers, one day ill write their lore 🩷 but probably not today

[ichigoohinatsuma]