#honestly idk what this is

[tmnt-background-screenshots]

Don, honey, wtf are you doing?

[ghostsy]

Everything is Fine

WARNINGS: yandere, possessiveness, nsfw, toxic relationship, non-consensual implications, abuse, suicidal ideation, gaslighting, depression, anxiety

these may just end up in the void, but c'est la vie

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! BAKUGOU KATSUKI  X  READER

This was fine, right?

It should be fine. She did another once over in front of the mirror. The dress wasn’t that short, and she had done her makeup for what felt like the first time in forever. She thought it was pretty. She looked pretty. When was the last time she had felt pretty?

Head shaking away the negative thoughts that, lately, always came in the same voice: too deep, and too gravelly to be her own, she looked at the time. 

7:30 p.m.

She was cutting it a bit close, wasn’t she? No. She had checked the news–he’d be a while–something about a hostage situation at some bank. Or was it an office building?

It didn’t matter. She needed to get going; if she canceled on her friends this time, she was sure they’d write her off as a lost cause. She had gotten full of herself. She thought she was better than them, with her rich, hero boyfriend. She’d already started to hear the rumors float around amongst even her closest friends. She scoffed to herself. Hero.

If only they knew.

A sigh puffed itself out from her chest. She smoothed over her dress, double–triple checking her purse. An alarm set on her phone. A few hours. That’s it. A few hours in the outside world, and she’d be back before he noticed even a hair out of place. Okay. She had put this off long enough. 

She headed for the front door, heels clicking down the winding marble staircase of the too large, and too impractical home. With each step, confidence growing. That little ball of nerves in her chest buzzed in something akin to excitement. Painted fingertips brushed the door’s handle. This would be good for her. She could feel it. 

Ding!

Gonna be late. Some fucker’s holdin’ hostages at a damn mall. 

Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.

The ball of excitement exploded in ribbons, winding around and in between her ribs, and tightened. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Knees wobbled, and folded underneath her weight. Phone clutched tightly in her whitening knuckles, the glowing screen tauntingly stared back at her, mocking her.

Did he know? He couldn’t know. She’d been so careful. He’d have to have set up cameras to know, and there was no way that was true. A breath in. A breath out. 

He’s not that crazy. She thought, collecting herself. She was being paranoid. He was a hero after all–the number two hero. Just because he–No. She didn’t want to let her mind wander. It only put bad ideas in her head when her mind wandered. 

He didn’t like it when her mind wandered.

But he didn’t like it when she left without his permission, either, and two broken rules had little weight more than one in his eyes. A rule was a rule. And a broken rule is only corrected through punishment.

A flash of a memory. Screaming. Begging. An all consuming feeling of betrayal. And that shameful wisp of pleasure that left a permanent stain of disgust inside her, one that her tears could not drown out.

Stop. 

A breath, shaken and breaking, was marked by teardrops catching on her lips. When had she started crying? She wiped furiously at her cheeks, fingers staining black with ruined makeup. Was one night out worth the weight of the consequence she would face should she get caught?

It was a game of chance, really. Where on the spectrum did this transgression lie? Her inevitable fuck ups, as he liked to call them–in reality were usually no more serious than a broken dish, or cut finger, (she was no longer allowed in the kitchen–too dangerous, he had said)–earned varied responses.

Sometimes he would yell, scolding her like one would an irresponsible child–she had long swallowed the burning frustration–after all, he could do so much worse. And sometimes, she’d be left with a burning handprint singed into the plush of her backside–though at this point, it was almost a permanent brand–either sore there, or in the precious space between her legs for days after her supposed indiscretion. The latter was reserved for more serious offenses–talking back, losing her temper, anything perceived as disobedience–where he was less tolerant, less forgiving. 

Though none worse than the day he had come home to her standing in their barren room with packed suitcases. 

Where did she think she was going? 

Leaving Him? Him, who had given her everything in the world she could want, and more. 

Who did she think she was? 

This quirkless nobody. 

Didn’t she know who he was? 

What he could do? 

The explosive, deep laughter–threatening to drown her in its mania–was burned in her mind to this day. His eyes, sharp and crimson–she had loved those eyes, once upon a time–were blown out obsidian black.

She’d learned what his enemies felt on the battlefield that day. The absolute devastation those hands could wreak when determined to hurt, to break. She was amazed that she had survived the fallout–not surprised, no; he had promised her that she would never leave him, not even in death–but amazed that he had had the self control to keep that promise. He was a professional, after all. Beat, burned, and bled villains dry with ease, always careful not to kill.

She wished he had killed her. It was a bitter thought that left an unpleasant taste in her mouth, but the kindling of morbid satisfaction was almost too tempting. Almost.

Ding!

She shook her head. How long had she been sitting on this floor, swimming in her own misery? She really was pathetic, wasn’t she? A glance at her phone had her tightened, burning chest burst open, and into an aching hollow. A dozen texts lit up the screen. She scrolled to the end of the messages.

We’ve been waiting for an hour. 

They’re going to cancel our reservation. 

We’re going without you. Sorry. 

She wanted to be angry. She really did. But the pit in her chest was black and endless and numbing. This is what she deserves. Her friends had made an effort, and she’d squandered that last hope wallowing in self pity. She checked the time.

8:45 p.m.

An hour. She’d wasted over an hour crying. An hour on the cold floor. An hour trapped inside her own brain, reliving the burning hurt of memories she could not change. After all, she was just a helpless, quirkless, crybaby nobody.

Fingers carded through hair, frizzed from her own nerves, as she stood. With shaky legs, she forced herself up the stairs, and back inside the suffocating comfort of their bedroom. In her fervor to clean the room of any traces of her indiscretion, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Who was this? This bony, racoon-eyed woman with hair thin and frayed, and face gaunt, it couldn’t be her. The dress didn’t fit her, heels too high and impractical–She looked like a cheap whore–she really couldn’t be trusted to make her own clothing choices if this is what she had come up with. She needed to change; disgust with herself grew with each passing second.

Tearing off clothes in her frenzy, she stumbled into the shower. She was filthy. Her skin was scrubbed raw. It wasn’t enough. Her skin bled. The burning rain of the water sobbed with her–tears singeing and soaking her skin. Honestly, how naive she was, to think she could do anything without him. He always knew her best.

Clad in a shirt too big, too menacing to be her own–although she was always fond of that intimidating skull–she gave the room a once over. Clean. Sterile. Everything was back in place. This was safe. This was good. The hollow in her chest filled with something akin to pride. She felt like she had passed some sort of test. Proved herself. He’d be proud.

Settling under the silk of their black covers, she waited. She sat still as a doll, lingerie peeking from under his shirt, pretending to read a book–he liked when she read to him–and waited for him to come home. Anything to keep her mind from wandering any further than it already had. She had strained herself too much, hurting her brain with thoughts too complex for her to really, truly understand.

And when the tell tale sound of heavy combat boots graced the hallways, and he stumbled in tired, and greased with sweat and blood, he’d kiss her. It always burned. It was good. Sometimes he would shower. Sometimes he wouldn’t. He’d pull those lace panties he liked down her legs, and she would welcome him home. It always burned. It was good. It was fine. 

He’d collapse on top of her then, sometimes still snug inside her, sometimes not. His sandpaper hair, that spiked up at odd angles, would tickle her neck. And he’d pull her close, arms large and scarred from years of battle, hugging her tightly like a child would their favorite teddy bear. Her lungs always ached for an ounce of breath as the beast on top of her settled–protecting his beauty. It always burned. It was good. It was fine. It should be fine.

And before the heavy pull of sleep overcame them, he’d breathe her name like a prayer, and say, with absolute conviction, 

“I love you.”

It burned. 

He’d give her a squeeze meant to be comforting, but a thread of terror always wove itself through her nerves. And with a voice honey sweet, just the way he liked, she’d say it back.

“I love you.”

It burned.

It burned, but it was good. It burned, but it was fine. It burned, but it should be fine.

This was fine, right?

[tteokdoroki]

+ the one in which satoru gojo tries and fails to break your heart.

— warnings: none! just angst + gn!reader.

“you’re lonely.”

your voice is shaky, unwillingly and understandably so. it echoes the pain you’ve felt for far too long, the thick black and blanketed sadness thats hollowed your soul over time— it echoes loud and clear in the room full of memories and furniture assembled on in-door date nights and trinkets from overseas or international travels. sound should not echo in a room that was once so full of love, there should be no space to for it to carry.

the wielder of the six eyes doesn’t move and if it weren’t for you knowing him like the backs of your own hands— you wouldn’t be able to tell how he twitched with the emotion he thought he could conceal. the curve of his lips every so slightly, though his eyes stay hidden behind the gauze… that’s what gives it away. that’s how you know.

you know that he’s lonely.

“you’re lonely, gojo. so lonely, that you won’t let yourself be happy, let yourself be loved.” you surprise yourself with how sturdy your body is despite the salty tears stinging at your cheeks and the burn in your throat from holding back— but even satoru is somewhat astonished. you, his precious, holding yourself together when he knows that you truly want to fall apart like the pieces of your heart he holds in your hands.

“how do you know that?” the sorcerer replies, voice smooth and silken— dare you detect amusement that you know is just a façade.

“i know that because i know you, because i have loved you when you thought no one else could,” you step forward and it burns in your chest when the white haired man steps back. though, his denial of your embrace doesn’t stop you from continuing. “and year after year i would give you every ounce of my heart because you deserved it, satoru.” you are not a sorcerer, you have no cursed energy to read gojo— see what parts of the words you pour straight from your heart, into his own. you can read him like an open book despite the masks he wears to cover his true emotion— and hide why he truly came here to break your heart tonight.

it almost makes him feel like you’re a sorcerer.

“i don’t love you. you shouldn’t love me.” why do you make things so hard for him? why do you make it so hard for him to protect you? make satoru gojo heavy in the limbs and make his heart run a mile a minute and weakest in the knees. he’s meant to be the strongest, was never meant to fall in love let alone for someone who couldn’t stand their own against a curse. he was meant to be the strongest and the strongest don’t ever fall—

“but i do, i always have,” you step closer and satoru is too frozen in place to move— his six eyes focused on the flicker of cursed energy residing within you— how it spikes with emotion directed towards him. “you’re the strongest, satoru. you’re satoru gojo,” you say sadly, clinging onto strings of him and the little red string you believe has tied you both to one another like fate. “but oh my love, who is the strongest without someone to hold them up? who is the strongest without someone to lean on?”

you remind him too much of an old friend of his, one who loved him too much and asked him too often ‘who are you, satoru gojo?’

“i don’t know,” the white haired sorcerer whispers to himself, not realising how close you’ve gotten. gojo can see you properly now, not that he couldn’t before— but he looks at you this time, for real. he sees the painful pink that lines your waterline and the dried tears on your beautifully blemished skin and your glistening eyes that still hold so much love for him despite his trying in pushing you away from his twisted curse. “i don’t know, anymore.” he repeats with the addition of the last word, turning off the buzz of his infinity so your hands can rest softly against his cold cheeks.

you let your fingers slip under the gauze around his eyes, revealing his beautiful blue to you— the hollowness that resides amongst the sky in his eyes and how they turn cloudy when they look at you. like gojo’s afraid to lose you.

“then let me show you my love, i’ll show you how to be gojo satoru without being the strongest, only because you have to be.”

[bonitanightmxres]

not over you || r. abbott

rhett abbott x fem!reader

synopsis: years after your mutual breakup with rhett, he thinks he’s getting along fine. soon, he realizes he’s been lying to himself this whole time.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some fluff

length: 1.1k

Some nights, Rhett stayed out until the dawn, drinking his problems away, and maybe even burying them in some blonde whose name he couldn’t remember for the night. Then, he’d go out and do it again the next night.

And that’s exactly what he had planned to continue doing tonight—well, after he changed out of his battered t-shirt. Rhett’s plans changed as soon as he walked through the front door, hearing familiar laughter. Part of him believed maybe it was time to call it a night and sober up because there was no way he actually heard your laugh inside his house. Following the sound, Rhett made his way to the kitchen where his mother sat with another woman and talked and had a cup of coffee. Frozen in the doorframe of the kitchen, he saw the woman’s back, not getting a good look of her face. If Rhett was being totally honest, he was scared to. Scared of the fact that if it was you, he’d never be able to look away and let you go again; scared of the possibility that if this woman wasn’t you, then that would just mean that his broken heart had never healed.

“Rhett, guess who’s finally back.” Cecilia had finally taken a notice to her son’s presence, and eagerly waved him over.

His heartbeat grew rapidly, and he felt his palms clammy because as soon as the woman turned in her seat to face him, your eyes locked with his and Rhett froze. For the first time in his life, he was quiet. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. The words were caught in his throat like a fish in net—they tried to get loose and come out, but the more they tried, the more stuck they became.

“Hi, Rhett,” your soft voice knocked him out of his thoughts. “Care to join us?”

“I-”

“He’d love to,” Cecilia stood up from her seat, setting her mug in the sink and bringing a fresh cup to her son. “I’m gonna turn in for the night.” She gave you a quick hug before heading up the stairs, “Lovely seeing you again, sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Can I-uh,” Rhett cleared his throat. “Can I sit with you?”

You let out a soft laugh, “It’s your house, Rhett. Sit wherever you want.”

A thin smile appeared in the corners of his lips as he took a seat beside you. It was then that the bruises and scrapes on his face were visible underneath the warm light of the kitchen.

“So,” Rhett started, trying to think of something to say. “What’re you up to these days?” 

“Oh, y’know,” You shrugged, “Graduated a few weeks ago, then decided to move back home. Now, I start a new job in a couple weeks.” As you sipped your coffee, you couldn’t help but notice the dried blood on his cheek. “What about you, Rhett?” You pointed to your cheek, mirroring his injuries. “What are you up to these days?” 

He chuckled, and became silent. Partly because he didn't know what to say, and partly because he wished he had something more impressive to tell you. Here you were, fresh out of college and ready to start a new chapter in your life. And here he was, bruised and bloody from a bar fight like he was twenty-one again. 

Running a kitchen towel under the warm water of the kitchen faucet, you made your way back to the table, dabbing it at Rhett’s injuries.

“Sorry,” you said as he winced. “That looks like it hurt.”

“You should see the other guy.”

“I’m guessing the other guy is a Tillerson?” You questioned, though you knew better than to ask a question with an obvious answer.

Rhett’s eyes watched your every movement, the way your hands moved gently across his skin, and the way your eyebrows crinkled together as you concentrated. For the second time tonight, he couldn't believe he wasn't drunk--that he was sober and you stood before him, intimately close and tending to his wounds. 

His injuries were merely scratches and bruises, and didn't need any attention at all. Really, you just jumped at the first opportunity to touch him, and of course, it would be because of a drunken fight with one of the Tillersons. It reminded you of the times you’d patch him up in your younger years after a riding competition--he never really needed any patching up, but it made you feel important and he let you do it anyway. 

Tossing the towel to the side, you got up and set your mug in the sink, “I should probably get going now, it’s getting late. Thank Cecilia for the coffee for me, please?”

Rhett shot up from his seat, desperate to think of a way to make you stay. After all this time, this wasn’t how he pictured he’d see you again. In fact, the truth was he’d pictured this moment for years--how he’d run into you, what he’d say. And now you were about to leave him again, and he didn't know what to do. “I love you,” Rhett blurted out of the blue. “I-I’m not over you. I tried, y’know, to move on, but I don’t think I ever will.” 

“Don’t. I-”

“Please,” he begged, slowly inching his way toward you, and reached for your hand. “I know there’s some part of you that feels something for me still. I felt it just now.” 

Rhett’s antics caught you off-guard, releasing emotions you had buried years ago. His hand was warm and rough, and it felt like home as you remembered your time with him. Every logical part of you wanted to pull your hand away, but the truth was you missed the feeling. “ Y’know, I tried too. To move on, like how we promised each other we would. But I looked for you in every person I was with,” you stared at your intertwining hands. “I’ve always loved you Rhett. I don’t think I ever stopped.” 

You placed your hand against his cheek, gently rubbing your thumb underneath the scratch that was beginning to scab. Rhett placed his own hand over yours, pressing it into his face, as if he could feel you closer that way. “There was nobody for me after you, darlin’. It’s only ever been you.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and pulled you into a hug, afraid that if he let go, you might leave again. You stayed that way for a while, embraced in each other’s grasp like there was no tomorrow. 

Many years had passed since the last time you two had seen each other, but you were both determined to never let another one go by where you weren't at each other’s side. 

[robertdowneyjjr]

steve finally builds up the courage to ask tony out and still can’t believe that tony says yes. he vows to himself that he won’t mess this up and meticulously arranges their evening, making reservations at a high end restaurant in the city and throwing his name around for the first time in his life just so they could skip the three month waiting list.

it’s their first date, and he wants to impress tony and show him that he’s serious about the two of them.

he rings the doorbell to the tony’s penthouse holding a bouquet of fresh white roses with pink on the tips.

when tony opens the door, he takes one look at the flowers and murmurs, a kiss of desire on the lips, and steve has no idea what he’s referring to, but it doesn’t really matter when tony pulls him in by the collar and brings their lips together in their first kiss.

when they finally break for air, they’ve somehow moved from the door to tony’s couch, and steve is leaning over tony as he says, “i was going to wine and dine you first.”

tony just kisses him again, first on his lips, then his jaw, then his neck, making steve shiver.

“how about you dine on me first, then we can see about the wine after?”

see, steve had a plan. he was going to treat tony to a lovely dinner, hold his hand as they walked home together, and kiss him goodnight at his front door. he thought it would be best to take things slow, let tony know he’s in this for the long run.

but tony wouldn’t be tony if he didn’t throw a wrench in steve’s plans and come up with a better idea on the fly.

steve smiles and takes tony’s hand, leading him to his bedroom and kissing him again just outside the door.

it’s nowhere near time to say goodnight, but aside from the missed dinner reservations, they still sort of ticked all the boxes on steve’s action plan for their date.

either way, he’d say the night is already a success.

[tea-with-cinnamontoast]

(autistic ramblings. again.)

so. im having thoughts.

danny rand has spent his whole life in k’un lun, a chinese mystical city in the mountains. based on several nods and references, they seem to follow taoist teachings. well, it’s not a reference at this point.

taoism follows a philosophical belief that all living creatures ought to live in a state of harmony with the universe, and the energy found in it. this ‘energy’ is the chi (气) aka the energy that guides everything in the universe. the chi energy also represents ones soul or the very essence of one’s existence.

and i think, even if danny himself doesn’t know it, his whole life revolves in belief. not explicitly taoist belief—just belief in general.

unlike matt murdock whose core character is that he’s a catholic who feels guilty for what he actively does, danny’s approach is the ‘i have been taught this therefore i will follow because i believe it’s right, too’. on several occasions (that i am too lazy to find panels because it’s midnight), he seems to make good—albeit somewhat innocent—choices. choices that seem naïve or too righteous. he seems to believe that everything should be for the greater good,

and he feels guilty whenever he thinks for himself. which is, if you haven’t noticed, something that seriously relates to taoist beliefs. (might have to get that religious trauma checked)

on several occasion he would even ponder on what the chi truly means. sure, it’s a magical dragon’s chi that gave him power, but still.

taoism correlates with spiritual immortality, a belief where one’s soul would be one with the universe when they die. danny rand dies multiple times but he sometimes implies that this will happen. i just think that k’un lun being so closely tied with religion changed danny’s way of viewing life growing up.

the interesting thing is that danny has a belief in k’un lun too. which is ironic because before the events of immortal iron fist, that place is so severely corrupted.

on an occasion (i think it was an old danny and ghost rider crossover?), there was at ons point where danny went to a church because his view of k’un lun changed. it literally rocked his shit. it’s as if all his life just shattered into a million pieces.

and it works.

because of the multiple implications that danny is, in fact, spiritual.

because of the multiple implications that danny rand believes that everyone should live in harmony amongst the universe.

because of the knowledge that taoism is so closely tied to k’un lun and danny.

it makes me so insane because you’d think an american guy from mystical mountains with dragon powers wouldn’t have this much lore

[phtalogreenpoison]

Just remembered a completely out of pocket intrusive thought I had. So I have a really good sense of smell and taste right? Like I can pick out specific ingredients in an item. And my brain was like haha you know who else has a really strong sense of smell and taste? Hannibal. He can literally smell cancer. What if you are Hannibal? And I was so thrown off guard I just laughed really loudly as I walking along the sidewalk, probably to the confusion of others around.

[i-love-all-books]

The Lunar Chronicles — moodboard for @crazedfangirl14!

send me prompts for my 200 followers celebration!

[nojoom]

Me, bearing messages which will only make one of your ears tingle: 😔

[jinshubrainrot]

"you have to wake up"

[pixellangel]

"boop war" this and "tumblr pvp" that. are we not all bonding? have you not met people you would have never heard of? do you not look at the url of the stranger who booped you and think wow, i just met someone who thought of me, even if its just for a boop, before hitting the boop button on them as well? do you not gain joy from this? even in the heat of battle, our humanity shows itself. we glance into the eyes of an opponent who holds our gaze ever so slightly too long for someone who's supposed to be an unfeeling soldier and we think to ourselves i'll miss you, stranger before we inflict a killing blow. the boops show us we're human

[wrongfulnoodle3120]

There is a thing and it is moving running, flying, going, dying out of here out of itself, out of me. And it sings a melody woven in iridescent thread and its voice is that of the world and of a person and of the world. And its wings are of gold and of mud and its eyes are bright and unseeing. And it has no ears only a mouth and it is wide and adorned with teeth so sharp the first bite doesnt hurt. And it is everywhere and it is nowhere and it has never been and it will always be.

[bonitanightmxres]

spending a rainy day inside with your beloved eddie munson

[tibli]

I love when arthropods have a pseudopupil. It's so whimsical and cute, and they come in so many varieties!!

little kitty cat eyes!!!

bombastic side eyes!!!!

cartoon character eyes!!!!

bigass anime eyes!!!!!

BE NOT AFRAID eyes!!!!!

[shellshooked]

yeah you thought that this was the end?

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

a couple scribbles i cleaned up. also i think i like drawing him in varying states of distress