#i have no self control anymore

[chaoslulled]

@killedarlings : ❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜ ( to Levi, from Zeke! )

A frustrated groan leaves his lips; body is sprawled out across the sheets, a soft sheen of sweat still clinging to it. Personally, he'd rather just kill Zeke again in this lifetime, because it seems like the better alternative than actually laying here and listening him monologue to himself. And smelling the cigarette smoke that he has the audacity to blow up into the air, jaw tilted upright, and something about the cut of it against his beard makes Levi forget why he hates when he smokes afterward. It's an ordeal that he can't wrap his mind around –– it gets muddy around Zeke a lot these days.

Sometimes it's hard to discern reality from his old reality. The past lives blend together until his head hurts and there's an ache in his chest, a familiar pull of mine mine mine echoing in the back of his skull like a drum beat that he can't stop. Some of it is a familiar tug to protect, to ensure that nothing befalls the asshole who likes to throw himself into the thick of things and start shit for the fun of it.

It's old habits that won't die hard. Hange told him as much when he brought it up to them, but it doesn't matter. It leaves him feeling cold and exposed, a raw nerve. In a past life it was easier to ignore. Here, it's harder to think when he's around him.

Zeke and him have gone back and forth about the merits of the Ackerman bloodline and serving, but it's never conclusive. There's no real evidence of it, but the way he acts, the way his teeth felt like they were vibrating whenever he hurt him, tells him otherwise. That's not a symptom of a crush or liking someone. That's a symptom of something bred into his genes, something that whispers serve your liege, and he hates it.

Hates it because it was always supposed to be Erwin. And maybe it was. Maybe it changed after he died. Maybe his blood sung out to the nearest thing –– and that had been Zeke's royal ass when they had begun to meet up for the sake of taking down Marley.

He tries to push it away for now. Thinking about it all brings on its own form of headache that he doesn't want to deal with. Instead, his hand reaches out and smacks against Zeke's chest, startling a puff of smoke out from his lungs. Serves him right.

"You're unbelievable. I didn't hear you complaining an hour ago." There's a quiet huff on his own lips, arms crossing against his chest in defiance. Who cares if he thinks about him a little too much? Isn't that what this whole second chance bullshit is supposed to be about? That uncomfortable feeling rises in his chest again, the one that feels like he's suffocating under the weight of two realities, similar conversations bleeding together until they're one. He swallows hard and tries to push it away.

He pushes off from where he had been lounging, wrestling Zeke onto his stomach amid the shouts of hey! and the hand with the cigarette desperately trying to find a spot in the air where it won't accidentally scorch anything. He had done it once on Levi's pillow and Levi has still not let it go. Lithe hand reaches up and snags it, setting it in the ash tray, and then pins his hands down near his head.

Nape on display. How many times would he take this shot in his past life? How many times would he have driven blades through it happily in order to kill Zeke? In order to protect their precious world from his stupid ass?

Tongue runs over teeth, and then he's leaning down, biting down hard into his skin until he tastes blood on his tongue. It'll be hard for Zeke to hide this mark –– it's why he does it. A proof that he's here, that he's his. There's squirming underneath him until he bites down a little harder, hears the sharp hiss, and then pulls back to admire his handiwork.

Dark purple marks have already risen to the surface in the shape of his teeth. He thinks that he looks much better like this –– wearing his teeth marks instead of the sharp cuts of his blade.

[blueskittlesart]

the master works discourse on twitter is killing me. none of these bitches understood the game or its characters AT ALL

[black-leather-sketchbook]

From brain dump sketches

[akidachi]

Heya Doc

[dykedvonte]

Danse and Hancock work only after blind betrayal because it’s the equivalent of the one closeted person you kinda pity getting kicked out after being outted and you and your like 7 other faggot friends take them in and help them do a 180 on their outlook on life and personal style and get them to weed (possibly grape mentats in this case).

[junipernight]

Does this look like the face of a master spy to you?

(she is faking the smile of someone who is bad at faking smiles)

[faaun]

i feel rly sad and conflicted abt one of my best friends on earth but idk who to ask for advice bc i usually would have consulted her in this situation lmao

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Somewhere Only We Know

Summary: Plo Koon has an old book called ‘The Galactic Family; A Collection of Beautiful Faces’ that features numerous species blessed with physicalities. Reader/OC is born of the planet called Celestia which is inhabited by ethereal sight for sore-eyes. While they feature and exalt you as an upper echelon of beauty and grace, you vehemently plot against the author who Plo had once confided in you as someone who seems to have captivated his heart — a bully who had taunted him and riled others to make fun of Kel Dors and Plo as a youngling. You kept your friendship with Plo and though your heart bleeds for him, as it beats only for him, you decide to yet again express your desire to act in spite and avenge your most favorite Kel Dor in the galaxy. Only to be reminded of something else.

Pairing: Plo Koon / OC/Reader (idk how this works — sorry!)

Word Count: 3.6k

Rating: (no smut) Maybe sad-turned-happy vibes? Idk

Notes: - Peaching (headcanon) is a form of encouraged relations by the people and law of Celestia that allows you to be in a consensual 'exchange' with no attachment. Essentially, a gatepass to fuck, be intimate with, be flirty with, be touchy with, or be with someone bound or unbound given that all parties are in agreement and consents. (will get detailed on this if I ever decide to dish out wips from ancient time) - Chrysanthemums are my most favorite flower ♥ A yellow chrysanthemum blossom signifies neglected love or sorrow. A white chrysanthemum is a symbol of loyalty and devoted love. - OC/Reader is a bounty hunter with natborn silver irises and is an unhinged bitch who is overprotective of Plo Koon and will fight everyone for him. (It's me, really. I'm just wildin') - OC/Reader Reference Image https://www.instagram.com/p/CfJ891cJVpG/

Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: You/OC/Reader Blue: Memory Purple: Me, because I have no self-control to self-insert myself whenever Plo and Kel Dors are mentioned. I'm sorry >:

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

“Just say the word, P. It’s on the house.”

You didn’t really need his permission let alone reveal any involvement should you decide to act on ‘it’. You’ve had her as a client before and the transaction wasn’t as pretty as her face — it was vile, filthy, and a cheapshot at an innocent target who happens to share attention from a prospective boyfriend. Yes, a prospective boyfriend who clearly has no intention of breaking off an engagement with the poor, unfortunate soul, you have removed from a certain narrative.

A sickening chronicle in ‘her’ life as if her claim takes precedence over anything factual. Hadn’t you been in such a rut with bounties, you would’ve never taken the job. But you did and it kept food on the table, a nice roof on your head for a short while, and got a beaut of a decent ship to cruise around in. 

It’s never honest work, the killing part; but it's honest enough to be on paper and get you lined up with a few more bounties to get by. A couple of tracking fobs in turn of a good night’s sleep, a proper soak, and a treat to buy essentials and non-essentials. Essentials being food, fuel, repair and maintenance, pieces to fortify the little armor you have on because clearly, you need to flaunt to flex — that, and the fact that Celestians are vain by nature. Considering you age similar to Kel Dors, if you ain’t keeping that pretty face and body on point, you might as well off yourself for being a disgraced child of Celestia.

As for non-essentials that border the essentials category, an assortment of powdered fruit tea from your recent trip to Dorin. 

Plo would chuckle, always that — never to confirm, never to deny, always enigmatic over the idea of vengeance. Though it may be an obvious answer with him being a Master Jedi and a Baran Do Sage, valuing life and shit, you couldn’t help but wonder if it’s because he truly still admires her and the memory of feeling ‘it’ for the first time is so strong that it has indeed withstood the test of time. It was either that or he’s in one of those moods where he’s psycho-bullshitting you to reflect and turn to the light — what an absolute devout to the force Plo Koon is, aka force-dweeb ; i.e whore only to the force.

Awestruck if that was the case but also a very disheartening concept. Then again, who were you talk? Wasn’t it your own volition to always tag along and linger in sparring fields and dojos while father met with the Jedis, handing vital information privy only to the Republic? Wasn’t it in your own accord to walk up to this rust-toned sentient because you had that undying need to pull on his mask and kiss him? Maybe not kiss him yet at time, but you’re quite the unhinged individual who would happily die to quelch the inquisitions in your head and kissing was a Celestian tradition to mark. All’s fair, right?

You just wanted to touch him, his face — eyes that had those black ‘thingies’ that made you wonder what color his irises were while the burgeoning need to unmask the lower chamber of his face grew with each passing second; more so when he started to speak.

Not much has actually changed apart from him — now a towering old man with more grace, reverence, importance, patience, strength, and other things that you’d like to unravel. Dirty as that sounds, who can blame you? 

Have you seen the build on his chest and shoulders? Have you not heard the thunderous rumble of his godly voice that makes you want to drop on your knees and worship that impeccable form of his? — That makes you want to shamelessly surrender to the domineering, magnetic, regal of an enchantment that has imprisoned your heart, mind, and soul to be his devout little bitch? 

Have you not, even for a second, want to burn through the fiery embers of his soul and lose yourself into the intoxicating dream of sifting through the intricacies of his intelligence and wisdom? To drown in answers and queries that would have you begging like a desperate whore to tell you more? More of that three-hundred year-old archive of knowledge that just swims in his head so invitingly like the cold lakes of home on a hot summer day? Have you not, even for a second, thirsted to the enigma that is Plo Koon and his privacy? Have you not sinfully starved for someone’s coc—-

“Tea?”

He could read your mind and throw you out; dismiss or reprimand you for being such an obvious simp for him, but he doesn’t — doesn’t always at least. Doesn’t invade your thoughts unless it’s one of those days when you were so rattled from a hunt that you didn’t even know how you ended up at his place; why you, a clean-freak, has yet to wash the blood over skin so smooth you whine over the tiniest of scratches and smudge.

“I can sense the evident thirst “be” at peak today, dearest.”

Did I mention that though he does not invade your thoughts without necessity, he’s also a little shit Kel Dor prick? That he’s the humblest of all humbles but has a side to him that makes you want to strangle him in his sleep and ride his brains back to when he’s an itty, bitty, egg and make omelet for breakfast? 

“Yes, babylove. The thirst ‘be’ insanely high today. I mean, did I ever tell you how kriffin’ hot you look in those Jedi robes? I mean the browns and the beige just screams BDE!!! I could just.. Unf.”

You bit your lip to taunt, whether it was to set the familiar banter at play from a mere satirical retort or a guise because ‘he really do be looking fine in them robes’, it’ll be one of the many unspoken understanding and mystery that the two of you seem to dodge.

“BDE? I’m not certain I’ve heard of that before.”

“Big Dorin Energy.” Came your reply — one as abrupt as you had brought the cup to drink so painstakingly slow in hopes of boring him enough to move on.

“Mm.”

“What?” 

Did I also tell you how oppressive Plo Koon’s silent treatment can be? No, well okay. It is.

“Whaaaat?”

“...”

Not a crease on his brow area, neither a shift from his demeanor came about apart from him attaching a metallic, contractible straw to his mask with a soft click before taking a sip from his cup. 

“Ugh. Fine. It’s Big Dick Energy, okay? Are you happy? You’re such an old man, Plo.” 

You always say this and without fail, it drives you so far up the wall you’d be at the same level as Plo — or taller. And as much as it elicits illicit thoughts, seeing yourself more drawn to finely seasoned men, Plo always gave the same response. The same ‘Indeed I am” that teeters between melancholy, amusement and pride. 

Stars, he’s so kriffin’ cute.

“Very much so, my dear. The quest for knowledge never ceases.”

Cute and a disgustingly adorable dweeb. I love him so much and I’m sure you do too.

After a couple more exchange of pleasantries, you’ve found yourself rambling on about the strife of a recent hunt where you’ve procured a bad sprain that had somewhat permanently altered your balance. How you nearly fell off after a grapple-pull mishap because of a calculated step that failed due to said injury. 

You went on about how it cut the payment since you weren’t able to deliver the target on time. He’d have asked a million questions too that riled you up to the point of completely forgetting your purpose of visit — your constant ‘let it be me’ visit that never seems to progress because of that stupid book tucked under his stupid bed that this stupid bitch gave him some stupid centuries ago. 

“All you have to say is leave her alone, Plo. And I will.” 

You cut the story short and as much as you’d expect him to be surprised that you had caught on, he wasn’t. He knew you would break free from the trance of having someone so keenly interested in your non-Jedi approved activities; namely bounty hunting and escapades — you do this thing where you commit theft for a hot minute and leave payment with a little extra at the most  obvious place they wouldn’t look until they’ve simmered down to notice a note you’ve left. Funny that he doesn’t scold you for this but tells tales of how Dorin will treat this behavior differently. You can tell he loves a bit of mischief as long as you return to the proper action — then again, this petty theft of a mischievous act is punishable by death in Kel Dor standards; so maybe, no?

“Celestians are on page 9.” 

Vanity betrays you by blood and nature. You wanted to smack him for saying that but you also want to smack (smooch) him for saying that. It’s not like you didn’t have a copy of the infamous book, but it’s so badly worn from testing a plethora of melee weapons on it, the numerous holes and soot makes any of the text unreadable and the photos indiscernible. You had copies of it too, memorized the entire book looking for any praise for Kel Dors and found not a single word of mention even. 

The Galactic Family; A Collection of Beautiful Faces — in which enumerates and highlights a selection of upper echelon species that included yours in the most exalted tier. Your kind were the most ethereal species on the planet; silver irises, short fangs that elongate during ‘peaching and mating seasons’, skin deathly pale, smooth, and soft; blood translucent and voices a potent concoction of sweet, sultry, and heavenly with that right dabble of filth.

[ Art / Comic by @exosorcery ♥ ]

You hated that book. Abhorred it to an unhealthy extent that you were but a push away from writing your own book and raining hell on her specifically, but you know within yourself that Celestians are not allowed to interfere — which is essentially why, though you do not need his permission and can actually act upon it deny involvement with a help of the top bounty hunter in the galaxy who you’d happen to be in the good graces of, it just didn’t seem right. You know in your hearts of hearts that Plo will be very disappointed and quiet about it.

[ Art / Comic by @exosorcery ♥ ]

“I know. My brother and I are in it. He had said yes before consulting me and it was too late for me to back out when I knew who wrote it. Did you ask because you know I’d never dare "read" that shit?”

[ Art / Comic by @exosorcery ♥ ]

“I asked because you have something of mine.” 

“Of yours?”

And it was indeed some Jedi mind trick because of the centuries and numerous copies you’ve annihilated "without ever once reading" the contents of that book, there you sat frivolously sifting through pages and scanning the photo of yourself with a crystalized necklace of a white moth.

Your hand instinctively went to your chest, cupping the pendant that had kept your heart steady and your mind clear since the day you decided to hunt that stupid moth that landed on his stupid face while he was meditating.

I walked across an empty land I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

A sense of warmth engulfs you in that moment of recollection; how he had blamed you for scaring the moth away after his master did the same prior. How his little balled up fists were on his side and the creases of his face were so drawn down that you laughed so hard you fell back clutching your stomach. How you saw him ‘frown’ behind his masked face and turned quietly to walk away.

I felt the earth beneath my feet

[ Art by @veny-many ♥ ]

How in that moment you swore nothing would ever matter more than for his stupid face to never ever crease into that stupid frown. How in that moment, his little ‘Please don’t do that — it really hurts,” made you need nothing or no one else than this beautiful sentient before you who chose to meditate alone because the other shit-pricks were making fun of how he looks.

I came across a fallen tree

You recall how you didn’t even apologize. How you ran up to him and put on that equally stupid face you do with father when you didn’t want him to leave so you could play with him or have him take you to some off-world planet to pick and study flowers to tend to your insatiable need need to adorn your room with so many flower crowns it’s become hazardous in itself. 

And before you could say anything, before you could rip off that stupid page in that stupid book that has your stupid face and that stupid pendant that you’ve worn for centuries as you both kept by each other’s side and comfort, something heavy weighs on the page.

I felt the branches of it looking at me

A chrysanthemum pair — entwined of one yellow and one white; withered, but you know it to be so. You know not only by heart and by the memory of you breaking the knots of your self-made flower crown that adorned your pretty little presence on that fateful day, having to vehemently rummage and pull from the assortment to find the ‘perfect’ one for the stupid frown on his stupid face.

Is this the place we used to love?

You know not only by the nostalgic drop of flowers between your silver irises that pooled at the thought of hurting the stupid-faced sad boy meditating by his lonesome and the young Kel Dor that had his fists balled ready to push or strike — to alleviate himself of any pain and hurt that deeply wounded him that day but chose not to. 

Your brothers did that — pushed and yelled out of irritation, shoved you a little too hard sometimes but eventually came around. But Plo didn’t — he didn’t yell or push you, didn’t run off or threaten you, didn’t even do anything but ask so politely; asked so kindly as if he would break into as many as the stars above and it frightened you. 

To be young and alone, to be so far from home, to be so far from mother and father and even your siblings; to having to go back inside a place you could hardly call ‘home’. To do nothing but train, clean, meditate, and study; to not be able to play with people of your kind, to not be able to run to father or mother when you’ve tripped and get tight hugs and forehead kisses; to not be able to snuggle up and build forts with silly brothers, steal snacks from the kitchen and tell tales of horrific stories and gossip until you all fall asleep, only to wake up between mother and father.

It frightened you so much that you felt ‘it’. Whatever ‘it’ was, you felt it. You felt ‘it’ radiate from him in such an alarming wave that it had rendered you speechless with hands quivering between two stupid chrysanthemum flowers pulled from your crown of glory. It frightened you that something had made you frantically drop to your knees and fuss about which color, which flower to give him as if the thread of the galaxy’s hold would break if you didn’t do ‘it’ right — whatever ‘it’ was.

The grip on the pendant tightens and you could feel your jaw clench only before you were made aware of the tears that had betrayed you for quite a while now. The taste of horrid saline that had taken a detour from your cheeks and down to your lips; a grim reminder that you have yet again bore yourself to Plo when you've promised countless times never to do so. 

Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?

Jedi kriffing mindtrick. 

And if you have a minute, why don't we go Talk about it somewhere only we know?

Part of you wanted him to look, maybe lean over and brush the tears off your cheeks; to take that stupid mask off for a brief second and kiss you just as how you had hoped for when you first saw him. But you know he couldn’t —for so many goddamn reasons. And it’s okay, it really is. He could press his mask on your cheek though, right? Right? Right, Plo?

“Big dick energy indeed, you prick.”

Your voice broke and so did you face as you shamelessly sobbed onto palms that only did very little to hide everything; the sniffles, the whimpers, the brewing gasps of air as you tried your best to stifle it all at once. But of course you fail massively, it was not even an option to begin with. He carried so much power and reverence that if he had decided to open that hidden script between just the two of you, you’ll crumble so far into the depths of all these repressed dreams and emotions that you'd drag him with you. 

This could be the end of everything

And so it remains just that; a hidden script in the narrative that is you and Plo Koon. The same script that loomed when drinks were shared, stories laughed over, and tears shed over just about anything. The same hidden script that will always thicken the air with the purest form of love — if he would allow ‘it’ to be called just that. 

But even that would remain as enigmatic as Plo Koon — and so it shall be as it always has been; a hidden script that is you and Plo Koon; the narrative that has spanned centuries and will weave more.

He would only turn his back to you, remorsefully. Give you privacy and company at the same time like the stupid conundrum that he is; leave if you want me to cry in peace, you’d think to yourself — but stay so I can.

So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?

Tears drip past the barrier of your palms and onto the page that kept the withered pair as if it would somehow unearth the once vibrant colors that bridged the paleness of your small hand with his rust-toned talons many centuries ago. That somehow it would caress your bleeding heart with the memory of his stupid smile plastered on his stupid face when he said “It’s okay. There’s more moths here, come on.”

[ Art by @veny-many ♥ ] {any excuse to use these baby Kel Dors kids}

Sat by the river and it made me complete Oh, simple thing, where have you gone? I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on So, tell me when you're gonna let me in

That somehow these insignificant droplets would relive the careful touch of his clawed hand over your soft, small palm as he dragged you past the bushes he hid behind and into this expanse of a lake full of fireflies and moths and flowers and fishes and him, and his smile, and his touch, and his face, and his warmth, and his presence, and his —.

“Do you understand now?”

Somewhere only we know

Drenched palms erratically ran through evenly drenched cheeks to dry them off. Eyes puffed and nose a shy tone of red as you continued to sniffle and curse inwardly as to why he still hasn’t offered you a box of tissues. But it’s there though, the box of tissues — so very close to your side of the table when it usually is at the center. 

What a babe, right? Inconspicuous babe and his inconspicuous gentlemanly ways.

You took a few pulls and gently dabbed your face. Took another few more pulls and before you could dab them onto the page that held the embodiment of your love, loyalty, friendship, and promise of forever, you heard him cut you before you were even half-way down.

“Don’t.” 

I'm getting old, and I need something to rely on

You turn to look at him, watching him ease back into a reclined manner — his face still in the direction of the empty space before him; but you know. You know that at the corners of those black ‘thingies’ over his eyes are those beautiful silver irises that matched yours. You know that in the tenderness of his voice would be the same yearning that not a single word would ever be enough to describe. That in the manner of which his shoulder would sag and his head would meet the rest of his couch that ‘it’ is here; that ‘it’ is here with you. That ‘it’ is neither about the book or anything else; that ‘it’ is but here, anywhere, everywhere with you.

That ‘it’ is the fact that you have something of his and he has something of yours. That ‘it’ has always been the same ‘it’ from the day that you broke his tiny, young heart and mended it so swiftly and gently that ‘it’ has stayed with him over centuries as so did ‘it’ with you.

That ‘it’ is indeed what you think it is if you’ve gotten this far. That ‘it’ is indeed ‘home’ — a place that only you and him knows. 

“You’re such a sappy old man, Plo. I’ll see you again soon, okay?” 

You say, closing the book and carefully resting it on the caf table. You grunt and sniffle, groaning as you stretched and tapped your ankles together as if to activate the thrusters and wait for command. By the window, your usual preference of entry, you took a deep breath and ran fingers delicate over your bare crown down to the length of your hair. 

This could be the end of everything

“In the meantime, please allow me to use this as a reason to extract you from your duties, my sweet. Your company is always appreciated.” 

Plo collects the book almost protectively and sets it on his lap, palming the cover as he finally turns to address your departure. 

So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?

“Kriffin’ dweeb. Just say I love you next time. Easier on the tongue.”

And as you take your flight, you hear him among the blanketed skies, just when you’re far enough and too lazy to turn, you hear him, 

Somewhere only we know

“Only if you say it first.”

Somewhere only we know

~ Fin.

If you made it this far, thank you and I love you. I hope reading this isn't time wasted. Also, drink some water and remember how valued you are and how nothing will be as magnificent as they are if you weren't here. ♥

~ Duch ♥

[goldkirk]

I DON'T HAVE TO LIE ANYMORE!

[andrews-graves]

I swear Ashley uses a specific tone with me sometimes and it makes my head spin. Her voice gets low when she calls me big brother and next thing I know I can barely keep my hands off her.

The way she teases me drives me insane, it’s her fault that I can’t help myself sometimes. She likes the outcome anyways. I can’t help but sink my teeth into her skin whenever she says my name like that, god I love her.

[crazysodomite]

Social media is kinda twisted and it's scary to realize how it warps everything around it

[claireverlasting]

“Romeo and Juliet are couple goal”, “Patroclus and Achilles are couple goal”, what, like dead?

[skylie-spiderlillis]

Don't usually do this but does anyone has any useful advices how to deal with ADHD burnout while it's already happening? And not just how to prevent it.

Google shitty advices they're comically bad.

I guess useful information for nd people online will never be a thing unless you ask other neurodivergent ppl.

My phone isn't even aware that neurodivergent is a real word.

[tomfrogisblue]

WHY

DO MY SMPS

INSIST ON FUCKING

NUKING THEMSELVES

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN AGAINNNNN

[ramenwithbroccoli]

hey girl did it hurt? when he loved you so much he gave you immortality, but not enough to ask if you actually want it?

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.