@trueblu3: you didn't get yourself killed.

unfortunately not. it's not like you haven't come close, having lost track of the amount of times you've watched your own blood pour out of an open wound, wondering if maybe, you'll finally get lucky. but luck's never been on your side, has it? and so here you are, still alive, still breathing, even if only by the absolute loosest definition.

strangely enough, your close calls with death aren't your main concern for once. it's her. it's been years, and while all the drugs and alcohol you poison yourself with are usually enough to make you forget the people that have come and gone, you haven't forgotten her. it wasn't love, because you never let yourself get that close, because you've made the mistake of falling for a girl too good for you before, and you weren't stupid enough to make it again — but maybe one day it could have been, if only you gave the two of you more time.

“ you look different. ” wrong, somehow, though you can't place your finger on why. it almost reminds you of when you'd catch glimpses of yourself shortly after the death of your family — back when you still looked like yourself, not completely ridden with scars, and at the same time, like a complete stranger. it's something about her eyes. they're sadder, you think, and if you were a better person, it might break your heart, remembering the way she was back then. but you've been hardened by the fire, heart blackened and charred, so you can't afford any sympathy, even for her.

“ — it's kind of hot. ”

@trueblu3: you never know when to stop.

it's true. even you know better than to deny it, because you've never known how to stop, to keep yourself from pushing the knife in deeper, like it wasn't enough to plunge it in the chest in the first place. it's worse with her, although you're not sure why. maybe it's because she has the type of life you always wanted — a boyfriend, friends, parents who seem to love her, a mother who stayed, a father who looks at her without disgust. maybe it's because you see a part of yourself in her: the insecurity, the fear of not being enough, the fear that you'll never be more than what you are now, the self-doubt. because you hate yourself, the way he raised you to, and lashing out at anyone who reminds you of yourself, the parts you hate most, is the only way you can think to deal with it.

or maybe you're just not a good person. you never have been, even before this, before being here started to strip all of you of your humanity. maybe you had hardly any to begin with.

“ are you going to do anything about it? ” typical for you to want a fight, because you don't recognize your own reflection without the bruises, because you don't know how to unclench your fists. “ you're not. you're probably better off just crying about it, anyway. we both know i could kick your ass, jackie. ”

❛ 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚡. ❜ — ﹙ @TRUEBLU3 ﹚

YOU WATCH THE NIGHT SWALLOW IT ALL WHOLE, the sky, the trees, the uniform houses below. trembling at the thought of it, aren't you? how the dark approaches with a yawning jaw, you in it's path. despite a harsh grip on the tire iron [ 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗 ] the shadows taunt you still.

❝ relax? people are dropping like flies & you want me to relax. ❞ sure, your endless pacing might not be exactly "helpful" but any alternative positioning would be fetal, on the kitchen floor. ❝ you're sure all the doors are locked? ❞ there's no harm in double checking, right?

it's a multi-season job, knowing yourself. - satine to inej :)

She’d  slipped  in  through  the  window  silently,    only  the  cold  rain  at  her  back  proof  of  entry.    For  anyone  else,    she’d  have  left  the  sill  damp  and  the  shutters  cracking  against  the  frame  from  the  wind  and  only  the  ominous  open  window  telling  of  an  intruder.    For  Satine,    Inej  shuts  even  the  sash  and  somehow  keeps  every  drop  of  water  off  the  floor.    There’s  no  use  in  hiding  when  she  means  to  be  seen;    the  Wraith  perches  on  the  chaise  draped  with  rejected  laces  and  satins  and  silks,    and  watches  Satine  with  keen  regard  for  each  of  her  movements.

❝    I  have  always  thought  you  carried  yourself  quite  well.    ❞  There  is  a  stipulation  in  Inej’s  observation.    What  she  doesn’t  say  is  a  secret  that  they  share,    a  wound  they  have  both  been  dealt  as  girls  like  them  are  far  too  often  dealt.    You  must  be  very  tired,    Inej  thinks  of  Satine  with  a  sad  and  familiar  sort  of  awareness.    I  am  very  tired,    too.    ❝    You  will  have  to  teach  me  someday.    ❞  Inej  sits  so  still  that  marble  would  appear  to  shift  beside  her;    not  even  her  breath  is  distinguishable.    Still,    she  quirks  a  brow  and  offers  a  suggestion  of  knowing.    ❝    Are  we  working  tonight?    Or  is  it  tea  and  gossip?    ❞

— @trueblu3 as SATINE. / SHY.

ABIGAIL HOBBS: I NEVER SHOULD HAVE TRUSTED YOU. the words do no hurt hannibal. they effect him very little, in fact, the man turning a bit to glance at the girl with knowing eyes. amber hues gleam with an unreadable light, malicious or amused or cruel. he wonders if she knows she's a tool. will cared about her, in his own way, but hannibal had been using her. an unwilling pawn in a chess game that continues out beyond the both of them. sharpening one of many kitchen knives, the sharp sound of metal on metal filling the space between them. 'no, you shouldn't have,' is his response, moving glance away from abigail and back to his work. 'how different do you think your life would have been if we hadn't met, abigail?' a pause, his tone curious. 'do you think you would still be alive, if will and i hadn't been there to save you?' @trueblu3.

││ ( @trueblu3 , ) // " it doesn't make any difference where she is . "

gotham city wasn't a place for the faint hearted .   those cement streets and brick walls hold such poison .   the corruption seeps through the cracks in unfinished buildings and down dark alley ways .   it was no place for a child to be raised   (   let alone be abandoned .   )   mia has always felt that the connection between herself and selina was through their shared trauma of being orphaned .   though it was not willingly that mia's parents left this world ,   where as val chose to leave ...   she can understand the anger and even the betrayal that she felt .   she can reason with the fact that this life with marcel wasn't one she couldn't handle .  unwilling to compromise ,   leaving what doesn't serve her   (   yadda ,   yadda ,   yadda ...   )   despite all of this ,   there was one thing mia couldn't understand or reason with .   that's just leaving your own child behind .   while mia and selina's mother never got along —   the knowledge of marcel fathering a child he never knew about because of val's residual hurt ,   really hit home to heart .   the act is unforgivable ,   and mia made sure selina's mother understood that before killing her .

" are you tellin' me this because you believe it ,   or are you trying to convince yourself that you don't care . "   lips wrap around thumb ,   licking off sauce from meatball hero .   the fixer can try an sympathize with the teen ,   but truthfully she will never feel remorse for killing someone so awful .   she always did say that she found valenka to be useless   (   could only be expected to by fancy shit and have the luxury to relax .   )   " in any case ,   she doesn't deserve your forgiveness if that's what your broodin' about .   where ever she is ... "   

you have a high pain tolerance:   by a force of nature,   a force of will.   in each of your lives,   divided up by events that keep you sleepless even at your most exhausted,   you have never minded pain.   they trained you in your younger years to know the threats that come with existing in such a position of power-   that training warned you of the threat of death...   &   so you warned yourself to never flinch at the pain. people always looked to you for strength,   &   people always looked at you to find weakness.

even in the death of your ego,   the death of the woman you once were to birth the woman you're forced to be now,   you refuse to show any reaction to pain as he weaves thread through the depth of your arm.   instead,   all you have is gratitude:   " thank you,   @fraegiles,   for this. "   it's said with a straight face,   waiting   &   only wincing internally.   " it should heal fine,   i should be less reckless. " @trueblu3

her restraint is not something he notes, man or woman, there is no prejudice he carries with him, mandalorians do not care about your sex. his thoughts stray toward the armorer, how much respect he has for her that his head had bowed to her many times, it doesn't matter what she is, it matters who she is.

there is a nod as she thanks him, gloved fingers soft and as kind as they can be as they tend to her wound. ❛ you have to reckless if you want to learn, ❜ it is a simple mutter, very matter of fact, you have to be get hurt to learn, you have to try to get it right. ❛ a mistake is a chance to get better. you're alive, it means you did something right. ❜ traveling with her, spending so much time at her side, learning of her strength and her empathy, it had taught him so much, there is only quiet understanding on his tongue as he speaks.

you must feel it — the difference? we’re on the brink of something. - from obi or Ben ! Whatever era you prefer :)

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 : ⁽ ˣ ⁾ [ 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 ]

the veil is beginning to tear ﹠ she has been inherited with a sudden awareness. perhaps that was what suffocated her in this gentle silence. one that burrowed itself in the depths of her throat, amassed by a force that kept her upwardly fixed. it was almost as if, if she were to speak those words : the weight they held would grant ascension to the stars in all her mysteria lucis ﹠ yet … she swallowed them down, ﹠ so on ﹠ so forth, until that globule of secrets found home next to her nausea root. 

the very same origin that assembled a slick layer of latterly mal de mer wafting over in waves in tepid furry / turned mistral / then flashes of heat again.    ❝   yes,    ❞    padmé states bitterly : though not toward him, but inwardly to herself ﹠ her sudden onset of prenatal malady; turning away from the prying eyes of he as her head swells with an utterance to void any ﹠ all mention of her husband.  the father of their child ﹠ the true reason there had been a sudden shift in the air ﹠ not in a positive way.     HE CANNOT KNOW.    NO ONE CAN.  NO ONE WILL.

voice brightens to a feigned hopefulness.  high pitched ﹠ high spirits.  normalcy returns.     ❝  the republic has been at a standstill for so long. we can only hope they are close to accepting the senates plea for a different approach that won’t lead to war.  i have hope a change is coming.      ❞

   ❝   i hope the jedi temple is faring enough through it all. if you need any resources for the younglings, please let me know.     ❞

@trueblu3: it's funny, how they can doubt you and blame you in the same breath.

“ people don't doubt me. ” blame is a different story, but she's used to that after growing up with a father who acted as if everything was her fault, whether she had any control in the matter or not. (he's probably out there blaming the plane crash on her, too.) mikayla drops the pile of wood she's collected on the ground, grimacing as she brushes some of the residue off her arms. “ it would help if you actually did shit out here, you know. instead of just fucking... moping around and feeling sorry for yourself, or whatever the hell you've been doing. ” she pushes her hair out of her face, hesitating before going on. “ were you crying when you came in last night? because it seemed like you were crying. ”

❛ you drool when you sleep. ❜ ⥱ ﹙@TRUEBLU3﹚ ♡

THE SWIPE OF YOUR PALM across chapped lips rouses you from a dreamless sleep. [ what the fuck? ] did this past week actually happen? one second you're on their way to nationals & the next you've got flames licking at your skin, spat out onto the cold dirt of endless woods. EVEN WORSE, you can tell the other girls are already getting used to it — acclimating. for you the tide only rises, swallowing salt - water as you fight for you next breath. you do not belong.

not even here, next to shauna. the one place you could count on. ❝ great, one more thing to worry about. ❞ a huff echoes as you reach for a ragged piece of fabric to use as a towel. you may as well go wash up.

you're not usually lost for words. - clit for alli

That  look  on  his  face  won’t  do.    That  smug  smirk  is  definitely  attractive,    but  more  than  that,    it’s  infuriating.    Allison  tosses  her  recurve  on  the  ground  despite  her  safety  training  (and  her  father  in  her  ear  warning  her  to  take  better  care  of  her  tools)  and  strides  away  from  Clint  before  she  says  something  embarrassing.    The  long  range  field  gives  her  enough  space  and  enough  time  to  cool  down  as  she  retrieves  their  arrows  until  she  has  to  yank  his  from  hers,    which  he’d  split  straight  down  the  middle.    She  cracks  her  splintered  arrow  into  pieces  and  tosses  the  bits  on  the  ground  with  a  scoff.

❝    I’m  not  usually  a  loser,    ❞  she  says  through  her  teeth  as  she  crosses  back  to  him.    With  his  arrow  clutched  in  her  hand,    she  extends  her  arm  to  his  with  a  pout  and  glowers  at  him.    ❝    Stop  smiling  at  me  like  that.    ❞  Her  own  mouth  trembles  with  the  threat  of  a  grin.    Allison  purses  her  lips  to  keep  it  from  blooming  across  her  face,    but  it’s  already  slipping.    ❝    I  let  you  win.    That  last  shot  was  pure  luck  on  your  part.    One  more  round?    ❞

— @trueblu3 as CLINT. / SHY.

EXILAE,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A PRIVATE MULTIMUSE WRITTEN BY ARIA‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎(SHE/HER & 24).‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎₁ . MUSES.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎₂ . RULES.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎₃. PINTEREST.

@trueblu3 : ❛ i got stuck , i was running from my own shit. ❜

jaw tenses under the helmet, a vulnerable quality to her tone, an unease settling in his bones, so unused to hearing it from her, so unused to hearing it directed at him. no nonsense, a machine, no one hidden behind the visor of a black helmet : din is not someone to aspire others with empathy, with confidence. but there had been multiple encounters, there had been shared troubles, one or two brushes with death, there is respect for her but no trust : he has been taught to do outside of his clan. ❛ we all end up doing it, i guess. ❜ checking over their shoulders, always expecting the worst, they are hunted : by ghost or themselves, he is not quite certain. ❛ i got on with the job, didn't exactly wait for you. ❜ gloved hand still slide a quarter of the money toward, craft covered bills across the table.

i'm going to be here tomorrow :)

@trueblu3: why do you always have to tell the truth?

you don't. only when it hurts, when it's amusing for you, do you actually bother— callousness disguised as brutal honesty. “ you want me to lie instead? ” you do that, too. less often than you used to, fortunate enough to drop your biggest lie the day your father dropped dead— but it still happens, always only ever doing what's in your own best interest, a shitty excuse for a superhero. at least you don't have high expectations to live up to: a useless drunk for a father, a mother who's nothing more than a fantasy to most people, as opposed to an actual hero. “ i let her off easy, anyway. could've done a lot worse than just talk shit. ”

going to try to write here tomorrow :)