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#have fun with the angst

goldetrash · 10 months

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Aw, just a little guy! Hope nothing bad happens to him

#my art #lego macaque #lego monkie kid #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #oops I did it again #have fun with the angst #hurhurhurhuur~~#lmk fanart #LMK animation

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morathicain · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Shigatsu no Tokyo wa ... / Tokyo in April is ... Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ren/Kazuma Characters: Takizawa Kazuma, Ishihara Ren, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Canon Divergent, spoilers ep 4, Insecurity, Making Out, Kissing, Getting Together, Not enough communication, Jealousy, Misunderstanding, Angst, Anal Sex, switching POV Summary:

Watching Kazuma’s sleeping face, Ren had the familiar feeling of getting ripped into shreds stuck to his chest. When it came to Kazuma, he had always felt torn.

Around episode 4, Ren is staying with Kazuma but a lot of things are still left unsaid from both sides. Despite (or thanks to) misunderstandings they manage to move a little closer.

#tokyo in april is...#shigatsu no tokyo wa...#ao3 #apparently this is the first fic for them?#anyhow #have fun with the angst

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nkogneatho · 3 months

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geto suguru who never stops talking about you. he is a composed man but his ear perk up at the slightest mention of you or the things you like. you plagued his mind. he is always down the street thinking about what you'd be doing. all those desserts that he used to despise, have soon started getting comfortable on his taste buds just because you liked it. he didn't even notice how your habits started infecting him too. but a little change was nice. you are the only thing igniting the flame of his will to live when he himself is sabotaging the little fire, blowing it away.

the two girls he is raising ask him for your picture. he is shunned for a second but the shock merges into a smile. he whips out his phone and hands them to the girls.

"that's her. my wife."

"but...these are the pictures of the sky." they look at him with a confused expression only to find a tear roll down his eye.

"yes. isn't she beautiful? i hope she's doing fine there." they don't know how to reply except to tear up themselves.

"i hope i get to meet her. but with all that i've done in this life, i am sure i am going to hell." he looks up at the sky, the clouds dispersed and sunrays peeking. "although, it's fine. loving her was heaven on earth anyways."

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #hii i am back with my widowed jjk men agenda!! have fun ;)#geto suguru x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #geto suguru #geto x you

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jedi-starbird · 2 months

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Palpatine: My boy, Master Kenobi is lying to you!

Anakin: ?...yeah? He does that? Lying is Obi-Wan's favourite sport. Bant told me that he was dropped on his head by Master Qui-Gon when he was a child and Master Qui-Gon was really tall, so the fall shook loose some things in his brain and now Obi-Wan is allergic to giving straight answers. It took me 3 years to figure out his favourite colour. and his birthday. 5 to figure out that he's allergic to shellfish. I once told a restaurant that Obi-Wan can't have shrimp and he told me to "stop giving information to the enemy". I've made a game of it really.

Palpatine: *muttering under his breath* ok try using shrimp next time

Anakin: what?

Palpatine: Nothing!

#look it'd be so funny if palpatine slandering obi wan doesn't work because anakin has accepted that obi wan is just the weirdest person ever #rako hardeen arc where instead of unstable angst anakins like oh hope obi wans having fun he's had a fake death vision board for ages #anakin saying all this as if he is not also the weirdest person ever to non-jedi and even most other jedi mr my dad is a cosmic energy #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #anakin and obi wan #star wars

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unwri-ten · 7 days

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ACTIVELY giving your brain voices the 5 megaphones taped to each other. I like kissy.

THE DEMONS WON FELLAS

#im supposed to draw angst goddammit #i can only draw them having fun and being cute #im a fluff advocate #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl #cotl narilamb #cult of the lamb #teniseeart

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deadsetobsessions · 1 month

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Bruce didn’t come here often. Perhaps that was terrible of him but he couldn’t bear to visit his son’s resting place. It was difficult to equate his high-spirited son, bright as the sun itself and endlessly brilliant despite the more he grew up in, to the cold and lifeless stone engraved with his name and words that did not encompass everything his son was to him.

His hands were full of flowers, Jason’s favorite books, a round rock, and his son’s favorite foods.

Bruce didn’t come here often, because it broke his heart even more when he did, but today was a day that love and grief triumphed over his need to avoid.

He walked down the winding pathway, Alfred a silent sentinel behind him. He hated it, but he understood. Today was the only day Alfred allowed himself to be emotionally closed off. He’d lost a grandson.

Bruce didn’t come here often, but his son’s birthday was a day Bruce would remember how to love and live again, just for Jason.

“I will be over here, Master Bruce.” Alfred stopped at his designated spot, where Bruce had added a bench and a draping tree to shade Alfred as he stood vigil.

The first time they’d- it was April, and the sun- after the funeral, Bruce was lost in the throes of grief and had kneeled over the freshly tilled dirt for hours. Alfred had stood there, in that same spot, in the city’s rare blazing sun until Bruce came back to himself.

Bruce had almost lost his second father that day, and what good was wealth if it could not prevent that? And so, water, shade, a bench, and a space heater was added.

Bruce knows better than anyone how stubborn Alfred can be, when it comes to matters of the heart. After all, he didn’t have to raise Bruce after Martha and Thomas died.

“Alright, Alfred.”

Bruce splits from the haggard butler with pointed looks at the water bottles he’d prepared for today for Alfred (who manages, this time, a faint but amused raise of an eyebrow) and walks towards Jason Todd’s grave.

Here where his son is buried, the grass is kept green. In April, Forget-Me-Nots bloomed and dotted the place where Bruce’s world collapsed with bright colors. In August, it is still green, but the tin engraved with the names of the deceased stood out without the flowers.

Bruce kneeled and quietly arranged the flowers before placing them in the tin. He set the platters of food down and uncovered them. The scent of chili dogs made his heart stutter, flashes of a bright smile and book references blinding Bruce with their nostalgia.

He swallowed, grief building, and placed the stone he’d brought atop the gravestone. He sat back, gripping Jason’s book with white knuckles.

Bruce didn’t turn around when clothing rustled behind him. Alfred would have verbally cut down anyone that dared to approach them today, especially here. That he didn’t do so was telling of who it would be.

“I’m still mad at you, for not telling me as soon as you knew.” Dick Grayson sat down, hand over one of Jason’s school bag pins he had carefully attached to the front of his jacket.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He deserved better. I should have been there.” Dick whispered, placing another bundle of flowers into the tin. It fit, but barely. “I would have dropped everything to come find him. Even if it wasn’t on time, even if it wasn’t enough, I deserved to be there when he was buried. We were family.”

“I know.” Bruce repeated, no less regretful. In his grief, he had wronged his loved ones. “I’m sorry.”

Dick casted a quiet, assessing eye at him. Bruce stayed quiet.

“It’s too dreary,” Dick said. He took out paints, little statutes of robins, bright birds, and bits and bobs Bruce knew Jason would have loved had he been alive out of his pockets.

“It should be more colorful,” Dick murmured as he placed them artfully against the headstone.

They sat there, for a while. Dick glanced at… at Bruce’s hand, and settled down.

It’d been a while since they’ve spoken, but he knew what the man intentioned to do today. This will be the most Dick will have heard Bruce speak outside of his civilian obligations.

Bruce took the cue and gently opened Jason’s book. He’d bought it for Jason- the first gift- and he’d read it to Jason every night. Dick had a similar book.

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse…”

——

A boy with black hair and blue eyes wandered amongst the graveyard. They’ve been here for a while, and the man’s low rumble was soothing to listen to. The shades that hung about the graveyard settled as he read out loud from the book as his son sat quietly beside him.

As the boy, invisible and intangible, brushed his hand against the gravestone, he wondered why they were reading to an empty grave.

——

Dick had left long before Bruce did.

And when it was time to go, as stars began to climb and as the cold began to nip at his fingers, Bruce heard a quiet voice.

“Do not stand at his grave and weep,” and Bruce turned, recognizing the poem. “He is not there. He does not sleep.”

But there was no-one.

#dpxdc #but it doesn’t have to be #me (24 days ago): lol let’s write angst for fun #me (now and not prepared for the angst that i personally wrote): yo wtf #batman #Bruce Wayne #bruce Wayne’s shitty coping skills #except for on Jason’s birthday #Jason Todd (‘s grave)#Jason Todd #Alfred #alfred pennyworth #dick Grayson

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proxycrit · 3 months

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Part 1 / Part 2

Emmet remembers when he and Ingo first brought Elesa to explore Celestial Tower, back when they were fourteen and thought they were immortal.

“Allegedly, the bell chime will bring ghosts home”, ingo had told emmet with the pompous knowing energy of a child who read way too much brochures. “It’s culturally significant! We must ring it.”

“Hmmm,” emmet had responded suspiciously. “Brother. The bell is at the top of the tower.” The implication stands: Ingo, there are thirty flights of stairs between here and the top, and no elevator to speak of.

Don’t be a coward, Litwick had told Emmet with the blaise tone of somebody who’s going to be piggy backing off of somebody else. Go ring the bell. Tynamo, sensing a litten fight, floated towards a loitering blitzle.

Ingo turns his lilipup eyes on Elesa, who’s squinting at the carved stone faces of the front door.

“Elesa? What do you think?”

Elesa thinks. She shrugs. “We already made our way here,” she said in accented galarian. “Might as well make it the rest of the way. Ganbatte!”

Emmet sighs. “This is a mistake,” he tells the two in exhaustive patience, but lets himself be dragged into the building.

Last time the twins were here, Ingo caught litwick— but not before she managed to nab a good chunk of Emmet’s soul. It’s not terrible; he felt fatigued for a week and bounced back pretty quickly, but it was the principle of the whole situation— celestial tower’s a pain in the ass and Emmet will stand by that until the day he dies.

Like right now.

The map isn’t working. Emmet checked it once. He’s checked it twice. He’s taken out his pen and written on it, which he would usually never do but desperate times call for desperate measures. The compass he brought spins useless circles. It’s like chargestone cave up here, but worse because instead if electric pokemon it’s all ghosts.

“We’re lost, yyup yup!” He announced to the crew. “I vote we eat Ingo first.”

“I love you too,” Ingo told Emmet placidly. “But we all know between the two of us, you’re the tastier one.” Litwick gives Emmet a thumbs up. Emmet gasps in mock affront.

“Elesa, help!”

Elesa gives the two of them a wary look. It took two floors for her to realize this is not just a weird temple with strange rocks, but a full out graveyard. She’s not very happy about that development.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she tells them. “Teme wa urusaii.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Ingo reports back.

Emmet, who’s cheerfully struggles with Galarian on a good day, simply gives her a thumbs up.

The three painstakingly crawl their way up. And up. If all else fails, Emmet told himself, at least they can orient themselves towards high ground.

“We’re like pidoves,” Ingo gasps. He has fallen behind them on the stairs, with Emmet taking the lead through sheer spite despite his legs going numb on floor twenty two. “We, hah, we are attracted by the magnet of the bell, like, like probopass-“

“I am emmet! You are not making, sense!” Emmet called back. Elesa, who’s stuck between them and looking two steps from perpetual collapse, giggles.

“No, no hear me out, Ingo wheezes. “What if the bell’s a magnetic pole? And that’s why your compass doesn’t wo, woo, hahh, work.”

Emmet stops to rest, just because Ingo is using precious breathing air to infodump. Elesa gratefully slumps against the railing. Tynamo and litwick, lazy in their still small size, have settled on a weary blitzle and look very smug doing so. (Emmet is not jealous, he tells himself. Emmet is also lying.)

“The bell’s important,” Ingo had repeated.

“Okay,” Elesa responds. “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to us.”

And Emmet finds that he agrees with Elesa. Partially because they crawled up twenty fucking three flights of stairs, but also because Ingo thinks this is important, so it is.

And here’s the thing—

— emmet doesn’t remember much after that.

The rest of that trip was a blur of exhausted groaning and burning legs, and by the time the trio managed to breach floor thirty, people’s brains have all but dribbled out their ears. Emmet remembers being disgustingly sweaty. He remembers blitzle almost tripping to death and litwick’s swearing. He remembers tynamo sticking to his neck like a damp towel. He remembers Ingo’s excited sneasel smile, and the way the sunset bounced off of Elesa’s hair.

He remembers the brassy ring of the Celestial bell. It sounded like victory.

But it was Elesa’s cackle turned scream as Ingo swiped cold hands down her neck that sounded like home.

—-

So when the conductor at thirty one, lost and disoriented in the Impossible Place, heard the sound of a familiar bell, ringing over and over and over-

-the sound of laughter-

-EMMET! Elesa cried-

-like a homing pidove, the conductor, thinks nonsensically as something in him perks up.

(Emmet had always liked winning, more than anything else, and the sound of victory calls him home.)

—

Elesa catches lightning in a bottle. Elesa, arms outstretched, finds purchase in her brother, and does not let go.

Emmet is so, so cold, Elesa thinks as the wind steals air from her lungs. (That’s okay. She’s already breathless from a terrible business called hope.)

Emmet stares back. His hands flap against Elesa’s jacket. Elesa desperately drinks in his wan face and too wide eyes and his frost bitten lips. In a tiny, meek voice, almost lost to the wind, he asks:

“Are you real?”

Elesa lets out an ugly sob. Her tears whip away in the wind as they fall. Emmet’s frightened countenance turns immediately to alarm. His shaky grasp becomes a solid grip as they spin through the air, cushioned by chandelure’s psychic.

“I think so??” Elesa warbles. She sees Emmet’s eyes dart to her mouth. He’s reading mirroring her, she realizes with giddy delight— it’s such an Emmet thing to do, to read lips, and-

“I am Emmet,” Emmet breathes. His eyes have started to water. “Yyou are Elesa- Oh dragons, Elesa!?“

Elesa reaches. Hesitates.

Emmet grabs elesa by the lapels and crushes her tight against him. Elesa holds on, and the grief and relief in her accumulates into a wet sopping mess. She’s ruining his jacket, she mourns, but its okay because he’s dripping all over hers.

She can’t hear what he’s saying into her shoulder, can’t read what he says, but everything’s okay because every part of her is chiming

You came back

You’re here

I’m not alone anymore.

Around them, the air distorts as Chandelure’s psychic wavers, flutters, and solidifies. Gravity reverses its call as they settle gently on the ground, dust billowing in all directions.

The ghost pokemon drops next to them, shaking so hard the musical clang of glass makes Elesa flinch.

You fucks, Chandelure gasps. DON’T GO LEAPING OFF BUILDINGS, I AM NOT YOUR EMERGENCY PARACHUTE.

“I’m sorry,” Elesa gasps, still giddy from the adrenaline.

AND YOU! Chandelure howls, whirling on Emmet, who’s still staring at the ghost with huge eyes. He’s gripping on to solid ground with the energy of a man who realized he could have been a splat on the ground.

YOU LEFT!

Emmet winces.

You- You left us, you left me-

Ah, ah no, Elesa thinks as golden globules of light shed from Chandelure. This is what a ghost looks like crying.

Emmet holds out his arms. Chandelure drifts into his embrace, and shakes, and shakes, and shakes.

You left me, the ghost pokemon whispers. How dare you. How could you.

“I didn’t mean to,” Emmet whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Stop doing this to me, Chandelure demands. Golden brine joins human tears, like drops of sun trapped in wet glass. Stop going where I can not follow.

And Emmet holds his tongue, because he knows he can not promise staying. Not while Ingo and Eelektross are still in Hisui.

(In the back of Emmet’s hurt and shattered mind is a spark. Synapses connect. The cold breach of the Distortion does nothing to drown out the sudden flare of hope in Emmet’s chest, so great he can not breathe, so strong he can not feel, because there’s a path. A difficult, painful path through the Space that Can Not Be, but a path all the same.)

“Elesa, Chandelure-“ Emmet’s voice breaks. He wants to tell them about Eelektross. He wants to tell them about the terrible past that is Hisui. He wants to explain how the last five months were filled with horror and wonder and fear and hope.

Hope, he thinks. So he says this:

“I know how to get Ingo home.”

NOTES:

AAAAAND THAT’S ALL FOR THIS DRABBLE. ITS OUT NOW. I CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO POSTING HAPPY SHENANIGANS! (Now you know the shape of their story.)

Thanks for reading this monster of a post!

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celestialwrites · 3 months

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six word dialogue prompts ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

@celestialwrites for more!

♡ “you chose her, i knew it.”

♡ “stop making me love you, idiot!”

♡ “i wish our fate could change.”

♡ “remember how much he loved her?”

♡ “i refute to let this change.”

♡ “why must all good things leave?”

♡ “you loved him, just not enough.”

♡ “i wish i died back then.”

♡ “her face haunts my dreams forever.”

♡ “to the stars and back, love.”

♡ “never forget what i said, okay?”

♡ “you’re a dumbass, please know that.”

♡ “i’ll be waiting, keep your promise.”

♡ “finding love like that, it’s impossible.”

♡ “thanks, for giving me the will.”

♡ “you’re too good for this world.”

♡ “i’m too dashingly gorgeous to die.”

♡ “enough! stop pretending like you care.”

♡ “please don’t ever lose your heart.”

♡ “as long as i have you.”

♡ “don’t make me regret not dying.”

♡ “people are simple, gone too soon.”

♡ “i never ever regretted knowing you.”

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL WRITERS<3

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