#quoth the raven — answered ask.

[briarsraven]

  this is a 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 roleplay & art blog, for 𝐖𝐔𝐘𝐀, a multiverse / multifandom original character. with verses in 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃, 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐒, 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓, and more. wuya's story and character is an exploration into abandonment, a need to belong to a people or a place, and the devotion of someone given what they wish for most. 

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: twisted wonderland , bungo stray dogs , stardew , genshin , honkai starrail , PTN , dislyte ( all WIPs i lost my docs... cries )

content may include 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒, 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐀, 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄 & 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓, 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, and more. if i miss a tag, please! don't ever be afraid to ask. ( i personally ask that folks tag spiders for me. )

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 will be blocked immediately. i also will not tolerate those who write triggering content and media including p*dophilia, or inc*st. anyone who does will be blocked on sight.

pinned art & banner art by svmk88 on tumblr

my activity is a bit slow. i have a lot going on in my life, and i struggle a lot with my mental health and physical health. so i ask you be patient with me.

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋:

utsubotm ( leech twins. twst. main blog, fairly slow activity )

destisea ( canon & oc multimuse. temporary hiatus )

chenqizi ( wei wuxian. mdzs. semi hiatus... very slow )

misericordiah ( fyodor. bsd. private, selective & very low activity )

if i dont follow you right away, or at all please dont take it personally. i like to keep my dash clear and not too cluttered. i'm also very anxious about my ocs, and and just as anxious about opening up about them.

please, respect my canon and i will happily respect yours. if my original canon isn't for you, i do have verses and am more than happy to work with those instead. if only to explore other avenues and types of interactions.

 I  am  mutuals  only  in  regards  to  threads,  and  require  plotting  to  write  anything  at  length. This  is  for  my  own  comfort.  So  do  not  get  impatient  with  me  or  push  me.  I  will  block  you  the  moment  you  do.  I  have  a  life  outside  of  rp,  and  I  need  that  to  be  respected.

asks and threads do not always stick. i love writing with people, i love getting asks, and i love threads. but sometimes im genuinely not sure how to reply to it right away. it isn't a lack of interest, i promise. if i'm following you, then i do want to interact and write. again, just be patient, rp is an outlet for me, and a hobby. i don't force myself to write if it just wont come to me.

please, if you write or interact with saccharot ( kae ), do not follow me or block me or whatever. likewise, if you write with kiingsroar ( dia ) or any of their other blogs, i ask you do much the same. i'd be more than happy to explain what happened and why i'm uncomfortable with these users. but please, i don't want them on my dash.

#molting brb. ( ooc ) #slimy little oysters. ( tbd ) #quoth the raven; nevermore. ( in character ) #uncertainty excites me; who knows what'll happen! ( isms ) #faerie rings; twilit groves; and bottomless burrows. ( aes ) #all ebon feathers; mischief; and wicked manipulation. ( about ) #me? lie? i'm a fae of my word. ( answered asks )

[reddawnmultimuse]

Date or Pass Kabuto Yakushi for all of your muses! :D

"Yakushi Kabuto? Spy to Sasori? In that case, I shall 'pass'. I have no interest in mixing business and pleasure and I know nothing of him besides his role to the Akatsuki."

"Kabuto? Silver hair? Glasses? Pass, hard pass. I've already got one grey-haired brat bugging at me, I don't need two."

"Pass. He functions as a spy for the Akatsuki; a pawn to the organization. He is inconsequential to me."

"Eww no! He's ugly and icky and dumb and--and...dumb, hn! Like I would ever date him. Sasori-no-Danna can date him! Pass!"

"Kabuto? AIn't he the one spyin' for Sasori n' shit? Shittt, why not? He ain't hard on the eyes. It'd be like datin' myself n' who wouldn't wanna date me?"

"Kabuto works for me, so no. Even if 'e wasn't workin' for me: no. 'e's a sad, sad lil' man."

#thatsneakymedic #. ask #. of the red sand--sasori #. gunpowder & gelatine--deidara #. quoth the raven--uchiha itachi #. hell runs on money--kakuzu #. hallowed be thy name--hidan #. on paper wings--konan #[ itachi's answer is pre-war otherwise it'd be a hell to the no ] #[ at least hidan will date kabuto which isn't saying much ]

[nghtry]

“Gil~” Oz whispered and nudged his valet gently. The sun was starting to go down over the trees. Alice was off chasing crickets ahead of him. Its a good thing she wasn’t here or she probably would have jumped on Gil’s lap to wake him up. Oz sat back with a smile. “I wanted to let you sleep some more, but it’s getting late.” He poked Gilbert’s cheek with a slight pout. “You need to take it easy. You’re working way too hard lately, you know?”

(hewwo, it is i, toh)

Admittedly, sleeping beneath a tree wasn't Gilbert's ideal resting spot when it came down to an unsuspecting powernap but it was necessary given the fact he'd been operating on possibly only three hours of sleep.

There's no good reason for it aside from the excuse that he's quite the busy body, despite himself. Spite and caffeine. Paired with anxiety, that's another beast that liked to rear its ugly head at him from time to time. A bad habit, Oz calls it. Gil won't take that from someone who would gladly gorge himself on a strictly pastry diet if it weren't for said valet.

Slowly sitting up with his joints snapping in protest — Gilbert does his best to blink away the drowsy spell from tired eyes. Then of course, there's Oz, smiling brighter than the sun that was mostly set behind him which is almost insulting considering the fact that he's here because of Oz who insisted they went outside to watch the sunset (what even happened to that? He remembers Oz and Alice running off not too long after they'd come outside, he just didn't have the energy to keep up with them. Suppose the fresh air did him some good. Suppose Oz also knew what he was doing.).

"The sun has already set? How long ..." So much for them watching the sunset. Squinting into the near distance, he can make out Alice doing god-knows-what. Face contorts into a light frown as he's poked but he doesn't pull away, only a lighthearted swat at his hand and a light, mildly amused snort. "Thanks. Maybe if I got an extra ten minutes in, I'd be a lot stiffer." He can't help but smile when Oz laughs, shaking his head he starts to stand. His back — "Is that so? You make it sound too easy."

@witchesbutter

#witchesbutter #quoth the raven — answered ask. #crying? crying. bawling. hysterics. #u think i should give u like..... ur former url...? #or is tagging u ok like this like akfjsa #IDK U LEMME KNOW. #im thinkin a lil post-canon. gil and oz are so fucking sassy and playful around the end even moreso than before i just (stifles a sob) #oz hoisting gil up from the tree its just flowing in my mind rn UR MAKING ME WRITE WALLS!

[corvicides]

#all ebon feathers mischief and wicked manipulation. ( about ) #and the raven; never flitting; still is sitting ( visuals ) #uncertainty excites me; who knows what'll happen! ( isms ) #faerie rings; twilit groves; and bottomless burrows. ( aes ) #me? lie? im a fae of my word. promise. ( answered ask ) #its just harmless fun. ( prompts ) #pretty as a picture. ( mun's artwork ) #slimy little oysters. ( tbd ) #i curse you with cringe. ( ooc ) #why is a raven like a writing desk??? ( crack ) #quoth the raven; nevermore. ( in character )

[foomoosworld]

THE RAVEN AND THE FIREFLY

CHAPTER 1 - QUOTH THE RAVEN NEVERMORE

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Joel is put onto garbage duty in the QZ and he finds a woman he never thought he would meet. She makes him see stars.

Minors DNI. Drug use, violence, overdose. But no smut. So we'll tick that off next time.

Also, welcome Stars Too Far readers that figured it out!

“Fucking, Tommy…”  Joel muttered, irate, as he stepped in the door to his house.

“Ah, don’t blame him.  He’s just working through some stuff.  Besides, if he was more responsible, I’d be out of work.” A man followed in behind Joel.  They’re both covered in dirt and sweat from working all day and their work boots clunked on the floor as they walked.

“I guess you’re right.” Joel stubbornly admitted, “But we would have been done at a reasonable hour if he had at least called and told me he wouldn’t be coming in.  His childish crap got us three hours behind today.  I could have seen my daughter before she went to bed.”

“Yeah, that’s rough.  They grow up too fast.  We spend too much time working to provide for them.” Joel’s co-worker says as he flops down on the old couch and looks around Joel’s living room.  Joel moves to the kitchen then points at him and asks, 

“You want a beer?”

“God, yes.”

Joel comes back and twists off the top of a bottle of beer and tosses the cap onto the coffee table then hands it to him before he does the same with his and sits down on a large comfortable chair, putting his boot up on the coffee table, swigging his cold beer and sighing with exhaustion.

“So… ‘Poe’... That’s a funny name.  I thought you said you were from Guatemala?  Is that short for something?”

“Nah… My father was just a big Edgar Allen Poe fan, I think.”

“Ah, ‘Quoth the raven Nevermore’ and so on?”  Joel quotes.

Poe nods and laughs, “Yeah something like that.”

“I never really caught the bug for reading except to Sara when she was little.”  Joel admits.

“Me neither.  But hey, Dr Suess is still a doctor, right.  That counts as intellectual reading”

Joel laughs and leans over to cheers Poe, “Man, I miss the years of reading to Tan and Amy.”

“Those your kids?”

“Yeah, Amy is 9 and Tan is 11.”  Poe nods as he sips his beer.

“‘Tan’?  Your family is big into unlikely naming conventions, huh?”

“Short for Tanner.”  Poe explains.

“Oh, right,”  Joel laughs at the now obvious answer. “I’d like to meet ‘em sometime.”

“Sure, well, you can meet Amy.  I haven’t seen Tan in years.  He’s technically not my kid but I raised him for a long time.  His mother suffered from mental illness.  Times got tough for a bit and I didn’t know she went off her meds to try to save money for us.  She started having delusions, thinking Tan was some prophecy from another galaxy.  She took off with him.  I filed missing person reports but the cops don’t care about a Gringo like me and his broke family.  Swept it under the rug.  I looked for them for years but they both disappeared without a trace.  I know they're out there somewhere though.  One day I’ll find ‘em.  She’s not a bad mother.  She would never hurt her kids.  She just can’t tell what’s real and what’s not when she isn’t on her meds.”  Poe shakes his head, sadly as he stares off to somewhere in space.  

“I’m so sorry.  Between the addiction problems, mental illness and everyone being broke these days it’s tough but no one should lose their family from it.”

“Yeah…Life happens too fast sometimes and we’re just left struggling to try to keep up and slow it the fuck down again.”

“I’m glad I met you today, Poe.”  Joel says.

“Yeah,  I’m glad I was available to help today.  You really remind me of someone I met a long time ago, actually.”

“A good guy, hopefully?”

“Yeah.  He really was.  Lives really far away so I don’t see him anymore though.”  Poe finishes his beer then as he puts it down notices the time on his watch. “Oh shit… it’s really late.  I gotta get going.  Do you need me on the site tomorrow?”  Poe asks Joel as he gets up and puts his jacket back on.

“Yeah, come on by.  Even if Tommy does manage to bless us with his presence tomorrow I can always find some work for you to do.”

“Thanks, man.”  Poe extends his hand and heartily shakes Joel’s hand. “It really means a lot to me that you’re helping me out like this under the table.”

Joel waves him off as he walks him to the door.

“I know how it is.”  He comforts him, “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

Poe thanks him again then turns and goes to get in his truck as Joel closes the door.  Joel rubs the back of his neck tiredly and walks into the kitchen with the empty beer bottles and puts them in the sink.  As he walks out of the kitchen to go upstairs to bed he passes a calendar that has tomorrows date circled that says in Sara’s loopy handwriting, “Dad’s Birthday”.

Joel shuts the lights off and goes upstairs to bed leaving the house blanketed in the silence of night.

…………………………….

A large dirty handkerchief is tied around Joel’s face and his clothes are covered in grime as he wipes the sweat dripping from his forehead in the blazing summer sun.  He’s taking a momentary break as he unloads garbage from a large truck into the local landfill.  A job he didn’t outright hate.  It paled in comparison to sewage work or worse, burning the infected corpses in mass open graves.  It could have been worse work today, however, the downside is the worse the work is, the better the pay is.

Sure, the landfills smelled horrible, so bad in the heat of the summer it could make your eyes water, but there were no people out here.  It was like being in outer space.  Just miles and miles of nothing.  Technically, it was outside of the QZ, but it still had a large concrete wall around it so the infected couldn’t get in.  The government liked to needlessly protect their trash and use everyone’s tax dollars on useless expenditures rather than giving the people proper rations or access to consistent clean water.  Staring at the landfill wall always sparked some silent anger deep down in Joel’s chest but it was just one of many things in the world after the outbreak that enraged him.

Seagulls suddenly fluttered up from a spot in the distance then circled frantically around the area, cawing and creating a ruckus.  Joel shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted into the distance to see what could have possibly startled them. 

“What the?”

A figure emerged on the top of the trash heap in the horizon, wearing a tattered shawl.  It seemed to turn and look at Joel and the truck then skittishly, turned and disappeared on the other side of the trash heap.

The driver of the truck came around and elbowed Joel to get his attention.

“What are you doing?  Get on the truck.  We’re done for the day.”

“Wh-”  Joel turns and looks to the driver. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”  The driver asked, feigning interest as he walked back to the driver’s seat.

“That person… over there on the hill.”

The driver laughed at him, “You’ve been out in the sun too long.  Here,”  He tosses Joel a water bottle which Joel unscrews and takes a sip but never takes his eyes away from the horizon to see if they will appear again.  “There’s nothing out there but old mattresses, wood skids and the occasional dead seagull.”

After a moment of staring into the wavy heat of the distance Joel concludes it must have just been a heat mirage and shakes his head to regain his composure then heaves his tired body into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Get yer eyes checked, old man.”  The driver says as he puts the truck in gear and it grinds into motion, jerking and bouncing over the neglected, gravel landfill road.

……………………………..

Joel is sitting at the rickety, worn, wood table in his dilapidated studio suite.  It’s a tiny room with dusty windows and cracked walls.  It didn’t make any sense to put money into anything nicer.  He had given up on planning a future beyond these cracked walls.  Not that there was anything nicer to live in anymore in the QZ.  Everything was crumbling and no one knew how to fix it.  From the living spaces, to infrastructure, government, laws, morals and hope.  From the top to bottom the entire thing was crackling like an old statue, every now and then a facial feature would just slide off without warning, forever changing the once beautiful place and making it ugly, scary and dangerous.  

An open bottle of unlabeled dark liquor sits on the table next to him and a greasy, fingerprint smeared glass holds a splash of whiskey still left in the bottom.  Joel  looks down at his broken watch in front of him, the one Sara had fixed for his birthday.  That fateful night that she was shot to death by military when the outbreak started.  The night his entire life lost its meaning and any sense of purpose.  But the entire world seemed to have lost its meaning and purpose that night, Joel realizes as he downs the last bit of whiskey in his glass and refills it.  Why should his life be any different? 

He gets up, swaying slightly and suddenly feeling how tipsy he is.  With his glass of whiskey in his hand, he steps over to the window to look out over the city.  The dust had amounted thickly on the window so he had to use his flannel shirt to rub a circle in it to look out.  He, mostly, didn’t want to know what was going on in the world outside unless it had to do directly with him so windows often had no purpose other than free light or an escape route.

No one dared to walk the QZ at night.  The military jeeps were full of young men, mostly hopped up on drugs that Joel sold to them, with itchy trigger fingers and anger from having their future robbed of them.  Joel didn’t blame them for their anger.  Hence, why he justified selling drugs to people barely adults.  They had no future.  They were born into this godforsaken place, would never leave it, and deserved a break from reality now and then.  However, anger and mind altering substances often make terrible bed partners and oftentimes innocent people would be shot after dark, almost as if target practice. The only ones scurrying around were the thieves, drug runners, some Fireflies and anyone up to no good.  Joel had been one of those for years.  Less and less now as he ages but, on occasion Tess will bring him a job and he finds himself trying to cloak himself in night as he’s dodging headlights and cowering in the shadows of crumbling buildings for a few measly bucks.

He looks down at the street below and sees Tess dodge across the street between military vehicles passing and he shakes his head with a sigh, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”  His hand reaches up to his dusty window and draws a sad face in it.

The eye of that sad face flickered at him.  Joel did a double-take flicking his eyes back at the dust drawing he just did.  Again, he saw the flickering just beyond the sad face in the dusty window,  He quickly used the sleeve of his flannel shirt again to clear another patch to look out and there it was, clear as day, a small fire, with smoke pluming up from it, coming from the landfill.

“I knew I saw you!”  Joel whispers to himself proudly.

He watches for a few moments more before the fire suddenly seems to go out as if water was dumped on it.  He eventually turns and flops down in bed.  The alcohol taking hold, and the pills didn’t hurt either.  He would sleep for 8 full hours tonight, but restless, synthetic sleep.  Never the less, sleep that was welcomed.

……………………………

There’s an arm around him.  He stirs suddenly and looks down with a start as Tess’s voice rings out from her position curled up to him,“One of these days you’ll get used to me sleeping next to you and not wake up like I’m going to murder you.”  She smiles as she, too stirs from her sleep.

“Yeah, well… maybe you’ve murdered a few too many people for me to consider that option.”  Joel grunts sitting up.

“Hello Pot, this is Kettle and he is black.”  Tess jokes.

“What were you scurrying around for last night?” Joel grogilly rubs his face.

“You saw that, huh?” Tess quips.

“If I saw it, then you know the military saw it too.  Or worse, the Fireflies.”  Joel goes to put on a pot of coffee.

“Maybe the Fireflies sent me out there last night.”  Tess teases as she raises an eyebrow at him.  He looks over his shoulder hesitantly then decides to drop it.

“Why do you keep coming here?”  He turns and leans against the small kitchenette counter.

“Dancing is more fun with a partner.”  She snarks.  “Not that you are ever sober enough to stand after 7 PM.”  Joel shoots her a glare, pours coffee into a mug for himself and one for Tess and hands it to her.  She nods and takes a careful sip.

“The Fireflies did send me out last night.  There’s been camp fires in the landfill and they want me to find who is lighting them.”

“Hm.”  Joel says sipping his coffee, deciding not to disclose what he had seen the previous day in the landfill.

“They think it’s a woman and they want to speak to her.”

“Is that so?”  Joel fakes disinterest.

“There’s a big pay out if I find her and bring her to them.”

Joel puts his coffee down and Tess knows she has his attention.

“How much?”

“Enough to get us out of here.”

Joel sighs in exasperation.

“We’re not getting out of here.  There’s nowhere else to go.”  He states simply and slightly frustrated to argue this with her once again.

“You’ve seen it.  I can tell.  You’ve been on the landfill crew for the last few weeks.  You’ve seen something.”

Joel buttons up and sits at the table, concentrating on his coffee.

“Joel - “ Tess approaches him and crowds in excitedly, “Have you seen her?”

“You need to work on getting a battery for that car if you really want to drive out there to your death.  Don’t worry about what isn’t living in the landfill.”

Tess watches him intently for a moment.

“You’re a terrible liar, Joel Miller.”  She stands up with a huff. “I’m going out to the landfill tonight,” She states as she slings on a backpack and moves to the door. “Come with me or don’t.  I don’t care.”

“I won’t.”  Joel sips his coffee, faking disinterest.

Tess opens the door and before she leaves, she says over her shoulder, “Hurry up  You’ll be late for your shift shoveling garbage until you die on your feet.”  She steps out and closes the door.  Joel sneers at the door once she’s gone then looks at the time and jolts up, realizing he’s late.

“Shit.”

…………………….

The garbage truck jolts and jars as it enters the landfill as Joel sits silently in the passenger seat.

“You smell like a brewery.”  The driver says.

“Last I checked booze aint prohibited.”  Joel snaps at him looking forward out the cracked windshield.

“You got anything for me today?”  The driver changes the subject.  Joel sighs, knowing he’d be kicked of this gig if he didn’t keep brigbing the driver with fentanol pills.  He hands him a small zip lock bag with four pills in it.  The driver smiles and exclaimes, Ha!  There it is.  Come to Papa!”  He chimes as he drops a pill into his mouth and swallows.

Joel shakes his head and grunts to himself, seeing the irony of the driver’s guilt trip.  But that’s the thing with the younger generation.  Pills to numb the pain of living has become so common place that it’s not even blinked at when someone is high all the time.  But someone who works and connects and pulls strings to find alcohol is shunned.  Joel partook in pills as well, but he knew how quickly they could ruin your ability to make money.  And money keeps you alive in the  QZ even if you go crazy by not medicating with drugs.

“Get out and shovel.”  The driver ordered.  Joel opens his door that creaked and groaned it’s own symphony of discontent, then jumped down to begin shoveling the garbage off the back of the truck. 

He started by tossing out some large, broken and forgotten furniture into the landfill and suddenly, his back spazmed and he felt a shot of pain that sent him to his knees.  He cried out in pain but the driver didn’t respond.  He couldn’t move as he crumpled to the ground and called for the driver, “Crankshaft!”  He called out the driver’s nic name but there was no response.  He crawled around the side of the truck and saw his door still open and a cloaked figure bending into the cab of the truck.

“Hey!”  He shouted.  You looked back at him momentarily from under your hooded, tattered shawl, then went back to what you were doing in the cab of the truck.  “STOP!”  Joel commanded but you didn’t back away.  After a moment you pulled out Crankshaft and laid him on the ground.  He was foaming at the mouth, overdosing.  You began giving CPR, pumping hard on his chest, rhythmically then breathing into his mouth.

“What are you doing?”  Joel shouted as he crawled closer.  You worked on him over and over but it was obvious he wasn’t coming back.  You fall back, your cloak falling off your face as you panted, exhausted, “Is he….”

“I’m sorry…”  You say, “He’s gone to the stars now.”

Joel notes your odd phrasing of his passing.

“Fuck.”  Joel hangs his head.

“He was a friend of yours?”  You ask.

“No.  He gave me a job.  And now I’m fucked.  They will blame me for him overdosing”

“Ah…”  You trail off, not understanding but also not caring and look to the horizon. “Goodbye then.”  You get up, lift your hood over your head and goes to walk away.

“Wait!”  Joel raises a hand to you from his position on the ground.

“I can’t walk.  And they’ll blame me and kill me if they find out he overdosed.”  He knows pleading won’t work on people so he pulls out his bag of fentanol.  “I’ll give you these pills to sell if you help me to where you’re staying for tonight”

“The pills that just killed your friend?”  You raise an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.  It’s all I have to offer.”

You approach him then with a studious pause lean down and wrap your arms around his midsection, hefting him to his feet..  Joel shouts in pain.

“Stop.”  You hiss at him. “We can’t hide if you’re screaming.”

Joel nods between pants and the two of you slowly make your way over the landfill.

It took hours but you made it to a small hill of garbage where you pulled back some wooden skids and tarps to reveal a hole that went down into the landfill.  You struggled to get him inside then pulled the random trash to hide the door again.  You sat with him in complete darkness for a moment before you fumbled around and managed to lite a lantern made of an old, dirty jar and coat hangers.  You grabbed him with your other free hand and hobbled him into a small room that opened up with a wood burning stove, a bed and a broken bookcase that had shattered kitchenware.  You lower him onto the bed..

“You’re the one I saw the other day that frightened the seagulls.”  Joel tiredly states.

“Yes.”  You admit openly.

“Who are you?”

“People call me Amy.”  You say warming up a kettle in the wood burning stove.

“What do you call you?”  Joel weakly asks.

“My real name is Ameo”

“Huh… I used to know a guy that worked for me who had a weird name.  He named his kids normal names though.  Probably the trauma of being named after a horror writer.  One of his kids was named Amy, actually.”

“Common name.” You shrug.

Joel relaxes into the bed as you pour the kettle into a bowl and soak long strips of fabric in the hot water.  You pull up his flannel and undershirt,  “What are you.-”  You place the long strips of warm fabric along his back and he immediately understands what you’re doing as the warm fabric strips begin to relax his back.

“What was your friend’s weird name?” You ask smoothing more strips along his back.

“Poe.  After Edgar Allen Poe.”  

Amy stopped what she was doing.

Joel looked back, “Are you okay?”

Amy’s hands shook and her eyes grew wide.  Joel tried to turn to look at her as much as he could.

She asks,

“Are you Joel?”

THE RAVEN AND THE FIREFLY MASTERLIST

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #the last of us fluff #the last of us smut #poe dameron #pedro pascal fluff #pedro smut #pedro pascal smut

[grennseyelashes]

Oh and ANOTHER thing. Anyone else think it's funny that chick that keeps showing up (?) and speaking in riddles, telling Dany to go back, is called "Quaithe". Like. In a book with a talking raven. Quaithe.... Quoth. Of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven fame. Quoth the Raven etc. Where the narrator is driven to madness asking when he will see his lost Lenore and receiving only the same answer over and over, "Nevermore."

Aka the poem that's referenced at Dany's absolute lowest moment (in Daenerys IX, AGOT) where, after already having committed to righting the wrong of Eroeh's enslavement and rape (because she's projecting onto her), she finds that the only power she currently has at her command (sex, as taught by Doreah) is utterly useless, and she is left, as the narrator of The Raven is, bargaining with futility:

"And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. "When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," she said sadly. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before."

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

The musicality of the end of that second paragraph, ending on an "-ore" syllable, and the repetition of "never" bring to mind the word nevermore, and the darkness crying out also indicates this poem, as it's the darkness that speaks first in it, not the raven itself. And it's also accompanied by another literary reference from which we can infer that Dany's state of mind in this moment is similar to how the narrator of the poem ends up too

Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream.

This bolded section is a a reference to the "to be or not to be" soliloquy from Hamlet (specifically the line "to sleep, perchance to dream"), which is a mediation on suicide, where the speaker ultimately decides not to die for fear of "dreams" (here meaning his fear of hell). But funnily enough Dany is not religious. And shortly after this she walks into a fire.

It's safe to say that regardless of if Quaithe is ever real (at least after Quarth) the visions of her that Dany has are functioning as a reminder of this moment, at least to the reader, and of the true reason she did it. Not to save the world, but because there was no place in it for her as she was.

This "Never never never" phrase is used only one other time in the books too, for the other Very Magical child, all the way across the sea, who is also selected for a special "destiny" and who is not at any point in a position to reject it either:

"I am told you were quite the climber, Bran," the little man said at last. "Tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?" "I never," Bran insisted. He never fell, never never never. "The child does not remember anything of the fall, or the climb that came before it," said Maester Luwin gently.

Wonder what would happen if Dany ever truly remembered how she got those dragons. Because just like Bran, before she flew, she fell.

#quaithe #ravens #the raven #asoiaf theory #daenerys targaryen #dany meta

[moth-flowers]

gender-confusion-and-probably-mental illness-based rap lyrics

12-12-21

(post under the cut)

but it gets hard when i try to explain to others

and it seems like im tryna make a whole new colour

and its even harder to give examples and explain

when even I dont understand whats going on inside my brain

and everytime i speak, the walls feel so thin

like if i talk too loud they'll cave right on in

quoth the raven: fuck

and if I were a guy, I'd probably wanna tuck

and i'd probably tuck away all my thoughts and feelings

never talk about them until moments before i stop breathing

if i woke up in a male body, I'd think "what the hell?"

cos it seems like it might be just another layer to this shell

crack crack! but this egg ain't breakin'

just more stories of confusion and the building won't stop shakin'

the very ground I've stood on is in the midst of quakin'

and the cracks that form give off heat enough to cook eggs and bacon

and here i fry, with the pressures mounting

piled so high you'd think it's a mountain

something else to maintain

no more crying, only gains

but i can only gain so much before I'm at the edge of a cliff

and I've already lost the race, so you know what?

fuck this shit

----

why do they always say "either ; or"?

when i know so many people who feel like "neither" and "nor" ?

when they ask me "what do you feel like?"

i feel like whatever answer i give just isnt quite right

i could just say "yes"

but im worried itd cause me stress

but if I said "no"

it wouldn't give me room to grow

#words #poetry #cringed when i saw this at first but as i went through the process of transcribing it you know what? theyre pretty fucking good #i articulated my feelings pretty well and at a time that i couldnt see anybody else who felt like i did i think it helped me a lot to put #it to paper. so yeag #gender stuff #gender confusion #questioning gender #backlog #oh btw turns out im nonbinary lol. i just say 'in the vicinity of my gender' whenever im talking abt my gender now #its fucking great. i love being noncommital about it lmao #(p.s. yes i am aware that 2021 me was channeling dave strider)

[nightmares--child]

ⲧⲁ𝓰 𝓵ⲓ𝛓ⲧ

☽ truth in fear - facts about terry

☽ reflections - comics, fan art, or artwork

☽ in your nightmare - in character

☽ in the waking - out of character

☽ glimpses into nightmares - aesthetic, a lot of horror

☽ whispers of fears - musings

☽ falling deep - roleplay starting post

☽ the winding - roleplay reply

☽ fleeting dreams - ask/prompt meme

☽ the library - dash game

☽ quoth the raven - answer to ask

☽ wandering the dreaming - drabble/solo post

☽ the other side - Multiverse AU

MOBILE UNDER CUT

#☽ truth in fear

#☽ reflections

#☽ in your nightmare

#☽ in the waking

#☽ glimpses of nightmare

#☽ falling deep

#☽ the winding

#☽ fleeting dreams

#☽ the library

#☽ quoth the raven

#☽ wandering the dreaming

#☽ the other side

#☽ truth in fear #☽ reflections #☽ in your nightmare #☽ falling deep #☽ the winding #☽ fleeting dreams #☽ the library #☽ whispers of fears #☽ quoth the raven #☽ wandering the dreaming #☽ the other side #☽ glimpses of nightmare #☽ in the waking

[moonridge]

“you’re obviously well off,” said one hellspawn to the next, chona’s lowborn attire - a simple dress, faded and at some places stained, the hem of the skirt grown torn and threadbare with age and use - likely standing out sorely beside their own.

“what is it like?” she asks, first leaving the question at that, before prattling further: “is it comfortable?”

(inspo from an ask meme i reblogged recently!!)

@devilkinn

　　　piercing green eyes regard the raven perched 'pon their arm with lowered lids. he's lovely company, quothe is, if a little rambunctious and mischievous. isn't that the best kind of company, though? ah, but there's new company that approaches — has something to say, even! ozus raises their head first, eyes off into the middle distance, before their gaze rounds on the other hellspawn.

　　　an easy smile spreads across their black-striped lips, with all the saccharine sweetness of an old friend. ❝ am i? obviously well off, i mean. ❞ what a silly question. the answer is clear as day, despite the other eccentricities, despite the scar across their face that tells of either a certain roughness or sordid mystery. the smile stays fixed on their lips.

　　　a laugh leaves their lips next as the raven is dismissed to flap his wings and take off into the air to rest on a tree branch above. the tiefling's arm slowly rolls out through the air in front of them, the motion lazy yet pleasant. ❝ these questions don't ever really have an easy answer, don't you think? for one, i was born well off, while you were not. i could never really know what it's like to live modestly as much as you don't know what it's like to live extravagantly. ❞

　　　now does the warlock study both of their manners of dress individually. chona's attire is much different than ozus's fine clothes, black and red accented with gold where it matters. the clothes as of late have become a bit worn and torn from adventuring, but alas — par for the course, one would assume. ❝ if i had to try, though? ❞ a taloned finger is tapped against their chin.

　　　❝ it's comfortable, ❞ concludes the noble, ❝ and i never had to want for anything. physically, at least. ❞ there were plenty of things to want emotionally. that's perhaps best left unsaid, though.

#answered #// TY FOR THE ASK!! yippee #devilkinn

[brothersgrim]

Send in a ❣ for a random kiss.

@texasrcttlesnake​ asked:

❣

8. a dying kiss.

It should never have come to this. He should have been better.

He should have been able to protect Steve.

Steve was all he had left. Steve, the home... He didn’t know about Kane. Kane was gone right now. Out of reach, just like Steve would be...

Like Steve would...

It still doesn’t feel real.

It can’t be real. It just can’t be. Steve can’t be leaving him. He can’t! He wouldn’t! He.... He promised. It’s juvenile, he knows. Everyone dies. Everyone and everything. He knew that. Arguably, he knew that better than everyone else in the world. And he had lost before.

God, he had lost before.

He didn’t want to lose again. He didn’t have a choice. Just like always, he didn’t have a choice. He was forced to watch again as his family slipped away.

God, Steve fit so well in his arms. He always had. Even now, cold and heavy and still, he fit so well.

“Hey,” a voice behind him. He doesn’t look up. He can’t. He can’t handle this. It’s not real. It can’t be.

“Take?”

He looked up. Finally looked up. And Steve was standing there. Because it has already happened.

Steve was already gone.

He’d already failed. He clenched his jaw and said nothing. Steve crouched down and looked at the corpse in Taker’s arms.

“Well, shit.” Steve sighed. It was such a ‘Steve’ thing to say, in another situation, Taker might have laughed. Not now. Now, it just made his chest seize up. Steve looked up at him and cracked a noticeably forced grin. “Guess I really pooched this one, huh?”

Taker sighed. Held the body closer and stood. ... Steve was so light. He’d seemed heavier when he was alive. Warmer. He’d squirmed more, too. Hung on tight even as he complained he was able to walk.

That wouldn’t happen anymore. Never again.

“Hey, Taker! Can you hear me, you big dead bastard?!”

“I can hear you.” It’s an automatic response. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” That sounds automatic, too. Steve steps in front of him and Taker stops, clutches the body tight. It’s hard to look at Steve. Not just because he loves him, because he failed him. Not just because Steve, he was so sorry. The Dead were always hard to see. Steve was blurred around the edges. A bit greyer. A bit brighter, even though the world seems so much darker already. Little transparent. Almost shimmery. A good man, clearly, but Taker had known that already. Steve reached out to put his hand on Taker’s face. At most, Taker felt a faint pressure, a buzzing of energy. He laid the body down carefully on the couch and leaned into Steve’s hand and it felt more solid.

Not the same, though. Never the same again.

“Had to happen eventually.” Steve’s voice was soft. Still hoarse like always, but close and far away all at once. Spectral. That’s the word. Of course it is. Because Steve is dead.

“Hell, the way I live?” Steve tried to force a smile. Taker couldn’t reciprocate. “I’m lucky I lasted this long.” He put his other hand on the other side of Taker’s face. “Real lucky.” Taker closed his eyes and drew a breath. It burned. It didn’t burn the way fire did; nor did it burn the way drowning did. No, it was far more familiar than that.

Grief burned in its own way.

His hands were shaking. He hadn’t noticed it until he put the body down. ... Steve’s body. Until he put Steve’s body down. His husband’s body. His husband, who he failed. He wrapped around his partner’s spirit and he was grateful for what he had become. If he were not the reaper he was, he wouldn’t get to hold him this one last time.

“I love you.” He said softly. He’d handled spirits before. Dozens, hundreds, thousands, countless. None were as precious to him as Steve’s. He felt like if he moved too fast, spoke too loud, Steve would vanish and he would be alone again. Alone forever. Alone like always.

“Love you too.” Steve murmurs. The Undertaker closes his eyes and holds him tighter. To anyone else, it would seem as though the Undertaker is standing in an empty room, holding himself beside the corpse of his forever. Nobody else would ever know. It was a private slice of eternity, only for the two of them, and the Undertaker didn’t want it to end. He couldn’t let it end. ... But he knew that he had to.

“You’re going somewhere nice.” He says without letting go. He tried to make it sound reassuring, but he knew, even to him, it didn’t really work. He knew Steve well enough that he knew, if Steve was corporeal, he’d tense.

“I’m already somewhere nice.” Steve said. There it was. That typical Austin bullheadedness that had driven the Undertaker up the wall so many times. The well-known Austin stubbornness that had sent the two of them to blows when they were younger. The famous Austin tenacity that had made him keep trying to help a lonely corpse find happiness. What was he supposed to do without it?

“Steve--”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “I ain’t going anywhere.” He took a small step back but didn’t let go, instead balled his fists in Taker’s jacket. Jaw set, blue eyes piercing. Yup. There it was. The light flickered. Taker hadn’t done that.

“Steve, you can’t stay.” It hurt so much to say that. Every word dropped like lead. Heavy and cold and dead. Bitter on his tongue. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He couldn’t look at Steve’s face anymore. Not when he’s dead. Not when he looked so betrayed.

“I ain’t goin’!” Steve doubled down. “You can’t make me!” They both knew that he definitely could.

“Steve-”

“Hell no, son! My ass is stayin’!” Steve stepped back and pointed emphatically at the floor. Brow furrowed, shoulders squared. Not giving up without a fight. Of course not. He wouldn’t be Steve if he did.

“Steve-!”

“Ain’t heaven if you’re not there.”

The Undertaker couldn’t respond. Not when Steve was looking at him like that.

“... I’m sorry.” He said finally. Voice hoarse and quiet. Steve drew back a little more.

“Why can’t I stay?” Steve asked. He was restless, fidgeting. Crossing his arms, uncrossing. Taker glanced back to the body on the couch.

“You’re dead.” Taker said. Steve snorted.

“So are you.” He said, then jerked his head in the direction of the back door. “So are them sum’bitches out there. They’re stayin’, so am I.”

“You can’t!” Taker finally snapped. The frustration had mounted too high, the grief swirling into something sharp and vicious. “Most of them didn’t stay! The ones that did, they changed! Thy got hurt, twisted-- You think I could watch that happen to you?!”

“I can take it!” Steve retorted. “I dare whatever motherfucker does it to try!”

“You aren’t listening!” Taker took a step forward, looking off to the side before back at Steve. “I’m not letting that happen! Not to you!” He jabbed a finger in Steve’s chest.

“It won’t happen!” Steve shakes his head. The boards didn’t creak under his weight like they used to.

“You don’t know that!” Taker yelled back.

“Maybe I do!” Steve ran his hand down his face. “I ain’t going. I can’t. I’m not leavin’ you.” Taker breathes deep, exhales heavily, shuddering. His shoulders are so tense they ache. His chest burns. His head throbs. This can’t be happening. It’s not real. Not his Steve. Everything was so bright and so dark and so hot and so cold. Even his own voice, tired in its grief, seems like a gunshot.

“Just let me do this for you, Steve.” He said, hanging his head. Closes his eyes once again. Everything was so heavy. The silence that fell over them like a shroud weighted heavier still. Steve didn’t say anything. The Undertaker didn’t open his eyes. After a few eternal seconds, Steve did speak.

“What about that Sheriff?”

“What?” The Undertaker looked up and blinked his confusion. Steve looked excited.

“That Sheriff!” He said again, gesturing with both hands. “The one that comes back ‘round Christmas!”

“Jake.” Taker says automatically. Steve nods dismissively.

“That asshole.” He crosses his arms. “Can I get visiting hours like him?” Taker blinked again. He frowns. Thinks.

“It... Might not be up to me,” he says slowly, “But, maybe.”

“I don’t take maybe.” Steve snorted. “Don’t take no, neither.” That actually earned a smile from the Deadman. Tired, mournful... But genuine.

“I know.” He said, then sighed. “I know.” Steve stepped close again. Taker rested his hands on Steve’s hips. Still warm, but strange. Like static buzzing under his palms.

“So I’ll be back.” Steve said, sounding so damn sure of himself. “Find a time I can visit and be a pain in your ass again. ... October seems like a good month.”

“Heard that one before.” The Deadman mumbled. He had. Sitting over a ledger, working out guest lists and budgets and honey moon plans, he’d heard that one before.

“And I was right.” Steve held him tighter. “It was nice.” The Undertaker nodded.

“Best day of my life.” He let another moment hang between them.

“Mine too.” Steve leaned his forehead against Taker’s shoulder.

“... You still have to go.” The Undertaker finally said, even as he tried to hold Steve tighter still. (I don’t want him to go, said the Deadman’s heart. He’ll get hurt if he stays, replied his brain. I will hurt when he leaves, sobs the heart.)

“Fine. But I’ll be back.” Steve said and Taker wished he could believe him. “Just-” Steve stood up, glanced at the (his) body on the couch and grimaced. “Be gentle when you tell Kevin and Jenny. And Riley and the girls.”

Taker nodded and squeezed Steve’s hands.

“I will.” He promised. And he would. He had earned his ‘name’, after all. He knew how to talk to families. This would be far more personal, but he could manage. He had to manage. He owed Steve that much.

“Okay.”  Steve finally nodded. His voice was much softer, now. Still hoarse, but soft. Taker took his hand and stepped towards the back door, but Steve hesitated. “Ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” The Undertaker shook his head.

“Nothing is gonna hurt you again.” He said. Steve hummed a single note.

“Sounds dull as hell.” He commented. Of course Steve would say that. The Deadman snorts.

“Guess it is.” He agrees. He wouldn’t know. He paused on the back porch. How many times had they sat here together, watching the sun go down? How many drinks had they shared on the porch swing? This was where Steve had proposed to him. This had been his paradise. Because of Steve. Steve had given him paradise.

It was only fair he bring Steve to paradise, now.

“It’s beautiful.” Steve said. The Undertaker nodded. Keeping a hold of Steve’s hand, he took a step off the porch. Rather than falling down to the porch steps, or pas them to the dirt, his boot rested on something solid and invisible in the air. A swirling dust mote puffed outwards around his step. Another step up and this time, the dust mote that fell out seemed to outline a perfectly-angled staircase. Steve regarded it wearily, then followed behind his husband.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He mutters. Then, a little bit louder, “Hey, Take! Hold up!” the Undertaker paused. Steve kept looking down at where their feet remained a fair distance above the ground. He stomped one foot, then the other. Then he jumped up and down. Once, twice. Once more for emphasis. “Ain’t that a bitch?” ... At least he was having fun. But then, Steve had always been like that. Tenacious. Perseverant. Impossible to break.

Never willing to show how much he was hurting.

...

Maybe they should wait a little bit longer. Just to let Steve experiment more. Let him have his fun on his walk up. (His only walk up.)

(He was never coming back.)

“Feel like one of ‘em superheroes.” Steve commented. One more hop. “Hey, think I could pull off Clark Kent?” The Undertaker snorted.

“Sure. Got the reading glasses for it and everything.” He shook his head and squeezed Steve’s hand.

“You like my glasses.” Steve scuffed his boot on the stairs one more time. The Undertaker nodded.

“I do.” He took a breath and tugged Steve’s hand again. This was for Steve. To keep him safe. To bring him home. Keeping him here any longer would be selfish. The longer they waited, the higher the risk.

He could never risk Steve.

(Don’t be selfish.)

“’S a long way up.” Steve said after a while, looking down through the slowly-illuminating stairs as they ascended higher than the roof of the home.

“Your knees hurt?” Taker asked. Steve paused, frowned, then looked down.

“No.” He said. Taker nodded. Thought to himself that they never would again. The sky continued to lighten around them until it faded into a white expanse. The silence was broken by...

...

Engines revving?

The Undertaker almost smiled. Of course. How could he be surprised? It was Steve, after all.

“What in the hell-?” Steve began, but stopped with his mouth hanging open when the celestial stadium came into view. Lights dancing around the tops, massive trucks ramping over the edge of the amphitheater, the roar of a crowd and the announcer’s voice gleefully welcoming all of them to the show.

“Oh, hell yeah!” Steve exclaimed, grinning a mile wide. He was practically bouncing like a toddler before he turned to Taker again. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a big ol’ monster rally up in the sky?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be.” The Undertaker replied. Steve jogged up a few steps ahead and tugged on his hand.

“C’mon, I wanna see them motherfuckers crush a minivan!”

“I can’t.” The Undertaker said simply. Steve stopped. His grin fell away. He looked to the stadium, then to Taker. The stadium, Taker. He kept staring at Taker.

“Oh.” Steve said simply. He didn’t say anything else for a moment. Just watched his husband as the engines and crowds kept roaring. “So that’s...” The Undertaker nodded. Steve didn’t need to finish the question.

“Yeah.” He didn’t need to give more detail. They both knew. Steve stuck his thumbs through his belt loops. The Undertaker walked towards the stadium. Too dark, too filthy, too hell-bound and accursed to belong in such a place. He knew that he could go no further than the door.

“It’s time, Steve.”

“Fine.” Steve huffed, walking up beside him and slipping an arm around the Deadman’s waist. “It’s only temporary, anyway.”

“Right.” Taker said. Wrong. Taker thought. He forced another deep breath, then turned and gently tugged to get Steve to face him, too. Steve didn’t resist.

“I love you, Steven James.” Taker said, just as he had so many times. At the house in Victoria. The first night together in the home. When Steve’s truck pulled back into the driveway. When they got married. And now, when he said goodbye. He pulls Steve close and kisses him. Kisses him and does his best to commit how it feels to memory. He could never forget Steve. But just in case, he had to be sure. He also had to be sure Steve knew how much he meant those words. How much he’d always mean them. Steve finally pulled away, keeping his hands in Taker’s hair.

“Why you talking like it’s goodbye?” He asked, blue eyes dazed and sparkling, so bright in proximity to eternity. “It’s only ‘see you soon’. I’m comin’ back, remember?” The Undertaker nodded.

“I know.” (You won’t.) It takes more strength than he thought he had to let go of Steve’s hips (don’t be selfish). He has to let him go. Steve deserves paradise.

“Hey there, Stevie!” A weathered yet warm voice took their attention away, and both of them looked towards the man standing in the stadium doorway.

“Papaw?” Steve’s expression softened, melting into a warm disbelief. He glanced back to Taker, then to the man - his grandfather - in the door and took a few steps forward.

“C’mon in, boy. Your granny and I saved you a seat.” The smile on the old man’s face was warm, genuine, maybe a little sad, but wholly welcoming. Steve hesitated only long enough to give ‘Taker one last peck on the lips.

“Be back soon.” He grinned, so confident of himself, before turning to step into the stadium. “Hey, they got any of them extra-cheesy nachos in there?” The question was enough to keep a fond neutrality on the Undertaker’s face until the stadium door closed with a finality that even Steve Austin’s legendary stubbornness couldn’t match. He stayed there for a moment, standing alone in the bright, heavenly light, staring at the stadium door.

Then he turns and leaves.

Step by step down the ethereal staircase, until the roar of engines faded to silence faded to the distant croaks of ravens. Until the light had faded and the world was grey and empty again and the weight on his shoulders crushed him more and more with each step. Until his feet touched down and he found himself, alone and dead, in the land of the living once more.

But it wasn’t until he’d moved Steve’s body to the embalming room to take measurements that he realized he was crying.

#texasrcttlesnake #&& rest in peace; deadman ic #&& whispers from the crypt; deadman answers #&& a legend reburied; deadmans return #&& quoth the ravens three; deadman drabbles #&& cold embrace warms us; undertaker and steve #long post // #death ment // #ask to tag

[reddawnmultimuse]

❤️💞 for Itachi?

[ oh no, anon! something got lost in translation with this ❤️ emoji because it isn't on the list and idk which one is was supposed to be. so, I'm guessing here but it make it up in case it's wrong, I'm going to give you a freebie! ]

💖 - What traits does your muse find physically attractive? Eyes. That's the first thing Itachi notices. If you have beautiful or captivating eyes, he'll stare into them. Also, hair. He likes long, silky hair which he had run his fingers through. It's a sensory thing which is why he often brushes his fingers through his own hair when stressed.

💞 - Would your muse ever be opened to a polyamorous or open relationship? No. Itachi is a monogamous person. He believes in love for life so if he commits all of himself to them and only them, he expects the other person to commit all of themselves in him and only him.

💔 - Their first heartbreak? The death of Izumi. Itachi never got over it and never will. She was his first and only love.

#. ask #. anonymous ask #. quoth the raven--uchiha itachi #[ sorry again if the first one wasn't correct! ] #[ hoped you still liked the answers anon ]

[nghtry]

" You know you can always count on me " (from Oz Vessalius)

ㅤㅤ "Oz..." The room suddenly felt heavy as he stares at his coat as it's held out and open for him to slip into. It's a kind gesture — and Gilbert does appreciate what Oz is trying to do, it's almost expected of the blond. But with Oz looking after him like this since ... his arm ...

ㅤ"I told you before, you don't need to — I mean it, you know." He knows Oz won't hear any of it but it's true. He can't only rely on someone to always count on, he has to do things — especially the miscellaneous tasks — on his own at some point. How else will he progress? Even if Oz won't hear it, Gil will remind him every now and again. Even when it's clear in Oz's eyes how much it bothers him to see his valet — no, his friend — with one less appendage since ...

ㅤ It won't stop Gilbert, much less slow him down. So ... rather than adding unnecessary fussing and knowing well and true that Oz won't let up, Gilbert turns to slip on the sleeve. Then the other.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"...Thank you."

likely a prompt I forgot and won't look back for atm lol.

#lightcreators #quoth the raven — answered ask. #>:) #hi i missed u guys terribly. let me show u how much by hurting ur heart. #it was my profession back then :') *sniffles*

[gxdsetmxnsters]

Hi!

Song: Carhartts & Converse

Artist: Super Whatevr (feat. Mark Hoppus)

Line(s): I take it as a challenge and I burn down the world for you / Scientist drowning in the chemistry / Turns out I prefer my enemies

#【✑|Quoth the Raven】 #ask answered #answered ask #Carhartts & Converse #super whatevr #mark hoppus

[cassiecasyl]

Happy FFWF! Drop it like it hot (aka drop a snippet of any wip you have).

Also take a break and have a glass of h2o

I'm just gonna give you a snippet of the chapter I wrote last night kajdf It's for a quoth the raven; evermore fic for which I'm gonna upload the first chapter later today now that I've finally written the second one. (still gotta revise this chapter a little).

“Who are you to think that you could wake the Empty once more?” the voice asked, steadier and louder than before, like it had arrived. Dean blinked. He couldn’t care less whether the Empty lost sleep, it had slept for millenias and would do so until the end of time. Cas was here, so really, who were they to question him? Did they think they could just take him, especially after that speech, without him following? For an eternal entity, it could be incredible stupid.

Dean stopped. It all boiled down to this. There was no other answer.

I love him.

The love the angel had seen within him, burning and blistering his skin like lava, like hell, consumed him, but he couldn’t let it stop him. It wasn’t at all like hell, this was worse. Because he didn’t choose this. Yet, it was his fault, through and through. “Cas,” he whispered into the stagnant atmosphere as he’s done so many times before, wrapping his lips around the name in blasphemy. It was an unspoken declaration of love, in a way.

“Dean?”

Thank you for this question and you get some water too!!!

#destiel #not me answering this in class akdjfak #ffwf #dylan asks #thank you #quoth the raven; evermore

[caatws]

List 5 things that make you happy and then put this in the inbox of the pass 10 people who reblogged something from you. Spread the positivity!

aw this is so wholesome!!!!

pokemon!!!

dark chocolate

it’s finally warm out today!!!! spring is coming!!! my favorite season

my cursed cat, queso

going home/seeing my family after a long time apart!

#love this honestly #ask #answered #about me #quoth-the-ravens

[ask-kyuubman-the-huubman]

*picks Kyuubey up like Simba in Circle of Life* I love you

#answered ask #quoth-the-ravens