Reblog This Dalek Or Be Exterminated

reblog this Dalek or be exterminated

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reblog to heal the person you reblogged this from

Friendly reminder that this is how MTMTE #52 ended

yes i agree.

The exiles. you agree. reblog

Kismesis

|Homestuck modern au: a story about Caliborn’s and Calliope’s parents. Translation: @shira-waves . See original post here!|

In his plans it was completely different. He would play with her like a cat with a mouse, driving her into a trap between duty and attraction to him. He set her up a meeting, knowing that she will agree and won’t use it as an opportunity to catch him. It was supposed to be a romance between the lord of the crime world and a girl in a police uniform forced to do whatever he tells her to do.

On their first date she strangled him and he woke up in a cell.

He hates her for her rightfulness, for her strength that comes god knows from where and which he doesn’t want to admit, and for her refusal to play by his rules. Hates her for knowing all his moves in advance and for the countless troubles.

However much time they had, it was always too little. He looks at her like one sentenced to death breathes, because he needs her more than he needs air.

He embodies everything that she promised to herself to fight against. He is greedy, cruel and imperious, but she won’t be a part of that criminal empire that he dreams about.

She embraces him from the back and lays her head down on his shoulder, wishing to melt in the feeling of closeness.

He wants to shatter her heart into tiny pieces, wishes to see her tears and hear her beg. He is ready to do anything that would make her suffer.

He makes her fried eggs and brings coffee to her bed, he carries her in his arms, and he kisses her as furiously as if his life depended on it.

She’d like to tear him apart with her bare hands. He is horrible, he is a monster, he is ready to mine an entire building just to hurt her. If hate could kill, he would be long dead.

She presses him to the wall and feels his blood on her lips mix with her own. Next morning the bruises on his neck from her fingers look almost as if they were left by kisses.

Her death is his greatest dream, but he cannot imagine that she be killed by anyone else but him. He wishes to see her agony and to feel the power to make it continue or to break it short along with her tiny life.

He holds her thin, pallid hand covered with needle markings, and counts bags on the IV stand, he hides her in his embrace and wipes away her tears.

Their rivalry has long become too personal. She knows everything about him — his habits, his acquaintances, his every weakness. She knows a hundred ways to destroy him. She would have been enjoying the struggle, if not for the suffering of innocent people.

She cradles his head in her lap, stroking it and humming as he falls asleep. She would never have thought him so hungry for a tender touch, he himself would never admit it either.

He is a menace too strong.

She wishes to rid the world of him, so that he’d belong to her alone.

He goes down on one knee and opens the ring box.

“Tell me, how bad of an idea is this?”

“Absolutely terrible,” she tells him, and kisses him.

Here comes Sportacus with the pillow

He is coming for you