There's Something So Compelling To Me About The Fact That Sometimes Leaving A Blade Or Bullet Inside

there's something so compelling to me about the fact that sometimes leaving a blade or bullet inside the wound it made is the only way to prevent you from bleeding to death. something about the ironic symbolism of it. when the thing designed and intended to kill you is the only thing keeping you alive.

Note regarding my Akechi muse & shipping: Particularly regarding Shuake/Akeshu (the ship of Akechi & the Protagonist), Akechi’s feelings regarding the Protagonist are very complicated regardless of the platonic or romantic nature of their dynamic, so while I do personally ship it and think the pairing is very interesting, it is not the default dynamic I have for them! I think Akechi has a lot of conflicting emotions and thoughts regarding the Protag, some of them very well being romantic (or at least generally homosexual) in nature. The overall, general conflicting emotions is simply part of my characterization of Akechi, but is entirely optional if it is expanded upon into a proper ship or even specified! if you want to ship it with me, by all means! but no one is obligated to!!! (it will also be tagged as Akeshu // for those who want to block it!)

I am also entirely okay with pairing Akechi with muses aside from the Protagonist! Akechi is a VERY difficult muse to handle and work with regarding honesty, his inner thoughts and feelings, and being both genuine and vulnerable enough to express them to another person, but it is ABSOLUTELY on the table! As long as it's not creepy, then I’m probably willing to at least consider it!

❁ ethan n jamie bc u know i had to

Send me a ❁ for the type of flower my muse would give to yours // Accepting!

Sometimes, with Jamie, Ethan feels like a teenager again; with all the sappy little quirks those splashes of thought invoke. usually, usually he doesn't act on them; a tinge of embarrassment to years he should very-well have put long behind him now ━ he's a father now, after all ━ where all the puppy-loving little things float in his head and often, out the other. ( all valentines chocolate and sharing sweaters and buying flowers )

But for as much as Ethan struggles with expressing these little tender things, a little too much hurt in him to make it as easy as he'd wish it were, as embarrassed as he is for the classic, cheesy things that Mae very well might mock him for in the way children will mock anything and the way one day rose will learn from Mae just how to do it : sometimes, his heart is a little bigger than his pins-and-needles passivity, and while he doesn't usually have the nerve to stay to see the reaction ━ the concept a little too striking and a little too discomforting, the anticipation easier to stomach ━ sometimes, just sometimes, he follows through. This time, that following through manifests as a bouquet on Jamie's bedside table. Some of the leaves are a little crushed, his hands a little clumsy, but still beautiful despite the bruising ( or maybe, in a way, because of it. )

and like much else Ethan does, messages hide themselves in the upturned petals, the undersides of leaves. ━ It's okay if he doesn't see it. He doesn't expect him to.

Peony, bluebell, red carnation, camellia, jonquil, rose in full bloom, red tulip. ━ shame, happy marriage; humility; my heart aches for you; admiration, perfection, good luck; affection returned, love me, desire, sympathy; i love you, i still love you; believe me, declaration of love ( 'I love you even when I cannot say it, I love you even when I'm ashamed of the person I am, I hope you still love me despite it, I hope you continue to believe me when I tell you.' )

“Hark,” a voice boomed in his ears.

The voice was not one, but many, coming from every direction and ringing in his skull to where he thought it might crack open. The deepest voice made his chest shutter, bass shaking his core; the most shrill rang even when it had stopped. With gritted teeth and clenched eyes, he clapped his hands over his ears as the voice continued:

“Thy hand is sullied. Return the Sacred Blade whence it rested.”

Wind up on your own floor / Choking on blood

Death of Silence, or Jean-Louis Trintignant (2013), Angela Dufresne / Sept. 15, 1983, The Mountain Goats

happy valentine’s akeshu