Synchronization Of Horrors.

yoo your striker looks gnc af

my campain for everyone to read all for the game continues

these two, i’m… *shakes fist*

/check for some serious triggers before reading tho!/

Sometimes you have to beg your best friend to leave the only place he’s called home since his mother died because he will not survive if he stays - even if that means leaving you. Sometimes you have to mop up your best friend’s blood and try not to look at bone sticking out of skin. Sometimes you have to convince your bestfriend that the person he loves (the person you hate more than anything) does not love him and will never love him and never did love him because love doesn’t look like sacrificing someone else’s dream for the sake of your own pride. Sometimes you have to let your best friend go even though it might end with you soaked in your own blood because you know that you were always stronger than him and you can endure it - you have to endure it. Sometimes you are Jean Moreau and you are very very alone.

I’ve decided that once Kevin gets comfortable with casual affection, he becomes a kisser. He kisses everyone. Cheeks, foreheads, tops of heads (lots of this because everyone is so short). Goodbye kisses, greeting kisses, excited kisses. He likes the softness and intimate nature of the act. Likes that he can have this kind of affection with people, and it stays entirely innocent. The only person who doesn’t get kisses is Andrew, and he is bitter about it, but only Neil knows. Kevin’s never wanted to ask because he didn't want to make Andrew feel uncomfortable but also because he didn’t want to face that kind of rejection. He doesn’t have to, though, because one day after Kevin’s given Neil a quick peck on the top of his head, which Neil hardly even notices anymore, Andrew places himself in front of Kevin expectantly and glares. Kevin freezes, thinking Andrew is no longer okay with Kevin kissing his boyfriend, but when Kevin looks at Neil, he just pats his head and gives a quick thumbs up. Mimes out, “Yes or no?” Kevin asks, “Andrew, can I kiss your head?” To which Andrew replies, like an adult, “I don’t know, can you?” Kevin rolls his eyes and asks again, “Yes or no, asshole” Andrew nods in the affirmative and so Kevin leans down and softly kisses the top of Andrew’s head. When he pulls away, he watches Andrew for any signs that he’s messed it up but is met with Andrew’s blank, unaffected face. “Boring,” Andrew finally says, and it almost stops Kevin’s heart because there it is, the rejection he fears. Only Andrew steps closer and grabs the front of Kevin’s shirt. “Kiss me for real.” Neil nods encouragingly behind Andrew with both thumbs up, so Kevin does what he’s told. Now, Kevin still gives kisses. Cheeks and foreheads and tops of heads but also lips, and necks and shoulders too.

You told her the wave was seven feet. You ran to her on the beach. There were seagulls. She wore a hat with a blue ribbon, a long dress with a blue and red flower, and yellow sandals covered in sand. She was pretty. She was really pretty. And you…you were happy.

his swagless breakdowns have captivated me

im proud of him!!

nathaniel wesninski had been dead for years before they left him buried in baltimore. he had been dead, but he’d also been ever-present, pacing in the muffled beat of alex’s footsteps, crouching beneath the hooded circles under stefan’s eyes, twitching at the base of chris’s trigger finger. pulsing in the pit of abram’s throat as he stuck a lighter to the hood of his mother’s car. he crawled into bed at neil’s side when he tucked away his brown contacts and pulled out his binder. but neil, abram, alex-stefan-chris, weren’t the only ones he haunted, because he haunted evermore too. he was the silhouette that sat on the edge of the bed opposite jean’s when zane wasn’t in the room. he was the phantom that drew cold fingers over the number that should have been his scrawled on the face of the boy he should have been able to save. he was the speck of light jean saw when he opened his eyes underwater long enough he forgot how to breathe. he was the glinting edge of a box-cutter and the creaking floor of a wooden box and the stale air in jean’s lungs from 48 hours in hell. the point separating 11.9 from 1.19. misplaced forever partners united by being haunted by the same ghost.

sometimes when I wanna make my self sad I just think about how the choking incident was quite possibly the most devastating way for Andrew and Kevin's deal to end