Трунь

love includes:

where angels fear to tread

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

Bitches be real proud that their favorite character doesn't kill people. Where's the spice??? Where's the flavor???

✩ Hawks + World Heroes’ Mission OVA ✩

angeldust | roronoa zoro.

“ you make even love sound like a cheap gamble, woman. ”

if angels ever existed, then a certain seventeen year old illusionist would definitely know, 'cause they visit her every time she mixes white in her drink.

— THE ENTIRE SHITE

author's (itty bitty babie) note

one ; blurring lines

two ; only one

( a/n: i'll keep adding chapters here as soon as they are uploaded)

I can’t, this is to beautiful

{PATRON SAINT OF KFC}

Do not repost. 

fear the rot

synopsis: a short study of geta's death following the death of his child. (782) contents: child death, murder, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, body rotting, some serious separation issues, angst, a whole hell lot of angst, mourning, a/n: the child will come back!! this is not her end, just a character study on how geta would react to his child being killed.

masterlist!!

her body was brought back underneath a sheet. thick, red blood soaks the fabric, the sheet sticking to her body. he cannot bear to peel it back, to see the lifeless eyes of his child peering up at him, to see the traces of terror in her eyes.

outside of palatine, war rages as his brother fights off the rebellion, molding the romans back into shape.

he should be out there, staying tall next to caracalla as they protected their city, their home. yet, as he sits near the rotting body of his child, geta cannot bring himself to stand.

it's been days since her murder, days since his brother had declared war against the rebels, demanding heads to roll.

he can still feel the shock in his veins, pulsing violently as he sits by the body, remembering the way her body rolled off of her chair, chest nearly torn to shreds by knives.

it had been a poorly orchestrated reenactment of julius' caesar's death, yet they succeeded in murdering his child. he had watched as she slipped out of the blood covered chair, knives sticking out of her chest like arrows as he raced towards her.

the rebels who had killed her slit their own throats, their bodies dropping onto the stone floor. they had taken the coward's way out, choosing to shrivel in fear when the consequences had been presented.

he was still in his blood stained toga, the blood from his child had gotten everywhere, somehow finding it's way into his hair.

the blood cracked and flaked on his skin, leaving his skin irritated as he sat across from his child, ignoring the putrid scent permanenting their room.

she had begun to rot, chilled by death. the stiffening of her muscles had passed, her body no longer straining against the sheet. instead, she had begun to bloat. he could see her arms, no longer small, instead red and blue, bloated to twice their original sizes.

he could see where the blood pooled in her body, making her turn nasty shades of blue and red as her blood settled, weighing her body down.

-

he was unsure of how much time had passed, no longer concerned with external affairs as he lied underneath the blankets of their bed, wallowing in his loss.

there was no light in his life. there was no reason to live without his child. why should he be allowed to live whilst she would never see the light of day once more?

he would never hear his child's laughter once more, he would never be called father again, he would never know the love of a child again.

his eyes drifted reluctantly over to the sheet shrouding his daughter. the image of her, peaceful yet so grotesque in her stillness, haunted him. he wanted to shield himself from the agony of seeing her ravaged form, yet the thought of turning his back on her was worse.

this was his reality now—clinging to the girl who would never again laugh or play, shackled to the incessant memory of her murder.

-

the bugs have gotten into their room. they buzz around her body, yet geta still cannot bring himself to leave the bed.

everything hurts. he thirsts for water, hungers for food, yet he cannot pull himself out of their bed. why should he be comfortable after his child suffered so?

-

caracalla stabs him in his own bed the next day.

his brother's nose is twisted up in disgust as the smell of his daughter's rotting body fills the room, skin and muscle beginning to slide off of pale bones.

geta can't even fight against his brother, stubbornly clinging to the bed like a toddler as the sword is stabbed through his chest. he can hear his mother screaming, can feel her hands on his face, begging him to stay alive.

all geta can do is hope that he will be buried alongside his child.

-

they're cremated together, ashes mixed in a golden urn. a statue is created in their honor, standing tall in the gardens, near the tree his child used to lay under.

rome mourns her more than they mourn him. festivals and celebrations are held in honor of their lives, yet they tend to focus on her life, her youth and her peacefulness.

caracalla has their room cleaned, yet refuses to remove anything, leaving the room untouched. eventually, it is walled off, and their room becomes inaccessible.

within the room, a smaller urn lies on the bed. it is held up by a small stuffed doll, a testament to his child's youth. the urn will stay there until palatine crumbles, as they are together, even in death.

school au is the best au for one piece