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@haunted-wesley

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âI feel safe in my sadness and that scares me.â
â meliseeeex (via shareaquote)
if a punk person flirted with me...i would just...fall in love with them i guess
âeverything Iâve ever done is an attempt to hideâ
â El Pearson, from !!!be less afraid!!! (via lifeinpoetry)

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I didnât know a real-life human could literally make the :3 face until I saw Jason Ralph.
âBecause it was my crime to have no one on Earth who cared for me, or loved me.â
â Edgar Allan Poe, from a letter to John Allan, c. January 1831 (via objetpetita)

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thealmightygusblakeâ:
Obscenely loud and equally vulgar hip hop music blasting through the air. Half-eaten pizza and corresponding box discarded to the side. Bottle of peppermint schnapps in one hand. Lit cigarette in the other. No shirt. Jeans open and pulled down a little further than appropriate in public. And a heavily tattooed woman on her knees in front of him.
Gus was in his element.
Unfortunately â and much to the young mans chagrin â things werenât exactly as they appeared. The buzz of the tattoo gun wouldâve gave that away if it wasnât drowned out by the loud music. The tattoo gun cutting through skin and flesh over his hip wouldâve been apparent if not obscured by the tattooistâs head in the reflection of the mirror against the back wall.Â
It was in the mirror that he saw the approaching reflection. And there goes that smile.
Once they were finally locked in eye contact, Gus used the bottle to toast their arrival before lifting it to his lips and drinking.
âYou know,â This time he spoke through a wince, the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat effecting him a lot more than usual. âI woke up with a sore back for the first time ever this morning.â Gus paused for a moment, replacing the bottle for the cigarette. He drew in deep whilst the tattoo artist set the gun down and started dabbing at the piece.Â
âIs that how they wake all the time? What a fuckinâ trip, man.â
He had to have gotten turned around somehow... Heâd found a tattoo shop, but it looked nothing like the neatly kept little place that stood by the flower shop; Garbage littered the premises, and something with an unidentifiable baseline blared from the sound system, which seemed awfully distracting to the ghost, but to each their own. It didnât look particularly open, and as he hadnât been capable of opening the door, he wondered fleetingly if perhaps squatters had taken up residence.Â
Wes follows the noise until he stumbles upon a couple, at first glance enjoying a private moment, but the buzzing sound, paired with the womanâs entirely disinterested expression, tells a different story, thankfully. The room in general smells of mint and old grease, and Wesâ nose crinkles at the scent.Â
âE-excuse me?â he calls, one hand raised in an awkward wave, the other clutching his sweaterâs hem like a lifeline. âI-I wouldnât know, um, but. Sorry, but I think I got a bit turned around, you wouldnât happen to know if the flower shop is nearby?â
tonguetaisâ:
âItâs fine.â Spoiler alert: it was not fine. Tai was well aware that nothing about the current predicament was fine, especially not for Wesley who was stranded in such a hard state to begin with. It was his job to reassure him though, his job to make sure that if there was comfort to offer, he would provide it. Tai didnât mind this, he was more than willing to give the world, or burn it down, if it was all for Wes.
âNo, I mean seriously. It will be fine. Itâll come back, and even if it didnât, I would love you anyway, and no corporeal body changes that, you should know that. But, I willâŚfind a way. We didnât come this far to turn back now, and I have plans for you, Mr. Devereux.âÂ
@spoookywesley
Tai is a tear fogged blur before Wes, and if this were his typical overreaction panic attack, heâd be reaching out, letting his ever solid form ground him. Heâd tried, and his hands had passed right through, restless fear sparking trough him. Heâd gone centuries without a corporeal form, and itâd been actual, literal hell. His skin is crawling, as if a limb had fallen asleep and had yet to wake up. His fingertips still have the muscle memory holding Taiâs hand, but itâs just out of reach.
âI canât- Tai, I c-canât do this again, I canât be... I canât touch you, o-or the table, and Chonkers is scared of me...âÂ
Misty gaze seeks Taiâs steady one.Â
âWhat if you canât fix me this time?âÂ
Event .001
He couldnât touch. Something was horribly wrong, because he couldnât touch anything, or anyone, and what if they couldnât see him, and it was all just a dream; what if he was back where he started, alone, unseen and touch starved?Â
Small form sat curled into an even smaller ball in the middle of the walkway. Heâd tried to lean against the wall, but had passed right through it, same with the front door, and the kitchen table. Heâd started out in their apartment, but in his panic had ended up out in the hallway, the best place to have a mental breakdown, of course.Â
The floor was all he had to ground him and it was doing a subpar job. He was shaking, hands gripping knees in a death grip, and gaze flitted around the empty hall, before settling warily on the stairs, which someone was walking down.Â
Please see me, please see me, please see me, his mind begs.
âH-hello?â he calls, voice pitched a little too high from panic, but itâs the best he can do, given the circumstances.

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the continuing saga of the bisexual vs the chair
tipeneeeâ:
Tipene had stepped to Wesleyâs side, noticing before words were spoken how tense the other man was. He looked to the other, offering a smile, hoping, if nothing else, to not make things worse. At best, to be soothing. âIâm sure youâre still fantastic company, Wesley.â He said, words soft. âIs there anything I can do to help?â
Sad eyes make wary contact with the man, not sure how much he wants to dump on him.Â
âI just... Have you ever been so happy, so at peace, but also so like, n-numb? Like, somethingâs missing, or lost, only everythingâs where itâs supposed to be, and maybe itâs you know... You. Maybe youâre the thing thatâs wrong?âÂ