[x] Mixed Manga Quotes: Sentence starters.

“Which one is your favorite?” Her tone isn’t the sickly sweet one nor the innocently naive one either. It’s simple, curious even. Red hues stare at the man from atop of where she sat. A tilt of the head for added effect and for a moment, one could believe she’s asking something that any normal and sane person would. “Which one do you like the most? The one that you favor above all else?”

She began to kick her feet back and forth, humming softly as she tapped her chin. “I met one of them, actually. It was funny, I almost knew right away. I kind of like her, she had a lot of personality to her but also...” Lips curled, a cheshire grin appeared, wagging her finger at the other, “...she seemed to have fallen for someone I’m interested in.”

                    “The humans called this ‘dancing’.”                                                                  “Mm… You don’t seem very good at it, do you?”                     “…”

Noblesse AU with @arescetetflorebit​!

I wasn’t sure if they’d have their more albino color schemes or their more “natural” color schemes, so I just did both. It was fun to imagine that they’d be mistaken for nobles from the Landagre clan, and then be all angry with their werewolf pride like “you dare compare us to those filthy nobles” idk.

Send me “talk about us” and my muse will tell your muse...

What they define their relationship with your muse as:

“Mi vida, I don’t think I would be the person I am today without you. My wife, the one I love more than my own life.”

Something they like about your muse:

“Just one thing? That’s too hard. Everything, the good and bad. The beautiful and ugly. There’s not just a one thing I could say I like or love. I’m all or nothing for her.” 

Something they dislike about your muse:

“How she can’t see herself the way I see her. That she thinks she doesn’t deserve what we will have with each other.”

Their first impression of your muse:

“I really fucking hate this woman.”

Their impression of your muse now:

“What I wouldn’t do to make you happy.”

How they feel about your muse:

“One day, you’ll find that person or people that know you and understand you better than anyone else. Not always but enough that you’ll feel yourself drawn to them. I wouldn’t be so cheesy as to admit her being my soul mate, but I like to believe we’re something akin to that.”

Something they are hiding from your muse:

“That I didn’t have to go but I chose to go because family is important to me.”

Something they wish they could to tell your muse:

[x] Send “Help!” and I’ll generate a number, 1-15                                                                                                – - [Accepting]

14. My muse will show up on your muse’s doorstep, bloody and beaten

          He should have gone home.

It was stupid of him, Amy always chastised, to insist on living alone in an empty complex with his status in the city, but he always insisted he didn’t need protection. Protection meant trust, and he was never fond of letting such a thing form so easily when just as easily did it shatter. He didn’t need bodyguards or escorts, since, in his opinion, he wasn’t all that important. A pretty face in the news? Maybe. But Harmony Records has this thing about ‘spreading the wealth,’ so while he was gaining recognition and fame in the company’s top rank, he never felt the glamour of being a celebrity. Just look at his run-down apartment complex.

But every so often, those who didn’t understand the workings of Harmony would go to great lengths to resolve a pretty face to pulp, if only for a few extra bucks.

The poor suckers who stole his wallet were probably gaping right now at how he’d only kept seven dollars and eighty-nine cents in his leather pocket-warmer, with an ATM card and a license that stated a name they didn’t recognize at all, leaving nothing to greet them more shockingly than the blood-red eyes in the photo ID.

It nearly matched how they’d left him in the empty lot, beaten with red flowers staining his clothes and hair, roses of burning agony budding from cuts along his body. The wounds were fresh, but healing as he grasped weakly at his car door–which still swung open from him stepping out just minutes before. The screech of tires still rang in his ears from the escape his assailants had made in the car they’d stalked him from his apartment in.

His body ached. It screamed at him to stop moving as the magic that coursed in his veins surged in effort to heal his injuries, but he pressed on. His steps dragged along the pavement, hands clutching his lower abdomen where a knife had cut deep but evaded major organs. His right eye clenched itself tight, stinging from the blood that clouded his sight from a slit just above his brow, and his lips trembled.

His legs pushed forward as he reached for the door to the home, but just as soon as his raw knuckles grazed the door, his knees buckled and he collided with the wood with a thud, breaths jagged and shallow. His voice fell in a croak against the door frame, desperate, pleading.

noooooo