#ascven

Right. It wouldn’t hurt. He wouldn’t feel it. Just punch him, Newt. Show him what you’ve learnt. —How did he always get roped into these situations by Minho? The man had an impeccable talent for coercing people to partake in activities of a reckless and violent nature. It was what classified a good time for him, just a casual Saturday. Becoming a punching bag for his best-friend. Being given the ability to ramble on endlessly about a subject he was passionate about. Minho things. That wasn’t, to say, that Newt wasn’t also getting a kick outta it though. Because he was. The gamble of physical contact, the banter, the distraction from less savoury thoughts. Yeah, it was enough to hold his attention during the long-winded demonstrations of form and technique. Enough stalling. “ —Alright, but if I hit ya’ and you cry like a bloody girl, it’s on you. ” It’s sarcastic, smug even. Relishing in having free reign to hit Minho, and harnessing all the energy from the times he wished he could’ve, and couldn’t. 

He didn’t remember a damn thing Minho had taught him, but how hard could it truly be? Knuckles form into a tight fist, before coming to rest gently against the other man’s bicep. He pulls backwards, drives forwards against slowly, and lines up his aim.

Okay. One last retreat, and the punch flies.

———Oh fuck. 

He would know that pain anywhere. He would know it absolutely fucking anywhere. 

▋ 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵 𝑨 𝑴𝑨𝒁𝑬 .  .  .  .  .   🍺   𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈  @ascven​​ .  .  .   ( send  🍺 to encounter my muse when they’re really, really drunk )  ┘

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. His friends. Memories burnt into his subconsciousness like pixels to a tv screen. Red. Permanent. Always somehow resurfacing from the shallow graves he buried them under. As they should, too, because Newt needed to remember them. It was selfish not to remember them. It was his burden to remember them. To keep them alive and at home in a body that still walked the earth. It was how it made it okay that he had was here and they weren’t. Except, he didn’t remember them all. And it wasn’t okay. And he didn’t deserve sleep, because they were his friends and he didn’t even remember them all. He didn’t. The ghosts that walked his dreams were just the tip of the ice berg. Maybe he deserved to see nothing but macabre behind closed eyelids.

Morbid thoughts are sliced by god rays seeping through the cracks of a wooden ceiling. Moonlight, reminding Newt that it was too late in the night to be aware of his own existence. Reminding him of Minho, too. Probably fast asleep in his cabin somewhere. Or maybe not, too. He slept so much during the day, could he possibly sleep at night, too? Or was he catching up on sleep during hours of safety because he couldn’t sleep under eigengrau, like Newt? Body tosses, turns, clutches at empty blankets. Chest housing every horror of his sleeping hours, and collapsing beneath the pressure. He wanted Minho more than he wanted anything in the fucking world.

Could he have him? Could he be unfair for once? Selfish, for once? In the blanket of the moonlight, who would see? It was trees falling in the woods. He had already become a bad person tonight. Feet are placed against floor, sticking to the crumbs of sand that reside there. Fists wipe at eyes, cheeks, hair. It’s fruitless, but he tried. He at least tried. He was important, too.

@ascven​ sent —➜  ❝ 🙅‍♀️ + reverse 😈 ❞ │ Origin —➜  ❝ kiss rejections ❞ ( accepting )

Marigold flames licked against his legs, the warmth a blanket against his skin; travelling upwards until it eventually ignited the burning amber behind an adams apple. At some point between his first and his fourth drink, time had become a foreign concept. They could’ve been sat there for hours, or hours, full emphasis. All Newt knew lay in the certainty of the darkness that now enveloped the pair, stark in contrast to the golden sun that he and his friends had gathered under. Since then, the group had whittled down to duo. Along the way, he might’ve lost track of the conversation at some point too. The familiar cadence of Minho’s voice continued to fill the air, meeting Newt as a mishmash of disjointed and indiscernible words. His attention had long since fallen elsewhere, caught between the battleground of his thoughts, and the enticement of light speckling against cheekbones. It was wrong to be feeling this way about his best friend, but that didn’t stop the freight train of thoughts that flooded his fight or flight responses. Had he been attracted to him in the past? Yeah, of course. This wasn’t that. This was the temptation of closing a gap, the pounding of a heartbeat, the stuttering of fingertips against the cloth of his thigh. It was a gamble; a game of russian roulette with five bullets. Yet still, he itched to squeeze the trigger despite himself. Before he had a chance to psyche himself down, Newt had already began to test the waters, eating away at their personal space until lips ghost dangerously close to another pair. He doesn’t close the gap, giving the other boy the power to pull away or reciprocate, before it was too late. —Something Minho takes full advantage of as he retracts, seemingly ripping out internal organs as he goes ( if the way that Newt’s ribcage collapses in on itself is any indicator. ). Still, his facade of collection doesn’t falter as he immediately pushes himself backwards and away from his friend, giving him due space to process the situation. Lungs inhale a deep breath in, slowly releasing it into the formation of  words, genuine and composed. 

         Sunlight cascaded across matte skin and tousled locks, igniting them with a golden glow. In the late afternoon light, his face had become a diptych between warm pools, and cool evening shadows. There was something peaceful and comforting about sunsets, the temperature like a lukewarm shower against the small of his back. Maybe it was the sunsets themselves Newt liked, or maybe it was the certainty that the day had ended. A clear signifier that he could finally breath out and relax, mentally wipe the day away and prepare himself for another round of problems tomorrow. The company helped, too, and maybe the alcohol. Well, ‘alcohol’, with quotation marks very much necessary. Though he couldn’t recall ever drinking, he has a suspicion that whatever Gally was whipping up didn’t compare to the real thing. But was he complaining? No, it was close enough, good enough, and it did its job. Much like most things in the Glade. As for the company, Newt was just glad to have any. Glancing sideways, he made a brief observation of Minho, acknowledging his continuing presence. It was nice to have him there, reassuring that they could just coexist for a moment and not have to worry about... well anything, really. Not right now. 

         Newt took another swig of the liquid, the burn in his throat akin to the burning light hitting his cheek. Satisfied, he handed the drink to Minho, before falling back into the bed of grass behind him. Lazy fingers ripped at the blades beneath him, collecting them into a cluster which he promptly tossed in Minho’s general direction. It was one part an attempt to catch his attention, and another part just because he could. 

Attention briefly diverted from his video game, Minho rolled his eyes and chucked one of the couch cushions towards Newt’s general direction. “ No shit. Thanks for the info Captain Obvious. You sure you ain’t gonna be a lawyer ? “

Truth be told he was getting his ass handed to him in CoD.

Newt eyed the screen loosely, flicking his attention between his phone and the game. He wasn’t sure if it was poor timing on his part, or if Minho was just crappy, but with every glance upwards Newt watched as Minho got his ass handed to him. It really wasn’t dissimilar to watching a slow motion car crash––– The train of thought was short-lived as Newt had a new found urgency to fight off the cushion hurtling towards him at high velocity. He lost that fight. There was something about getting hit by a couch cushion that had the ability to drive a man to start a war. It took every shred of calamity within himself to not throw one back. Or worse, smack his friend round the head with his own god-given hands. 

▋ 𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑺 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵 𝑨 𝑴𝑨𝒁𝑬 .  .  .  .  .   👊  𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈  @ascven​​​ .  .  .   ( punch my muse )   ┘

Pent up energy — a bullet in the chamber and firing mechanism ready. Without appropriate release, energy chaotically accumulated and accumulated to the point cells felt like rupturing until. . bone cracking, blood gushing, pain metamorphosis calmed every single fibre in body. Nearly everything. The sudden shock to system kicked adrenaline in override; evolutionary flight or fight response manifesting in accelerated heart race and muscle tension. Thomas saw red, and then saw Minho’s heaving chest melting to the darkness of the night sky. He had not even realized he had fallen backwards, he only knew the throbbing of heart, and the heat exploding across his face. Despite the pain crawling, clawing from left cheekbone to nose, mouth, and eyes, Minho’s fist acted like ice water to calm body and mind. 

▋ 𝑨𝑺𝑲 𝑩𝑶𝑿.  .  .  .  .  .      ☀ What's your rp pet peeve.    𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈   @ascven​​​​ .  .  .  .          ( salty af munday muse )    ┘

Oof. I have a lot honestly, and it’s only because I’ve been writing for so damn long. In general, not reading / abiding my rules. A lot of my roleplay nitpicks are outlined in my rules. For example, TALK / COMMUNICATE / SEND MEMES / THROW A BRICK at me. Why are you following someone if you don’t want to interact with them? Things of that nature! If someone actual read my rules, there wouldn’t be an issue. 

Strictly tumblr roleplay pet peeves, things like posting so much ooc content, mun pictures without tagging it, reposting a ton of image posts, daily ship calls, NOT REBLOGGING MEMES FROM THE SOURCE. Tumblr tagging system really is a blessing, but I’ve come across a few people who don’t tag all their ooc posts and mun pictures.