“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

"Well, if that wasn't a ghost - then what the hell was that?!"

❝  it is nothing to be so concerned about ... only dreams of the past most grim that haunt the present this night.  ❞ as they have done near every night since finding refuge here , & weariness from lack of rest was beginning to take its toll. still , the night galan finds himself sat quietly within is a peaceful , beautiful one. the ambience of nearby crickets & frogs fill the cool air , & high above the stars paint a crystal clear sky. the names of each point of light linger like a familiar dream fading into eternity.

scapegoat  wore  the  wire  around  his  throat.  the  cable  was  taut.  all  it  would  take  was  the  spark  from  his  fingertips,  and  everything  would  go  belly  up.

he's  died  this  way  before.  he  wakes  up  uneven.  he  wakes  up  shifted.  they  put  him  back  the  same.  it  doesn't  matter.  it's  just  a  way  of  scattering  the  blame.

his  body,  in  pieces.

“you  have  enough  time  to  save  yourself.” 

this  didn't  have  to  go  badly  for  him.  zapp  was  staying.

She laughs, "Actually yes, but it's always nice to hear. Thank you." Eliza takes another sip of her tea, "You have a nice smile too."

send  me  🍒  +  a  url  and  i  will  write  some  positivity  for  them.

VERY SPECIFIC MUNDAY ASKS || @broughtdoom || accepting

💕 Say something nice about your own writing.

I think my writing has a rare depth. I don’t just touch the surface of Hanzo/Scorpion’s mind. I dive into the turbulence of his thoughts and emotions, letting the reader feel the weight of his trauma and longing.

At the same time, I try to balance his inner world with his actions and words, so he feels whole, not just a collection of feelings. My poetic, detailed style isn’t just decoration; it mirrors his duality, the tension between the controlled exterior and the tempest within. The words themselves carry his struggle, his fire, his restraint and his fury. I somehow manage to hold that balance, and when I do, it feels inevitable, like the prose is always meant to belong to him.