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#rot-wips
cosmicrot · 10 months
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I took this photo to send a WIP to my friend on snap and it just looked very aeshetic so I'm posting it here
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rissaito · 1 month
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hm, the commotion isn’t unwelcome… just this time.
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dnncats · 27 days
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she's sweet as battery 🧷
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furiosophie · 9 months
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neopeixes · 9 months
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heard she's a really underground DJ
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jenofthefar · 3 months
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I am suffering from severe Astarion brainrot, send help, thank you that is all
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notozthewizard · 11 months
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Just two guys on a trip in the middle of nowhere. Enjoying fresh air and definitely not (affectionately) insulting each other
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zepplinswraith · 1 month
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i love whiteboard
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thesunrises12 · 11 months
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This is why Macaque prefers to use his shadow portals
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gazspookiebear · 3 days
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Thinking about waiting for Ghost to be ready for a relationship (kind of continued from this post
(Kinda angsty, self doubt/depreciating thoughts)
When you ask 'What are we?', he panics. He doesn't know. He isn't ready to be a boyfriend, to meet your parents, to open up about his life-
His internal monolog is interrupted by your hand on top of his own. He hadn't realized how anxious he must have appeared- sweaty, hands trembling, shallow breaths, the works. He felt like he was being strangled, and all of this was over a simple question. Why did he ever think he could do this?
You tell him it's okay. You tell him you don't need an answer now if he's not ready. You say that you're fine with the way things are, and if he isn't ready to move forward yet, you'll wait for him.
You tell him you'll always love him regardless.
The world might as well have stopped spinning, because you love him?
He wants to tell you he loves you too, but he's scared. He's still waiting for you to leave. For him to lose feelings. For this to all have been a huge waste of time, or for you to realize you deserve better as soon as he confesses how he really feels.
For a split second, he thinks about leaving. About ghosting you. Maybe even breaking up with you- but that would require him to admit there was something there in the first place. It felt like you had snaked your way around his heart and were squeezing with all your might.
God, he couldn't imagine himself without you. He felt like a fool, naive and childish all over again. Why were you so patient with him? Couldn't you see there was something rotting inside of him?
Once again, he's dragged out of his mind by your presence. You look worried. He can't fathom why you would be worried about him. Nonetheless, he squeezes your hand in return. A simple gesture, but it means the world to you. You know he's trying. You know he's fighting with himself and losing half the battles.
You're determined to win the war.
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fermentedgutz · 1 year
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throws this at u guys and i run away
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pocketwei · 2 months
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and all around the night sang out like cockatoos 🦩❄️
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pirpintine · 3 months
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solavellan brainrot sketchdump 😔👌
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magspeaches · 2 months
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save me, fucked up girls who love knives... save me
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paexie · 9 months
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Getting into this habit of drawing really tiny versions of my characters. Hope to color this one soon!
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moongreenlight · 3 months
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WIP WEDNESDAY!!
A little 600-ish word snippet of a toxic ex-boyfriend!ghost x reader fic I've been letting collect dust.
Maybe he found out you’re on dating apps (or maybe he’s had your phone tapped) and he’s been texting you about how moronic it would be for you to start dating again. You’ve been able to ignore it for the most part.
But tonight now that you’re out with some guy whose invite you really only accepted to prove a point, your phone will not stop buzzing. You left it in your coat pocket, but even though it’s slung over the back of your chair, it’s all you can think about. It drags your attention away from your date who’s talking about all of nothing.
So you try to fish it out of your coat and set it on your lap so you can silence it and salvage an already bleak situation. It doesn’t work.
There’s texts and phone calls and voicemails coming through even though you swore you turned it all the way off. To a point where you start to get a little worried that maybe it’s a legitimate emergency?
So you excuse yourself just for a second to take a call out the front.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
You don’t bother even attempting to be cordial. Hissing like the words would sear your mouth if you didn’t spit them out right then.
“Go home.”
He is exceptionally good at matching your tone. You’d worry he was mocking you if you couldn’t so clearly recognize the venom laced in his words.
You hesitate for a moment. Trying to weigh the pros and cons of getting into some sort of bitching match with him. But then ultimately decide to hang up.
Immediately another call pops up. Faster than you think should be possible. You decline and move to go inside, but still another incoming call lights up your screen.
You pick up just to get him to stop.
“Seriously, Simon, sod off.”
“I’ll put him through that fuckin’ table if he puts a hand on you again. Go home. Leave him the-“
You hang up again before he can finish. Fuming. Exercising what little self control you have in you not to tear into him. Powering your phone down completely and shoving it hard into the bottom of your coat pocket.
You go back to the table. Keeping your head on a swivel all the way in. More angry than unnerved, but unnerved nonetheless. You don’t see Simon. You don’t expect to even if he was there.
You get fifteen minutes with your date until he takes your hand from across the table. It makes you tense up. Accidentally dig your nails into the tablecloth. Smile tightly and try to hide the way your eyes dart around at the other patrons. There’s nobody even looking in your direction. You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold.
Another five minutes pass until your date gets out his phone to show you a picture of his motorcycle. His words die mid-sentence and he goes white as a sheet when he looks at the screen.
“Everything okay?”
It’s mildly genuine concern. Not that you cared to see what he was going to show you, just at his reaction.
“Yeah. No- yeah. Give me- give me just a second. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t look up from his phone when he talks. He stumbles up. His chair screeches its protest at being so unceremoniously pushed backward.
You twist in your seat and watch him half-jog out the front. He knocks into two tables on his way out, nose still inches from the screen. You don’t know what else to do but push around the half-eaten pasta left on your plate while you wait for him to come back in.
“Hang up that phone on me again n’ see f’I can stay this polite.”
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