#— in character.

[shigayokagayama]

RAAAAAAAA SERIREI SWEEP

[scrletrot]

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃. though, she always warned the avengers that if she were to cook ... it would be foods from her home, food her mother used to make when she was a child. sokovian comfort food. as long as she had no objections from anyone, a quick store trip around the city usually yielded whatever was needed for the night. & that's what she's going when steve enters, when he inquires of what she was cooking. a pot full of a dark, simmering strew filled with various different vegetables inside. the smell of it filled the kitchen, that & the gentle noise of slower music playing in the background.

@apologizelater asked, " DANCE WITH ME ? "

green eyes had lifted in surprise when he asked, a brow raises as hand continued to manually stir the content of the pot. mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. then, her wrist is being grasped as steve goes to tug her away from the stove, from the island. ❛ steve- ... no, no. the food will burn ! ❜ despite her protests, wanda smiles & allows him to lead her into the space between kitchen & living. free hand out stretches for magic, extended from herself, can shoot out to magically lower the temperature of the stove. to keep the spoon stirring the stew. eyes return to steve just as hand rests on her waist & other hand takes her free one, ❛ if the strew burns, i'll be sure to let everyone know it was you. ❜ wanda chuckles.

[harpersoath]

"repeated threats of murder will get you scruffed and put in air jail."

it's just a polite reminder. not to any specific tail having, cowboy hat wearing bhaalspawn in particular, of course. just a general friendly reminder.

[lunarsprincess]

Setting Prompt 007 @stories-from-the-warp

SETTING PROMPT 007: the ruins of an ancient structure lost to time.

❝ Through me... Is the way to the city of woe. Through me... Is the way to sorrow eternal. Through me is the way to the lost below. Abandon... ❞

The Princess' hands are smeared in dirt, gravel stuck between each finger and in the folds of her red palm. It had taken the better part of five minutes to clear the cellar hatch well enough to read, and another five before that to pull the corpses off it. Her tongue moves in guttural clicks and pops, faithfully repeating the inscription in its original dialect: the extinct language of an extinct people, the first colonists of Bela Tegeuse.

It left a bitter taste. She corrects it with a candy. And another. And perhaps one more. Switching to her cleaner hand, she sulkily licks off the sugar as she continues reading.

Even now, when she could no longer remember what age they built this temple before she consigned them both to the fire, the disappointment of having her own creation used for the compliments of Slaanesh lingered —— now, it festered into anger. How could it not? Yet another crop of obscene idiots had sung princely praises in her words, had writhed in that creature's name, and yet again, it had been her chore to send them to their master.

So lost is she in her poetry, she does not notice @stories-from-the-warp is stood behind her until her eyes fall to the last sentence, a candelit shadow upon the floor overlapping her own crouched one. The shock is palpable; she blushes, refusing to turn her head out of sheer shyness, and stretches out her bag of candy.

❝ Ah! My apologies! If I had known I had an audience, I would have read it in Low Gothic... Please, help yourself to a treat... Ahh, how rude of me... ❞

[thethirdlotusprince]

Sir, respectfully, you sound like you got hit by a bus

Im not neaf sny steests

No bus cam hit me

[warspun]

🌡️Temperature!   iPhone needs to cool down before you can use it “useless piece of shit.” dean mutters letting the damn thing fall to the dirty motel floor over the door of the mini fridge.  he’s bare-foot, sitting with his head resting against the cabinet,  long passed caring about the suspicious looking stains on the ratty carpet because it’s just too hot   ⸻  too hot to wear much of anything for that matter.  the only he’s left in are his boxer briefs and even they’re soaked with sweat. risking a glance to @peacespun who is faring just about the same as him:  fucking miserable.  of course the one place they decide to stop at has air conditioning that’s busted.  would’ve been a nice warning before they’d actually paid for the room.   “hey,”  dean clears his throat,  watching a bead of sweat roll down the back of his foot.  “I think they’re selling bags of ice next door at that gas station.”

[greenmther]

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄, to act less than her age. mature by her fathers idea, but she didn't often feel so on the inside. not when she was with rhaenyra, the closest person to her . . her best friend . . the young woman whom she had known for as long as she could remember & whom had some special part of her heart. ( today, the pair had taken a day for themselves . . . no council meetings, no visits to syrax, not other pressing matters. just them spending the afternoon together on the beach this time just outside of the keep. ) alicent with hands gathering light blue skirts between fingers allowing waves to crash against her feet. the damp, salty air has made the fringe of her hair wet & salt tastes in her mouth every time she breaths inward. the moment had been peaceful until alicent gasps at cold sea water being flicked against her face--head turns, smile pressing to lips while shouting, ❛ rhaenyra ! that's cold ! ❜

【 ✧ @perzonye liked for a starter ! 】

[islandiis]

[ he's reappearing after. a very long time. with his arms full of an ungodly amount of vegetables. ] [ he's looking very sheepish. ]

...hello. [ please take some cabbages from him. please. ]

[impinged]

You're pouting. You are not a wizard!! This isn't a costume!!!!!! Who said 'wizards' owned the style choice of a nice pointy hat anyway?! Sure you can, technically, 'cast magic' but that's beside the point!!! If you're anything, you're your party's rogue!!!!!

[deaith]

the light of the campfire flickers and dims incessantly as the flames slowly but surely die of their own accord, unattended and unfed by the distracted party, the too-dark of the world around them seeming even darker by the shadows thrown by it. the night is quiet, foreboding, clouded with a static sense of dread. for a creature like rýsir, such things are typical, normal, welcomed. the same cannot be said for his unlikely companion.

@proditeur's skin is warm against rýsir's palm, all hot flesh and running blood and too-many veins (all vulnerable and on display), his heart-thrum a tempting familiarity that he ignores and forgoes for the time being, gyryth all too focused on the more important task that rests in his hands. his body is burning, his soul incandescent - a bleeding fissure in the known fabric of things, gushing and filling and overflowing with raw and scaling magic. regulus' very presence is music to rýsir's ears, the taste of his soul's blood still sticking to his tongue and teeth like some savory and irresistible thing. he can feel him cracking at the seams now, and rýsir knows he burns in this moment not because of the fire at their sides, but the magic that eats him alive from inside. eats him. what a curious thing.

hand cups one side of the sorcerer's neck, as if he is a friend instead of a near-stranger, one that rýsir has not taken pity on but rather has found a convenient use for. rare is it that he eats so regularly, yet regulus, with his bizarre predicament, offers a temporary and satisfying solution. his teeth are on the cusp of sinking into the soft of regulus' neck, lips nearly grazing the pulse-point, ready to bite, bite, bite. and then regulus speaks, and rýsir is not too distracted nor too hungry to not pull back, to listen.

" that's not proper etiquette. "

" and what is proper etiquette, alyima? " is the snap-quick response, rýsir's clawed thumb pressing oh, so lightly against that pliant and vulnerable spot just beneath regulus' jaw, where all it would take is a swift and precise jab to claw the underside of his tongue. there is a pause, short and noncommittal, before the gyryth eases his grip, shifts the pressure from talon to finger-pad, and moves his face just that much closer to regulus' own. he is going to bite, sooner rather than later. his hunger is a tangible, insatiable thing; this, regulus knows.

" would you like me to bring you wine first, and feed you with my hands? " tail swishes and shifts upon the earth, and despite the suddenly cooing tone of his words, there is a note of appalled condescension in the slight lilt of his voice. he inches closer, and though he does not tighten his hold on the hollow's neck, the way in which he slowly and gently runs his thumb against the other's adam's apple is threat enough. " should i find you a nice, expensive bed with nice, expensive sheets, so they may cushion you and hold you when you faint? " rýsir moves closer, sighing against regulus' cheek, speaking into his ear: " do you want me to tell you it will be okay? "

proper etiquette. what proper etiquette is there when you are dying? when the you that exists, has existed, is dying? what niceties and polite courtings can be offered when your very identity and self thrive on nothing but smoke, when even mayflies seem to have more fulfilling and promising lifespans than you? something like a growl rises in rýsir's throat, irritation ringing clear - not so much so as a result of regulus being difficult and denying him a quick and easy meal, but because he cannot begin to understand what the point in waiting is. rip the bandage off, tear the scab, let yourself bleed and get it all over with until it's time to do it again.

" you run on borrowed time, princeling, and right now, you are beginning to split. you may not have time for etiquette - much less all of this talking. "

[scrletrot]

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋, 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐂𝐎𝐌. it was easy for her to drive through town undetected, everyone tucked into their houses like when she had control over them. ( if it had been day time, wanda assumes she would've been run out of a town like a witch hunt. this was better, safer, & she had no intent in disturbing their lives, hurting them, anymore. just one ... one she needed, the only one left in her spell. ) a cruel denial of bodily autonomy, of identity. to be trapped in her own mind where she'd reside until wanda needed her or felt like releasing her---not her proudest moment yet perhaps they could be considered even now ? as easy as it was to drive into town, it was easier to unlock the police departments front door with a single movement of red, magic twined fingers. hand grasps the door of agatha agnes's office, eyes settling on her after so long with a ball in her stomach. expecting the suspision, the startle, wanda raises a hand & speaks: ❛ everything's okay, agnes. ❜ she'd have no choice but to believe her, ❛ i'm not here to hurt you. sit. ❜

﹙ ✦ @tempusde liked for a starter ! ﹚

[hopedflight]

"—there's a spicy book club?"

congratulations! you have awoken the hoarder of romance books.

"...can i join?"

[thethirdlotusprince]

It's happened twice now. I've been told that what I am currently and have experienced isn't... right.

I am currently 'grounded.' I'm not being made to work during this time, which is relaxing. I'm even being fed this time, three meals a day. I haven't been given a task to complete so I can be forgiven, though I do wish to write a letter to the person I lunged at.

Yet even though I've told them this, they are saying I've been... tortured. Which I can't understand.

[sindanille]

EACH STEP IS LIGHT; FOOTFALL PURPOSEFUL. [ ... ] crystalized gaze never flickering, head reminiscent of an owl; head swivelling in place. pacing back and forth like a snarling animal. fanged teeth bared at @muutos with every little movement. more beast that elf - maiden, daughter of moonlight shielded from many. not naive but cautious. she had the same narrow minded view all the world did. orc and uruk were vile. monsters born of darkness by morgoth. untouched by the light and thus wholly evil.

❝ if he were wise, you would have been executed. ❞ a half - step taken, with gritted teeth. here lay a murderer in the heart of their camp and he allowed her to live. even when threats to his life were made. blood boiled, vein in her neck pulsating with anger. girl of sun and moon, she had inherited her mother's temper just unchecked. fingers balled into a fist only to slowly uncurl. ❝ tell me, commander, does the blood of my kin sate your appetite for destruction? ❞

[warspun]

she looks so beautiful like this, naked and wanton. he almost doesn't want to move from his seat, where he holds a whiskey glass on atop his suited thigh. bringing the glass to his lips chinking against the glass. only clad in suit pants. he'd gazed upon her as she stripped and now he's biding his time, planning what he wants to do first to her.

@petitsdieu said I want to take your cum. ( leon, obvi )

her words have him almost forgoing any foreplay he'd been planning, almost. he has to stay strong. he downs the rest of the whiskey before rising from the leather chair. tapping his fingers on the rim of the glass as he sets it down on the table next to the chair. still-booted feet carry him to where she's positioned on the bed. single digit follows the length of her bare body, up to under her chin. “do you believe you��ve earned it?” cocks his head.