#S4INTS.

[narrated]

he didn't really think about it, honest. if matthias had, then his hand would have stayed at his side rather than meeting the darkling's cheek. he tries not to show on his expression how much his palm stings from the contact, though it brings a small bit of delight that the mighty shadow summoner must be in equal pain. he was certain he was going to regret that non-decision later though. matthias takes a step back, brows softening at the calm demeanour. ❛   i...   ❜ what does he want to say? three days ago, he was almost dead on the border between fjerda and ravka when sunlight started spilling from the cuts on his palms. three days ago, the little palace was a fairytale a million miles away from anything that would ever effect him. three days ago, he was not grisha. perhaps that's why he slapped aleksandr; it was a way to put the grief somewhere other than inside his body. ❛   i just felt like it, to tell you the truth. a lot has happened very quickly.   ❜ / @s4ints, cont.

[vullcanica]

@s4ints : ❛ vehicular arson is not the answer. ❜ / hob for matthew

"If you don't wanna get busted it is." Matthew intones from Hob's left shouder, peering down to watch him pick up the red pen again and annotate a paragraph. Well shucks. He'd liked that one. "You know, it used to work for those sicilian guys back in the day. Ever watched The Godfather?"

It isn't often that he gets time away from the Dreaming as of late. Dream's a hardass, rigid kind of boss who he can effortlessly convey the sentiment of immeasurable disappointment with a single look or word, so Matthew tries not to shirk his duties too much. And if he does, he makes sure its within vicinity of Mervyn who attracts Dream's displeasure like a magnet. Lately, though, he's made a habit of visiting Hob. He's a good, calm man, the Inn is a nice place for people watching and in the evenings Matthew can settle down on the counter, in the nest of an old scarf, and help him grade university papers. It feels like a morsel of his old life, but better, more mundane and less wrought with misfortunes. Besides, Dream isn't nearly as sullen whenever he comes to fetch him from Hob's doorstep.

Matthew watches him underline another paragraph in red. "Aw c'mon Hob, give the kid an A. It's got flair!"

[flmed]

the forgotten, almost childish beam is hidden underneath the calloused palm, however she still could see the rose tinted cheeks that are emerging bashfully upon the compliment––––––it has been few moons, or years perhaps, that he let himself to relishing a momentary indulgence for surviving the desolation of mankind . . . liquors are merely catalyst tools for effervescent happiness but the ingenuity of happiness always come from loving interaction 'twined with amorous flirtation, whether it is deliberate or not, but it is a reminder that he is not a shell oin the trench, but a person on the ground, coiling to the sense of reality; of how it used to be, but could never return to how it used to be .. remnants of what's left, or perhaps something to reclaim once again,

@s4ints, frieda said, "i've never heard your laugh before. i love it."

‘ you should have met me before the war––––––i was much tolerable &. handsome, obviously, ’ wiggling his eyebrows as he raises his glass to his lips &. sipping an equal amount of audacity to return the same woo she has spoken to his ear .. cheeky simper, vehemently shaking his head disapprovingly within self because he let himself to be swindled by a jest &. compliment . . . but it felt good, it feels good, that he could be the ghost of how he used to be, or the person that was waiting within the dirt with their burnt hand above the ground; dangling &. expecting someone would pull him from the everlasting dread of being dead, &. taken to be alive .. perhaps she has made him feel alive, even if it feels iniquitous because she may have wanted her husband laughing alongside with her .. but it's the laugh she recognised, &. loved it that doesn't come from her husband, but the husband's comrade before he got burnt alive, ‘ but i guess, i still have it in me .. that a little boy. he still lives, apparently. ’

&. PLAYFUL AFFECTION

[conheaded-a]

              relaxation is uncommon for him: a man on the move, constantly running, a race to a finish line that doesn’t exist yet, but it’s different with @s4ints​ ,  it always has been.  they lay intertwined, connor’s face buried in her hair, breathing her in, his breath slow, steady before he retreats, the warm darkness of sleep slipping away, losing the battle of desire to look at her, to make sure she hasn’t left yet as the first rays of light begin seeping through the window panes; casting a soft orange hue over the duvet. she glows as the sun kisses her skin, and connor is in awe of the warmth that pools around her.   

              if he were artistically inclined he might ask her to stay still, might paint her wrapped in white sheets hair splayed across the pillows in a way that reminds him of wings outstretched. instead he tries to memorize her. eyes dancing over every perfect imperfection.    the sun could hold no candle to her.

after last night, i think i'm in love with you.

              starstruck look slips into something else: something more reserved. softness melts away the same way he does around his father, his siblings, when they jab mercilessly at insecurities in a way only family is capable, before his expression hardens.

            “ willa, don’t. ”    he says quietly, after a moment, hardly longer than the pause between heartbeats, he repeats it sternly.  “    — don’t. ”   a seriousness to him that could rival logan himself. it feels cruel. like when he was in boarding school, when a girl would ask him out and then go back to her gaggle of friends to laugh and giggle behind his back. when his love notes were passed around like cheap cigars, their hushed voices just loud enough for him to hear. what he means to say is : i won’t pay you to say that;   “ you don’t have to say that. ”

       what he means to say is : i can handle that lie from anyone else, but not from you.

[abusedog]

maybe it's not the BEST thing to say to a bride to be , much less when the groom is your own BROTHER , but you can never be too cautious when it comes to a marriage . ❝ you know , @s4ints , you can TELL US if he's holding you against your will or something ... ❞

sc.

[pointm4n]

your honour i present to you - ✨ THEM ✨ / ft. @s4ints

[pyreshe]

all I do is think about g.rishaverse livvy crying her eyes out as she tells aleksandr smth along the lines of "you were my father in every way that mattered and I loved you! I wanted to be like you! you broke my heart, and I can't even hate you completely for it-!"

[kellm4n]

            there is a certain amount of paranoia required of them to do what they do, gerri had learned that early on, to stay on her toes, to wait for the other shoe to drop. it’s helped them stay afloat in times of crisis, and so when she looks at greg and decides he’s up to something, she feels that conclusion is a justified one.

          @s4ints​ doesn’t remind her of logan, not really. he is more like baird had been, trying to play big dog. if she had to guess, if she had to put a read on him, she might say he’s hiding something, some sharp edges beneath that soft bellied display.     he’s been useful, helpful even, but he’d played his cards right in their first interactions, betrayed tom by revealing his little coup, his meeting that had no cause other than harm. she wonders idly if he believes she owes him for that. perhaps she does. but that is something he will have to ask her himself.

❛ i guess it runs in the family, huh? ❜

            calculating gaze flickers over gregory hirsch : not a roy. adjacent perhaps, but not like the kids. it’s the same way she or tom is family, only when it is beneficial.    “ you’re suggesting the general . . . asshole-ness is genetic ? ”    he wouldn’t be wrong.

[lotusdreamt]

@s4ints​          ;          continued .

not  a  moment  after  he  mentions  it,   helina’s  nose  crinkles  with  disdain.          ❝    the  one  who  couldn’t  stop  bragging?    maybe  it  should  be  you  who  sends  for  him    —    there’s  a  meditative  misery  when  you’ve  listened  to  him  long  enough,   perhaps  it  would  facilitate  novelty  for  your  evening .    ❞          gaze  drifts  to  the  steel  of  his  eyes  and  she  ends  up  smiling,   despite  the  edge  on  her  tongue.    what  she  doesn’t  say  is  that  his  presence  sets  her  at  ease.    with  a  hushed  sigh,   she  offers  him  her  glass.          ❝    though  i  suppose  you'll  have  to  suffice  instead.    drink ?    ❞

[narrated]

nathanael makrov ; i talk when i'm nervous. i'm gonna shut up now.

the ship is simultaneously too quiet and too loud. he's accustomed to how the walls of the mantis hum when the engine is running, the difference when it's in regular orbit or hyperspace. it's lulled him to sleep most nights in the past three years, settled him down from a panic attack, grounded him when memories become alive. an inescapable tinnitus rattling in his ears, just a fraction louder than the hum of the force and its fractured discordant melody. and yet there's something missing: the voices of his family. cere, greez, merrin... all gone on their own missions. leaving him once again alone in a ship far too big for him and bd-1, leaving him once again feeling like the padawan stumbling through the corpses of republic ships.

❛   wait—   ❜ he says, turning the pilot seat around. @s4ints is already halfway out of the cockpit. they certainly hadn't gotten off to a good start, with cal ready to dump him at the nearest port after deciding he would tag along. they're still not close, but simply the presence of another living breathing being has made the ache inside him start to settle. cal sighs, running a hand over stubbled cheeks, before replying, ❛   you... you can stay. i don't mind, truly. it's nice hearing someone else talking.   ❜ he keeps the last bit unspoken (i haven't heard anyone's voice but my own for a while).

[vullcanica]

THEY ARE A 10 BUT they need to be nicer to me >:( (todd @ nik ofc)

He hums in a show of consideration, all illusion of sincerity killed by a faint curl of the lip. "Insolent, nightmarish housemates can't be choosers. Be glad I remember to feed and water you every day."

[lotusgrieved]

💬 for alina 🥺

[ SMS : sunny 🌟 — UNSENT ] hey! your eyes like GLOW sometimes when you smile and i think it's really pretty!!! 🥰 oh wait is that weird

[ SMS : sunny 🌟 — UNSENT ] i know you're the chosen one but this is crazy. you have to hate this. we could leave for a while?

[ SMS : sunny 🌟 — UNSENT ] i don't know how to say this but sometimes i miss you when i'm with you.. you won't change, right? you wouldn't lea

UNSENT TEXTS . / @s4ints

[wastedlands]

@s4ints : wars never die. they just go to sleep.

it's terribly quiet sitting on the front porch of the trading post. he can't sleep as usual, his head filling with thoughts to compensate for the silence. luke never really considered the constant hum that exists in the boneyard until he left, a fan on low or chatter from the next building over creating a layer of insulation. in the desert, there is simply nothing. not even the creak of wind blowing through the shell of a house. it means that he jumps as she settles down next to him, neither speaking for a long moment. ❛ it's just so empty out here. ❜ he eventually comments, picking at his thumb's nailbed with his index finger. he did see the crop of destroyed houses coming out east, so there was some kind of a town before the great war. he doesn't know much about the war itself, only that it was really short and it's what made the world what it is. ❛ i can't help but think if the great war did... all of this. if there was more life before. ❜

she responds softly, arms hugging her knees to her chest. he turns to try and get a glimpse of her expression, dark brows knitting together. her words felt particularly pointed and he considered how he still didn't know where she came from before the trading post. with a sigh, luke looks back out to the desert draped by the night sky. ❛ well, it's still asleep then. that must be a good thing. ❜

[conheaded-a]

things are different with @s4ints, they've always been different with willa, and for once he finds he does not want to be ignored but finds he does not know how to ask for the attention he seeks now. before, he could offer money, could offer more and more until she relented, ( or he gave it to her anyway when she didn't. ) but going steady, giving her an allowance has changed that.

he wouldn't call it an argument, he wouldn't call most of their disagreements arguments though. he's cautious with his use of the word, because he does not like to imagine them as the fighting sort. he isn't argumentative by nature, invisibility ingrained in him from a young age, it's easier if he just agrees and moves on a majority of the time. he is like water, he flows.

that won't work on me. / from wife ,,,,,,

" i think it will. " he counters though he has no proof, no real confidence in the statement as he sits beside her on the sofa. connor doesn't know where to put his hands to draw her attention, her leg seems too forward, her shoulders are too high at this angle, her own hands are busy with her writing : while he is trying to turn her attention he doesn't want to disrupt her. so he takes a page out of roman's book, and shifts until he can sit his head on her thigh.

" c'mon. it's a nice night, i bet the stars are out. and if they're even half as pretty as you, they're worth seeing. "

[psychometrys]

@s4ints : finally kissing the friend you've been yearning for.

     cal will be the first person to go on record about his initial feelings about the whole guardian angel thing.   they were hardly positive,   given what he along with his sister had gone through to get him to this point.   suddenly being babysat when you’d gone through most of your life with majority self-reliance made him less than enthusiastic.   in addition,  his universe assigned guardian angel was stubborn, stuck up, and apparently did not care about interrupting cal’s daily life.   most annoying of all:  he was gorgeous.

     it had taken months to figure out an equilibrium,  but once they had,  he found himself looking forward to nathanael’s company.   it was rarely ever quiet like tonight,  the other boy lying on his bed while he attempted to take notes from his engineering textbook.   it was long past the point of knowledge sinking in and he was spending more time yawning than writing anything down.   ❛   i think i'm gonna go to bed.  ❜   he mumbles half to himself,  shutting the textbook and his notes.   when he turns and gets up,  nathanael has already gotten off the bed and is standing before cal.   the yellow glow from the lamp illuminates his eyes,  firewood inside a hearth.   it shouldn't make him blush,  nor realizing that his curls are mussed up from where he'd been laying.   there's an almost selfish chord struck through him,  not simply relief to be around another person,  but the increasingly common thought that being around nathanael grounds him.   he keeps him out of his head when memories that aren't his try to sweep him away.   he is an anchor.

     cal slowly closes the gap between them,  eyes darting between different parts of his features and not able to settle on one as least suspicious.   without allowing himself to overthink,  he presses a small kiss against nathanael's lips,  to the point.   there's a hint of a smile as he withdraws and whispers,   ❛   good night, angel.  ❜

[kellm4n]

            gerri knows little about @s4ints​, only what the kids have shared privately and publicly about willa. she isn’t even sure sam has looked into the woman, perhaps it’s just that logan only cares about the image of the younger roys, or perhaps he’s decided this little relationship is destined to end with a large amount of hush money and multi page NDA.    gerri isn’t sure. yet here they sit in logan’s apartment, the roys buzzing around one another in their frantic little dances. 

“He nods and says that that’s okay. He’s lying, and that makes me very afraid.”  /  from willa owo

            some part of her wants to give willa a reassuring smile, the same one she might have flashed the girls when they were growing up : the sort that lets adults know you’re lying when you say     it will be okay.    she doesn’t. she was never very good at that.   “ and are you afraid of him or for him ? ”   gerri questions for clarity, gaze turning fully on the playwright, the escort, the fiancée.