#convos: cyrek

[forbiddcnsirvn]

what: cyren’s anniversary celebration where: their trailer @nxnbinarydracvla

The tension in the town was a tangible specter, whispers of a missing soul weaving their phantom patterns like an eerie nocturne on the wind. Yet within the timeworn ramparts of the Fawns’ bruised trailer, Evren, an undaunted ship amid a storm, found her compass unerringly pointed towards Cyrek, captivatingly vexing, yet irresistibly compelling anchorage. The progeny of their wild union were under the vigilant eyes of another and their absence resounding in a silence rich with fervid expectation. Olfactory serenade of coconut cake, still effusing an exotic comfort, meandered through their kitchen like an aromatic balm beyond the turmoil. Evren had adorned herself in her most enchanting garment, a sheath of deep, bold crimson that echoed the passion and intensity of their entwined existences — and yes, her bunny uniform, embraced close. On the turning of their fifth calendar of love, a tribute like no other was called for - a proclamation of their undying affection amongst the clambering shadow of anxiety.

A sly smile, the intimate secret between her lips and her heart, danced at the corners of her mouth as she enwrapped herself around him from behind. Balancing the cake as if it were a sacred offering, she held it the best she could with two palms, dark eyes drawn irresistibly to him. “Look at what fate has conspired,” she purred, her voice the provocative melody to their shared dance. “Five tumultuous, exhilarating orbits around the sun, and you find yourself still ensnared in my tempest. Which of us is the fortunate captive, I wonder?”

[cinncmonrolls]

where: cyrek’s trailer, strawberry. when: june 25th, morning.

Pulling up to the sullen punk’s trailer every weekend had become somewhat of a routine for the rancher — though it had been quite some time, she mulled, since the last time they had decided to be an extraneous bother by planting their feet there after cascading the supplies south. Bustled demands in the bakery around pride month had left them grinding to ensure that they would be fulfilling the patrons’ needs, and their own palms’ adamance to remain moving about otherwise there would be the archaic greeting from the realm of unsolicited tremor. Not the mention their schedules had conflicted a lot — though when the timing eventually clicked into place, she chose not to desert the opportunity. Morning dew splattered across the path leading to the humble abode, a reticent invitation from his wife had permitted Haerin to slink in with an inept tumble, grip stacked with boxes of vegetables and ingredients that the pair could use for their meal. The berries had been an accumulation from their morning strolls through Valentine’s woods, and the rest was Anka’s magic and knowledge. 

“Cy?” Haerin muttered, situating the boxes onto the kitchen table, red locks splaying over their vanity ( and this time they’d followed their spouse’s advice — when they said bold, Haerin tailgated with an all-out color, flaming red, and it itched, sort of ) and the bandaged eye of theirs, now that it was time to clean and rest the prosthetic for a few days. “Cy, it’s me, your livin’ buttcrack, the ass to your cock. Your wife just left so you’re stuck with me for the time bein.” Pulling open the fridge, they started to stuff in the bits that could expire quicker, and a jar of lemonade that had been made last night. The couple’s place was much smaller in comparison to their homestead, but the redhead had grown accustomed years ago over closeted living spaces; their old run-down loft had been a glistening, messy evidence of that. “You eaten anything yet? Was thinking we could have breakfast together. I’m surprised you haven’t roasted the chick just yet, just saw her flapping ‘round.”

@devilsprxphct​

[silvcrpanthera]

To put it simply, Sera Park was a portraiture of scattered conundrums. An inobnoxious deduction would tell the tale of a humdrum creature — bearing a penchant for anonymity in the midst of an otherwise titillating cotiere. It was perhaps safe to say they didn’t emerge as someone who’d fit the band in a trice. With their genteel beams and clean-cut frame, one could easily mistake the silver-haired for a plagiarist of their past reflections — the ill-fated starlet whose presence had been devoured by a string of addiction and demons ( in a taciturn fashion, they had developed a twisted habit of reading their own demise, a brigade of words in magazines announcing the tragic downfall of Sierra Lee; missing or forever gone. To the world, they had been inhumed beneath the soil as filthy as their grandiose image had been. ) And yet, unfit fragments had fallen into a desirable work of art and to be involved in something those pompous varmints would have turned up their noses at was now a dream-come-true. They could pay dust to discouragement and slander, so long as they were surrounded by those who’d made them feel as if they were no longer a doll to be poked and prodded at. Cyrek had a knack for that, significantly so, a charmer outside and beneath the sheets — a history long esteemed as something they could just chuckle over cans of beers now, years before the permanent emergence of his wrathful-eyed spouse — and they had been roped into the cubicle they had sincerely pinned for as an aspiring musician. No unneeded pressure, no prestigious fabrics meant to be to be yanked into tatters, no curling up in smoke-ridden bathrooms, writhing for a release; an escape. 

When the clock struck to indicate the end of their session, they gathered their belongings and glissaded their guitar into its case. It wasn’t as though they were ceaselessly dredged with spright per se, but energy remained to gush through their veins, and their footsteps recoiled around the room as they finished up. A cemented modicum, one could say. Shifts and practices rounded into one paled in comparison to the extensive, venomous work schedule that had to be persisted over the years of being the public’s marionette. It had been a curse back then, now somewhat of a blessing — although it could combust into a rush of adrenaline, a state deemed hazardous for the guitarist, even more so if their partner was around. They weren’t here to stir trouble, however, rather their auburn gaze sought for the vocalist and encouraged their pace to match his, sauntering next to him with that long-legged stride. “Cyrek? You have a minute?” They wondered aloud, quivering the plastic bag in their palm briefly. “I baked these— cookies, this afternoon before work and I was wondering if you’d like to have a bite, see if it’s good?” they readjusted their glasses with a push from the bridge of their nose, their locks splaying about in a disheveled ponytail. “The thing— that Zee and I have been saving up for, I believe it’s starting to come together gradually. I thought I’d test things out.” Their seeming innocence was a streak contrast to what they’d don once the sun had set, but no one else needed to know that. Sera — Zelda, pulled the box out of its bag. “They might not be warm anymore, though.” 

@devilsprxphct​

[ffsdimitri]

RANDOM SENTENCE STARTER || @cywreck

“never in a million years.”

[forbiddcnsirvn]

Once, the squalor and disorder of the junkyard would have provoked disgust. Back then contamination stood as an affront for the former Mirroir, tantamount to negligence or indifference. Yet the relentless tide of time had wrought transformation — in seasons and in her persona. Now she found herself plunging precipitously into these cadavers with her beloved at her flank. It was an escapade precariously perched on extracting allure from the jaws of decay; rekindling a flame she often fanned when hidden from watchful eyes. An eternity seemed to have eclipsed since last her digits waltzed over anything outside their horde’s motorcycles— a confession hung in quiet admission: she sorely yearned for it. An oppressive pall loomed increasingly portentous these days — melancholy striving its utmost to seep into their marrow and gnaw at their vitality. Nonetheless Cyrek —fucking bless his heart — remained steadfast by her side, seeking to stave off the impending maelstrom. His gestures might be graceless at times, endeavors haphazard yet sincerity was an immutable constant within him — against such unremitting earnestness even the raven-tressed stoic could muster scant resistance.

Slender fingers traced over remnants strewn about—the forgotten detritus jarring against her delicate touch—a smirk playing at the corners of her lips like a secret. “You know,” She started casually—as though discussing weather instead of salvageable vehicles—“There are quite a few old bangers here that could afford us—a breather if we ever tire ourselves out.” Her laughter echoed around them. She glided over to him, stretched her toes and gently brushed their lips together. “Your call, baby. Where do we begin?”

@nxnbinarydracvla

[forbiddcnsirvn]

location: twisted sisters’ pub. date: november 13th. tagging: @nxnbinarydracvla

As the raven-haired fae sauntered into the pair’s workplace, the atmosphere seemed to ripple with palpable energy as if the very air trembled in anticipation of her arrival. The harmonious candence of whispered conversations and clinking glasses formed a backdrop for her entrance, heightening the moment’s thrill. With each deliberate stride she navigated through the dimly illuminated space, eyes dancing across shadows and light that painted a mesmerizing tableau. Her chosen attire hugged her body like a second skin, revealing hints of her curves while retaining an aura of mystery. It was as though every thread held within it untold secrets yearning to be uncovered — promises written in invisible ink waiting to be deciphered.

In Evren’s mind, memories of countless similar spaces played out like a film reel, her presence subtly disrupting the normalcy of those environments. But tonight was distinct; tonight was about Cyrek and the unique slice of existence they had carved for themselves amidst a world that often felt stiflingly predictable. Approaching the bar, she reveled in the mischievous intent behind her path. Grand gestures or dramatic declarations thrived in these small moments that seemed inconsequential yet held immense significance. She had requested—perhaps demanded for a bit—for a permission to pamper her spouse in exchange for more diligent hours. 

“Hey there, stranger,” the petite vixen hoisted toes to lean against his back with red-smeared tiers kissing the back of his ear. One hand reached out to guide her love’s, sliding them inside her coat where barely concealed skin, wrapped in only strings and thongs, planted kisses to the center of his palm. “You don’t happen to have a moment to spare, do you? I — seem to be having a little bit of problems with our… Supply.” Lascivious occupation made heated vocables easy, rowdy as they were. And then, she added. “Happy Birthday, sugar. I have a surprise for you.” 

[forbiddcnsirvn]

where: an open mic pub, backdating to celebrate their anniversary.  w/: @nxnbinarydracvla​

For someone as frigid and secluded as Evren Fawn, romantic celebrations had never been the former assassin's strongest suit, and yet—here she was, fussing over, planning  fragmented ideas for a streak of elation on the beloved's face, with his tussled hair, and dimmed mismatched eyes, on their anniversary. He'd already told her he was going to do his best to make the best out of it, but that did little more than give her the confidence boost she needed to be sure this was what she wanted. She knew she wasn't perfect by any means, she knew how much of a wrinkle in satin she could be at times when it came to people and relationships, but if there was one thing she always managed to do well, it was ruminate things out, think about every possible outcome that might go wrong and come up with some brilliant and effective solution. There were moments where she felt like she might have been too cautious before, but these remained the moments that she pensively cherished, a chunk of memories before spontaneity trickled over the both of them, a torpid mantle blaring ahead the wild flavor they represented. These were the moments when she knew she really loved him—an interminable, remorseless sort of reverence for one’s jollity and only one, without a single hesitation.  This year, Evren thought she could pull off a bit better than the last time. When she'd finally gotten into a whirl of actions, it had taken them nearly a month to find the right venue, the right way to pamper, and the perfect gifts. It was all very well for her to be rushing ahead and getting things set up while he'd resumed to do his work. 

The open mic wasn’t as rowdy as the gigs they used to venture to, those establishments where she’d captured him with his luring charm on the stage—it was a lot more tentative, but not at all chafing some kind of unnecessary grandeur that would not suit the two’s ruffianism. Soft lavender gleams, the tunes being sung were hand-picked, low metal thuds that enveloped the pair’s taste. There was only a handful of other patrons there, but it was certainly intended to be a throwback—a nostalgia, of sort, back when their life had been actively on the road and evading the grasp of those too bemused by their bond. Dressed to the nines in the most obscene manner, a tight, bust-flaunting ( as small as they were ) black crop-top, dark liners, lipsticks, with enough maps of skin that he could venture with his rough hands, Evren smiled as she loitered next to her husband. Her lips hovered upward to kiss his shoulder, his neck, and a thin simper increased. “Are you going to take the stage and serenade me?” She muttered, nibbling slightly on the lower shell of his ear. “Or do you want to just skip the corniness and sneak into their back room? It’s our day, yes? We get a pass.” 

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ timeline: wedding night, 2020. ]

A curl of lips, once whorled with naught but absolute delight and a tear-streaked vanity, was beginning to curl into one of wicked nature as the raven-haired across her now-husband. Reminder so ambrosial it reared the essence of reverie, the former assassin had never been one to distribute emotional recoils but she poised with the blanket of sheer elation, from head to toe, inklings of glow splattered all over pristine ivory flesh still encased within the garb that respected their combined beliefs. Braids hung loosely across her shoulders, and a smile that illuminated her whole features could never be diminished as long as the punk vocalist remained within her proximity. For a person to deliver such a joy to someone who had wasted her life encumbered in duty and stoicity — it had once been concluded to be implausible, and yet, Evren never halted her conviction that Cyrek Fawn was a breathing miracle, a marvel in all of his flawed stupor. After managing to detach herself from their heated collision, one harmonious melody strummed out of her lips, her fingertips skating across his broad chest and ensuring to make visits across the bumps of his wounds. If she could, she would revel him all night — imbibing all of his imperfections that suited astoundedly with hers, but it was no secret that the two consummate the eve, and Evren made certain that she would make the most of it. Planting her kisses across her jawline, the petite raven impishly shoved him down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. As eager as she was to propel herself towards him, she opted for a slight tease — a difficult game to play, but there was the desire to relish every second of this coition. “I’ll never tire of saying this, but you look especially fucking ravishing tonight. You did so well too at the ceremony,” a moment of tenderness, her thumb trailed across his facial scar, leaning over for a chaste kiss on his lips. “I love you, my heart beats ravenously only for you, Cy.” Smiling she stood before him, inciting a show of trailing her palms down her body, sensuously. “How would you like me tonight? It’s our wedding night, but I would want to make your wildest dreams come true as well. Would you like to undress me — slowly, or rip my dress off?” She cocked her head, biting her bottom tier. “I’m all yours.” 

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

where: the milk bar. when: june 10th, early evening.

There only was a smattering of things that Evren Fawn did and could not excel — a meant-to-be a paradisiac exhibit of what Bartholomew could project, seamless, eerily so, but broken to shreds when the wilds of the world elbowed those seamless chisels. It had not been news, ever since her rebellion the raven-haired had discovered of the foibles that emerged like moles in her wake, but it still stripped the former off-guard just how incapable she was in certain matters. Now would be an illustration for it, shrunk off the hubbubs of celebrations and in lieu her fixation had been laid on the spouse that had been bustling about the bar — their schedules nowadays had been shite, and if she said it didn’t gnaw her insides like something, a part of her sternum, her limbs, were twisted to their demise then she would be downright bullshitting. For the longest time she’d cursed at the wind, anything else that she could blame for the made-up perpetrators of such fracas which shoved a hole so deep it physically hurt at times — alas there was a chunk that knew with the free-falling supplies both of them needed to work multiple for the sake of survival and certain predicaments would conquer. Regardless, it didn’t mean that she could not attempt, didn’t mean she would just sit there longing especially when their anniversary had whirled about, and see, she still wasn’t good with any of these. The dine-and-wine, the planned surprise and the bouquet that was encased by her petite arms. Wooing had never necessarily been listed on her program and hence the tumbles, but it was one of those parts which bellowed that just because didn’t know how to do it, it didn’t mean that she had never desired it, and it had been awhile. 

“Surprise?” The former agent’s smile was timid — and one could deem it astonishing, given her nature, but no matter how much the Lieseils had endeavored to twist her into one of their heartless experiments, the stone-cold vampire was humane in more than several ways, and prominently when it came to bathing the punk in affection. This was not by any means her first rodeo — ever since the two united, Evren had conjured an oath that she would augment her sentiments, loving, something that they both had lacked in the past but there was somber awareness of Cyrek’s not only absentee, but mangled encounters with romance. It wasn’t to say that she was the key to fixing everything; but she had learned from her lover himself that an enduring presence could, at times, be sufficient, recalling of where she would have gone if it had not been for his existence. Evren never cared if it would take centuries for him to get accustomed to doting — it was the finish line for the raven unless he didn’t want her in his life anymore. Even then, she was solidified that she wouldn’t get down without a fight. “I was thinking I could steal you for a date after your shift, handsome? If you aren’t too exhausted.” Evren wasn’t known for her tenderness — neither were they. They pulled, shoved, fucked each other senseless with inferno in their wake, but in times like these, she deliquesced. Red roses and black dahlias adorned the bouquet. It wasn’t conventional, but nothing about them had ever been. “We haven’t gone on a date in awhile. Just the two of us, Micah said she’d be free for the night so she could watch over the kids — I found a nice spot, a meadow with an incredible view and a bunch of food that we could dine over. Nothing exquisite — I know you aren’t really into that.Perking a meager smile, she went up to him with bantam steps. “What do you say, Cyrek Fawn? Will you go out on a date with me tonight?” 

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ before the blackout. ]

Weavering about with her cognizance sloshed was no longer anything peculiar for the raven-haired former assassin — when she was with her husband, in essence, permitting inebriation to maintain their emotional cusps. It was difficult to not reminisce about the archaic years when her agency had corked her back from performing such acts, made her feel it would only be a means to smear her focus and in a way, there had been some legitimacy in that when she’d been demanded to keep her head afloat. With that being said, long time had whirled ever since the shackles had been fractured — suitingly by none other than the grim punk she called the love of her life — and freedom had been bestowed for her to coil and do anything she yearned. The spliffs were not as daunting as the harder consumption she used to devour when she had been younger in shrouded nooks, but it was mind-numbing enough for her to relish the puerile sceneries without having paranoia rippling her thoughts. Concerns for the sake of Cyrek’s safety with the recent hospital visit they had to endure, and this whimsical, dreaded sensation that she couldn’t help but taste creeping up amidst her sinews when she poised alone. She couldn’t put her finger on it just yet, it was harrowing — the kind that dried up the roof of her mouth no matter how much she imbibed water. Plus, on the other hand, it was a routine she shared and savored together with him. Executing certain patterns or practices alongside the punk had always been one of Evren’s most-favored activities, and if that implied just bustling about the carnival stoned out of her mind, then she would do it just fine. Heck, she would do just that for the entirety of the night if she could. Nothing about it would really tarnish the fact that the carnival held meaningful values for her either — for the both of them. 

After being enchanted by those illuminations for an undetermined amount of lulls, reality warranted a socking return when she realized that she was supposed to finish purchasing this humongous cotton candy for them. Shared, for the simple knowledge that she would have to chew in absolute sweet tooth if she over-garbled anything that was not guzzers, and aware that Cyrek would probably have to swill down food in the least staggering way possible. So far, the former agent had also compiled some other snacks that they could carry on for later — frankly with how hammered they were, things could dwindle in either direction. A lethargic snacking and lip-locking behind some vendors that would eventually lure them to just return home, or adventurous chimes whilst they badgered some of the rides. She was fine with both, care plunged six feet underground when she was already spending time with him, but if she were to express their preference, she would rather glue in the activities that wouldn’t necessitate too much physical burden. For Cyrek’s sake, for the dread within her to not spread its claws even further to the point where it would become agonizing. Gathering the pink, fluff candy within her clinch, she sauntered back towards where her husband was seated — emerging more or less juvenile in comparison to the solemn presence she tended to tote around instinctively “Hey, babe. Got some more candy for us. The line was so long, I was this close to smacking a head or two.” Evren had always been filterless — yet weed seemed to enhance the crudity. She leaned to plant a loud kiss on his cheek, then lips, before tugging him closer, stealing another puff from the joint in his hand. “You wanna stay here or go for a walk around? I don’t even remember if we’ve tried all of these rides, yet, but we could also ride — one of those swinging boat things? Too much?” Leaning upward to plant her lips on the crook of his neck this time, she mumbled softly. “Feeling okay, lover? We could take on the wheel too, maybe have a little bit of fun there.”

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ timeline: 2017 ]

Going out of her way to comfort someone had never been the assassin’s strongest suit, in fact the abstraction of an allaying succor alone tasted like dust on tongue, predominantly extrinsic as opposed to stealing one’s life with a swift pull of the trigger. Thus to say that anxiety was quite prevalent as the raven delivered one cautiously baked coconut cake to the sullen punk’s door would be an understatement — the pounding against her sternum was so raucous she could hear them in her ears, concocted heat to run amuck across pale flesh. If she were to be inquired if she’d considered backing off a few times, she had, for the sole concern of fucking it all up and instead socking more ruth to his predicament, and yet the ever-increasing attraction and bond that had flourished over the years had also been successful in adhering her feet to the ground. Needless to say, Cyrek’s importance had become more influential — taken precedence over most matters outside her own needs, the ruminations that she had of him whenever she closed her eyes at night, the glimpses of dourness she would capture when both thought they hadn’t been looking at one another. In the past, the allure to mend that had never been all too present — Evren Hwangmok was designed to be a simultaneous trigger and gunpowder, there shouldn’t have been any room for affection nor vulnerability as robust as she had right now. It frightened her still in the back of her head, how this could imply that she was exposing her weaknesses, dredges for someone to ultimately fill ith their padding of malice. Yet, at the exact same time, she rendered herself blind to the consequences — similar to the entirety of their ventures, as long as they were next to each other they wouldn’t need to have a care in the world for anything else. The knocks to his door were almost feather-light, giving away the nerves, but soon she went for a second round with a chawed tier and doe-eyed vanity. When he emerged after, there was a tint of pink across her cheeks — it was never too late to skitter back and admit she wasn’t good at this, but this was not supposed to be about her. “I baked a cake for you,” she blurted out — her tongue churning at the foreign twists, the non-hostility that it carried and instead it was laden with tenderness. Hope, even, as much as she denied herself. “It’s coconut — your favorite, I think. I saw how… You’ve just seemed a bit glum lately and I thought I could make you something. Liven shit up a bit. I just, just couldn’t stay silent. I’m not exactly a cook, though, so I wouldn’t expect this to be a five grade.” Looking up through her lashes, there was a trace of a meek curl on her lips. She tried not to stare too long, forbidding her lungs to go arid. “Is this okay?” 

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ timestamp: april 19th ]

Quiet emanation of mechanical whirls a stark contrast in comparison to the panic that had imploded hours earlier. This was far from the lavender-haired’s first rodeo, but it would be utter bullshit to admit it had gotten easier — the delivery, at the very least. In spite of coarse beginnings, the sojourn had been more or less a lot more pleasant than how things had been the first time she’d discovered she would be heaving a child. Thick tension, daunting talons of an archaic faction that could suffocate her lungs; sure, their financial chagrin might have gotten in the way more times than she would have ever desired, yet the fact she had yet spurned through another stack of months with the vocalist by her side to welcome their off-springs was a bliss on its own. The two’s voyage would always be tainted, it was a fate they could never flee from — it wasn’t to say she couldn’t attempt to make the most of it when she could, those seconds of serenity when she would feel him trace his palm across the bump and warranting a noise she’d never echoed to anyone else. In a way, it was something that she’d long yearned; a speck of congenial normalcy after all the harrowing sequences that had struck the town. It was a massive relief, to be able to breathe out again after she had been told that the triplets were healthy— as fragile as she might feel at the moment. 

The cushions engulfing her torso were pleasant, somewhat, she could only recall the miniature details on how they had managed to find their way here. Passover abound, and she had been expanding a palm out to reach for something on her bedside — only to sense the inevitable hounding around the corner. The rest had altered into a blur, ripples which had left her somewhat bewildered and disenchanted from the realm of living when she’d screamed her ass off and ensured all three would make their way out without wounds, emotionally and physically. Surge of composure had washed over ever since, and the weakened queenpin laid awake, waiting for her loved one to slide inside the room, as he often would. Perhaps there was nothing that could conquer the sight of Cyrek bundling their flesh and blood — concealed tenderness, wrinkles of a great father and husband that had long been strewn astray by tragedy. A supple curl of her lips reached her when the door opened, and her muddled gaze found his. “Hey there, handsome. You meet the troublesome trio just yet?” She protruded, the sensation of vulnerability coated over. She had never felt so exposed, and yet she’d always bare herself for them. “Knowing you, you must have not had enough sleep. Have you eaten, at least? Come sit here.”

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ timeline: 2017 ]

Tip-toeing across the state with naught but bowed down hues and former comrades tailgating her every move had never necessarily been on the raven’s bucket list, alas calamities had lacerated matters down to the presented chagrin – though if she were to be inquired if she had any regrets, she would waste no time to spit that it was a rebellion that should have been executed a long time ago before the marionette limbs had been acquired. Severed wishes were granted without a coarse warning, only the caution of her lover’s arms and the presence that had been sufficient to rekindle the flame she’d once concluded she hadn’t harbored in order to rupture the strings. She’d never resided with such bleak environs – devoid of all the charade and grandeur of a well-resided home until it was revealed that its foundations bared talons, a long-time suffering and manipulation for the two social rejects – yet, she didn’t suppose she had ever come so close to elation like this, with so little to bring and long roads to take on. Running, running, without a glimpse over her shoulder, curled into the coils of the sullen punk’s body. She’d need time to get used to it fully and to drape down the arrogance that had been chiseled over manufactured praises; but she had not even a single thought of trekking her footsteps back to the faction which had attempted to shred them into morsels. The eve was rather young when the former assassin discovered herself slithering out of their tent, the hastily-built camp had been pecking her with itches and soreness across her torso, but the whines had been gnawed with a piercing gnaw of her fangs. The campfire poised before her, and after blearily spotting her partner – was that what they were, was she too hasty to assume – by his lonesome, Evren lowered herself sit next to him on grass and gravels, putting her head on his shoulder as palm rounded around his arm. It would be a lie if she announced she didn’t carry any guilt, a scanty occurrence for someone with a petite to nonexistent sense of empathy, but there were oft ponderings, ruminations that perhaps she had caused more of his downfall. In fact, if they hadn’t encountered one another, then her leader’s bristling digits wouldn’t have yanked him. Still, any scenarios that involved them being ripped from each other – selfishly, she would balk against them. “Do you think we’ll be safe enough to move at dawn?” A hushed murmur, planting smudged tiers against his flesh. “I haven’t seen any movement. Though they might have learned a thing or two to be smarter and stealthier. We can’t trust anyone.” Lightly pushing tender palps, she started to idly massage his bicep. “With that being said, how are you feeling? You must be exhausted. I can scour around for a motel later, someplace quick for us to get a proper rest. I’ll cook you something for breakfast as well, though the options might not be very appealing…” She hadn’t managed to obtain a massive load when she’d opted to escape, anyway. “Are you okay, Cy?”

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

where: trailer park, strawberry. when: unspecified. 

Tumultuous ringing was a string of vines that had ticked the raven’s attention away from meal preparations and the pit-pattering of her children’s arms — a sufficient diversion eliciting worriment left on the outlaw’s creased vanity. It was no stranger, by any means, to have it echo throughout their trailer amidst the humid hushes of the town, and typically, her husband would tailgate with his disheveled locks and an utterance for him to do this work. The long silence halted her in her tracks, cadaverous flesh deserted with its hair erect at the worst possibilities. Call it a ceaseless paranoia, but even as one many considered as a different being — there was nothing to deny mortality and as someone who had witnessed collapse more times than she could count, even the most bantam discrepancy made her rigid ( what is happening what if he’s hurt what if he’s no longer there ) and Evren wasted no time to put down the ingredients that she had been gathering and ditch the kitchen corner altogether. She trekked into the rather tense cushions they had shared, and discovered him fast asleep. See, there was a pinch of relief in that but to say that they were out of the woods just yet would be taking it lightly, her pulse thumped faster and burned against her chest, deeply swallowing the lump in her throat when she went over to locate a palm on his shoulder. “Baby,” when one thought of Evren Fawn, tenderness might not be the first term that would construe the former agent, she was ruthless in every way possible, and every iota that strummed along her case — but some, or prominently the outlaw members, would know that for the punk, she would drop all of it in a heartbeat. Gently, she started shaking him. There was an urge to just let him be. Cyrek had worked doubles, worked his arse off to ensure they would be fed, and Evren was a firm advocate for his break. Moments, where he could just lie, and yet she respected him enough to not go behind his back about this. “Cy, sugar, do you want to take the night off?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to mention that the alarm had echoed for a while with no response for him, which was concerning on its own. She hovered her digits over the two-lined scars, a pressure to his lips with hers was added after. “Are you feeling alright? You should rest if you’re exhausted. I’m sure the boss wouldn’t mind you calling in sick for one day.” Attempting to be as reassuring as possible, her thumb skidded over to stroke a few strands of his hair. 

@devilsprxphct​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ rolling skulls trailer park. ] 

“can’t sleep?” it wasn’t uncommon for evren to be woken in the middle of the night to the sound and sensation of her husband perching upwards — all too aware that slumber didn’t necessarily come easy for the vocalist, and whilst at times she would merely settle for a few caresses to his broad chest in order to anesthize whatever it was that was daunting him, the white-and-raven vamp was brimmed in sheer concern tonight. pregnancy hadn’t granted her utter tranquility either, knowing that within the next few months, she would be meeting those three babes that had been nestling in her belly for awhile now. the notion kept her alert, prominently, and simultaneously disrupted the muffled serenity of the trailer. it wasn’t her first rodeo by any means, but three at once — the concept was still somewhat fresh-baked, escalating her nerves even, thankfully it wasn’t as cushy for her to dwindle into pure anxiety this time around. call it a flourishing experience. pumped-up bravery and a spice of actual excitement. 

still. she acknowledged there were a lot of issues — financial, physical, and without even inquiring, she could recognize them writhing even to the harshest brims of the kingpin’s apprehension. carefully, she permitted her vision to adjust to the trailer’s obscurity, the silhouette that she had grown to adore and cherish was agile to bestow her warmth. puckered tiers indicated contemplation whether to interrupt his train of thoughts or not, but as his spouse, and someone who’d witnessed him coil into shadows more times than she could count, it would be implausible to just retract to the muddled dreamland. light fingertips traced along his back, attempting to find knots, bumps, every imperfection she had ended up loving just the same, if not more. she pressed her lips against his flesh then. “what’s on your mind? the morning is still too far away. you need rest.” supple touches went adrift, her kisses trailed to his shoulder, then his bare neck. pair of lithe arms curlicued around his torso, digits pecking a waltz to his groin — testing the waters. “want me to help you get back to sleep, babe?” 

@devilsprxphct​​

[forbiddcnsirvn]

[ location: wedding reception. ]

if there was one thing that couldn’t, and would never, change about the raven-haired, it would be her distaste at the notion of meshing herself with one another despite experiencing the most joyful day of her life. don’t get her wrong, everything that had been readied was relishable, enticing even, but the inept stares which she had to deliver to every nook and cranny were beginning to amplify soreness — it was a relief at the very least to recall these people weren’t strangers, that they at least knew of evren’s inherent discomfort and would leave her alone save for a trail of fleeting congratulatory wishes. still, there was that shove to behave better, and the most meagre fingerbreadths of her torso had longed for an escape. morosely, there was a lingering cognition of not fitting in, but the queenpin paid less attention to that creeping fragment and instead, in desperation, sought for her now-husband instead. the term was fresh, enough to elicit flush on ivory cheeks whenever she socked it up her brain — sure, she might not have been leaping around, but inside evren was simply naught but a lovesick fool, tethered closer to the love of her life with his occasion. after seeing that their children had been tended, the carrying figure now weaved over to where the gingerbread vocalist was located, cautiously plucking her dress to ensure she wouldn’t trip ( that would be hazardous for the three bodies forming within now, wouldn’t it ) and once she was inches away from his behind, she rested her petite frame against his, chin pressed to his muscular arm. “hey, you seem a little out of place, handsome, and awfully lonely. are you here on your own?” she uttered, cheekily, fingertips conjuring a waltz along his mid-torso. “what do you say we get out of here, hm?”

@devilsprxphct​​