#dyn tag pending.

[vulku]

Every so often he slips, his overt tactile nature drifting passed Spock's reserved lines and into his spaces. It happens when he's excited. filled with adrenaline, blue-eyes wide and fixed on his First Officer with something entirely wondrous in his expression.

It happens here, too, seated at the edge of a banquet table where two formerly hostile representatives are poised in agreement, a centuries-long war coming to an end. It's a grin, it's the back of Jim's hand slapped into Spock's shoulder before he's turning.

"—I told you the redesign would work in our favour."

the hall is filled with the smell of exotic food and spices; some of which have familiar - enough notes, both from earth and vulcan. others are entirely foreign, but undeniably curious. some on a purely scientific level, while others, for consumption. as ever, he politely declines non-plant based proteins [ or their equivalent of such ] but indulges in all else that is deemed suitable -- including the alcohol. it does not metabolize the same in vulcans, but the flavor is appreciated and complimentary on his palate. here, there is indeed much to celebrate. successful negotiations are always cause for praise, and in this case in particular, captain kirk was exemplary. despite a few incidents that suggested otherwise, a planet is not destined to be hostile, or blow up, simply because james kirk deigns to step foot upon it. as ever, spock's posture and sense of balance is unwavering. it would take a great deal more than that to throw him off balance, and although few and far in between, he has made adjustments to account for these moments : when all of kirk's bubbling energy needs to be expelled in manners of exuberant, physical means. the hand slapping on his shoulder barely makes spock move an inch, though his head inclines in acknowledgement of the gesture's meaning. " as you say, captain. " perhaps there is a fond warmth within his dark, decidedly human eyes; even if there is little else to go off from. those eyes, in turn, sweep over every plate of food that gets passed down for the attendees to take samples from, and spock doesn't miss a beat in filtering out those which would be inedible for kirk. be it due to his human physiology, or more pressingly, his impressively long [ and ever growing ] list of allergies. " it is truly fortuitous for us, that your mere presence on this planet did not trigger a chain of volatile events. " should jim look hard enough, there may be a ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth, as he ushers away yet another plate -- but dutifully procures a chalice of a red - wine equivalent. " would you care for another drink, jim? "

[doomedsouls]

❛ what’s your curse ? when did it start ? ❜ avdol

curse? a moment spent furrowing his brow, confused by the question. then it hits him. oh. what a terribly harsh way to refer to one's stand. though he knows it's not a dig towards magician's red, rather to kakyoin himself. from what he's overheard, the other man has had a lonely childhood with no encounters with fellow users. something which avdol can relate to easily.

how strange, when mr. joestar theorizes that all stand users are drawn to one another's souls. why did it take so long for them all to find each other? and under such dire circumstances, no less. still, it pains him to hear kakyoin call it a curse. it is a gift, my friend. he thinks sadly. but that was not the question that was asked.

❝  i was five, ❞ he answers with a distant smile, the memory replays so easily in his mind. ❝  when the first signs of magician's red began to manifest. i was being chased by a crowd of older boys that liked to pick on the little ones. a fire started in a nearby alleyway that i chose to hide in. it drove them away, and not long after, the fire miraculously extinguished itself. ❞

magician's red had been trying to signal, in its own youthful approach, that it would do all that it could to protect its user. it had been driven by the energy from avdol's fear, and it reflected in the indiscriminate flames spreading across the floors.

❝  at the time, i thought it was just strange luck from the summer heat. but there were other incidents, mostly stemming from either my fear or my anger. ❞ he paused, then added promptly to clarify. ❝  not that i was an angry child. i think it would be better to say it was frustration. i couldn't understand any of this, what was happening to me and why no one could help me. i wanted to fix what was wrong with me, but there was no solution in sight. ❞

stands are a reflection of one's soul, yes, but there also exists a semblance of sentience to them too. avdol wonders what hierophant green thinks, if it is capable of producing independent thoughts. does it hear the way its user calls it a curse? does it feel sadness too? do both the person and the spirit still believe that something is wrong with them?

❝  i soon learned that there was never anything wrong with me. it took me some time, and a great deal of courage, but magician's red is my gift. it is a great responsibility too, yes, but it is no curse. just as yours is, which brings me to my own question then: what about you? when did hierophant manifest for you? ❞

[spiritdreamt]

[ fingertips ] sender places light kisses to each of reciever's fingertips @princetorn

there isn't much space in her room for anything other than her bed, her dresser, and her bookshelves, so she and royce have nowhere to sit but atop her covers. percy has spent most of her youth tucked away in here, a fragile bubble of security in the face of her stepmother's tempests. safe, or as safe as she could get... but awfully, horribly lonely. in her idle musings, she's conceived of herself as a tragic figure, the princess in the tower, a girl keeping quiet for so long that her tongue forgets its speech. flights of fancy, desperate attempts to cope with both her illogical upbringing and the sharp edge of solitude.

but she's not alone anymore, not since royce slipped into her life, let her lean against him while she reads her book, take quiet comfort in his presence. he's not some knight come to save her—she stopped waiting for one long ago—but he wants her. she doesn't understand it, worries in her lowest moments that his desire for her is borne of a lack of other options (it wouldn't be the first time someone's pursued her because she was convenient). a part of her can recognize the ridiculousness of her thoughts; his appearance would frighten and repulse most people, so it hardly matters that in life he would have glanced past her as if she were a ghost. he's here now; he wants her now; he's never going to leave her. it should be something out of a horror movie, out of a nightmare—that dark, sweet promise of forever actually a curse, the poor heroine never free.

percy wants to be free, but she doesn't want to be free of him. who else could look at her, see every rotten inch of her insides, and want her still? who else could see her rage and wail like a spoiled child and not leave? he's not the monster lurking over her shoulder. no, the monster is her stepmother, hiding in plain sight, painting percy as the villain.

the slam of a cupboard downstairs makes her flinch, and she closes her book with an irritated sigh. she'll never be able to focus on the pages if janice is about to start screaming about... who knows what. did i forget to take out the trash? did i leave a dish in the sink? did i eat something i shouldn't have? she thinks the answer to each question is no, but she can't be sure. percy sighs again, leaning her head to rest against royce's shoulder. he's cold in the stifling heat of her room, but she'd seek comfort in him even if she was shivering. he's all she has.

she's thinking about his offer—the one he presented on the swingset, want me to kill her for you? in the moment she'd smiled and shrugged, unable or unwilling to voice any real answer. no would have been a lie. yes is closer to the ugly truth of percy's heart, the vindictive creature in her chest that wants janice to hurt as much as she's hurt percy. she thinks royce would do it, if she brought it up again, but she's frightened. of what, she doesn't know, but the fear is a tangible thing. in the midst of her wondering, her lips half-parted about to say remember the playground?—skeletal fingers close around her wrist.

it's a touch as gentle as a prayer. her breath catches. his fingers slide up and close around her hand, thumb pressed into her palm. dark brows furrow as she lets him guide her hand to his mouth. their eyes meet. he presses a tender kiss to the pad of her index finger, and she shivers, and her mind goes spinning, but he's not done. his lips brush against her middle finger—ring finger—pinky. each kiss is more reverent than the last. percy blinks. through the floor, she can hear janice beginning to yell, but she just slides her hand to cup his ruined cheek and turns his face towards her. she manages to grant him a chaste kiss before the tenderness overwhelms her and tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

"sorry," she whispers. her parents can't hear royce, but if she talks too loudly they'll definitely hear her—though maybe not, with janice's raging. "i just... i love you."

[tornsurvivors]

“So you’re Jaina Proudmoore. I’ve heard so many things about you.” Vex hummed softly watching the Jaina.

"Watch where you're handling that, ye dimwit!" She hollered at one of the crewmates on her flagship -- her natural Kul Tiran accent slipping out with her annoyance. Though she did feel a little bad for the guy... he was new after all. But sometimes she knew she had to be harsh with them, or else they'd never learn. She glowered at the man who offered a sheepish smile, before he carted a box of supplies down the ramp of the flagship. She was overseeing the transportation of supplies Kul Tiras had agreed to trade with Silvermoon's military.

Luckily for the man, he was spared from Jaina's silent wrath as soon her attention was diverted to the unfamiliar voice speaking up. The voice was only unfamiliar because she had yet to hear this elf speak, but they did look familiar. She had seen them with Sylvanas at some point.

A slender white brow was raised and her lips curled into a faint, amused smirk. "Mostly good things, I hope. And you are...?"

[r1pleys]

@hitcritical

this or nothing

[spiritdreamt]

HE SAYS IN THE END YOU'RE DEAD, NOTHING CAN HURT YOU, WHICH SEEMS TO HIM A MORE PROMISING BEGINNING, MORE TRUE.

percy & danny (@phantomrot)

1. david cronenberg, consumed // 2. fear (1983) // 3. louise glück, "a myth of devotion" // 4. image from pinterest // 5. kate elizabeth russell, my dark vanessa // 6. angela carter, the bloody chamber // 7. louise glück, "a myth of devotion" // 8. the company of wolves (1984) // 9. tumblr post by rollercoasterwords // 10. ludo, "the horror of our love" // 11. irene bisang, "scharfes messer" (2009) // 12. ludo, "the horror of our love" // 13. crimson peak (2015) // 14. investigation of a citizen above suspicion (1970) // 15. pinterest image // 16. margeurite duras // 17. louise glück, "the myth of innocence," // 18. ana sanchez, "death and the maiden," // 19. louise glück, "persephone the wanderer," // TITLE: louise glück, "a myth of devotion."

[tornsurvivors]

@tornsavior [ 𝑗𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ] ft. vale.

AFTER SOME RUMMAGING THROUGH HER BELONGINGS -- she finally found them! One of her personal favorites, a book full of Kul Tiran tales. Some true, some purely fiction. The smile on her face was so warm and genuine... and rare. Incredibly rare, considering the hell she went through the last few years. "Hey Vale, I found--" Oh. Jaina immediately shut her mouth as she stumbled upon the sight of the werewolf asleep out in the garden. Her personal garden behind the two-story house she claimed as home somewhere outside of Boralus. As much she loved her mother and the Proudmoore Keep, she wanted to be somewhere more... homely. A change of scenery, at least. Somewhere she could get away from her diplomatic life.

Oddly enough, she couldn't help but let her gaze linger on the sleeping woman and smiled once more to herself, quietly settling down next to Vale. She wouldn't deny that the other woman was beautiful. Not only in the literal sense, but in that sense where Vale wasn't in a fight. Or struggling. It was the beauty in being at peace. Tidemother knows the werewolf had earned this nap.

Content right where she was, Jaina opened up her book and began to read.

[doomedsouls]

❝ if we come up against anything, you get behind me and you stay there, okay? ❞ prosciutto to pesci

when his brother's voice gets to be like that, it means there's no room for protest. do not fucking argue with me, to be precise. and that always works, that always shuts him up real fast. because it means his brother has formulated a plan in his head and he intends to see it through step by step -- it's a perfect plan, there's no need for change -- and all he needs to do is follow it to the letter. which shouldn't be that hard at all. pesci has done it before. ( minus the occasional fuck - up from overthinking or clumsy mistake making. ) but this. . . this feels different.

❝ b- but--  ❞ there it is, that word of forbidden protest. it escapes past his lips before he can slap a hand over his mouth. he has to brace himself for the fury of frost blue eyes glaring at him, it's a kind of look that makes hell freeze over. it's funny, since ghia's the one with ice powers. now he's done it. he's opened his big fat mouth and he'll be made to finish what he started. and, well, he. . . ❝  you'll be alone, facing everything head on. i-- i can help. ❞

i can help. he feels like he's nine years old again, begging to follow his brother. promising to be useful enough but to also stay out of everyone's hairs. he's not that little boy anymore, and he's no longer allowed to revert back to that boy -- not after practically throwing his childhood away, joining passione against his brother's wishes -- yet somehow, he's still not a man either. he is not his brother's equal by any means, he isn't even seen as favorable or competent. all he wants to do is change that. maybe. . . maybe that starts now if he better advocates himself?

he swallows nervously, reiterating his offer. ❝  what i mean is. . . i know beach boy is better suited from a distance. so if we do run into trouble, i'll get back to get better aim. b - but don't ask me to do nothing, 'cause i can't. i can't let you do it alone. ❞

[wishmcker]

It's not where you come from It's where you belong Nothing I would trade I wouldn't have it any other way You're surrounded By love and you're wanted So never feel alone You are home with me Right where you belong

[tornsurvivors]

@torntruth sent in; //  WHAT IN THE HELL-A ARE YOU DOING, AMY?

That hefty tired moan/sigh was supposed to be some kind of war cry but it just sounded defeated and Amy prefers only calling on the power of the infection when she's cornered and desperate and about to be ripped to shreds. Not...  when she's trying to get a door open. Actually, she bounces slightly on the fake leg,   real leg raising...  before it just drops and she turns rather quickly and directly towards Carly. Eyes narrowing. "Hello? Why am I doing this? Use the built in guns on your arms, damn. Shit."

Hey, don’t look at her!! You’re the one who wanted to prove something -- and mierda, Carla would be damned if she’s gonna stop the woman from TRYING. Not feeling like getting stabbed today. The stuntwoman’s just hangin’ back for once, one hand resting on the top of her huge mace’s hilt -- the thing mostly covered in infected guts and brains, and her other hand on her hip. Patiently tapping her foot. HAH, being patient for once? That’s something else for this usually hot-tempered latina, alright. When, (FINALLY-- dios mios), the other woman does spin around and glare at her, she doesn’t hold back the obnoxiously loud snort. 

“Ay, ay!  Keep your sassy panties on and move, chica. I got this.”  With a roll of her eyes, she steps forward and shoos Amy away from the door. “Be a sugar and hold this for me while I get this mighty door handled, ya?”  Without even waiting, she effortlessly drags her heavy mace and lets it go, letting it fall against Amy’s leg -- knowing well the woman’s quick enough to CATCH. 

“Watch and see how it’s done.” Flashing a grin at Amy, she grabs ahold of the door’s handle and literally rips the fucking thing out of it’s socket with a few rough yanks. Oh... oh shit, what was that sound--   “HIJO DE PUTA!” She yelled out in surprise when a runner literally barges through the door at her, tackling her to the ground. “Goddamn it--! Ohh that’s nasty, what a waste of a dental job!” She’s just cringing, her forearm pressed across the zombie’s throat to stop ‘em from sinking their teeth in her face. 

[revengetour]

@brut4lities

THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR | 1x09 - “The Beast in the Jungle”

[clydesgod]

...

"Merry C-Ch-Chir-C-"

"You can just say happy holidays if its not too easy to say grandpa."

"..."

"...Nadolig Llawen. There."

[spiritdreamt]

❛ do you like it when i bleed for you? ❜ @carvedeeper

she shouldn't. she knows she shouldn't. but this is her world now: the blood. the fear. the darkness, and him. always him. in their old life, she never would have dreamed of hurting him; here, though, wounds are temporary and death is undone as easily as it is dealt. how many times has she perished on the blade she now holds in her hand? how many times has she been his offering, his sacrifice? it's not that she wants to hurt him—even in her most hopeless hours, when he was gone and the police just kept questioning, when she sipped the poisonous belief that he'd left her behind for good, she hadn't wanted to hurt him. what she wants is to be as close to him as she can, and, as he'd said: this will better help her understand him.

with her free hand, percy cups his face, brushes her thumb across his cheekbone, and makes up her mind.

it shocks her, how easily the knife slips into his abdomen. percy searches his face his reaction, cataloging every shift in expression as her heart pounds so hard she can feel it in her throat. she considers pulling the knife out, but before she can move danny's hand covers her grip, pulling her closer. her breath catches—half from the warmth of his blood seeping onto her fingers, and half from how he leans in until their lips are just touching. not a kiss, just an intermingling of ragged breaths. she slides her hand back from his cheek until her fingers are threaded in his dark hair and her thumb is resting on the hinge of his jaw. do you like it when i bleed for you? he asks, barely a whisper, and in response a soft sound catches in her throat. part of her wants to look, see how he's stained her hands the way she's stained his, but the rest of her just wants to stay like this.

"yes," she answers, and drives the knife a little deeper. just so she can hear the noise he'll make, remember it next time he presses the steel to her throat. nobody else can do this to him, she thinks, a realization bordering on religious ecstasy. "danny..." she breathes his name like a prayer, her hand slipping from the hilt of the knife to rest beside the wound. "now you understand. now you know what i feel like when i die for you."

[tornsurvivors]

okay but what about a lizzy and jaina headcanon that some dude says something disrespectful at jaina and lizzy, maybe even in cuffs, after going back and force with jaina and her men - ends up biting the dude (which is REALLY going to hurt) and just says 'no need to be disrespectful.'

Are they testing the Admiral's patience? Absolutely. Their blather was beginning to induce a migraine, feeling it creeping right in her temples and spreading the more she listened to their idiocy. However, when Lizzy bit him -- despite not expecting it to be the perfect solution in cutting off the bullshit that was spewing out of his vile mouth, she couldn't even bother to be fazed by it at all. Instead, she just slowly blinks and raises a brow, watching the shock on the man's face melt into one of agitation.

"Yer fucking insane!" Directed at Lizzy, of course. Had it been directed at Jaina too... she wouldn't have batted an eye. She's been called insane more than plenty in the past.

The Admiral merely lifts a gloved hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and exhaled roughly through her nose. "And you," She began with the same icy timbre in her voice. "--are an utter waste of our lives and time." Well, whaddya know? She can be disrespectful right back... but with a valid point, unlike him. It was taking EVERYTHING in her to not use her magic. No one knows about that, not even Lizzy. She then levels her tired gaze with her second-in-command. "Toss him in the brig. We'll let the City Watch handle him."

[revengetour]

@brut4lities

RUE & JULES in 2.05

[contrariian-archive]

SO WHY DON’T WE GO SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW?

percy & fin.   for @huntedvideo​

be you, mirella muffarotto // the wedding date (2005) // passenger seat, death cab for cutie // fearless, taylor swift // consolation, edvard munch // holly warburton // anne sexton // the end of all things, panic! at the disco // the beatrice letters, lemony snicket // malcolm liepke // saturn, sleeping at last // letters to milena, franz kafka // letter to virginia woolfe, vita sackville-west // somewhere only we know, keane // memento o, anna mcneil // oh, ms. believer; twenty one pilots // the x-files, 6x19 // somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond; e.e. cummings // two slow dancers, mitski