#itokunii

[petitsdieu]

continued ft. @itokunii

"Was I supposed to stay in the trees?" She's puzzled about the alternative. Unsure what she could have done differently to avoid this. Though, maybe he's thinking of the exact flip. People bump into each other all the time; on crowded sidewalks, clear roads, and empty parks apparently.

The apples of her cheeks flush a deep red as he touches her dress. It's unexpected, to say the least. And she's stunned he'd do something like that. That anyone would. And that her ankle peeking out like that could make her feel so sheepish. Her gaze follows his movements, looking at her ankle with him. He's right, it doesn't look good. She can feel it, obviously, and he might be right that she shouldn't walk on it. But she's apprehensive about letting him carry her. Though, she guesses, if he wanted to do her harm he could have already. She couldn't outrun him even if her ankle was hurt. "Carry me? Uh, are you sure?"

[zealctry]

@itokunii / Val

Feathers and ash are drifting through the air, the atmosphere ungodly intense ( if you listen closely you can hear the heavens whisper: sinner, sinner, sinner! ). His naked hand is still buried in their hair and forehead, the stench of burnt flesh finding its source there, and Valentin is still so utterly focused on the person he just purged that he almost does not realize someone standing there, seeing him in all his winged glory. Golden eyes snap towards the smaller man ( bigot, bigot, bigot ), finally letting the body crumble to the ground as he stands there almost awkwardly. " I doubt I could convince you to forget all of this? "

his body sings ( a slave to its own automatic responses, as adrenaline floods his system, shortening his breath and quickening his pulse. it is, as always, the most pleasant feeling. what else is there to joy but your own blood, screaming at you, you are alive? you are ready to burn at the pyre? ). the sight doesn’t, in fact, frighten him ( there is only one thing that Hidan fears, that fills him with dread, replaces every atom of oxygen in his lungs with ice-crystals. . . and it is no being that chooses ——or was cast upon—— this earth. it is something else, altogether. beyond description, beyond anything his clumsy tongue could conjure. it is divine. ) but it’s certainly…. out of the ordinary ( even for Hidan, whose ordinary is… quite exceptional, especially nowadays. ) so he surveys the scene with a great deal of interest that tiptoes the line of morbid fascination. he wants to reach out and yank ( and tear and dig his very nails in; to verify that the sight takes hold in physical reality and is not merely the fruit of his own demented imagination. he refrains, but his body still tenses. )

golden gaze to violet. Hidan foregoes blinking. stares, in a direct, unwavering line.

( whether or not it’s a challenge, he’s still smirking, amusement diluted and spread like watercolour at the corners of the mouth. )

idly, a thumb fiddles with his rings, each in turn.

                  “ . . .. yeeeeah, out of curiosity. . .. does that line usually work for you? ”

[fcllederage-moved]

@itokunii said: ❛ Is everything okay? ❜ (from Collin? (: )

"Hein ?" The voice startled the queen who had been phasing out behind the bar counter. It made her jump and finally look up, her clear blue eyes focusing on the man before her.

It was one of those nights where Hyacinthe was working at the club, but tonight, she did not have to perform as there was no cabaret show. It was merely a nightclub with occasional appearances on the stage of the queens for one or two lipsyncs in front of the DJ, so the tallest - and most popular - of them all, was behind the counter, serving drinks and telling jokes. And, apparently, getting lost in her own thoughts.

This could only mean one thing. Exhaustion. Hyacinthe had been working non-stop for the past month and a half, not getting a day's rest, relying on barely two or three hours of sleep a night. Her mind was shutting off and so would her body eventually, no matter how much further she wanted to push it, even if she kept telling herself to keep it up for another few days. She needed the money. Desperately. A little fatigue was not going to stop her.

Thankfully, the stranger calling her from the other side of the counter woke her up. It took a split second for her brain to align again, to focus back on him. All of a sudden, her lost expression transformed into a gentle yet mysterious smile that dug the dimples on her cheeks. She leaned over the counter as he settled, pretending like nothing had happened, like she had not been on the verge of passing out just a second ago. "Hey. Bonsoir." Her voice was low and sultry - she often said she had the voice of a truck driver -, completely contrasting with her hyperfeminine look. "Qu'est-ce que j'te sers ?" Greeting newcomers in French had always been her trademark, since she arrived in this country, but most needed a little translation. Just like this man. Or so it seemed. "What do you want to drink?"

[xnecromantia]

“ if i were to kiss someone, it would be you. “ (from Erik? Totally okay if you're not feeling it!)

A Hundred Kissing Prompts II Accepting

"Did you know that today marks another century of us knowing each other?" The Wytch mentioned happily, his arm linked through Erik's own as they walked alongside a riverbed. "We are older than this very river, and yet you look exactly the same as when I first met you." A laugh escaped him as he looked up at the other male; neither a wrinkle or grey hair to evidence the passage of time. His features remained soft and his eyes retained the kindness that instantly soothed a troubled soul. It was no wonder the deceased trusted him. Although his own appearance never changed with age, Mortis' heart had -- sorrow taking hold and revealing itself in the form of tired lines underneath his eyes. It was an impossible change for an immortal - to be affected in such a human way - but the events of Shademarsh had altered him.

Coming back to Erik and the sanctuary he offered had helped to mend the wounds he received from that night, alleviating the darkness and bringing light back to Mortis' soul. Patience and reassurance made it easier for the Wytch to smile each day, to laugh and engage in conversation; a gradual healing process to retrieve who he once was. And he was forever grateful for that.

"I wanted to commemorate our friendship by making you a gift." Since Shademarsh, his desire to create had disappeared -- but now he had somebody to create for. A chance to express his affection in the form of handmade jewellery. His coven often gifted pieces to those they cared about, taking months to make with how intricate they were. No two designs were the same, making them highly unique and custom to the person they were made for. Pausing in their walk, he retrieved a small pouch from the pocket of his hoodie and held it out for Erik to take. Tipped over, a silver ring fell out; a series of overlapping bands that twisted into a beautiful pattern. Between the bands, glass was set and contained a whirlwind of colourful specks. "Wait -- look," he added enthusiastically as he gently tapped the ring, which caused the specks to shimmer and dance. "I infused a bit of magic into it, so it will never dull." He explained, pausing as he allowed the other to try it on.

"I wish I could give you more, but I hope this token shows how much I appreciate you, Erik." Mortis continued, reaching out with both hands to hold one of his. Drawing it towards his own cheek and resting against it, he smiled up at the fairy. It was the same hand where the Wytch had placed a Mark of Friendship on Erik's little finger many centuries ago, mirroring the same place he had his. "Even after our time apart, it was like I never left. You gave me sanctuary without hesitation. I was hurting, but you made everything better. You mean a lot to me, cara--"

'--if I were to kiss someone, it would be you.'

The words were clear as day, spoken inside his mind. It was a moment or so before he comprehended what happened, and when he did, Mortis huffed out an amused laugh. Did he mean to share his thoughts with him? "I heard that." He squeezed Erik's hand lovingly, eyes aglow with gold. All he could do was smile, chest feeling fit to burst. Placing both hands on Erik's shoulders, the Wytch gently pulled him down until they were level. "If I were to let someone kiss me..." he started, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. It was short - sweet - but the message was there. "...it would be you."

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

“ is that how you see yourself? ”  ( from Valentin! (: )

𝐀  𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐌𝐀𝐍: ACCEPTING

II @itokunii

“I suppose,” tut Richard, the tip of his finger drawing lazy, small circles against the table’s surface. “I wish tha’ weren’t the case. At times I try to stray away from seein’ myself as such, but I guess it can’t be helped; not when others see ye’ in the same light.” Naive. Reckless. Weak. Screw up. It was always the same, at least from those who mattered.  “Och, tha’ took a rather grim turn, didn’t it?” he asked, stealing back a quiet breath he didn’t realize he was holding back. “Wha’ ‘bout ye’ then? How do ye’ see yer’self? Hopefully ye’ have more luck than I do.”

[therelentless]

{ @itokunii​ ;; ALFRED

“Now I'm bored. Walking is dumb. Can’t you like fly or turn into bat? none of that shit? Are you sure?”

[mxldito]

He's a fool. A goddamned, god-abandoned fool, Radek has realized many a century and tonight he has proven to be right yet again as he presses himself against the closest alley wall, gritting his fangs, pressing his hand against the wound on his thigh as he listens. Hunters, truly a bane of the beasts ( and isn't it ironic that someone who once was a hunter is now the hunted? ), out with their eyes fixed on their target and their silver bullets carrying his name. He barely had time to fight before an escape was inevitable, scattering like prey. The wound is taking too long to close ( when was the last time he fed? Too long ago, you fool ), so now all he can do is hide, wait and listen. A noise to his right and he snaps and draws his blade towards the source but it is not a human he finds: no heartbeat, no breath and he is not sure whether he should appreciate a fellow kindred on nights like these. His sword, oozing with burning blood, remains at the same level. " Hunters. ", he repeats, warns, hoping whatever their intent may be will be deterred by this single word alone. (( throwing Tremere!Radek at you hehe. Hope this is okay! ))

"Easy." Coyote whispered, glancing down at the drawn blade. Their gun had already been in their hand at the nearby sounds of commotion and gunfire. They raised it up, pointing the muzzle to the sky and allowed their finger to uncurl from the trigger, resting it against the side of the guard. It seemed that they had startled each other.

Wrong place, wrong time. Just their luck. It was easy to write off hunters as being "just human". While that's what they were, these were humans with funding, weapons, research, and a religious hatred for any creature of the night. Kindred or otherwise, they killed without discrimination.

"Just as bastardous as we are. If not worse." They snarled, daring to peek down the alley. "How many? How armed? I need to warn the others in the area."

The stranger didn't have to say much to indicate he was as dead as they were. It was in these moments where Sect and Clan didn't matter. All that mattered was that they both walk out of this "alive". Coyote wasn't feeling lucky tonight, and this poor man already looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out. "You alright?"

[usethespoon]

“Just trust me.” (from Alfred)

Trust created unnecessary ties; an interference with his line of work. No good would come from warming up to those he was assigned with because of the possibility of being betrayed -- if they were stupid enough to try. Emotional detachment came with the job; they were easier to dispatch of when things turned awry. Past partners were wise enough to realise that they were never going to be regarded as anything more than colleagues by Lee. A person who - unfortunately - was chosen by The Network to pair up with him. No amount of persuasion by the organisation could force the hitman to trust their selection, and they were resigned to accept that. His skills were exemplary; they needed him. It was a known fact. And so he could get away with refusing to behave. He was his own person; who he chose to trust was entirely up to him. But taking a liking to somebody -- now, that was allowed in his rulebook. He may not trust them, but there was no stopping him from showing up inside their house uninvited for an impromptu conversation. A lovely natter. They had no choice in the matter when he did, but it was certainly better than being on his bad side.

New day, new hit. A simple case of money owed.

"Is that right?" There was a deep frown of concentration on his face as he studied himself in the floor-length mirror, scrutinising his appearance. His back was to Alfred, seemingly disregarding him entirely. Ever since becoming partially paralysed - his left arm a dead weight against his side - Lee had given up on looking his best. There was only so much he could do before losing the motivation to try. His yellow suit was slightly wrinkled and tie askew, but an attempt was made; it was passable given his disposition. Using his working arm to reposition the paralysed one, he settled it further down his body by pushing hard until it rested comfortably against his ribs. Fuck it -- that would do. Who was he trying to impress? "Not me you have to convince, matey." Now his reflection stared over at the other man, eyes settling directly on him. There was a glimmer of amusement in them. "But it helps." Stay on his good side and everything would be dandy.

"I think we should see how he's doing, don't you?" A quick change of topic. It was a rhetorical question as he picked up his lime-coloured duffel bag, the sound of metal inside clinking together as he did so. A satisfying sound, but even more were the sounds that were produced by using them. His knives were already stained maroon - and he resented placing them inside the leather holder without cleaning them thoroughly - but leaving his tools in front of his target was an amateur mistake. The most desperate person was willing to break their wrists to escape binds and grab the nearest weapon; he had seen it before. But they could only crawl so far with broken kneecaps. They associated his disability with slowness, but were quite surprised to be proven otherwise. It only made him stronger after adapting, forced to work harder. Quick as a whippet, he was capable of incapacitating them before they could even react.

The first sound they heard within the basement was heavy breathing, followed by wheezing courtesy of a broken nose. Well - altogether, a broken face. His features were indistinguishable; a new man entirely. But he still managed a sharp intake of breath as he heard Lee approach. Bloodied fingers gripped onto the arms of the chair he was tied to, the skin torn and nails removed. The duffel bag was placed on top of a metal trolley - unzipped - and his variety of tools removed once more. As he unrolled the leather holder, it revealed different sized knives and various surgical equipment. From scalpels to bone saws, they were well-looked after. They were an extension of him; it only made sense for him to care about them. Taking out a fresh pair of latex gloves, he discarded one and placed the other on with the help of his teeth before picking up a scalpel. Standing in front of the gentleman, Lee hummed as he casually studied what was left behind from before. Not much.

"It would have been easier for you to pay back the money you owe. But now I had to visit you." His voice was soft, gentle almost; a complete contrast to how he acted. "You're becoming a household name. And they're getting a bit upset with you, so we need to fix that." It was as though he was offering the man advice. A chance to work together to resolve the issue. "What do you think?" A pained groan was given in response. "Okay, good-" His words were cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing, the cheerful tone breaking the tense situation. With an apologetic smile, Lee removed his glove and retrieved the still-ringing mobile. Unknown number. "Sorry, I have to take this. I won't be a moment." Pressing accept, he placed it against his ear and listened carefully. His expression was still, giving nothing away as he spoke only to affirm. It lasted a few minutes, before he hung up and placed it back inside his blazer pocket. Turning to face Alfred, a bright smile was given. Unnerving to most, it had an air of unpredictability to it.

"Change of plans, matey." Picking up the scalpel once more, he presented it towards his partner. "His debts are paid, so they no longer need him." In other words, The Network had successfully overturned the gentleman's safety measures, drained his bank account and completely erased his identity. He was now legally dead. They were capable of doing that; destroying lives. "Your turn." It was closest Lee would get to trusting somebody. He was now allowing Alfred to take over the situation, relieving the hitman from being in control. It was a huge deal. "You're not going to let me down, are you?" The kindness of his tone disguised the subtle threat, but it was certainly felt in the way he stared a moment too long.

[justafleck]

@itokunii​ ::  “   i  don’t  think  we’ve  met  yet  but  you  looked  like  you  needed  someone  to  talk  to  .  ”

—  His  lungs  sting  as  oxygen  fills  them  .  The  breath  in  comes  in  the  form  of  a  harsh  wheeze  .  Thick  brows  furrow  and  pinch  as  his  palm  is  brought  to  rest  upon  the  base  of  his  throat  .  It’s  sore  ;  inflamed  after  a  violent  fit  of  laughter  and  he’s  trying  to  compose  himself  .  To breathe  .  He  doesn’t  mean  it  ;  to  laugh  at  a  woman  on  the  bus  when  her  boyfriend  slapped  the  magazine  out  of  her  hands  after  he  spotted  her  ‘  eyeballing  ’  a  model  for  a  men’s underwear  ad  .  His  outburst  stirred  a  frenzy  on  the  bus  and  rather  than  the  escalating  man  being  kicked  off  ,  the  driver  pulled  the  bus  over  and  kicked  Arthur  off  .  He’s  got  a  long  trek  home  ,  though  he  took  a  seat  on  a  nearby  bench  to  steady  his  breath  before  venturing  home  on  his  already  aching  feet  .  Perhaps  it  was  the  altercation  between  the  bus  driving  yelling  at  Arthur  as  he  shoved  Arthur’s  bag  into  his  hands  and  Arthur  laughing  painfully  loud  in  the  man’s  face  as  the  drover  shut  the  doors   that  drew  in  Erik’s  attention  .  It  must  have  ;  the  entire  street  stopped  to  watch  it seemed  .

—  Shoulders  remained  slumped  and  Arthur’s  eyes  refuse  to  meet  anyone's  ,  not  even  the  only  person  who  seems  to  care  enough  to  check  on  Arthur  .  The  rest  of  the crowd  turned  and  went  on  their  way  ,  murmuring  to  one  another  about  the  odd  man  (  Arthur  )  getting  kicked  off  the  bus  .  It’s  been  a  bad  day  ,  and  though  he  wants  to  shout  from  the  rooftops  to  this  stranger  how  miserable  his  life  is  ,  he  refrains  .  “  I’m   —  just  ...  ”  His throat  is  dry  ,  painfully  so  and  he  swallows  in  hopes  to  ease  the  discomfort  .  “  I’m  having  a  bad  day  .  ”  he  doesn’t  wish  to  burden  anyone  further  ,  and  he’s  well  aware  that  if  he  admits  to  this  man  about  what  he  was  laughing  about  on  the  bus  ,  he’d  alo  give  Arthur  the  cold  shoulder  .  “  It’s  like  ,  I  can’t  do  anything  right  .  ”  he  sighs  out  .  “  Do  you  ever  feel  like  that  ?  Like  everything  you  do  is  wrong  ?  ”  It’s  not  like  he  meant  to  laugh  ;  he  even  provided  those  people  his  medical  card  and  they  threw  it  back  in  his  face  .  

[xnecromantia]

As those slim fingers ghosted across his ribcage, dancing over the intricate patterns etched there, he drew in a short breath as it sent a shiver down his spine. A content smile graced his features as he recognised the touch of his lover, leaning back against his chest and into the affections. "Hello, cara." He greeted warmly, reaching up to place his own hands on top of his and hold them lightly, still allowing room for Erik to explore. He would never get tired of the way he could make him weak with a simple touch. But the teasing feel of his lips against the shell of his ear - a light breath tickling there, another shiver - before slowly moving down the length of his neck was all he needed to want more. An encouraging moan escaped his parted lips, but his lover was already convinced -- the touches turning more earnest. With a guiding hand, they removed Mortis' shirt together and discarded it on the ground. It would soon become a pile of clothing as they rushed to connect once more, warm skin against cold; a perfect pairing.

His heartrate increased as Erik pinned him against the tree, pressing his body flush against his. Close, but not close enough -- his legs wrapping themselves around his lover's waist, pulling him in. There was no need for words as with every kiss, every lingering touch, their desire for each other was known. All he could focus on was Erik and the attention he gave him; it was as though nothing else mattered but the Wytch. And it was addictive. He always looked after him; he never had to ask. With a hitched breath, those wandering fingers found their way inside him and began moving at a pace that instantly sent jolts of pleasure throughout his body. His skin ran hot - face aflame - but the coolness of his lover was bliss every time he moved against him. A litany of delighted moans slipped free. But after a moment or so, the anticipation became too much. Golden eyes caught the attention of black ones, his request spoken with a tone of desperation. "Stop teasing, cara. I want you."

He swore under his breath at the stretch, but it soon turned into a satisfying sensation. Once Erik was fully inside him, a content sigh escaped him and he leaned forward to place a firm kiss upon his mouth -- holding it there for a few seconds before pulling back. The compliment - clear as day in his mind -, combined with the immediate fast change in pace, received a drawn-out moan from Mortis as he allowed his lover to take what he needed. "Erik," he breathed out, fingers finding their way through the back of dark locks and clutching tightly as his neck was nuzzled. "Please," his thighs gently squeezed around his waist as an indication to move faster.

@xnecromantia asked: ( the great outdoors ) - Erik / 👻୧‿︵‿︵ just fucking around !

It is truly fascinating that someone like him who always pays such keen attention to the noises of the forest ( the rustling of the leaves, the whispers of the dead ) could even be capable of averting his attention and tune out even the most violent breeze pulling at a shirt he has long since discarded. The way the sun gently cascades down and warms the earth with its rays, the way the soil reaches upwards to embrace it; nothing matters on its own, except for how it looks, sounds, feels around Mortis.

He has him pinned to the tree, his smaller body lifted up by the branches so that Erik can comfortably fit himself between his legs and touch every inch of skin his fingertips come across. Which is how this has started: a curiosity and a playfulness had taken a hold of him, quietly manifesting from the bark of the oak tree his darling lover had waited in front of ( waiting for him, sweetly, innocently, with his back turned ). Long fingers had reached out to slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and press him flush against his front, the cool kiss of his lips traveling from his ear to his neck and the way Mortis moaned both in surprise and delight was all it took for him to turn a teasing touch into loving want.

Black eyes peer at him, taking in his expression, the way his hair falls into his face and the way he instantly reaches out to tuck it back. He can sense his heart beating against the trunk and then, when he finally relents and exchanges the fingers he has been pushing in and out with himself, can feel it beating within himself. His breath shudders, no noise escaping him as he enters him bit by bit, gaze mesmorized by the pleasure overtaking the other. His hands, cold against the flushed flesh, tenderly grip his hips, picking up the pace as he nuzzles into his neck. [ You're beautiful. ], a pant, pulling out before he fills him entirely again. [ And you feel so good, my love. ]

[petitsdieu]

Archetypes Quiz

tagged by: stole it from @druiidic tagging: @soughthope @moonsoflego @perniicious @ohfiendangelical @feydrauth-a @eritvita @itokunii @godstrayed @corruptedforce + anyone else that wants to!

The Explorer is drawn to the unknown, whether that's a Himalayan peak or the road not taken, and have a thirst for adventure. They take journeys, not vacations.

The Spiritual seeks a deeper meaning. For them, the journey of faith is never-ending. Thoughtful and compassionate, they have a strong sense of moral obligation.

The Creative appreciates all beautiful things, in art and daily life. The creative act is essential to who they are.

[zealctry]

NSFT / Sinday Headcanons. // @itokunii asked :

how do they feel about having multiple partners at once? have they ever done it?

yeah, he’s done it. gonna try nearly everything once, y’know. it was fun enough, and the first time around, it was with a couple; fucked the girlfriend, fucked the boyfriend, too. he has plenty of stamina to go around, as long as he’s the center of attention. more than two at a time isn’t really his favourite, though; in that scenario, he actually enjoys watching more than partaking. he’s more of a one-on-one type of guy, overall, with the odd exception here and there.

what’s their most erogenous zone?

the most? he has so many, you could play him like you would a piano, with all those dozens of keys  I MEAN, there’s a reason why he melts  when someone’s ( and doesn’t particularly welcome most people ) touching his neck. ( his nape, the hollow just above his collarbones, the delicate spot just behind his ear, the junction between shoulder and— ). ithen, besides the obvious; nner things, his palms, the area just below his navel, his scalp (hair pulling, damn), the list goes on and on and . .. .

[sortilegum]

 @itokunii  asked: what do you need ?  —  what can i do ? (from Valentin)

There was blood on the ground. A cursed red on grey. This realm. This altered fractured reality, devoid of the vibrance, the colour, of the world it so crudely reflected. Ever changing, caught between a whirlpool of time, making and simultaneously tearing itself apart.

In its snare Q knelt.  Their body covered in several wounds. A chrome circular shape looping in front of them. Several other shades of various times lingering around the preternatural creation.

My. My. My. A soldier?! Try to catch a bullet with your teeth? Or was it a blade? Look around! Where are you? Where were you? The voice reverbed across the monochrome with a laugh. No. You live. You can still help yourself. Unfortunately, you have no command here. There’s nothing you can do. Not here. Rest. Come sit.

[xnecromantia]

🖤 From Erik, I'm too lazy to switch blogs lmao

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / handsome / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

10) one muse is in danger and the other takes hold of their hand to lead them to safety.  ( from Val (: )

SCENARIOS WITH UNDERTONES OF TENSION: ACCEPTING

II @itokunii

Richard's heart was drumming against the walls of his chest. Boom. Boom. Boom. At that pace, it would've been enough to bruise his ribcage. The Scotsman couldn't stop, however. He had to continue walking, as inconspicuously as possible, through the London throng. Yet, no matter how far he walked he always felt like he was being followed. He could feel it, like hairs standing on the back of his neck while invisible eyes burned into the back of his head. Who the hell were these people? What did they want with him? Nothing but a sea of questions.

Richard was just about to keep on walking when a hand suddenly tugged him into the safety of a quiet and rather forgotten alleyway. He was ready to throw a fit and fight tooth and nail until he saw who it was. "Val!" he gasped. "Wha' are ye'-... How did ye'?--... " Richard could barely get his breathless words out. "I-... I think I was... am... bein' followed," he gasped.

[waywardcollective]

❝ did you hear that? ❞ (from Radek!)

The Five Senses II Accepting

                 Multiple gunshots were difficult to miss, no matter how loud the jazz band played. It was too sharp, too clear -- cutting through the enthusiastic music like a sharp knife. But they were quickly dismissed as a car backfiring outside, the upbeat number never wavering; a reassurance to their jovial audience that everything was fine. Except some were more attentive than others, experienced in the way of weaponry; it was learned the hard way. That particular sound never left their memory.  Before his companion confirmed his suspicions with a single question, Eli had already straightened up in his chair and slowly scanned their immediate area for any signs of unusual behaviour. Incidents like these were very rarely isolated, usually carried out by a number of individuals working together to create a scene. And so he focused on finding any group of people who appeared out of place, standing besides exits or perhaps tucked away in a corner where the attention was entirely off them. There was nothing of interest, however -- at least on the second level. All he could see were friends and couples seated at designated tables nearby, drinking and happily chatting over the music being played below. His own whisky sat in front of him, untouched for the moment as he leaned forward to finally respond.

                “I did--”

                                         I got nothin’! I got nothin’, boss!

              Words were desperately screamed from the direction of the stage, followed by a sudden cacophony of crashes and bangs. The music abruptly stopped as a gentleman stumbled over their instruments, falling backwards over a large drum. Its symbols were brought down onto the stage, skidding across the floor until they eventually fell off the edge, causing a few dancers upfront to move away in shock. There were already patrons beginning to scatter, wanting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the unexpected chaos. Even those on the second level started collecting their belongings, standing up from their seats and glancing around for the nearest escape route. But it was only the beginning. As the gentleman shakily reached inside his jacket, he retrieved a handgun and pointed it towards something at the side of the stage. Whatever it was, he was terrified. Now Eli understood where the gunshots came from; a man fearing for his life. 

              Uneasy silence filled the club as the patrons waited for something to happen before three men appeared on stage, headed straight for their target who prepared to defend. They were dressed like the vast majority of gentleman in this club -- all fine suits and polished shoes -- except nothing about them was particularly ordinary. Integrating within a crowd or walking down the streets, to an untrained eye they were impossible to distinguish, but the moment when they forced the man to his feet and declared his crime, it was clear they were Synths. Vials of various Erasures were found on the gentleman after he was caught selling Happiness behind the club -- something he denied doing, of course. It was planted on him. He was an innocent man. A family man. But Synths were programmed to invoke fear and carry out arrests, not sympathise. There was no convincing them. And a cornered criminal was wildly unpredictable as he fired a round in the blind hope of hitting one of them, but all he managed to do was shatter a stage light overhead.

                                     A dangerous decision to make.

              The handgun was clutched firmly in stiffened hands as his muscles seized up, a bombardment of high voltage entering throughout his body. It forced him to bite down upon his bottom lip, producing a steady trickle of blood that dripped down his chin and onto the stage below. A guttural sound stuck at the back of his throat, unable to release in the form of words. From where one of the Synths gripped the side of his neck, the flesh steadily turned a rancid maroon as it began burning. The area surrounding it blackened, dark lines branching outwards from where the electricity spread underneath his skin. Apart from a few sobs from traumatised patrons, the club remained calm as they witnessed the gentleman die. Nobody dared speak up. It was horrific -- yes -- but this was their life now. Everyday somebody was executed for their involvement with Erasures, and not a single soul could do anything about it. All they could do was keep their heads down and move along. In this case, wait for it to end.

                  “Bastards...” Eli commented once the Synths left with his body. The band tried to pick up from where they left off, but the music was considerably less upbeat. One of the waiting staff cleaned up droplets of blood with a wet rag, but it could never get rid of the stains. “It never ends. When will they realise that fear does nothing? People will continue to produce and distribute Erasures wherever money is concerned--” he trailed off, pausing to glance over at his companion with a light frown. “--sorry, I should have asked. Are you okay?” He wanted to make sure, knowing that some people were fortunate enough to have never witnessed such a brutal attack carried out by Synths.