#soistarve

[pagetorn]

Send “🔥?” and my muse will admit whether they find your muse attractive or not.

@soistarve​ asked :  🔥🔥🔥  :D do it, coward.

❝ Him?   Attractive?   You’ve got to be kidding me... ❞   Eyes roll and arms cross defensively across her chest.   ❝ Maybe if he kept his mouth shut for longer than two seconds...   And wiped that shit eating grin off his face...   and stopped hiding his eyes behind those god-awful shades... ❞

[feminaferitas]

@soistarve gets some billy and chrissy (because they’re both alive, yolo)

Chrissy didn’t have much of an appetite today. Not after her mother muttered something under her breath after the cheerleader had considered some of the eggs and toast her father had prepared for breakfast. It was fine, those first few periods before lunch flew by anyways. 

Jason had to stay late for practice tonight, otherwise he would have totally driven her to school. Just as well, because Chrissy was about to be late thanks in part to Mrs. Cunningham fussing with the seams of her cheer uniform skirt, which she knew they’d purchased too small to begin with. “It’s almost finished, sweetheart. I thought you said it would fit you by the time the season started.��� Well, it did fit, just not the way her mother thought it should. There wasn’t a home game for another two weeks, which was plenty of time to...

Speaking of time, Chrissy had to snatch the garment with a loose thread still trailing in order to catch the last bus before homeroom. Bounding off of the bus, it was clear she was among the last of the stragglers- the parking lot was mostly cleared out except for the kids who didn’t care on any day ending in ‘y’. Her steps were light and full of that cheerleader spring, but her backpack slung hastily over one shoulder, it was only a matter of moments before the loose strap snagged on the side mirror of a rather sleek looking blue Camaro. Chrissy went one way, the bag went another, and she fell with a soft thud on the parking lot asphalt. She groaned.

“This is the last thing I needed right now,” Chrissy said, picking up her bag and checking the mirror to make sure she hadn’t broken it. She paused to retouch her bangs before noticing that there was, in fact, someone in the car. “Oh shoot! I’m so sorry. It has been such a morning.”

[witchyxwoo]

@soistarve​ sent-->  ❛ is that my shirt? ❜   /   for heather from billy mayhaps??

"yeah, no thanks to you pushing me into the pool earlier,” she sighed as she adjusted the sleeves a bit. it was definitely a little wonky on her, but at least it wasn’t too small. “i had no other dry clothes, so i took yours. figured you could survive without one shirt.”

[spentfaith]

𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕, 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎’𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚊. Sure, he had El, he’d always have her, but that was as far as his now shortened friend group extended. Was it from lack of trying or lack or care? Will surmised it must have been a combination. People had tried, sure. But they weren’t his people. He missed Lucas and Max and what he would have given for one of Dusty’s poorly attempted one-liners or be able to listen to one of Mike’s grand plans…But here was better than Hawkins. The feeling was different here. 

Good in some ways (in the lack of as many nightmares, or visual triggers that would send him spiralling for days on end) and bad in others. Bad in the way that it just wasn’t Hawkins.

“H-Hey Johnathan?” Will stood like a ghost in the frame of his brother’s door, having knocked just twice, quietly, against the wood. Just as many things had changed since the move, so had his brother. He’d actually made a friend, a decent one it seemed at that. He didn’t get to see him around school either, which Will believes would have made his experience just a little bit better. Everything was just different. “Mom wants to know if you’re gonna be here for dinner.” A pause, silence left a little too long that it threatened to edge on awkward before Will found his voice again. “If you’re hanging around i could show you this new painting I've been working on? But if you’re not then... that’s fine too. I thought maybe...  Just—   sorry. I think mom is getting takeout.”

@soistarve​​ because Will just wants to spend time with jon :(

[dionadaiiraaa]

The thunderous galloping of his dabble gray mare echoed down the road of gravel as Eden turned onto the path to Kaer Morhen. The autumn wind felt good on his freckled face; his hair was the color the autumn leaves. A drop of dusk that would turn the world a reddish hue. He cared not that his curls bounced with every movement of his beloved horse, Liath Macha. 

The harvest had been good since the last winter; his coin purse was considerably full and he had sent shipments of supplies no less than three times over the course of his roaming. 

However, the intense desire to return home was too much to ignore, and like the wayward son they all were deep down, Eden was happy to return to the fold for a much earned rest. 

As  Liath Macha cantered up the trail, Eden was surprised to see a glimpse of silvery snow strands and the clopping of hooves. Beaming with excitement, Eden had his beloved mare trot alongside of Geralt of Rivia. 

“ Aye, guid day, Geralt, long time nae see, how are ye?” he asked as his emerald gaze fell upon his comrade. 

“ Ye nae lookin’ too worse fer ware. How was yer travels?” 

@soistarve​ S.C. 

[massensterben-a]

@soistarve​ / inshivers said:                 ❝  look can you just forget about it?  okay?  yeah i’m in love with you.  big deal.  it happens.  ❞ / is this modern reibert content? :l gross but yes. lol rip

Bertholdt’s fingers slowly curl in on themselves as Reiner jerks away from him a final time. The fabric of his shirt slips from his grasp with ease, like he’s suddenly turning to water under his hands, frantically flowing towards any exit. Bertholdt stands frozen in the tide, numbness creeping up his legs. Anger radiates off his friend in waves, each one crashing and burning him. It’s enough to keep the younger boy at bay, have him remain in place, stricken and confused, as Reiner tugs his letterman jacket into place and hisses at him through bared teeth. 

This is not how he wanted it to go.

Of course, he’s thought about this, the ideal scene he poured all his ideals, all his unfulfilled wishes into.  He imagined Reiner close and warm, a hand on his cheek, to guide and hold him, to prove beyond doubt that they are real after all. He imagined the words murmured shyly, earnestly, into his ear, so soft they feel like the brush of a feather on his heart. And his heart, of course, already knows. In the fantasy, he is bold and certain. He is steady enough for the two of them. He kisses him there, presses all the unsaid things against Reiner’s waiting lips. And all the floodgates open, and all the light breaks through, and all the choirs sing.

Reality so often falls short. Bertholdt has softly prayed to these words for so long, ever since the first clumsy, staggering brush with intimacy. Ever since Reiner smiled at him, grinned with his teeth, and pulled him into a hug, a hug that was so warm it melted right through his narrow chest, his sparrow bones. Now here they are, those magic words, and Reiner slaps him across the face with them. Bertholdt is stunned, stands humiliated in the starburst of pain that spreads across his skin. It’s cold.

“But I...” He trails off uselessly, whimpers his limp objection into the growing gulf between himself and Reiner’s turned back. He doesn’t want it like this, not when it sounds like an insult, when Reiner is so inconvenienced he can’t even stop to get dressed. It’s an afterthought, the way his friend throws him this bone: Gnaw on that. Hope you choke.

He does. Bertholdt feels his throat closing up as his heart leaps and sprints and bounds, incapable of distinguishing between excitement and pain. It’s not supposed to hurt. Bertholdt is suddenly run through with embarrassment, shame so hot it skewers him right through every soft tissue in his body. It’s no big deal. What kind of idiot thinks this means anything? 

Bertholdt’s eyes sting with tears that are too confused to well. Reiner glares at him with such cold disdain, he can’t be imagining it. He wants him to stop asking, to stop with his cloying whining bullshit. He snaps at him like a dog: DROP IT. As if it’s too disgusting to touch, too horrid and uncomfortable to even look at. It freezes him right through to see how Reiner presents this revelation. It’s not a confession, it’s an admission of guilt. And why shouldn’t it be? There could be nothing worse for Reiner, nothing less helpful, less desirable. And anyway, it doesn’t change anything.

That’s what does it, in the end. The hurt and begging in Bertholdt’s eyes gently petrifies, the way a hare freezes to death in a field. It doesn’t matter. That’s why it’s so cold. That’s why Bertholdt can’t feel his pulse, isn’t even sure it’s still beating. Because it doesn’t matter. Reiner knows this. He wants him to wake up and see it, too. Nothing changes. Reiner will still flirt with the cheerleaders and he will still go home with the first girl that gives him the time of day, and then he’ll call him up at 2 AM to get his rocks off with someone who knows what he likes. And at school, he won’t remember any of it. Like always. Love doesn’t mean shit, not to Reiner. It’s just something to get over. Bertholdt is just something to get over.

“You’re going to be late for practice. I think you should go.”

[valhyr]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃. || @soistarve ( ft. reno ! )

         L U X ⸺                                              An escapism ; a place of topside opulence and secrecy.

         At the center was a depression in the dark floor , aligned with seats all focused ‘round a piano which stood as some i m p o s i n g creature in the dim lounge ( quiet , brooding and awaiting to be called to service ) .  It does not wake ‘til the matriarch of Lux – that woman of such strangeness and rumor – sits herself ‘fore its open carcass and begins to strike her skillful claws ‘gainst its ebony / ivory bones , transmuting LIFE from that once-still marrow ; over and over and over – shoulders and body fluidly shifting in tune with the ragtime verve , alongside each lopping , jaunty chord-change that HUMS & SWELLS ‘round her with such vivacious gusto.  The melody rises and crests , manifesting to the hearts of the patrons who do not hide the way they stop conversation purely to g a w k or sway along to the unnamed tune.  It is PASSION , if ever there should have been . . .

          And she needn’t a spotlight , for in this low-lit place , the woman is quite literally AGLOW ; entirely departed from the humanity ‘round her ( so very caught up in that realm of musicality ) , clad in white and flaunting her esteem.  She does not seem to notice the approach of soles , until the chords change again , taking on a more discordant , aggressive signature.  Half-blind gaze raises from the keys to acknowledge the Turk standing adjacent to the piano.  “I don’t often see you come here,” Verona points out , at last drawing her hands back and resting them in her lap.  “Not unless it’s important. Or I’m in t r o u b l e .”  A coy smile curves the seams of painted lips , a devious hum slipping through her.  “What’re you here for t h i s time , hm ?  Business. . . Or PLEASURE ?”  There is no subtle hint of flirtatiousness in her words , an easy t e a s e / an easy challenge.

[verraeter]

💔 / this is retaliation. >:l bring it on, reiner can probably take it. maybe. :l

@soistarve // 14. an   ‘  i’m  sorry  ’   kiss.

He couldn't believe he was feeling this way now. Maybe, with almost anyone else, it would have made sense. With Reiner, however, things were far too complicated between them for that ugly feeling to rise to the surface yet again. It was something Eren wanted nothing more than to spit out and bury beneath the grinding heel of his boot, but couldn't find the energy within him to do just that.

Instead, he gripped the front of the blond's shirt and hauled him in close for a hard, biting kiss on the lips. One meant to draw blood. One meant to tell the other never to let himself get close enough for it to happen again. A warning and a whisper of wordless remorse that would stay as deniable as possible, if Eren had anything to say about it. Why should Reiner hear those words? Why should he be forced to utter that one phrase that could make him seem weak -- his pride, wounded?

He panted against Reiner's lips, licking one slow stripe over the beading drops of blood where his teeth had sunken in a second before. Eren thought to back away, to end it there and not bother with so much as a glance in the direction of those pleading eyes; wanting more, wanting an explanation, begging for an end to the game they'd been playing since returning to each other's lives. Harsh words rejected all affection that may or may not have been put forth earlier, until...

"Don't forget that you're mine, Reiner..." Misery loves company, after all.

[jawlost]

 @soistarve​ : “that was a brave thing you did today.”  

He wondered if anyone else’s predecessors were as mouthy as she was, or if Ymir was truly just a special case. Nobody warned him how vocal they would be, and vocal was just one of the few choice words he’d use to describe her. Porco knew the trip back to Marley was going to be long, his titan form being pushed to the limit on the journey back to provide more cover should they come under fire again, he was surprised Ymir hadn’t shown up sooner. 

“It wasn’t brave. He shouldn’t have been so sluggish. I was just doing my job.” Grumbled into whatever expanse it was that she had manifested from, Porco had learnt by now that it was better to just respond than ignore her, lest she give him more useless memories about the survey corps. “You’re only calling it brave because he was your friend.”    Your.    So dismissive, as though the years of (strained) camaraderie between he and Reiner amounted to nothing. It was fickle. Everything always so fucking fickle. 

“It wasn’t for him.” Admitted to avoid further scrutiny at her hands, Porco could only sigh and silently curse Reiner for not having his head in the game. “Those kids would have found out fast that anti-titan artillery doesn’t take any prisoners if i didn’t do something. It wasn’t for him and i sure as hell don’t need your opinion on it either, Ymir.”

[pagetorn]

          SUMMER BREAK.    Emma finds herself at the pool,  of all places.   Certainly n̲o̲t̲ her go to hang out,  but she owes it to her foster parents to pick up Teddy.   He came with a bunch of nerds who she has no trouble picking out of the crowd.   Hands shoved deep in her pockets,  she squints against the sun,  converse clad shoe tapping against the ground impatiently.   He said he’d be right out but if he’s having fun,  𝙴𝚖𝚖𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝.   She doesn’t want to venture further in,  eyes spotting a familiar face on the lifeguard seat.   Scowl fits her face.   She thought she’d be able to avoid @soistarve​.   Does he see her?   She raises two birds sky high on the off chance he does.   After all,  that’s how she’s taken to greeting him.   S̲h̲e̲ ̲t̲h̲i̲n̲k̲s̲ ̲h̲e̲ ̲l̲i̲k̲e̲s̲ ̲i̲t̲ ̲a̲t̲ ̲t̲h̲i̲s̲ ̲p̲o̲i̲n̲t̲.

❝ Dammit, Teddy. ❞   She sees him now,  but he hasn’t even packed up any of his things and he and his buddies are running about in a fit of candy induced adrenaline.   Emma makes her way over, hand jutting out to grab hold of the young boy’s arm.   ❝ Get your shit.   Your mom’s gonna be pissed if I don’t bring you back in ten minutes. ❞   Mentioning the parent seems to do the trick and he scrambles to gather his things.   Emma stands near the edge of the pool,  arms crossed over her chest.   She wants nothing more than to get out of here.   The screeching of young children rings in her ears that she tries her best to tune out.   𝙸𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖.   Maybe she would have seen the rampaging ten year olds about to collide into her. 

          A look of surprise crosses her face before she breaks the surface of the water.   Like an anchor,  she sinks,  buoyancy p̲u̲b̲l̲i̲c̲ ̲e̲n̲e̲m̲y̲ ̲n̲u̲m̲b̲e̲r̲ ̲o̲n̲e̲ in her eyes.   She can’t float like others and moving around often never gave her a chance to learn how to swim.   Is this it?   𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜?   Chlorine stings her eyes and frantic struggles begin to die down.

          M̲a̲y̲b̲e̲ ̲i̲t̲’̲d̲ ̲b̲e̲ ̲e̲a̲s̲i̲e̲r̲ ̲t̲o̲ ̲j̲u̲s̲t̲ ̲s̲u̲c̲c̲u̲m̲b̲.̲

[lafemmedefoudre]

lyric starter --- @soistarve​

Tag-team missions would forever be Larxene’s least favorite job in the Organization, even over boring recon missions, only because it left the chance that she’d be stuck with Demyx. And, unfortunately for the both of them, that is exactly where they find themselves currently. 

“Cause without me, you know you’re lost. Minus you, I’m better off,” she gloats, never one to miss an opportunity to demean her fellow Nobody. He deserves it, wasting her valuable time with his stupid antics and ear-grating stumming on that damn sitar of his.

“potential breakup song” by ally & aj

[feminaferitas]

a little jonathan and nancy for @soistarve

Nancy rearranged the newspaper clippings on the table - a mish-mash of her own bylines in the school paper alongside some of the actual excuses for headlines they printed in the Hawkins Post as it currently ran. She scoffed gently to herself as she moved some strips to the left of the table, others to the right. In the mix were examples of the current photography the paper offered, along with a few of Jonathan’s school portfolio pieces.

With three weeks until summer, it was a little later than she would have liked to be getting a job lined up, but things had been so busy with school. Especially when the Mind Flayer distraction ate away most of the Fall semester (which, all things considered, it could have eaten up so much worse).

“It’s not like that- I just think... Well, it could be a great experience for the two of us. We keep it professional in the workplace, of course, but we could really take it as a chance to bond. Be a team, you know?” She slid one stack of her newsclippings over towards Jonathan. “It would look fantastic on our college applications as well, which never hurts. It’s easier to offer them a complete journalistic team, the two of us. If Roy Hartman asks me one more time if I want to be their receptionist...”

Nancy couldn’t quite get a read on Jonathan’s feelings. Sure, the mall was opening this summer and having a job would require an honest work schedule. But Mike and Will would have plenty of time to hang out in the Rightside-Up Hawkins, and she had serious doubts that Emerson would accept a personal essay about defeating laboratory monsters.

“I’m just thinking about us. Our future. You know it would mean a lot to me.”

[fiduciia]

( 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐀 ) ; our muses sit together after a traumatic experience. / :( from miche ok plz let them have a sits. maybe their leggies touch ;;

COMFORT ACTIONS / / @soistarve

❛ y - you've heard him talk too, you've seen him... the titans responded to his voice... ❜

THE INVOLUNTARY TREMORS IN HER FINGERS DID NOT STOP, even as they found the steaming porcelain of tea cup handed to her by the commander. they reacted poorly to the scorching sensation too, a delayed parting of palms ( in crippling silence ) blistering their insides. the only form of respite / of solace came in a chair pulled so close to her that contact was inevitable... ABANDON THE ENVELOPE OF YOUR BODY ON THE FIELD, move like a machine, feel only the muscles that tighten with every agile deadly pirouette, mind not the flesh cut open ——— do so knowing it won't have the luxury of suturing itself in a painless cloud of mist.

the defeated hunching of shoulders straightened by miche's side as he sat. it was a three - guests reunion: her, him, and the setting sun who, by its appeasing caresses of reds & oranges seemed to ask for forgiveness for not being able to do much. yet it had done so much, because it had made her want to see it tomorrow. BECAUSE THROUGH IT ALL. ❛ i'll continue fighting, by your side, would you still need me. ❜ you, who trusted me, you, who would take on a herd of titans to protect young recruits, you, who stood in the shadows despite prowesses, and you who never seemed to mind it.

her leg neighbored his, a squeaking of leather straps as she nestled herself closer, pulling her gaze away from the wall ( she'd had enough of them ) to capture his. a mirrored fatigue, a tension in the nerves that connected occulars to brain, an exhaustion in her brain connected to her heart. but in her heart, something alive that coaxed delicate lips into a minute soft / pained smile.

❛ i'm counting on you ❜ you can count on me, ❛ for tomorrow. ❜ for always.

[spentfaith]

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜. More cocky and more stupid, too. Hopper had recognised the car before he even needed to lay eyes on the driver, Hargrove. They just never learned. Pulled into a no parking zone, feet kicked up on the dash, Hopper would only roll his eyes before knocking his knuckles against the window pane. Then again, louder, when he realised just how loud the music was playing. “Hargrove. Out.” 

@soistarve​ because billy is a deviant who can’t even park straight in a no parking zone 

[thefatalmarksman]

𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑻 𝑺𝑨𝑰𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑹 . | Accepting!

@soistarve​ sent:  ❛  come  back ,  [ luxu~ ] ,  you  little  ass !  ❜ / from ye ol heisenberg ;*

Everything was a game for Luxu. Ever since he’d escaped the fate of his fellow “siblings,” after some wandering the vast expanse of the earth and intense soul-searching, he’d come to the conclusion that this was the only way one should live: doing whatever he wished to do, and fuck everyone else that wanted to stand in his way.

However, when traversing the globe nurturing this sort of mindset, he didn’t tend to make too many allies---but he did manage to make quite a few acquaintances that could tolerate his various shenanigans. Much like this one with which he was currently engaged, a hat that did not belong to him within his grasp as he climbed up and up into the tallest available tree, then commencing to lazing amongst the twining branches, settling the battered thing firmly upon his head.

After feigning a few moments of thought, “Naaah---think I’ll just stick ‘round up here,” he purred downward, one leg hanging to swing playfully, golden gaze glittering as he glanced his pursuer. “Looks way better on me anyway.”

[massensterben-a]

@soistarve​ said:             ❝  you feel mislead; you were promised victory.  ❞ 

The dark is endless. He is chained in it and it stretches all around him. He no longer remembers day and night. He measures time by sleep but he is starting to lose his faith in that method. Ultimately, who is he counting for? Who will have any use of this information? In the beginning he did it for himself, the counting. He did it to remind himself that this blackness, the chains, the hunger and the constant fear, have a beginning and therefore must have an end. He only needs to endure it. That is all he has to do. He has to last.

For the most part, it is possible. He pretends it’s possible. The dark is looming like a gaping maw beneath his bent knees, his burning muscles. But it neither approaches nor recedes. He could arrange himself with that. He can wait in the dark if he must. (  Forgive him his optimism. He is young.  ) And anyway, the dark is silent. It threatens only by what it conceals, by its promise of being broken. It’s worse when there are voices in the dark. He shrinks from his captors but there is nowhere to flee to. The abusing hands grab him by the jaw, they force water into him. What he hopes to be water. They massage tasteless gruel down his throat and he tries not to make a sound when the fingers choke him.

But it doesn’t stay that way, the beatings, the branding irons, the hands that bend him, that stretch him, that pry open his mouth, and he has to be thankful it is his mouth, all that recedes. They get bolder, which is to say they are getting impatient. In the beginning, Bertholdt coveted his silence, thought of it as the only bargaining chip he has. They cannot kill him as long as he hasn’t told them what they want to know. But the days and nights, wherever they are, have blurred beyond recognition, and his memories are dripping out of the crack in his skull. And there comes a point when the talking starts. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

He thinks that’s when Erwin Smith appeared in his cell. He didn’t enter it, not to Bertholdt’s knowledge. He simply manifested out of the shadows and gore, molded into human shape like a cancer in the dark. Bertholdt can barely look at him. The shackles have started eating into his wrists, long after they dislocated his shoulders, popped them right out of their sockets. He hangs there like a piece of meat; all they’re doing is draining the blood.

“No, I—” His raspy answer is ripped out of him with prongs. They end the sentence in a blood-curdling scream. He gags on it, and on the blood. Bertholdt, what little remains of him, spits and whimpers. Who can think about victory, in such a low place? He has never cared about that. “I wasn’t—” More coughing. The commander’s voice is almost kind, sympathetic. Bertholdt wants so badly for somebody not to hurt him, he’ll tell himself anything. 

“We just wanted it to be over...”