#volchtsa / tiffany

[highaver]

@volchtsa. call.

"Sorry, I'm really not trying to be weird or anything -" Balfour raised his hands, trying his best to look non-threatening. He wasn't stupid. They were well into the wee hours and Balfour wasn't up his own arse enough to assume that everyone knew who he was just by looking at him. He was trying very hard not to be the strange weirdo. "Do you have a phone? Pretty sure mine's on the other side of the city by now."

[storyhaunt-a]

continued : @volchtsa

before the full brunt of the terror had so much as touched tiffany, andras had been at her side. his own dreams of nothing were cut short by the tight cinch of paranoia in his chest, a rushing anxiety that something was wrong — that tiffany was in danger. an attunement that neither knows the origin of, that neither can quite put their finger on, but which exists between them nonetheless, and is to thank for how quickly andras might be there for her.

she is scared, and he has no answer for her, no guidance or soothing words that will lull her back to sleep or alleviate her of the condemnation that scorched her chest, drew ash and cinders up into her throat. they hold her hands as if the very act will keep her with them; keep her from drifting away, breaking into a million scattered, irretrievable pieces. she speaks of the bard, of alfira, and though his memories of that night are hazy at best, still does he remember it — washing her shaky hands, unbothered by the blood, more fearful for her — and still does his stomach curl with a familiar nausea. he grips her hands a little tighter, as if the act can stave off the bare memories that she has.

they often say that when one person panics, the other steadies themselves, if only to be the anchor that they need. he is trying to be her anchor. gods, if he could rid her of her guilt —

" sia myvish, " he murmurs to tiffany, still holding her hands, squeezing them. " look at me. understand me. we will figure this out, and we will put an end to it. i promise you. " with a deep breath, he shifts, moves forward slightly, if only to press their foreheads together, an attempt to keep her focused elsewhere. " your hands are my own — i will make sure they stay clean, that you do not lose yourself. i promise you. "

[fragmentmemories]

@volchtsa liked for a one liner x 2

"We should match." Misa insists, taking Tiffany's hand with a tenderness only reserved for her, and looking over her nails with a dreamy little self satisfied look.

[recitedemise]

For now, he isn't yet completely aware of all her hungers. Gale understands there's a menace, a craving for pyres and some corpses for fuel, but that appetite he's tasting at the seam of her lips? Well, that, he reckons, is entirely different. Now, there's but honey. Here, there's but sweet. She's throttled by sunlight, a pillar of summer in this shadowy land, and he sups at her gingerly, flavoring those months so buzzing with bees, a low, low needing sprung in his marrow and a deep, bright craving filling his bones. Gosh. Gale knows hunger. For weeks had he starved. All his yearning and pining and errant looks... Remembering her gasp last night makes him shake. "Ha. Had I not made my most enthusiastic approval abundantly clear," Gale manages, "then perhaps we should make time so I may properly convince you." 

The kiss ends. Oh, no. Gale's a lot like a lovesick puppy, smitten in ways that, were he a younger man, would have flustered him pink. However, he's now seen too many winters to play at coy. Tiffany pulls away, the wizard following her with a breathless sigh. His hands settle on her hips, remembering the give of her tender skin, and if all she knows of love is devouring, then have me, he'd tell her. Let me leave you full. "You will be the death of me," he groans, pressing their foreheads together. Enraptured, the Shadowcursed-lands feel all too distant. "I should very much like that, though I've no intention of keeping you firmly in reality. The way I long to thrill you, to take you far past those planes that you'd hold as real... It's the least you're deserving of," Gale says, thumb gentle up her spine. "I will take no lesser option than to hold you to the stars."

Never again will her hands hold nothing. At all points, forever, she tugs at his heart. / @volchtsa, continued.

[highaver]

"Uh, no, I just need to call my -" A brief pause, wherein Balfour decided that there were just some things he couldn't be fucking bothered getting into. So. "- wife. Cheers," he added, as he took the phone from her. He didn't make a run for it, of course. Just started keying Cate's number into the phone. And then, because he was always a soft bastard first and foremost: "We can walk still, if you want? If you're hungry, I mean. I'm not trying to be a pain in your arse."

it's not entirely uncommon for her to be approached by strange men, some of them has used the exact line he's fed her just now. tiffany gives the man a thorough once-over, trying to determine if she should tell him to fuck off or not. so far, no alarm bells are going off inside her head ( in fact, she thinks he looks quite familiar, though she presently can't figure out why ), so she nods once and fishes her personal phone from her purse. it's housed in the sparkliest, glitteriest phone case she could get her hands on on etsy ( and it matches her dress. ) “ do you need to call an uber? ” tiff asks, holding her phone out for him to take. if he runs with it, she's pretty certain she can catch up with him without breaking a single sweat. “ just be quick, okay? i'm starving. i'm trying to walk to the nearest, still open food truck. ”