erebius-moved

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you know the drill fellers @erebius and i have ALL my threads typed up and READY TO BE QUEUED

[erebius-moved]

you know the drill fellers @erebius and i have ALL my threads typed up and READY TO BE QUEUED

[erebius-moved]

you know the drill fellers @erebius and i have ALL my threads typed up and READY TO BE QUEUED

[erebius-moved]

you know the drill fellers @erebius and i have ALL my threads typed up and READY TO BE QUEUED

[erebius-moved]

everyone archiving n moving blogs for the new year ... me too besties

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there's something dreadful in the way jameson asks the question. he doesn't pose it as a hypothetical , doesn't make up a situation just to see where they stand. this isn't a what if , its a when. and fucking something up can mean so many things , that if victor were to imagine every scenario in his head , to picture each way his heart could break: it would drive him mad , he wouldn't be able to stop. not that he truly needs to. he knows the answer already , and he's sure jameson knew the answer too , before he even asked. victor's track record in loving is nowhere near being a joyful thing. he loves in the face of hatred and hurt , he loves dead things and cannot seem to let them go. like a dog: he'll wait at the doorstep of someone who will kick him on their way inside , he'll smile , and he'll love , and he'll beg , and he'll lie there every day.

when jameson fucks this up , he'll wake up next to victor anyways. and if victor isn't there beside him , he'll still wake to a phone call , a text , some form of victor ever loyal and wanting. whatever he does , victor might even forgive him for it. and why not offer that leniency , when it so clearly was offered to him ? maybe jameson doesn't forgive him for the hospital. maybe he doesn't forgive him for the love , the tears , for the vulnerability drawn from them both today. but he's here. he's here , and he's close , and even if he doesn't forgive victor for it all ——— he loves him.

he's drawn close into an embrace , victor hiding his face away in his lover's hair , drinking him in. ❛❛ you know i will. you know that. ❜❜ god , his head hurts so bad. even peppering kisses across jameson's head aches. if they sleep , will jameson still be here when he wakes ? will they carry on with life , have dinner with walt , take a bath , go back to bed ? will their love be held between them like some silent , terrible secret ? ❛❛ i've fucked things up a million times over , and here you are anyways , so. ❜❜

there's nothing else to say , not that he can think of , not that he hasn't already said. he just loves. what jameson doesn't seem to realize: he already fucked it up somewhat by not saying it back at the first confession. and here they are anyways , here's victor understanding him , forgiving him for it. arms hold jameson tighter and he deflates with a heavy sigh , just relieved to be where they are. their brief time apart weighed on him heavier than he realized. being this close to jameson feels like coming home again. ❛❛ i love you. ❜❜ its tempting to apologize for saying it so much. ❛❛ my heads killing , do you want to have a nap ? just like this ? ❜❜

jameson feels so much uglier than what victor describes. he feels as though they're staring at each other through some fucked - up mirror, seeing reflections that aren't, people that never have existed, and never will. maybe once, jameson had been unafraid of loving victor. maybe once, before david had died, he could've been that gentle, loving person, who loved and loved and loved. but he feels, now, like he'd made of jagged edges, and that victor is only pretending not to have cut his hands raw upon him, to have bled at how jameson had treated him. there's so many ways they'd hurt themselves and one another. there's so many ways his grief ( that's what it is, even when he won't acknowledge it ---- grief, that makes him sharp as a knife ) had made jameson terrible. he feels terrible. he feels like the opposite of what victor claims him to be.

and victor . . . victor doesn't seem to care. worse, victor seems to think that flawed as jameson has been, it's still worth bearing the hurt that has passed, and the hurt that will, that must, come. hadn't he opened the door for him today? hadn't he welcomed jameson back in, even after what had happened, days before? maybe victor sees him. maybe victor sees him, and doesn't care. or maybe he forgives him his trespasses, his silence, his avoidance, his refusal to love. it would be a grace jameson hasn't ever experienced, to fuck up as bad as he had, and been forgiven ---- forgiven, and loved anyways.

he doesn't yet lie down, but looks contemplatively at victor, his eyes still red and swollen from his tears. he wonders what would have happened, if he hadn't gotten a black eye from some asshole named chad or bruce or some shit, and if he hadn't ranted his anger to victor, and if victor had recognized dynamite and decided not to bring it to bed. maybe it all would've been easier for him. no hospital no aching, no grief in his throat, no fear at every unknown number. jameson can picture a world without victor. he remembers, rather, what it had been when he was not loved, and it was easier. lonelier, but easier.

for once, jameson, who never shuts up with vulgarity and rudeness and joking, doesn't know what to say to something so sweet and so wrong. so, even though he opens his mouth as though he'll speak, he chokes up, for once, and just nods and complies. he lies himself down, arms wrapped over his chest, nestled into victor. it makes him feels small.

" are you still gonna love me when i fuck this up? " jameson asks, quieter than usual. he's raw with emotion, his throat chafed and his heart tired. he's never gonna be a prince, not even a sad imitation of one, and he hopes victor knows. as much as jameson doesn't want to be seen, he hopes that victor sees him. he hopes that victor isn't making as much of a mistake as jameson thinks he is.

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at the mention of the tadpole , victor leans forward against the table. chin rests on the back of his hands , and he inspects the other ——— focusing particularly on her eye , squinting , as though trying to see what lurks behind. ❛❛ i've been wanting to ask about that , by the way. ❜❜ naturally , being drunk is when he works himself up to do so: he thinks it might be easier this way. who wants to hear about squirming worms in one's brain while sober ? ❛❛ can you feel that mother fucker , in there ? like .. aw , gods. it makes me queasy to even ask. does it squirm 'round ? ——— fucking hell , does it bite ? ❜❜ his color shifts into something more green. suddenly , he can't look at that eye anymore. maybe he regrets asking.

she's not as drunk, at least sober enough that her senses are aware. morgana's is good at hiding in the shadows, feet away from the rest of her companions — watching for the right moment to strike. she always notices the little things, aware of the noises in the dark, so of course she can sense the subtle shift in him. she's paying attention. it's not enough for her to say something, but her eyes narrow for only a moment. ❛ you say that as if it hasn't happened already. ❜ her mouth is curled into a smile as she drinks the rest of the glass, placing it back down towards the edge of their table. ❛ there's a tad pole in my head and i've somehow been tasked with ending a cult and saving the world so ... i don't mind a little stupid. ❜

[erebius-moved]

nothin' quite like how a dog loves

let dead dogs lie - silas denver melvin // red dog - elizabeth frink // how to be a dog - andrew kane // domestication syndrome - dhole b // no origin found // for your own good - leah horlick // pleasure - beth cavener // it will come back - hozier // i am a dog. i have blood all over my teeth. - sciencedfiction // same poem as directly previous

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the resurgence of the dragon age rpc got me missing ppl i used to write with that disappeared fr 😩

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when i move to a fresh blog im gonna start writing long metas and the FIRST will be on victor conleys gender identity

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where  she  grins ,  victor  returns  a  grimace.  he  signed  up  for  this ,  he  knows ,  but  he  honestly  thinks  his  day  to  day  would  be  a  great  deal  more  bearable  if  conflict  and  combat  didn't  rear  their  ugly  heads  at  least  daily.  his  eyes  are  wearied:  they  dart  around  the  goblins  before  them , counting them.

❛❛  right , okay , but i  ..  was  rather  thinkin'  we  could  just  avoid  them  entirely.  ❜❜  gaze  flickers  away  to  focus  instead  on  potential  hiding  spots ,  escape  routes ,  anything  that  serves  as  a  viable  option.  ❛❛  i'm  pretty  sure  you  could  take  on  a  whole  army  of  goblins  and  worgs  if  we  needed ,  karlach ,  but  i'm  really  not  keen  on  gettin'  in  a  fight  unless  we've  got  no  choice.  ❜❜  hands  wring  together  and  he  shifts  his  weight ,  fidgeting  restlessly.  ❛❛  we  could  move  downwind ,  stick  behind  cover  and  near  shadows  ..  i  don't  know.  ❜❜

“ the shadows are my friend. ”

she's   never   been   the   best   at   stealth,   though   should   the   occasion   require   it   in   a   pinch   she   can   manage.   she's   more   than   happy   though   that   @erebius  can   clearly   manage   without   her   on   that   front   however.

❝   looks   like   there's   just   a   couple   of   goblins   ahead,   only   real   trouble   is   if   they've   got   a   worg.   bugger   might   sniff   you   out   before   he   sees   ya.   if   you   can   manage   to   get   that   one   there   -   ❞   she   gestures   towards   what   she   assumes   is   the   leader   poking   around   one   of   the   derelict   buildings   ahead   ❝   the   rest   should   scramble,   if   not   -   ❞   she   shrugs,   a   sharp   grin   on   her   features   ❝   well   i   think   we   can   take   them   either   way,   yeah   ?   ❞ 

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he  pouts  when  the  embrace  is  broken ,  something  he  does  every  time  they're  forced  to  pull  away  from  one  another ,  but  their  held  hands  seem  to  sate  him ——— for  now ,  anyways.  but  when  they're  lying  beneath  the  stars ,  asgeirr  had  best  be  prepared  to  serve  as  a  mattress ,  one  shivering  victor  snug  atop  him.  as  they  go ,  victor  lifts  asgeirr's  hand  now  and  then  to  press  a  kiss  to  the  knuckles ,  smiling  at  his  every  move.  he's  smitten ,  there's  no  denying. 

❛❛  mm  ..  aye ,  but  wait  until  we're  actually  cold.  ❜❜  eyes  flicker  up  to  peer  at  the  night  sky ,  anticipating  the  stars  they'll  see ,  the  clouds.  its  surprisingly  clear  tonight ,  the  sky  alight  and  painted  in  an  array  of  colors.  its  like  it  prepared  this  night  just  for  them ,  like  the  world  knew.  ❛❛  if  we  start  it  right  away ,  the  light  will  distract  us  from  the  stars ,  and  then  there'll  be  smoke  in the sky ,  and  we  won't  see  any  at  all.  then  we'll  just  have  to  kiss  and  forget  all  about  them.  ❜❜  a  sly  sideways  glance:  not  the  worst  idea  he's  ever  had.

he's happy victor agrees with his plan. ásgeirr wraps his arms around his waist, tucking his face into the crook of their neck with a soft sigh. since when was he one for physical contact? SINCE VICTOR CONLEY, APPARENTLY. not that he minded terribly. his familiar scent fills ásgeirr's nose, and he'd frankly be content to stay there all night. however, a romantic night under the stars has been promised, and well — ÁSGEIRR KEPT HIS PROMISES.

“ okay. ” he grins, reluctantly pulling back from their embrace ( but soon taking their hands with his ) and starting to pull him into the night. his free hand grabs a torch from the balcony of the inn ( surely they won't care! ) to light their way. ásgeirr has a spot in mind, it's just a matter of getting to it. “ over there. ” he motions with the torch, squeezing vic's hand. “ do you want to build a fire? it might get a bit chilly. ”

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he  shrinks  under  the  gaze  that  looks  him  over , though  he  doesn't  seem  he's  aware  of  the  fact ——— it  rather  appears  a  natural  habit ,  for  victor ,  that  when  he's  being  inspected  he  shrinks ,  makes  himself  small ,  meek.  something  nonthreatening  and  lacking  the  confidence  to  do  anything  besides  wishing  the  other  would  look  away.  there's  a  breath ,  when  she  does ,  and  the  smell  from  the  incense  hits  his  nose  as  something  strange  and  unfamiliar.  ❛❛  mm.  you  know ,  usually  people  take  baths  to  not  smell  like  sweat  and  blood.  ❜❜  its  offered  lightly ,  a  jest  paired  with  a  dry  snicker.  head  shakes  and  he  takes  the  bottle  back ,  nurses  it  for  a  few  seconds  too  long ,  too  eager  for  the  tender  burn  of  the  alcohol  within.  it  seems  to  be  all  that  relaxes  him.  ❛❛  i  didn't  know  smells  could  be  relaxing.  ——— i  just  asked ,  cause  shadowheart  has  some  of  that ,  ❜❜  (  sticks ,  he'd  called  them  once:  why  are  you  always  smoking  sticks  over  here ?  what  a  laugh  she'd  had.  )  ❛❛  but  she  uses  it  differently.  its  a  shar  thing ,  i  guess.  for  her  it  is ,  anyways.  or  was.  i  don't  know  what  she's  got  goin'  on.  ❜❜  again ,  the  bottle  is  passed  forward ,  and  he  shuffles  in  place ,  glancing  back  towards  his  spot  in  camp.  ❛❛   i'd  best  leave  you  alone ,   if  you're  tryin'  to  relax.  pretty  sure  i'm  the  least  relaxing  thing  here ,  besides  maybe  the  vampire  or  the  walkin'  bomb.  ❜❜

✧ nepharia can’t help the almost humorless laugh that escapes her lips after hearing his words ﹕ leave them in a room together too long and they’re likely to fuck everything up for good. oh , does he even have any idea how true and likely literal his words could be applied ? even now , the succubus’ pale eyes wander ⸻ looking him up and down as if drinking him in , as he guzzles the wine from her bottle. it has been years since nepharia so much as kissed a man , too afraid of her own hellish physiology to even try again. afraid that a single taste of someone’s lust would be enough to send the succubus past the point of no return , afraid that she would surely kill again. ❛ you have no idea , ❜ she says a bit dryly , reaching for the bottle as it’s passed back. then her gaze shifts from him to the flittering smoke wafting from the end of the incense sticks , and she smirks , ❛ i have an incredibly sensitive sense of smell , i like to drown out the pungent ripeness of sweat and blood when i’m trying to relax , ❜ she tells him , lounging back as she tilts back the wine bottle yet again , taking quite a few generous swigs. she’s probably had a bit too much , or maybe not enough. she’s still thinking about fucking him , and he’s literally not even doing anything. he’s not even aroused. ❛ i don’t think it works , though. i don’t think i’ve been relaxed a day in my life. ❜ she says , holding out her hand for him to take the bottle from her again.

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the  room  fills  with  sleepy  giggles  as  victor  is  barraged  with  kisses ,  gone  as  quickly  as  they'd  come ,  fenris  lying  back  again  as  if  nothing  had  even happened.  now  victor's  face  is  rosy ,  and  he  nuzzles  up  again ,  hiding  away.  ❛❛  jesus ,  are  you  takin'  me  somewhere  fancy  enough  to  wear  a  tie ?  ❜❜  he  laments ,  offers  a  gentle  nip  to  fenris'  jawline.  ❛❛  better  go  with  earrings.  you  know  my  fatherless  ass  doesn't  know  how  to  tie  a  tie ,  right ?  c'mon.  ❜❜

“ it's on me. dinner and the clothes. I INVITED YOU, AFTER ALL. ” fenris grins, falling on top of victor and peppering his cheeks with kisses. the thought of him being all fancied up for dinner makes his stomach flutter, and after he's had his share of vic kisses, he flops back onto his stomach and takes their hand. “ maybe we can get matching ties, or something. or earrings. i dunno. WHAT DO YOU THINK? ”

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VERSE EDITS : canon.

victor felt heavy , he felt like death. he didn’t think he could pull himself up from the ground if he wanted to. he wept , wheezed , his loneliness wrapped around him like a snake and began to squeeze , choking him. if he could only get to his cellphone , he thought he could call tommy back , or bother erwin; but he realized after a moments thought that he didn’t want to. if to lay there and die of a broken heart was his fate , he had no desire to fight it. consumed by his agony , he lay face down and let his tears stain the carpet , wept until his throat was raw , and tried to come to terms with this loneliness , settle on the fact that it would always be quiet , now , and there would only ever be him———victor and his grief , the hole in his heart he’d be ever hopeless to fill.

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victor  laughs ,  and  it  muffles  strangely  and  echoed  within  his  cup.  through  his  drunkenness ,  he  resists  the  urge  to  be  his  usual  self ——— for  how  easy  it  would  be  to  shake  his  head ,  self-deprecate.  no ,  i  couldn't  do  better.  this  is  truly  the  best  you'll  get.  his  head  does  shake ,  but  subtly ,  and  he  seems  to  stutter  for  a  moment  trying  to  think  of  a  different  response.  ❛❛   if  stupid  ideas  is  what  convinces  you  to  keep  people ,  particularly  drunken  thieves ,  around ,  i  won't  stop  you.  ❜❜  the  smile  is  returned ,  lopsided  and  snickering.  ❛❛  but  if  camp  blows  up  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  'cause  one  of  us  had  a  dumb  idea ,  that's  on  you.  ❜❜

she wasn't one to deal with politics, at least ... she doesn't think she is. morgana had a sense of diplomacy and a clever tongue which got her out of situations easily, but she had to, with a cult running around and other's convinced that she was a true soul. but as for actual politics? she'd like to take a step away from that. ❛ you have that right. ❜ she's focused on taking a sip from her drink when a patron comes by and she subtlety shakes her head. perhaps when they come by again, she'll need a refill. her gaze makes it way over to victor's again and she smiles against the rim of the cup. ❛ is that your way of convincing me to keep you around? you could do better. ❜

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instead  of  reaching  out  for  the  bottle  again ,  victor  utters  a  quiet  laugh:  trying  to  keep  things  lighter ,  despite  how  fucked  it  all  is.  the  truth  is ,  the  thought  of  this  life  taking  him  away  from  his  mother  mortifies  him ,  and  he  can't  comprehend  how  fenris  survives  it.  but  he'd  betray  himself  to  not  find  a  joke  in  everything ,  a  way  to  sway  things further away  from  the  painful  before  it hurts  too  much.  ❛❛  facebook ?  you  sound  like  an  old  man.  ——— don't  ask  what  social  media  shit  i  use ,  though ,  i'll  sound  like  an  older  old  man.  ❜❜  another  low  snicker ,  but  his  softened eyes  tell  the  truth ——— i  see  you ,  i'm  sorry.  i  won't  make  you  talk  about  it  more.  he  lays  out  flat  atop the bed ,  stares  up  at  the  ceiling.  ❛❛  aye ,  my  mum's  my  best  friend.  i  don't  think  i'd  be  able  to  live  without  her ,  honest.  not  fond  of  the  crime  shit ,  but  she  knows  i'm  not  hurtin'  anyone ,  so ,  whatever.  ❜❜

fun. perhaps a juvenile answer, but fenris thinks victor truly believes this life to be fun. maybe having some say in it makes it that way? AND THEFT IS A FAR CRY FROM COLD - BLOODED MURDER. he takes another swig from the bottle, keeping his eyes on the other the entire time. “ well, danarius took me from her, never let me see her LET ALONE TALK TO HER. i see her on facebook from time to time, but that’s about it. ” he sighs, wincing as he feels his tattoos burn for just a moment. “ i’ve thought about visiting, but again — don’t know if she’d recognize me. ” white hair at 25, tattooed to hell as a reminder of what he’d done under danarius’ influence. HE MADE HIMSELF SICK. how was he supposed to meet his mother like this? “ okay, your turn. i’m guessing you and your mum actually like each other? ”