scarfiist-blog

[scarfiist-blog]

"bruises?" /sTARES @ U wHYY

                     “You of all people should know it’s just a M A T T E R of time before this is gone.” he tells the other in a low growl as his runs fingers over the bruise under his eye and he gives a shrug, hand dropping as he leans forward over the desk he’s standing in front of. “I need to get out of here, you want to come with?”

Isaac + bruisesselectively accepting@blindhim

[scarfiist-blog]

louis;

                       eyes flash momentarily, the INFINITY of the cosmos held in a  m i s c h i e v o u s  gaze. it leaves his lips to quirk in a SMIRK as he watches him, leaning forward once the SWEATER is handed to him. it is no real sacrifice              ;              the pub is warm and he runs HOT, the two merging to leave him feeling a bit flushed in his seat. looking down, he BUSIES himself with straightening his clothing, a VIBRANT shade spreading over his cheeks when he  r e a l i z e s  the skin he’s revealed. almost HURRIEDLY, nimble fingers work to pull the FABRIC down, to smooth it over his torso as he offers a GRIN and a SHRUG at the question.                “ would you object if there WAS? i’m  s u r e  you can keep a secret              ;               i counted fifty two the last time i LOOKED, hiding behind your eyes. “

                         the pleasant s e a reflects the infinite cosmos in a docile way, the gentle twinkle in his eye playful and completely at peace. The storms that had ONCE filled his mind and clouded everything had made way for a man at peace with his life now. he watches the other carefully, though, as he adjusts his clothes, the wolf making no move to stop him or anything of the like because he would rather Louis comfortable than there be a bit of skin revealed to him. When the other speaks and tells him that he has fifty-two secrets behind his eyes Isaac arches a brow and then offers a small shrug in response. He’s CERTAIN there are many more secrets than fifty-two hiding behind his gaze, once his order comes he leans forward with a soft clap of chair on floor, sipping at his drink. “ONLY fifty-two? That seems l i g h t to me.”

[scarfiist-blog]

louis;

                         a frown spreads over HONEYED lips, twisting down the delicate  c u p i d ‘ s  bow as long lashes flicker and eyes SCAN the familiar face. he has not thought it to be OVERLY cold, though he, himself, tends to run HOT as an extension of his  v e e l a  blood. a moment, and he’s RAISING his arms and stripping the sweater from his  o w n  back, the wifebeater he wears under lifting UP to reveal a sliver of stomach. a moment LONGER and his head pops free of the material, bright SMILE on his face and hair a mess as he hands the  g a r m e n t  to the american. it may be a bit TIGHT, but it will ward off any lingering chill. a hand lifts, waving in the AIR to signal another order, and he  l e a n s  back in his chair with a lazy sort of grin.               “ un chocolat chaud pour mon ami, s’il vous plait? il a froid, peut-être que mettez un peu de bourbon pour le réchauffer? “               the order seen to, he GRINS and turns back to the boy he’s come to  s e e ,  knowing their time is limited before he must return to SCHOOL.               “ that should help with the CHILL, mon ami. “

                               Isaac honestly runs hot, his body operates at a higher rate than most would expect, it’s as if he has a fur coat without having one, honestly. Either way a chill HAD settled over him recently and he wondered if he would have to ask someone who knew a thing or two about wolves if it persisted. Before he can continue his thought process the other is pulling his sweater off and blue eyes linger on a sliver of skin revealed to him before the other’s head is free which gets his attention instantly. Taking the sweater he knows that it’s going to be too small, Isaac is broad shouldered while his friend is slender. Listening as he orders he’s grateful that at least ONE of them is fluent, but he picks up certain words. “Merci beaucoup.” he nods a little bit, tipping his chair back as he arches a brow and wiggles into the sweater. “Hopefully. Now, tell me, is there alcohol in your drink as well?”

[scarfiist-blog]

writes self triggering meme reply

........

NUMBS SELF TO THE CORE

[scarfiist-blog]

BRUISES?

                       He coaxes shaking fingers to his cheek, to slowly run over the cut that graces his cheek, blood running down over his skin as he attempts to do this alone. So that he does this before anyone can find him and see his state. No one should see anyone in this moment - fresh from the fight with a father who finds that it’s a l l r i g h t to use his fists. A father who thinks that emptying a bottle with the label torn off is the way to cope with loss.

                                                             A father who makes his sins his son’s.

                         Nobody needs to see the boy who takes the beating,                           who shakes like a leaf and yet somehow manages                              to piece himself together and stand before the                                           morning of a new day comes.

                  Unfortunately there is not enough time to cover the bruises with long sleeves, the wash the blood from torn flesh before he’s intruded upon by someone he holds very close to his own heart. Blue eyes stare the other down, wounds forgotten, the marks of battle for Louis to see as clear as day, and Isaac flinches away, makes himself smaller, busies his fingers with fixing himself and healing himself so that he doesn’t look so bad.

                  “It’s...it’s fine. I’m fine. I just caught myself on the corner of the mantle.”

Isaac + bruisesselectively accepting@stellaspect

[scarfiist-blog]

bruises?

                      “ ‘m fine.” The words come out as a growl as he attempts to hide the bruises that cover him - and he hopes that his healing kicks in soon because he definitely cannot return home with bruises. Isaac can’t help the trouble he gets into but if he can hide it from Stiles for a little bit that’s for the better. Either way he’s attempting to will his healing into working WITHOUT breaking another bone. “I SWEAR.”

Isaac + bruisesselectively accepting@fcrtitudo

[scarfiist-blog]

                           fingers idly trace the rivulets of CONDENSATION beading their way down over his glass as he sits in the  c o r n e r  of the pub. a soft glow encompasses the place, seeming to TURN yellow curls to spun  g o l d .  a moment more, and he LOOKS up, eyes already trained on the door that mere MOMENTS later he finds graced by an increasingly  f a m i l i a r  face. a GRIN spreads over lips, dimples  a p p e a r i n g  at their corners, and he RAISES his hand to welcome him.                “ isaac! ça va? “

@scarfiist looked up to the skies.

                        ��   Isaac had gotten lost, though he would never admit to it - at least not to anyone but himself, he was far too confident for such a thing. Either way he had FOUND the pub after a very awkward conversation with his broken, mediocre, high school French. Either way as he steps in he feels out of place, feels as if he does not belong, but then he notices the one he is looking for, the boy who looks more angelic every time he sees him, who’s giggle brings a smile to his face and a heat to his cheeks. Walking towards the hand he settles into across from him and smiles. “Uuuh.” he pauses, running through his small vocabulary of French. “Un peu froid.” he attempts.

[scarfiist-blog]

Send me “bruises?” for my muse’s reaction to yours catching them secretly tending to their wounds.

[scarfiist-blog]

okay I’ve done all of Isaac’s drafts so now it’s time to pop back over to James. <3

[scarfiist-blog]

the hetalias have found me. my p a s t.

[scarfiist-blog]

teddy;

                         “ promises, promises,  l o v e . “               the words fall from his lips on a BREATH, brushing against the curve of the other’s ear,  c a r e s s i n g  him gently in the dark of the club. he’s going to PUSH this so long as he is allowed to, is going to enjoy every moment of it. just a summer fling in his hopes, he’s looking FORWARD to a night of fun, a night spent wrapped UP in another’s body instead of the girl talk waiting for him at the summer home. and so he LEANS in, letting his lips ghost against the  s h e l l  of an ear, moving down the curve of his neck as a HAND finds his own. and then the nip is paid and he’s PRESSING closer still, returning it with one of his own and learning that he LOVES the way the american tastes.              “ but i’ve yet to see you RISE. “

                        “I never break a promise.” he whispers as he takes in the other, feeling the lips on his ear, the shiver running down his spine as he feels the o t h e r caress him, eyes closing. If t h i s is how he’s going to spend his weekend? his week? any amount of time the other is going to be here? He’s going to spend it that way quite g l a d l y. Feeling the other press in closer to him he turns and moves his hand to teddy’s ass, digging his fingers in. It’s daring, Isaac knows this, even for himself. It’s something he would NEVER have done in Beacon Hills, yet here he is feeling far more brave - a small growl as he settles in and bites his lower lip, tugging him closer and then pressing him between his legs. “Mmm, give me a c h a n c e, love.”

[scarfiist-blog]

did you know you can strain a muscle untwisting fabric? cAUSE I DID.

[scarfiist-blog]

teddy;

                         eyes trace the movement of COLORS over  c a n v a s ,  finding themselves drawn to the QUESTION of the art, to the wonder of  w h a t ,  exactly, was to become of it. he, himself, was rather helpless with paint, could BARELY make a recognizable shape with charcoal beyond the  s c r i b b l i n g  of a ruin or the sketching of a TOMB. but there is always a draw to COLOR and to FORM          ;          how could there not be, for one who so often manipulated his own? an EYEBROW arches, and his head tilts to the side, genuine CURIOSITY lighting behind the irises of his eyes.               “ ANIMALS? the domesticated sort? or something more along the lines of WOLVES? “

                    Isaac’s fingers are moving rather fluently over the canvas as if he does this for a living, as if he does this for MILLIONS of dollars when in reality he’s only been doing it for about...three days...in three weeks. Isaac has an eye for detail, a k n a c k for working with his hands and creating things. He’s never wanted to do harm, destroy, unless he has no choice. Isaac has been one who has grown and developed, finding outlets in art, in helping, and he grins at the question. “Domesticated pays the bills, but I’ve always found myself drawn to the wolves.” How can he NOT be when he himself is a wolf? When he himself is an omega, packless and wild, but a wolf nonetheless. “Why? You have a wolf that needs his teeth brushed?”

[scarfiist-blog]

teddy;

                         leaning in, a smile SPREADS lazily across his face and he’s only too happy to lean into the boy at his side. he’s  m i s s e d  him more than he’s thought possible to miss someone, and it’s left him feeling FLUSHED to have him so near again. it’s not a LONG visit, not a  l o n g  break that teddy’s got before he’ll need to LEAVE again for school, to finish his final year at HOGWARTS. and then, well, who knew what he would do. HE certainly didn’t. but that is not at the front of his mind as he WALKS alongside the american, leaning in and pecking his lips with a grin as they move THROUGH the london streets. at the mention of his place, a BLUSH spreads over his face and he looks down awkwardly.               “ you, well, you know i’m still in SCHOOL and all and, well, it’s not the best place. i’m STILL living with my gran and, well… we can GET a hotel while you’re here  instead if you’d rather. “

                         He holds the other tightly and close, sharing his extra heat with him if he’s being honest, Isaac loves the idea of sharing it with someone. Isaac loves the feeling of sharing anything with someone that he misses, and he’s missed Teddy like c r a z y. He KNOWS that Teddy has to finish schooling, but he had asked if wanted to move here and he was being quite honest with his thought process. Then he laughs softly and nods a little bit as he pauses and watches him, “what? Don’t want me meeting your gran?” The word falls from his lips so casually anymore and he grins a little bit. “We can play it by ear, I suppose. I don’t mind getting a hotel if it means more alone time with you.”

[scarfiist-blog]

chemoisms

          a soft sigh leaves the girl’s lips, hands dropping down to her sides. why did people always want her take her out somewhere? she was PERFECTLY happy with her small, cold hospital room. but, she goes along with it, as she always does. ❛ what k-kind of an adventure? ❜

             “I don’t know, maybe we’ll break into the zoo, steal giraffes to ride through town.” he teases an then leans back. He doesn’t LIKE hospitals, they make him uneasy, they make him uncomfortable, and honestly? he should be dead, but thankfully he’s a werewolf so that hadn’t happened. “Seriously though I was just thinking of a milkshake and a cheeseburger...real food.”

[scarfiist-blog]

( malblake )

——○MM»

                And that was exactly what worried Mallory; she literally shared a face          with her sister. Granted, Mal’s colour palette was (much to her sister’s dis-          dain) rather monotone and dark, given that red, gray, black and… more          black were the main shades within her wardrobe, but who was to say some          badie wouldn’t come about thinking Lydia had had a change in taste? 

                         It was perhaps that side of her that matched along with the side                that wanted to know everything; she said for the sake of her own sister,                but what if it came to serve for her own sake as well? She would be                thankful for the knowledge if the situation presented, wouldn’t she? 

                       “Right, so, in your opinion…” Her eyes narrowed, and even                                her frame moved a little closer in his direction, as if moving                                on her seat were to bring her that much closer to him. “…it                                would be better if I did know, right? Just in case? I mean, I’m                                as human as they come, but– well, I kind of share the face                                of someone who’s not.” 

~•♥•~

                 Isaac has made n o t e s of her appearance, he wasn’t that oblivious             despite his inability to name a lot of fashion things, but the boy had had             a crush on Lydia Martin so he could DEFINITELY pick her out of a group             even if it wasn’t to the hint that Stiles could. It wasn’t like Lydia DIDN’T             have those colors in her wardrobe, it was just she was less likely to put             them on.

                 The wolf had known that no matter what in THIS town it didn’t matter             if you knew or not, you were fair game for the supernatural to come out             and attack you. His father was a prime example of that, and Lydia was             too, actually. Glancing at her twin sister he shrugs a little, wetting his lip             with a tongue as he considers it.

                          “In my opinion,” he leans a bit forward as she comes closer, “it                       doesn’t MATTER if you know or not about what goes bump in the                       night. If it’s hungry enough? Deranged enough? You’re fair game.                       Knowing just makes it easier to accept in your mind.”

[scarfiist-blog]

mate;

                         fingers  t w i t c h  towards the other’s hand as they walk, hopes realized when, once more, their HANDS are joined and fingers twined. it’s a  s m a l l  thing     ;     the barest show of affection with a GREAT meaning behind it. they fit together PERFECTLY as they walk, a smile spreading over his face as he  nudges  the other lightly, shooting a small grin at him from the  c o r n e r  of his eyes. 

                                  “ well, we have a PACK now, and sure, not everyone’ll  c a r v e  one, but we can pick up the slack. NO such things as too many pumpkins in fall. “

                             he holds stiles’ fingers almost as if they are the last g o o d thing in this world, that if he lets go that Stiles will float into space and leave him behind. It’s a silly thought when he gazes at the mate mark that peeks out from under his shirt collar, but he still finds comfort in it. He pauses to take in the smile, and when he’s nudged he leans over to kiss him so gently, cupping his face and grazing nails over his cheek and smiling at him once he’s pulled back.

                              “WE have a pack.” a pause, grinning at the mental image of Malia trying to play with it as a coyote. “So, are we getting as many as our bank account will allow? Or how many we can put in the jeep?”