#§. ⸻ ᵃⁿˢʷᵉʳᵉᵈ

[exymybeloved]

—hey! do you want me to draw you with Fyo?

omg that would be so cool if u do !!

[naviaberries]

most of the links say the page has been deleted. Where do u find these twitter accounts i havent been able to find one in ages. Help a girl out pls lol

ohh no, really I'm so sorry if you can't open it love:'<

but here are the twitter accounts with their usernames:

the account links are embedded in their usernames

happy watching sluts

@daddy1080p

@mommy1080p

@chokinghzard

@dumb_ratboy

@sugarfemdom

@PornoCIips

@HypnoticLewds

@SexualLoverz

@weebspiit

@nsfwclipz

@smutfully

@Yummy4K

@NudezFeed

@DirtyVidsFH

@gattouz0

@nsfwvideoz

@AmatuerBabesFH

@chokehzard

@httpnarcotics

@SensualEro

@DESIRED_MERCURY

@DESIRED_VENUS

@DESIRED_EARTH

@DESIRED_MARS

@DESIRED_JUPITER

@DESIRED_SATURN

@DESIRED_URANUS

@Yummy8K

@AdultFavorites

↳feel free to message or ask anything 🧸

[mageiia]

It was an odd feeling, to be alive again. More than alive. He couldn't quite describe it but it didn't even matter. He didn't even know where he was now, summoned straight from Asphodel to here and then suddenly he was breathing again and had been given a weird drink and some food he gulped down. But it all melted away when he saw his Lady, fractured and barely held together but there. He smiles and goes to her as she looks to him, kneeling down before her with a tearful smile. "I don't know how I'm here, but I'm here." His hands reach to grasp hers and bring them to his lips. ➼ @singofus , hypnos ❨ + godspouse ❩

the  goddess  of  poisons  ,  hallucinations  ,  mycellium  ,  and  silver  turns  her  grief-stricken  ,  mirrored  gaze  to  the  newcomer  .  hypnos  had  arrived  alone  ,  thanatos  sent  to  another  place  for  lord  ares  to  collect  .  and  it  is  then  that  she  reaches  out  a  trembling  hand  ,  the  fracture  over  her  heart  spiking  up  her  throat  ,  flesh  looking  like  shattered  glass  . 

he  says  he  does  not  know  how  he  arrived  here  -  olympus  ,  the  exact  opposite  to  where  he  had  just  been  -  and  she  cannot  find  it  in  herself  to  give  an  answer  .  that  is  not  the  priority  ,  and  she  can  answer  in  her  own  time  . 

now  ?  she  needs  to  hold  him  . 

trembling  ,  chilled  hands  cup  his  face  ,  forcing  him  to  look  up  at  her  as  molten  silver  tears  fall  from  her  eyes  ,  unnatural  in  her  grief  . 

❛  my  love  ,  ❜  she  murmurs  ,  breathles  ,  her  body  shaking  with  restrained  tears  .  ❛  do  not  kneel  .  stand  ,  stand  for  me  .  ❜ 

she  guides  him  to  his  feet  ,  her  aura  feeling  along  his  -  strong  ,  divine  ,  stable  -  and  promptly  wraps  his  aura  in  her  own  ,  all  protectiveness  and  possessiveness  .  there's  mirrors  in  the  hall  (  the  ones  she  hadn't  broken  to  make  a  point  about  her  arrival  )  that  she  will  use  to  return  them  to  her  realm  . 

for  now  ,  she  is  going  to  pull  him  into  a  kiss  ,  tears  tasting  of  fresh  water  and  the  bitter  after  effect  of  perfume  . 

[hatchetsfield]

@crisisbabe ➽ ❝ i love you because i know how capable you are. and i show that love by making sure you don’t have to be the one to always do the hard things. ❞ - from gerald for linda

𐃈 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭  𝐮𝐩  𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝!  —  the  words  are  ready  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  like  a  gun  locked  and  loaded  and  ready  to  fire  whenever  they  received  the  go  ahead  in  the  form  of  gerald’s  utterance.  the  trio  of  words  seemed  to  be  magnetically  pulled  to  any  words  that  left  gerald’s  lips  —  especially  as  of  late.  𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮  𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙    𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚  𝙖𝙣  𝙪𝙣𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙  𝙙𝙤𝙜  𝙤𝙣  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙨  𝙤𝙛  𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩  𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚  𝙬𝙖𝙨  𝙝𝙞𝙨  𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙  𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧.  acted  as  punctuation  :  always  a  period,  always  a  finality  —  𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲  𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱  𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄  .  .  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲  𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱  𝘁𝗼  𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄,  for  there  was  no  room  for  possibility  with  a  comma  or  a  semicolon  or  a  question  mark.  

the  words  reside  at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  ready  to  spring  forth  from  off  it  as  though  it  were  one  of  her  beautiful  blonde  boys  on  the  diving  board  at  the  country  club’s  indoor  pool  .  .  

.  .  but  the  impact  of  gerald’s  words  are  faster,  and  the  trio of words stumbles  from  off  the  edge  of  her  tongue  and  scampers  back  onto  her  taste  buds.  

linda  was  a  woman  who  prided  herself  on  her  ability  to  do  hard  things.  and  to  do  them  independently.  𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭,  𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯  𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘸𝘢𝘴  𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯  𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘴  𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱  𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮  𝘰𝘶𝘵  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴  𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘤𝘶𝘵  𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭  𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥  𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧  𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦  𝘩𝘦  𝘸𝘢𝘴  𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘵𝘰𝘰  𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.  linda  prided  herself  on  this  ability  —  wore  it  like  a  badge  of  honor.  one  she  kept  pinned  to  her  with  short  retorts  and  sharp,  stinging  words.  

linda  prided  herself  on  this  ability,  𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎  𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎  𝚠𝚊𝚜  𝚊  𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐,  𝚊  𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛  𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐  .  .  .  and  so,  that  pride  meant  there  would  be  no  room  for  sorrow  or  shame  or  anger  or  fear  to  wiggle  its  way  in  and  begin  to  fester  and  rot.  

linda  stares  at  him  for  a  moment,  wide  eyed  and  blinking.  her  jaw  hangs  somewhat  open,  𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲  𝘀𝗵𝗲  𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗽𝘀  𝗶𝘁  𝘀𝗵𝘂𝘁  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝘁𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗵  𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗶𝗽  𝗼𝗳  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗲,  𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺  𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻.  she  had  words  at  the  ready,  arguments  lined  up  to  march  behind  the  trio  of  words  like  army  soldiers.  ❛  you  did  this  because  you  doubted  me,  ❜  and  ❛  you  were  waiting  for  me  to  fail  ❜  and  ❛  were  you  afraid  i’d  humiliate  you?!  ❜  were  all  ready  and  lined  up  to  come  stomping  after  those  three  words.  

but  instead,  linda  sinks  her  teeth  further  into  her  tongue  until  a  metallic  tang  hits  her  senses.  she  swallows  hard,  𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚎𝚊  𝚘𝚏  𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚘𝚗  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚘  𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚘  𝚘𝚏  𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚒𝚝𝚜  𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚢  𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎  𝚝𝚘  𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕  𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚒𝚝  𝚘𝚏  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚋𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚝.  linda  tilts  her  head  down,  avoiding  eye  contact  with  gerald  for  a  few  moments  (  pitiful,  she  can  hear  her  father  saying,  averting  one’s  gaze  is  a  sign  of  weakness,  you  know!  )  she  folds  her  arms  across  her  chest,  gripping  hard  at  her  arms,  as  a  new  trio  of  words  leaves  her  lips;

❝  thank  you,  gerald.  ❞  she  says  after  a  moment  in  a  voice  so  unlike  her.  one so small  and  disbelieving, .  .  .  it  sounded  like  something  out  of  one  of  the  incompetent  baristas  who  failed  to  get  her  coffee  order  right, not linda monroe.  𝘴𝘩𝘦  𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴  𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥,  𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘵𝘰  𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨  𝘪𝘯  𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴  𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘴  𝘰𝘯  𝘩𝘦𝘳  𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴  (  weak,  how  weak,  she  hears  her  fathers  voice  again  )  as  she  says;  ❝  i  know  i  might  not  say  it  as  often  as  i  should,  but  .  .  .  thank  you.  i  .  .  love  you  too,  gerald.  ❞

[lawhurt]

jamie's suicide attempt :)

nothing was meant to change my mind. my father didn't care, my sister certainly didn't. perhaps this was his repentance. perhaps he'd sealed this fate all those years ago, when he'd looked into the receptionist eyes, &. sent HER in anyway. truthfully it was his greatest regret. the one thing he'd never be able to rectify, the one thing that he cannot escape more than any other single thing in his entire existence. he sees all his rises but his family sees them all as failings, &. this? he will never recover from it. he was too cowardly to face his sister, if he couldn't help her. he wanted to fix it, but instead he made it so much worse. married to it. it wasn't just about the town, it was about dad -- god, he hadn't needed anything else. their mother had died so soon, leaving him twice down in the maternal department.

perhaps if she were here to love me as i should have been loved, things would be different.

if he had been man enough to apologize before decades went by to settle seething hatred, would she have forgiven him? likely not. does he deserve her forgiveness? no. foolish beliefs she would leave, &. the abuse would end. abuse he knows he deserves, which is why all his threats are empty. why they always will be empty 'till the end of their time. he will never have her arrested, he will never . . . never say never.

of course that was on his mind as he stands in front of the gun cabinet, his fingers sliding down ornate door while eyes similarly carry themselves over the line of rifles hung behind parted glass. EVERYTHING IS NUMB except the flutter in the center of his chest. something more akin to nervous excitement than it ever was fear. more cowardly to take the easy way out than it is not to hurt yourself. if he had no intentions, this is where he would have turned back. if he went up there &. came back down of his own volition, he will never live it down.

it's hard not to think about the last words his father &. sister had said to him as hands coil 'round barrel &. jamie hefts the weapon into his two hands. he looks down at it for a period. his hair shielding temples. dad won't notice. this house is a castle, &. jamie is invisible within it unless mistake's trail leads back to him. the fragile mind-state he was &. continues to be in, something that unraveled fast from the initial gut-wrenching pain of taking a life.

'now you see yourself the way the world sees you. the way i see you. the way he sees you. & no amount of scrubbing will ever change that." . . . 'you should really consider killing yourself'. . . .

'there's always a choice. you could have thrown yourself in the river. but hurting yourself never even crossed your mind, did it?'

OH FATHER, YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

no matter how much he scrubbed it would never wash away. bloodless crime, but such does not account for the anguish of grime in the throes of unrelenting remorse &. self contempt. just wanting to look in the mirror &. see someone he recognizes. something that only seems possible beneath the brim of hat long plucked from his head to hang above the libra scale.

he'd wanted to scream &. scream until there was nothing left in his lungs &. he suffocated on his sobs.

now he's truly numb. it already feels a fraction better as sun hits squinting eyes and weightless legs carry him down the porch steps with the rifle in one hand. lips rearing as hand comes to shield whilst surveying the early morning view of what meant more to his father than his very life. he believed in his heart that his father would feed him to wolves in an instant to protect what is his. hell, he killed lee for it . . . & he truly loved lee. what would he do to jamie, if he needed to?

&. funnily enough, jamie doesn't even know he's adopted, yet.

he hardly feels his legs, even though he saddles no horse. now that, would be noticed. arm swaying lightly as he strolls off into the vastness of the land, where he would continue on for some time. he knows where he'll end up, &. his autopilot takes him there. one downfall of his plan. though each step &. the doubt seeps from shoes to soil like spiritualist believe happens to our negative energy. he feels more at peace with each pass to comfort. each pass of eyes over his superior. the land, the land, the land. he will die for it, just like his father wants. laid to rest in the dirt next to the great-grandfather he was "named" after . . . (more-less a welcomed coincidence). a James Dillard Dutton lived before him. much more deserving of the moniker, he's sure.

it's a solitary experience, dying. the one thing we all do alone. he hadn't heard, his father &. rip's horses ripping through grass searching for his wandering footsteps. too focused, for he can't deal with it. his sister can reach into his psyche with her eyes &. finds pleasure in digging in with a scalpel to make sure the pain is far worse. to make sure she leaves him empty &. gasping, thankful for her departure. their encounters often leave him sobbing until there's no tears left.

that's just it. there's nothing left.

as he approaches that clearing, in what he thinks are his final moments. they don't last long. the moment he hears the colts clomp against the grass the sting, the pain . . . all in an instant it returns, &. he knows it spite of any protest that he will not be going through with it. steels gasps. wants too bad to be able to just shove the gun against the back of his throat &. pull the trigger before he can talk him out of it.

alas. what can you do when hurting yourself is just as shameful as not? the contradiction. the belief his father would help him rebuild himself, he wanted so badly to be seen by him enough to know he needed help. he felt that, but it was a lie. &. i think deep down, he knew it, too. but he couldn't disappoint his father.

the pain would haunt him after death.

⚖️ @avemaria ↪ send me a scene that happened in canon and I’ll write in detail how my muse felt in it!

[hiveruled]

💛 elijah, kol and finn

Send a 💛 + three names and my muse will tell who they would fuck, marry, and kill ( FMK )

There's a slight SNORT of laughter and disbelief that Kai fails to suppress behind his fist. His eyes dart around the room for a moment before he composes himself again, letting out a long exhale with a GRIN already plastered on his face.

" Kill Finn. We don't like him right? That's the general consensus around here? " Kai asks, not really waiting or looking for any actual answers to that query. " Hm, I guess I'd fuck Elijah, could be fun to see him out of those stupid suits for once. And I'd marry Kol because he's actually fun to be around. "

[guqinstrings]

-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @tiianwens inquired ; ❛  watch out!  ❜

   THERE IS A PROBLEM that comes with the title of APPEARING AMONGST CHAOS. Of chasing any and every single ounce of chaos. With chasing ghosts that don’t answer Inquiry or perhaps even exist at all. As selfless as the world seems to believe him to be, to the point of pinning the title HANGUANG-JUN on him, there is always an underlying, alternative motive to the things that anyone does. Especially Lan Wangji. 

   The problem of appearing amongst chaos, is that one day it very well might get him killed. When the Juniors aren’t with him, Lan Wangji is perhaps no better than a rogue cultivator, wandering around without aid and throwing Bichen and Wangji at anything deemed a problem. Walking Corpses, Fierce Corpses, Water Ghouls, Demons, Demonic Spirits, if it was labeled a problem it didn’t matter how difficult the problem was deemed to be–he threw himself at it. Even if he cannot handle it, even if it poses a problem, even if he might need help. He takes it on himself without hesitation. 

   There is a good list of Lan Sect Rules he breaks doing that.

   The problem that he’s appeared amongst was actually unknown. He spoke to a few villagers, collected what information he could without using too many words, and tried to deduce what it was from that. He was never good at talking, at working information out of people and for that he definitely was going to get himself in trouble. Like he did now. 

   What he had believed to be nothing more than a restless ghost, something he could play Cleansing for and send to their eternal rest, turned into something much more fierce. A spirit that seemed to be bathed in resentful energy, angry and irate, unwilling to move on but rather be consumed by their negative emotions and the resentful energy. Spirit turns to demon–and demons require a much different intervention method. 

   If suppression does not work, destruction is next. 

   What he does not expect is in the middle of the fight with this creature that he was most certainly not winning against–is to be smacked into. A lot has happened in his long years as a cultivator, a lot of strange things have happened. He’s had people hide behind him, he’d protected someone against his own Sect, he’s used himself as a shield–he has never had someone bodily try to move him out of the way. 

   “... ! ” 

   It certainly surprises him, it certainly catches him off guard, it absolutely has him giving pause. Enough that he is actually capable of being moved out of the way before the creature would have more than likely sunk its arm into his chest. His feet plant firmly onto the ground, his arm moves to grab at the robes of the man that touched him and moves him out of the way instead. Shoving him behind Lan Wangji he throws Bichen and the spirit sword flies through the air chasing the target. While Bichen aimed at the spirit he pulls Wangji from his back and yanks on the strings of the Guqin, throwing a powerful wave of spiritual energy through the strings at the enemy. 

[ncmither]

@fcgwise said ❝ look at me . ❞ from meme .

Their grip is tight on his jaw. He can feel the strength in those fingers as they force him to focus. Both their eyes meet and it weighs heavily on him. David had been upset over something. A piece of paper being destroyed during the last trial. So thin and worn that it was a fragile thing. It had meant something to him but he couldn’t remember. Had it been from someone he loved? Someone who had loved him? All that had been left was a scrap with elegantly written handwriting, faded almost to unreadable measures. Forever yours, T. It had been destroyed and David had a fit of rage that had broken down into him on his knees and sobbing. Why was it so heartbreaking that something so stupid was gone? He couldn’t even remember why it had been so important. Then Vittorio had taken him so firmly and forced him to look at him.

He looked into those wise eyes and saw his own reflection. David saw the years he had wasted pretending to be straight because society couldn’t handle a star athletic being anything but homosexual. He could drink, party, and make the evening news for anything else but curse him for loving another man. David’s father had caught him with someone back when he was in university. The man had threatened to disinherit him and cut off his access to money. Who was the guy again? He couldn’t even remember their face but it had been someone so important to him. Yet, he had denied who he was for so long. All the anger and rage and here was Vittorio, a man who had spent centuries in this place. A true survivor.

Look at me. David was tired of being someone he wasn’t. None of the others in this place knew who he had been. They cared more about trying to survive and trying to get back to where they had come from. Yet, where would that leave him? Alone. He was tired of being alone. He was exhausted from being angry all the time. Broken bones and bruised ribs meant nothing to him. He was so tired and was done fighting himself. Rik had called him a circus lion. Maybe it was time for him to break out of his cage. Maybe that’s why he did it. With Vittorio’s grasp so firmly on him, maybe that’s who he reached up and held the man’s face in his hands. He wasn’t a circus lion. He was David-fucking-King and he was done pretending. That was the real reason why he pulled Vittorio forward and kissed him. A trembling and desperate kiss. A baptism overseen by the Entity that trapped them in her realm.

[fcgwise]

❛ i can’t not care about you. ❜​

         THAT WAS A LOADED STATEMENT.   one that held, what he was certain, was more questions than either of them had ANSWERS FOR. though, there was a time and a place for everything... and standing in the middle of what he would assume was some morbid psychiatric ward, while THE SHAPE wandered about, was certainly not one of them.   ❛   ─   may we, perhaps, have this conversation later, amore?   ❜   he asked, peering back over his shoulder while he moved to crouch down behind a generator, the clutter within the room they were in ; shielding him from a direct line of sight. not only from david, but hopefully, from the killer as well.   ❛   ... baciami. poi colpiscimi. ora ti importa? i can't keep up with you, bello.   ❜  he then grumbled.

concern meme   |      @ncmither

[exymybeloved]

Nearly done with my little project but my pen decided to die sooo I shall continue later :D

have a chaotic Dazai onioned over their burning kitchen lol

this was just too perfect not to take a picture of 😂

AHHH! TINY, this looks so good!!!

the little notes and pictures on the wall are so cute!

[splitsuit]

There's a pinata that looks like Playwright hanging on the branch of a tree. It's stuffed with bright red confetti that will make it look like it is gushing with blood when hit. Whee! How fun!

"C'mooooon, ya gotta go feral at least once. Especially on yer birthday!!" (rosetintedgunman)

Happy Birthday | @rosetintedgunman

This summer was mild , to Dark's surprise . Warm wind breezes through the big leaves on the trees . And in one of these trees , hanging from a sturdy branch was the rather TRUE TO LIFE paper and thin cardboard version of Playwright .

He was given a slim bat to knock the doll into how many pieces he so desires ! Gripping it tighter in his hands , he turns to Wilford who ONLY encourages him more .

It was his birthday , why not give it his all ? Just for today .

Wide eyed and ready , he made the first swing to the body first . While nothing had come out yet , he had dented it heavily . A black flame rises in his eyes as he relentlessly pummeled it until it was only hanging from it's head . A rush of the red confetti pools out , and Dark is genuinly smiling .

❝ Okay , that WAS actually fun . ❞

[mageiia]

@singofus asked: Hermes taken over from Ari in late night babysitting as he'd just come back from work. He sat in the living room watching tv and burning the midnight oil with a baby monitor at his side. In case Pan had a seizure in his sleep or Maggie had a nightmare again. He hadn't long had her but nightmares seemed very common. As soon as he heard her terrors starting, he came to her and gently brushed over her hair sitting on her bed. Trying to soothe her awake. She awoke and Hermes scooped her up into his arms to carry her out of the bedroom into the light of the hallway. "First of all, your koala impression is really improving." He said as she clung to him, laughing quietly as he outstretched his arms. "No hands, haha!" But then he wrapped them around her again and walked with her to the open plan living room and stood there with a calm smile. "Would you like access to the Super Secret Sad Snack Stash? Or the Sssss for short." He hisses it like a snake to make her smile. "But you gotta keep it a secret until someone else gets sad. And never tell Uncle Ares or it will be stolen."

maggie sniffles as the nightmare takes hold , whimpering in her sleep as she's been known to do . the hand to her hair makes her eyes open , confused how such harsh words could be coupled with such a gentle touch . but she gazes at her father , unseeing for a second , before throwing herself at him , clinging to him and trying to settle herself .

his little joke does help calm her a little , on the inside , and she manages a little smile through her tears . she nods ; she can keep a secret . and uncle ares coming around is still a big deal , so she'll be sure not to let it slip . still ...

with a clumsy hand , she wipes her tears away , sniffling again . ❛ but ... what if uncle ares gets sad ? can he know then ? ❜ she asks , wanting to make sure where ares stood in relation to the secrecy here . and , typical her , focused on the imaginary scenario than the very present one that has her still clinging to hermes with surprising strength .

[hatchetsfield]

@hatchetswung ➽ STRANDED : for one muse to help the other who’s stranded on the road. - Paul @ Alice (Let him help her!!!)

𐃈 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞  𝐡𝐚𝐝  𝐚  𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥  𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲  𝐟𝐨𝐫  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  —  buying  overpriced  snacks  at  the  gas  station,  watching  a  new  flick  at  the  cineplex  with  deb,  going  with  her  to  a  party  .  .  .  

having  deb  break  up  with  her  during  a  fight  on  the  car  ride  home  from  said  party  and  leaving  her  on  the  side  of  the  road  to〝  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  〞?  that  certainly  hadn’t  been  on  alice’s  mental  checklist  for  the  evening.  it  was  half  past  two  in  the  morning,  according  to  her  phone  on  25% battery.  𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙚’𝙨  𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚  𝙛𝙖𝙨𝙩  𝙖𝙣𝙙  𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣,  𝙝𝙚𝙧  𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩  𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙩𝙝𝙚  𝙬𝙖𝙧  𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙢  𝙤𝙛  𝙝𝙚𝙧  𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜  𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘.  it  would  be  over  an  hour's  walk  according  to  the  maps  on  her  phone,  maps  she’d  absolutely  need  to  find  her  way  home,  but  who  was  to  say  that  her  battery  would  last  for  the  entirety  of  that  walk  home?  or  for  even  a  fraction  of  it?  

𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁  𝘄𝗮𝘀  𝗮𝘀  𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗸  𝗮𝘀  𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲  𝗳𝗲𝗹𝘁,  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝗱𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘀𝗸𝘆  𝗼𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝗻𝗼  𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲  𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗰.  the  moving  of  a  branch  in  the  wind  was  automatically  the  weapon  of  the  axe  man,  ready  to  punish  her  for  daring  to  be  near  his  woods,  the  skittering  of  a  woodland  critter  automatically  one  of  the  lords  in  black.  as  alice  attempts  to  blink  away  tears  and  remember  how  to  properly  breathe,  she  tries  to  figure  out  what  to  do.

alice  couldn’t  call  her  mother,  who  would  either  sleep  through  the  ringtone  or  send  her  to  voicemail  in  favor  of  not  missing  the  laughter  and  chattering  of  the  gal  pals  at  her  wine  tastings.  and  she  certainly  couldn’t  call  her  father  —  who  wasn’t  aware  of  the  fact  that  she  had  snuck  out  to  hang  with  deb,  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚠𝚑𝚘  𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍  𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔  𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜  𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎  𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗  𝚘𝚏  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  𝚑𝚎  𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍  𝚝𝚘  𝚋𝚎  𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚊𝚗𝚍  𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎  𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍  𝚑𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚜  𝚘𝚏  𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎.

but,  there  was  one  person  she  knew  she  could  call,  one  person  who  she  was  certain  would  pick  up.  one  person  who  she  was  certain  would  come  to  get  her.

about  twenty  minutes  after  hanging  up,  alice  can  see  the  approaching  beams  of  car  headlights,  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝘀𝗵𝗲  𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻  𝗶𝗻  𝗵𝗲𝗿  𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀  𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘅  𝗮𝘀  𝘀𝗵𝗲’𝘀  𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆  𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲  𝘁𝗼  𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗹  𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳  𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲  𝗴𝗿𝗶𝗽  𝗼𝗳  𝗮𝗻𝘅𝗶𝗲𝘁𝘆.  paul  barely  has  time  to  get  out  of  his  car  before  alice  barrels  into  him,  wrapping  her  arms  around  him  in  a  bone-crushing  embrace.  she’s  certain  her  ruined  mascara  is  staining  his  shirt,  and  she  makes  a  mental  note  to  apologize  for  it  later.  

❝  thank  you,  uncle  paul.  ❞  

alice  can’t  remember  the  last  time  she  had  called  him  uncle  paul.  𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬  𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐲  𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞  𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬,  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬  𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥  𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫  𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.  she  pulls  away  from  the  embrace,  rubbing  at  her  mascara  stained  cheeks.  ❝  thank  you,  for  coming  to  get  me.  i  know  it’s  super  late  and  i  probably  totally  wrecked  your  sleep  schedule  but  .  .  .  thank  you.  ❞

[lawhurt]

so how much of a hick is Jamie exactly? montana boy who was sent to the big city only to end up back home working for his dad in any way possible. does he like country? does he sing to himself as he does work?

jaime doesn't hate working for his dad at first. he doesn't mind being home. i think mostly because being made chief of council, &. more-less running the ranch behind the scenes deluded him into thinking his father actually wanted him to be a big part of, if not inherit the ranch's legacy. especially after lee died, &. jamie became the heir to the dutton name, as the second child.

when he was younger he wanted to be a cowboy. he was raised to run the ranch, &. to do it well. or -- that's what he thought. but in reality, the enormous amount of internal knowledge he gained about the ranch was all in support of his eventual legal career. but such also helped him grow smarts regarding monetization, &. it's always been advice his father never cared to hear.

(it's funny just how preposterous it is to deny the one child who wants your shitty legacy but ok).

but think once he realizes his dad isn't going to give him the life he wants, he decided he wanted to take it back when he bought his own property. he said he wanted to be his dad when he grew up, &. it seems like he meant it. he wants to do things his own way, &. again he doesn't mind the work it takes to get it there. he hasn't left montana &. he won't, either. anything pertaining to his career is just a facet of him, but it's never what he wanted. he'd rather have been a rancher.

i'm still not sure if i want jamie to sell the ranch in my own canon. i uh, i get why he would want to after what happened. but, i also think it was . . . idk i think he could save it, as long it doesn't turn out that beth forced him to sell.

but i think he never really gives up on his being rewarded for all of his good work, until he meets sarah. then he's deciding to take it back for himself, &. i think john has a formidable opponent in the monster he created.

i think jamie uses work as an escape. i think he can not think, enjoy the sights &. the ache. he loves riding, roping, branding. he's just... he's very in-tune with the work, with himself. self-aware. idk man. i really wanna write him living on the ranch he bought, making the money john wishes he could while playing with his cattle herding collies &. being a daddy.

⚖️ @avemaria 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃  ↪ random hc

[hiveruled]

💛- Klaus, Jackie and Jon

(I’m so sorry lmao)

Send a 💛 + three names and my muse will tell who they would fuck, marry, and kill ( FMK )

The SECOND time he's been questioned on his relationship with Klaus and Jackie. What was this? A damn interrogation? This time he goes completely quiet. His jaw visibly tenses and his stance grows more awkward and CLOSED off.

" I'd marry Jon, " Kai mutters almost unintelligibly. She knew what she was doing bringing up his best friend like that. He also knew that wasn't going to be the end of him hearing about it tonight now that they've pried that little fact out of him. " Kill Klaus and fuck Jackie again. "

[guqinstrings]

-ˋˏ🌥 ┈┈ @ghcstchild inquired ; ❛  it's nothing.  ❜

   IT’S ALWAYS NOTHING with him when it comes to his own health. That was something learned throughout their shared history. It was always something that brought him irrevocable pain to still think about. Apparently, it never crossed his mind that all he continued to think about were those THIRTEEN YEARS he spent without the other because it was nothing. Still, even now it seemed, Wei Wuxian continued to fail to realize all he had to do was ask for help. 

   When the world stood against him, did he still not realize that Lan Wangji was determined to stay by his side? Regardless of what the Cultivation World threw at them, all he wanted was to protect the man who was currently telling him it was nothing. 

   There are many words that Lan Wangji can say, many that would fit and would even be heard. Despite how much he failed to listen to warnings, he listened at the very least to the words when Lan Wangji spoke. He might not heed the warning, but he listened. However, as many gathered in his throat just as many found themselves choked down. Having the words to say and being able to speak them didn’t always go in tandem with Lan Wangji. He could fill an entire memoir with the words he had for Wei Wuxian, but they would struggle to fall from his lips. 

   So instead of saying them he knelt in front of the other, undoubtedly getting grass stains on his white robes. He would drench them in much more and had for the Cultivator across from him. Reaching his hand out he gently took hold of the thin wrist that held onto the Dizi, tugging it over toward him and turning it so he could look at the cut across his arm. With his Cultivation not what it used to be, Wei Wuxian was much more susceptible to wounds and infections. He was by no means weak, he would never consider this man weak, but he didn’t recover as quickly as Lan Wangji did. 

   Still, to some extent, he was right. The wound wasn’t that bad and he had more than enough supplies on him to take care of the wound. A simple cleaning and bandage would patch the other right up. 

   Letting go of Wei Wuxian’s wrist he reached into his robes for his Qiankun pouch and opened it up. Fetching out the jar of cream and a roll of bandages, he sat both down beside him. Tucking the pouch back away he held his hand out for Wei Wuxian’s own again. He will not force him to let Lan Wangji patch him up, but his heart would be eased and honored if the other let him. 

   “Even nothings require some treatment, Wei Ying.”