#* ✧ ˚ 𝐢𝐯. threads .

[muutosarchive]

“ i could be your toy. “ for mike !

🍒 @ncvabcrn . *      ―    ﴾  𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠  𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜  ﴿   :    𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘  𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

"oh yeah?" mike's brows are immediately raised at that, interest sparked in his brain the moment that it hits the air. he meanders forth, falling into the couch. crossing ankles whilst putting an arm around their shoulders.

"so that's what you want, huh?" he asked, his brows raised. "you like being someone's toy?" he leans in, his other hand landing on their thigh. they'd be the perfect toy, he must admit. if you were explorative, at least.

he leans into their ear, smirking before biting on their earlobe softly. "well, be careful what you wish for -- because i'm known to take my time, when it comes to my favorites."

[lykosog]

A  HAND  RAN  THROUGH  AUBURN  CURLS,  ACCOMPANIED  BY  THE  SIGH  THAT  LEFT  HIS  LIPS.  Ever  since  Sansa  had  gotten  back  to  the  apartment  she  had  stayed  in  her  room.  Shutting  herself  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  And,  while  he  had  thought  it best  to  let  her  have  some  space,  he  couldn't  help  but  worry.  He  remembered  how  excited  and  happy  his  sister  had  been  —  the  smile  she  had  on  her  face  when  she  left.  The  emotions  that  came  after  the  disappointment  could  only  match  that  previous  intensity.

So  eventually,  a  soft  knock  on  her  door  would  be  heard  ❝  Hey  ❞  Robb  began,  his  voice  still  perfectly  audible from  outside.  As  was  probably  the  concern  in  it.  Even  to  his  own  surprise,  he  wasn't  feeling  angry  at  that  idiot  for  whatever  it  was  that  he  had  done  this  time.  Not  even  glad,  as  he  thought  he  might  be  when  she  finally  realized  he  was  not  right  for  her.  What  mattered  to  him  now  was  how  it  had  affected  Sansa  and  figuring  out  whatever  he  could  do  to  make  her  feel  slightly  better  ❝  can  I  come  in  for  a  sec  ?  ❞

Plotted starter for @messianique

[movedtocahroline]

⭐️

For each “⭐️” I get, I’ll write a headcanon about our muses. - ACCEPTING ! // @fcllederage

hyacinthe is one of the first people caroline met after she moved to new york and happen to be one of the only ones that she generally feels comfortable with . care feels like she can be open to the other and she wants them to feel like they can be open just as well .

[waehlesarc]

tag dump.

𝐢. henry ✦ the prince, 𝐢. alex ✦ sweetheart 𝐱𝐯. otp ✦ firstprince 𝐢𝐢. meme ✦ send the thing 𝐢𝐢𝐢. answered ask ✦ royal mail has been received 𝐢𝐯. starter call ✦ hit the heart 𝐯. character study 𝐯𝐢. there is bravery in being soft 𝐯𝐢. long may he reign 𝐯𝐢. i think i've seen this film before 𝐯𝐢𝐢. aesthetics 𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. headcanon 𝐢𝐱. musings 𝐱. desires 𝐱𝐢. wishlist ✦ a dream is a wish your heart makes ✦ thread

[hctbxed]

𓏲  *   ( paul mescal, cismale, he/his )   ⸺   pictures of ATTICUS REID,  the  twenty-eight  year  old  photographer,  have been showing up all over my feed, and considering the last time they were #trending, it was due to posting embarrassing poetry about his ex on instagram — i’m not likely to unfollow anytime soon. with their plain white tee threaded with the finest cotton, levi 501s cuffed at the ankle, doc marten suede slingbacks & an ancient denim jacket that smells of cigarettes. they’ve managed to garner a reputation for being more vehement than reticent. their critics say that they’re more saturnine than cabalistic when they aren’t too busy focusing on their at a freshly popped! cork, crimson sloshes into a glass ,musk and berry hesitates before the syrupy acidity slips across your tongue,  &  the thunderstorm that brews between furrowed brows is a treacherous one, a magpie will see shine and expect something fantastical but those up close know better than to entertain riches. an abandoned shoreline. easy. breathe. those golden spectacles that pry into your toes and make home there for weeks. a deep breath as the tide washes away. bitterness - coffee, wine - he is not for the faint - hearted as he is not one of faint heart. malignants dance around his bed frame with taunts that fall from spiked tongues, blood is drawn until you awake with a start. reputation.com has taken to calling them SPACE COWBOY in order to avoid a lawsuit ( again ).  ──  

𝐢

his story starts washed in crimson; the sky burns with the knowledge of heartbreak, a shattered muscle torn from the chest and crumbled into pulp across the width of a fist. it’s not a dark and stormy night when atticus is placed upon the steps of an orphanage buried deep in the veins of new york, his awakening limbs wrapped up in plaid blankets like the opening scene of a hollywood picture. the sun fizzles, pride has made way for humility as darkness sweeps in, the stoic buzz of the cicadas steady in the evening breeze. a city that never sleeps is stirring, the streets alive with unfinished romances and subdued goodbyes. it’s parents who he’ll never get to know that slink into the shadows, press the doorbell and run because running is all they’ve ever known. he doesn’t cry as he’s lifted into strange arms, coddled by the strength of a bicep. it’s almost as if he’s aware, even in his innocence, that this feeling will become all too familiar to him, to fall in love brilliantly but fleetingly.

𝐢𝐢 but life never seems to reflect the glitz and glamour of the movies; he learns this firsthand; the city is disgusting - a rotting corpse of the age of romance. he grows up under multiple roofs - the people who take him in more cruel and gluttonous than the next, ruled by the exchange of power as though the world is held in the fists of people who like to break things; he watches through tired eyes as dreams are crushed and devoured beneath the tongue of the devil. the skylines are drained of hope, a lacklustre enthusiasm seeps from the pores of the street and rusts the ground with a filmy layer of melancholy. he spends his childhood with families who will never love him because they can’t love themselves - it’s a blur of melancholy & an ache in his bones, he feels more alone than ever.

𝐢𝐢𝐢 he finds solace behind the cool metallic touch of a camera ; had fallen for the lens from a young age, capturing life’s most beautiful ugly moments - crooked teeth and broken hearts, greetings & goodbyes, scars and bruises, tear stained cheeks and crinkled eyes. he has a talent for it too, and the portraits he posts on social media of his friends soon begin to create traction. it’s always people he photographs, rather than places or products, uses a soft hand to coax his models into vulnerability, his pictures always hauntingly delicate. 

𝐢𝐯

currently freelances but has done shoots for various vogues, paper, rolling stone, the new yorker etc.

personality wise he is kind of mysterious.. doesn’t really talk about his past which he is slightly hardened by, but he’s also a LOVER BOY so he can be naive/co-dependent when it comes to relationships… he definitely looks for the good/beauty in everything. 

a good friend to have, always has a j*int in the pocket of his jeans or tucked behind his ear. 

has a hard case of imposter syndrome

terrified everybody is going to leave him one day :(

definitely has an instagram like c*le spr*use of pictures of people taking pictures of him

[elysiium]

#𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐈𝐔𝐌  . . . a  private & dependent  multimuse  blog for  𝑑 𝑒 𝑠 𝑐 𝑒 𝑛 𝑡 𝑖 𝑛 𝑡 𝑜 𝘩 𝑒 𝑙 𝑙  .  as loved and penned  by  luna  (  thirty - one  /  she , her  /  est  )  .

𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 . . .

𝐢. auraline wayne  ➜  intro  .  threads  . pintrest . 𝐢. violet  de’  medici  ➜  intro  .  threads  . pintrest . 𝐢𝐢𝐢. logan  starkweather  ➜   intro  .  threads  . pintrest . 𝐢𝐯. aurora  de’  medici  ➜  intro  .  threads  . pintrest . 𝐯. kaladhar thakur ➜  intro  .  threads  . pintrest . 𝐯𝐢. catalina de' medici  ➜   intro  .  threads  . pintrest .

[vibye]

tags  woohoo  <3

[halstaed]

tag  drop  part  i .

[muutosarchive]

All you have to do is beg, and I will give you what you want. / omega hehehe

his tail flickers. a rumble produced deep within inhuman chest. raised from it's space on the floor, as cool eyes of liquid nitrogen burn through the mask. less emotion resides in the glow of stars signaling his perfect design. of course less than glamor blues. ice cold, but still with the capacity for vulnerability. built by the very hands of lucifer, omega is convinced, to serve this great purpose of belonging. of giving away every part of himself. not demeaning to place himself below the man . . . it is simply natural, despite nature's lack of facilitation. long, onyx claws rounding waist to find hand-holds as spats curl on the ground. uniform tugging seams of suddenly too-small cassock as he grows from his stealth height to that of his true form. grandiose. big teeth, gnarled horns &. scarred, black muscles as far as the eye could see. those glaring orbs akin to the night sky, even as he angrily tears off the chrome plate from over his face. ears sprung back against his skull, pointed &. with some subtle missing chunks from his many fights in the underworld.

his spaded tail comes around the short legs standing before him, while wrapping more tightly to opposite thigh. all occurring in such typical regal form reduced to tight, heightened shoulders. but not from the contemplation of begging. no . . . has far in a way torn himself apart before the man's mismatched eyes. does not fear embarrassment. a horse's snort releasing from the great beast that fans across the exposed line of the abdomen beneath his nose. hands &. knees the position to fully make-up the size between the ghoulish figure &. his handler. the pretty, poised &. chosen one. ruler of the leviathan throne. oh, but he'd loved him before that, too. when he belonged to someone else, in a sense. but he'd always found his way home.

"please, sir --" he cringes. such a human tone sounds oddly shaken, even as thighs lower &. he begins nosing around the man's stomach like he were a dejected dog. "you already know i'd do anything for you. why torture me like this?" tortured by this innate desire already, curious eyes snap with the slow draw-back of snout. "please let me serve &. be of service." he bows his head. eyes snuffed to the back of his lids. pride pouring out of his chest &. splattering on shoes. though, omega was a proud ghoul. something elegant woven into sacrifice, even when displayed so primal &. needing.

🍒 @p0pestar 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 ↪ 𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂, 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋, 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

[muutosarchive]

“jus' get ou'. ge' ou' an' leave me alone.” simon's fist is still embedded in the shattered mirror, his head hanging low, and attempt to hide the tears that have streaked across his face from soap. he's bleeding from his knuckles, but he can barely feel it. barely feels anything but the ache at his core that always comes back. but it's one he doesn't want to address. one he tries to use his most standoffish hiss of venomous words to make the one man who cares about him back off and leave him to... whatever misery this is. whatever misery it has always been. he'd rather go it alone. tear away from the idea of comfort and care. he knows it's not for him. it'll be ripped away again one day. it always is. it's better to learn to deal with it alone.

IT HURTS, BADLY. he can't pretend it doesn't. not only the sting of being pushed away -- after finally having been accepted, no less -- but that of seeing the man he adores so deeply, cry on his behalf. it twists his guts every time he even so much as worries him, &. he catches the emotions captured in the soul's windows. that which he's allowed to see. let alone looking past his own reflection in the broken mirror to see the remnants of tears messily streaking his cheeks. his blond hair disheveled, knuckles bleeding as the startled weightless feeling still slowly dissipated in johnny's chest. replaced with anxiety, hurt &. well, the steadfast, bullheaded sergeant inside of him that cannot back down from what he wants.

the fun-house mirror of cracked panes of glass separate soap's image into a kaleidoscope of narrowed brows &. clenched jaw. having followed the lieutenant from the bed like a stray without his leash, with admittedly good intentions. his wide legs exposed, with a shirt clinging to his upper body. he knows nightmares. knows what they look like . . . ever dutiful in his attempts to soothe, as soap wishes he had in such scenarios.

but he hadn't expected this. even if maybe he should have.

soap shakes his head, light but obvious. his chest inflating with a further scrunching of his features. he's unable to stop the sear of anxiety. worried that ghost would go nuclear, &. actually kick him out -- or worse. put a hand to him.

"no." he speaks. "am stayin' here." he takes a step forth towards him with a prominent sway of his shoulder. "don' shut me ou', si. let me help ye, please." he tilts his head as he studies him. hand half-reached out, but stalled. mouth pausing slightly open, momentarily.

"yer not scarin' me away" when he speaks again it's much softer. quieter, &. earnest. his expression showing the worry he harbors. odd, to be afraid of retaliation from someone whom has the capacity to treat him so tenderly. . "now c'mere. let me get a look a' those knuckles . . ."

🍒 @designedparadigm 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃  ↪ right in the guts. angst sentences.

[muutosarchive]

❛ hold still. this might sting a little. ❜ (mireya @ price)

his head pulls just slightly. naught but a grunt releasing as she cleans the wound. it's not enough to curse, whether through pride or experience. or both. but he does comment. "-- how 'bout a lot." he corrects her. he'd skip the medics if he could. does, when he can. he's not reckless, though unless he's told to get something sorted (or he decides it on his own), he doesn't tend to bother. too many scrapes, too many bullet wounds. at some point you learn which ones to sweat &. which to bite back at.

elbows leaning over the table, he eases in order to lean backward in her transition to standing. arms slowly lifting from the sterile surface. "tell you what. next time, don't sugarcoat it. no need to." relaxed hands land in his lap whilst his head tilts upward at her. lips pursed for a moment as the look on his face is both knowing &. amused, with raised brows to indicate as much. not an overt display, surely. but enough to make his point. "not with me, anyway."

🍒 @vihrago 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃  ↪ meme i'm too lazy to look for

[muutosarchive]

" we're friends . friends tell each other things . " / jess for mike

mike perks up as he looks the blond over. "wow. i'm really that obvious, huh?" he asks. cocking smirk to try & cover up, as he pushes off the wall. a hand thrown up in a shrug. "i'd like to think i still have some unpredictability left in me." ( oh, little do you know the upcoming reveals in - store ).

🍒 @omniterror 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 ↪ THE SOUNDS OF NIGHTMARES SENTENCE STARTERS .

[muutosarchive]

“No one will ever love you the way I do.” ( sorry henry / @spring-lxcked )

goddamn him. he's right, isn't he?

heart-rate slows as everything around him fades. all sound, all sights. his own body, and mindfulness. everything, besides him. the red-faced, spittle flying anger directed towards him in slinging desperation. the way his chest rises and falls as he stands there in the aftermath of such a striking declaration. it's all henry can do to manage his breathing, as eyes remain transfixed upon the man before him. confused, hurt. parted lips in halfhearted expectation.

maybe this is his own fault. perhaps if he hadn't played these games and continuously let william win, they wouldn't be in this scenario in the first place. perhaps he and his wife would have remained happy. perhaps he wouldn't be so easily duped into believing that whatever this was, was the epitome of what he deserved. that this was anything more than obsession, latched onto him by a sick man.

the surroundings made up of monochrome tiles, bright colored walls, and decorations is entirely a blur. standing a distance away from the prize counter, and in the midst of tables seemingly placed without rhyme or reason. some having moved together for a larger family gathering having occurred earlier, when the walls were still brimming with the laughter of children.

his nose twitches. exhaling as he hooks thumbs in his pockets and looks down in guilt. guilt. why should he feel such a thing? perhaps because being faced with will's utter consumption in times such as these, makes him feel as though he's only making things worse for him. but, in the same breath, he's never detected such all consuming adoration from his wife. not like this. yet, he doesn't understand that such is not a good thing. not always, at least. having been with will in some capacity since college.

"you're right." he nods, with a swallow. "i'm . . . sorry, will. i --" he pauses, shaking his head while a hand expels itself to gesture noncommittally. "i suppose i just . . . never understood that part. until now, that is." beard bordered lips purse, as the defeat truly spelled within his hazel eyes. treading carefully in lumbering forth like a dejected dog coming to ask for forgiveness.

forgiveness he never should have needed in the first place.

"i only get scared at times, due to the . . . extenuating circumstances."

🍒 @spring-lxcked

[muutosarchive]

💔 ......... duke ..........

shoddy cabin is lit only by moonlight, as the lonely father kneels . . . however, this time it is not in a feeble attempt at prayer. arms are folded on the side of the bed as he watches. brows furrowed in the saddest, and most regrettable of smiles.

she's bathed in the overhead shine as she sleeps peacefully. gorgeous, he thinks. too good for this world. and she's all yours, if you want her. a river of brunette tresses, with a kindness that could only be bestowed by powers beyond their human comprehension. a literal angel sent from the heavens themselves.

he just doesn't think he can stay.

is it because he's afraid of happiness? that he cowers at the idea of a true, genuine love not being enough? or perhaps it's the life without the church. the idea of such a drastic change, that he can more-less do nothing about. cannot have his cake, and eat it too. cannot have one life, while still clinging to the other.

so why do you flee back to misery? because such is the power of christ.

unexpectedly, eyes flutter open. those eyes sleep-ridden and confused in their furrowed, yet curious expression. it is with this that duke's lips purse with a shaky exhale, with brows furrowing in a barely suppressed sob. "oh, vögelchen. i am so, so sorry." his voice breaks in the admission. his glasses doing nothing to hide the tears spilling from screwed-up expression.

his pale, vein laden hand moves to brush pink palm along her scalp. effectively smoothing down her hair, with an idle stroke of his thumb at the tail end. something which continues past the initial wave, while opposite twitching fingers curl in on themselves upon the surface below.

he's still smiling at her, somewhat. for she was his salvation twice over. he cares for her, as much as he had once thought he cared for the lord. but still, his head shakes. how long will he be able to help himself? his self control nor his will has ever been very strong. at least in his eyes. though, in some ways his will is stronger than anyone. a firm belief trapping him in an abusive courtship with religion.

his lips reach forth and press a trembling, lingering kiss to her forehead. wiping the small trace of saliva away, before hand lifts to place itself gently upon her cheek. that which leads her to his face for an equally as long, and soft kiss. treating her as though she were made of porcelain, with a soft whimper fed to her in the midst of the dark. created by leaking, closed eyelids.

"i have to-to go, n-now." he indicates. nodding, while pressing their heads together briefly. his voice stuttering within his crying. "but, i wanted to thank you for - for giving me some of -- the most happiest times of my life." he laughs again. nervous, frightened. stroking her cheek once more, before standing from her bed. offering one more sympathetic smile in his cowardly lingering.

the one foil in his plan however, is amongst the only things quelling his rabbit heart.

"i suppose if you want to see me again, you -- know where to find me."

🍒 @anishael 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 ↪ A  FUCKED  UP  KISSING  MEME + a goodbye kiss

[muutosarchive]

simon's cooped himself up in his room, laid himself bare on his cot, gently running his fingers across his aching pussy. it's too much to ignore - he'd left from watching his captain train others. it was the way he moved, the way he would deliver sharp orders - the poor lieutenant couldn't handle it. not when it pooled a deep seated want in his lower half. he finally slips his fingers inside of himself, wet and needy, pulling his free hand up over his lips. "ah - john -" the name passes his lips, a soft moan, reserved solely for the captain. eyes flutter closed, then open sharply at the sound of his door's lock clicking.

brows kiss forehead as eyes resemble the wideness of saucers when his attention is full directed at the entrance to his room. of course - it's the only one bold enough to enter. the one who likely just heard simon moan his name with his fingers to the knuckle up inside of himself. he can feel the heat come to his face, and he knows there's red dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears - he longs for the comfort of his mask in this moment; though he knows his naked form displayed here would definitely be more pleasurable for john to look at. he's caught - though maybe that's why he forgot to lock the door. and maybe why he made sure john had seen him leave in a hurry. not that he'll openly admit it.

IT'S NOT ALWAYS AN EASY THING, getting around duties. especially when he's actually supposed to be on shift, &. not just training or working for the sake of performance. however, credenhill was certainly more relaxed. &. luckily there was a lieutenant who was . . . a bit eager, that could get talking if you let him. a showy fella, the lad. so soap let him take over, when he saw that his lieutenant had exited the training area early. cheeky bastard. well, two could play at that game, couldn't they?

he knows exactly what to expect when he enters, however it doesn't make it any less a beautiful sight. his stubble-surrounded lips quirking up at one side as he shuts the door behind him. this time, poignantly clicking the lock before meandering towards simon. hands in his denim pockets.

there's so many things he wants to tell him. how fucking perfect he looks, for one thing. full up on his fingers, with that voice saying his name like that? well, he's liable to devour him right then &. there. but john's casual stance says it all. eyes taking in the perfect sight, &. drinking it like a good scotch.

one knee is cocked slightly, a furry brow quirking. cut in half by rugged scar. "all this fer me, aye?" he asks, his spine arching as he leans back. voice rough around the edges. "well go on, then." he gestures forth with a hand before it goes directly back in his pocket. ignoring the obvious tent of his denim jeans, while rocking back &. forth on his heels. "i came to enjoy th'show, no' interrupt ye."

🍒 @designedparadigm

[muutosarchive]

i've been hoping to run into you. // the shitheel xoxo (eirigh)

SOAP SNEERS. "oh really? n' why's tha'? y'miss the feel o' my fist up yer arse, graves?" he's been both waiting for this moment &. ruing it since the moment he laid eyes on this fucker alive the shit slinging he did while driving around sittin' pretty in that tank had stuck with him. shooting at shoddily armed, outgunned soldiers as though he were the righteous one. the sound of his shite spanish &. cocky taunts having been akin to nails on a chalkboard to the lad.

however, such things pale in comparison to the heat of anger sparked in las almas. city of souls met with a few innocents that night, &. for what? suspected intel? because 'everyone' is in with the narcos? it was madness. the sort of thing that makes soap want to forgo all reason &. bare knuckle this yankee bastard to a bloody pulp. it makes his blood boil. primal, animalistic instincts resulting in aching canines that want to rip &. tear until he's nothing but copper flooding senses from all angles. an all out assault.

his shoulders sway with a purposeful few steps forth as his lips quirk. however, lowered chin makes way for typically sparkling hues to hone-in. possessing that killer instinct inherent in soldiers, whom relish in good kills &. sending their enemies to hell. satisfied that's where they belong. predatory, dangerous . . . scorned. this was personal. could have killed his closest friends, &. planned to betray them with bloodshed to cover his own arse. "or is it because ye regret runnin' like a coward last time we met?"

🍒 @eirigh