#* muse / c. sterling

[narrated]

jonathan sims ; ❝  i  never  sold  my  soul  .  ❞

❛   that's what someone who no longer has their soul would say.   ❜ which is terribly rich coming from casper vance-sterling of all people. he's pretty sure his fate was sealed back when he was making molotov cocktails in high school and spitting out swears and teeth in the same motion. he's been rotten even before the boardwalk, before he was marked for his sins. still his arms are folded across his chest while he sinks backwards into the chair, giving the archivist the perfect image of someone who spent a lot of time sulking in the principal's office. ❛   there's got to be some fuckin' thing you did to end up...   ❜ he vaguely gestures towards @s4ints. ❛   like this. mister high and mighty, i can read your mind and shit.   ❜

[fvntasmic]

open to m/f/nb muse: alex sterling inspired by: [ RANDOM DIALOGUE 2.0 ] could be taken as a joke or something serious! c:

⎯                 "are you threatening me?"

[wexarethewalkingxdead]

For all of'em?

hc + 🔞

hc + ❓

hc + 💍

Thematic Headcanons. A series of subject-specific headcanons you can ask your favorite blog and muse.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Andrea's favorite weather is sunny and around seventy-five.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Andrea doesn't like to wear gaudy jewelry. She prefers a simplistic necklace with a small charm/pendant hanging from it. And if she wears rings, they have to be small and not bring attention to her hands.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Andrea loves to be fucked prone bone style but that's the only thing she's embarrassed to ask for.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Andrea was on her high school's tennis team.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Beth loves afternoon spring showers. She will take her notebook outside and sit where she can hear and smell the rain and write music.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Beth's mama pierced her ears when she was seven years old and begged to get earrings like Maggie had.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Beth's first time was with Zack at the prison. He made it special for her by putting candles a nice sheet and a blanket in one of the cells that had been cleared and cleaned but that nobody had moved into yet.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Beth won the solo in the school's choir in her freshman year. She was the first freshman to win the solo. It usually went to a senior.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Carol has experienced a hurricane, tornado, and an earthquake. All in her twenties.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Carol used to wear a small golden cross until Sophia's death. She pulled it from her neck and never wore it again. Her relationship with God has become shaky ever since.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Carol likes reverse cowgirl. And is not afraid to tell her partner as much.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Carol was number three in her high school graduating class.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Charley's favorite weather is when it's sunny and no higher than 72 degrees. Georgia rarely delivered that kind of weather. It was a rare occasion in Spring and Fall. And they enjoyed it as thoroughly as they could when it did happen.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Charley won't wear anything but sterling silver jewelry.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Charley's first time was in high school. It happened in the backseat of a car.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Charley is a young adult novel author. He was half-way through the second book of four-part storyline when the Outbreak happened.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Daryl's favorite weather is when it's just a little bit cold outside. It's the best weather for deer hunting.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Daryl isn't a fan of jewelry, but when Carol made him a friendship bracelet to match the one he hastily made for her, he never took it off.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Daryl likes to fuck his partner from behind. That way he can bite their neck and shoulder.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Daryl rarely got C's in school. He mostly got A's and B's. But in his senior year, he had to choose between having a roof over his head and food in his belly or school. He chose the roof and food.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Rick loves stormy weather. He likes to hear the thunder rumbling in the distance.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

It took Rick a long time to take off his wedding ring that Lori gave him on their wedding day. Even then, he kept it in his pocket. He wants to give it to Carl one day when he finds someone that makes him happy.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Rick isn't very vocal in bed, but he is very handsy. He can't seem to help himself.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Rick never wanted to be anything else but a police officer. He had no fallback plan. So if he didn't make it the first time, he would have kept trying until he made it.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Shane's favorite weather is summertime. He loves swimming and used to volunteer as a lifeguard in the summers when in high school. That's probably where his love of orange swimming trunks stemmed from.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

The only jewelry Shane wears is his high school football number pendant and chain.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Shane is dominant in the bedroom. He's not into bdsm, but he does like to have complete control.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Shane never had a desire to be a police officer. He only followed Rick after his dreams of being a pro football player were crushed in his senior year when he messed up his knee. It turned out that he was a natural at being a cop. He didn't like it in the beginning, but he learned to love it and enjoyed being a cop after a couple of years.

hc + 🌂 for a weather-themed headcanon

Sophia has never cared for storms. It always reminded her of her Daddy and how angry he could get. When it stormed, she would either hide in her closet or under the covers on her bed. That continued well into her teenage years.

hc + 💍 for a jewelry-themed headcanon

Sophia found a charm bracelet when she went on a supply run, and she put it on and hasn't ever taken it off. She's added charms to it from time to time whenever they have time to browse around a jewelry store while on a supply run.

hc + 🔞 for a nsfw-headcanon

Sophia doesn't like it when her partner gets up right after sex. She feels as if she did something wrong. She needs the cuddles and reassurance. At least, in the beginning, she does.

hc + ❓ for a headcanon of the receiver’s choice

Sophia can draw and paint everything but people. She can never seem to get the perspective right.

[as-mod-eus]

DISABILITY AWARENESS MONTH! HOW TO RESPECTFULLY PLAY A MUSE WITH:  CPTSD

hello and thanks for reading! I’ve been in the rpc scene for a little while now and have seen c/ptsd given as an attribute to a lot of muses and have occasionally felt the portrayal was inaccurate or even disrespectful. so, in honor of disability awareness month, I’ve decided to write up a little awareness post for cptsd. from someone who has been diagnosed with ptsd for eleven years and cptsd for one year (though it was all cptsd all along), I’d like to give some insight into what living with it is like and how to play it accurately and respectfully. I’d like to preface this by saying I, by no means, am some expert on cptsd. I’ve just lived my entire life with it so I can give some good information on what living with it is like.

quick trigger warning before you advance. the following will contain: mentions of abuse/narcissism/gaslighting/neglect, detailed descriptions of cptsd symptoms

I.                         𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓

a lot of times people write cptsd as interchangeable with ptsd. while they have a lot of overlapping symptoms, cptsd is, by definition, a more severe version of ptsd and to do it justice, it’s important to not simplify that experience. cptsd has a lot of overlapping symptoms with ptsd, bpd, DID, bipolar disorder, adhd and autism for example. cptsd is even confused for bpd and bipolar disorder by actual professionals quite a lot (from all the anecdotal experiences I’ve seen), so it’s important to know what cptsd is, but also what it isn’t.

everyone with cptsd has a different experience of it, of course. but there are typically very foundational feelings and experiences that most, if not all, cptsd-sufferers experience. read more under the cut!

II.                                                             𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐏𝐓𝐒𝐃?

so I think the very first place we should start is at the origin of the condition, and how to write your muse’s background to be realistic for the condition. in general, trauma is very subjective. what might be traumatic to one, might not be to another, and vice versa. that being said, the biggest common denominator amongst cptsd sufferers is that the abuse was long-term or never ended at all, and is still actively happening. in a lot of experiences, it stems from severe emotional or physical neglect, narcissistic abuse such as gaslighting/smear campaigning/ scapegoating/etc, exposure to adult themes as a child, living with a mentally ill parent, reckless or oblivious endangerment, toxic shame, and much more.

if you’re struggling to conceptualize this, think of the following media examples:

the family dynamic in Shameless, most notably the lack of any healthy parental figure

the childhoods of both Beatrice and Bojack in Bojack Horseman

the childhood of Diane Nguyen in Bojack Horseman

the childhood of Sterling Archer in Archer

the childhood of Harry Potter in Harry Potter

something to note is that there have been studies that have concluded that even one positive, affirming figure in a child’s life can offset trauma enough to prevent post-traumatic stress. if you plan on giving your muse a really rough childhood, and having them come out of it without mental ailment, it might be a good idea to include somewhere in their background a parental figure or mentor who validated them, cherished them, and affirmed them of their inherent worth.

III.                                                            𝐑𝐄: 𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒

a lot of cptsd sufferers experience something called dissociation and/or depersonalization, in which the abuse is so severe and inescapable, that the mind has no other option but to remove itself from the experience out of its own self-preservation. while this absolutely manifests as something that I can only describe as severe zoning-out, it can also manifest in different ways, such as maladaptive daydreaming or quite literally being unable to feel your body anymore or see anymore. for this reason, a lot of cptsd sufferers don’t actually show the “visible” and severe symptoms of cptsd until they’re out of the throes of abuse and physically and emotionally in a safe place again, at which time their mind feels safe enough to start processing the trauma. that experience isn’t always, if ever, a conscious decision and one more involuntary, that resurfaces through trauma responses, symptoms, and emotional dysregulation.

for many cptsd sufferers, commonly known symptoms like flashbacks don’t start happening until long after the abuse ends. for lots of cptsd sufferers, there’s a period of time where everything is “alright”, until suddenly the dam  breaks, and it’s not anymore. that all being said, when considering the timeframe for when your muse began exhibiting disabling symptoms of cptsd, it would be more realistic to have them begin after the fact. while a lot of us did have symptoms during the abuse as well, the dissociation/depersonalization acted as a good enough buffer that we couldn’t fully “feel” the trauma yet.

along with this should also be mentioned: dissociative amnesia. a very, very, very common symptom  of cptsd is dissociative amnesia. which is exactly what it sounds like. amnesia borne from  dissociation. credit where credit is due, it absolutely is more than just forgetting. it is quite literally your brain being unable to access the memories surrounding the abuse. sometimes that means years. sometimes that means an entire lifetime. for a lot of us, it means we sort of flickered in and out of our lives. one moment we were seven, the next we were fourteen, and suddenly we were twenty-one with a job and an apartment, with no real recollection of how we got there. sometimes these memories are tucked so deep down in our heads, there’s no hope for accessing them again. and that’s usually for good reason. other times, as we begin processing the trauma through therapy, these memories pop up again, and become known to our conscious minds again. when that happens, they can be devastating, and torturous.

IV.                                                                         𝐑𝐄: 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒

alright, so, let’s talk about the big F now. what most people associate with ptsd and assume makes up the large majority of a ptsd experience is flashbacks. as I said earlier, cptsd has a lot of overlapping symptoms with ptsd, and one of those is flashbacks, but they typically come in a different form. flashbacks can be experienced as partial or full, somatic, visual, emotional, etc. there are a lot of different types of flashbacks, but the one I see the most get played is the visual flashback. for a lot of cptsd sufferers, visual flashbacks are the minority, if they even happen at all. the most commonly experienced cptsd flashback is the emotional flashback. emotional flashbacks are still flashbacks, so they involve being “transported” out of the present and into a past emotion, while still physically being in the present. hopefully that makes sense, but I’ll try to explain a little more!

emotional flashbacks can feel and absolutely are very disorienting, devastating, sometimes present with terror beyond words, and generally are something of a living nightmare. imagine the worst thing to have ever happened to you, and having to re-experience the emotional state you were in while it was happening, when something seemingly minor happens in the present. your emotional existence suddenly is no longer in the present, while your eyes, ears, and body all are. a lot of times, there’s a massive somatic experience that comes along with the emotional confusion and devastation, such as GI issues like pain and nausea, amygdala activation causing things like trembling, sweating, high heartrate, pupil changes and the like.

V.                                                         𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊.

so now that we know what a flashback is like, you’re probably wondering how to write getting out of one. the most effective way to get out of a flashback is to be grounded back into the present. sometimes, folks long-term into their recovery can ground themselves really effectively. other times, especially when someone isn’t aware they’re in a flashback, the grounding needs to be initiated by an outsider.

here is a really good resource to learn more about cptsd grounding.

for me, the first step is usually reminding myself, or being reminded, that I’m in a flashback, and saying it out loud to make it real and so I can hear my voice and know that I’m here, right now. physically interacting with my surroundings is usually the second step. pressing my back against the wall, putting my palms up on the wall, holding ice, splashing my face with water, or tasting/smelling something offensive like lemons or spice works to shock the body back into the present.

then it’s time for the emotional grounding back into the present. for me, that’s telling myself my name, my age, that I’m an adult, that the trauma isn’t happening to me anymore, where I am, and recent things I’ve done, like going grocery shopping or watching a new tv show. listening to new music also helps, as I’ve never experienced that song during the trauma and only while outside of the trauma.

getting out of a flashback is all about getting back into the present.

VI.                                                      𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄, 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍

the most commonly known fear responses are fight or flight, but what few people realize is that there are two other fear responses. cptsd deals directly, and frequently, with fear responses, and it’s important to map out the type of fear response your muse has before you map out how they’re going to interact with the world. to minimize the experience of any one of these is a huge injustice to those of us who this is a reality for, so it’s important to remember that in most cases, just as would happen in a life or death scenario, the emotional experience of each is extreme.

also, consider how your muse might react to emotional intimacy or vulnerability. fear responses can play a major part in insecure attachment styles, and which one is developed.

fight — the fight fear response is exactly what it sounds like. it involves defensiveness, whether that’s physical or emotional. this is the one I see most commonly portrayed, though in my experience, not a lot of us actually have the fight fear response. some key attributes while triggered are: aggression, defensiveness, irrationality

flight — again, well known enough, but this fear response is a bit different from fight. in fact, it’s the complete opposite. to flee from the offending experience is to remove yourself totally, whether that be physically or emotionally. when physical escape isn’t possible, that’s when dissociation comes into play.

freeze — for those of us who have a freeze fear response, it’s categorized as completely freezing up when triggered. sometimes this is just physically, such as losing the ability to speak or move, and other times its mentally as well, such as suddenly and severely depersonalizing.

fawn — the fawn fear response is categorized as essentially fawning to the triggering event or person. it’s complete submission, with no ability for self-advocacy or self-defense.

lots of people with cptsd will have more than one fear response. a common pairing is freeze + fawn.

VII.                                                                            𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄

the ACES (Adverse Childhood Experiences) test is a really good predictor of whether someone will have cptsd or not. in my experience, being in social circles with other cptsd sufferers for years, most of us have an ACES score of 4+, typically 6+. I personally have one of 9.

to take the ACES test for your muse (or for yourself!), you can do so right here.

VIII.                                                                           𝐑𝐄: 𝐂𝐎-𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐘

with cptsd, typically comes a slew of other co-morbid conditions, both physical and mental. I’d recommend doing your research on which conditions overlap most commonly, but here are a few:

depression

anxiety

bipolar disorder

autoimmune disorders

alcoholism/drug abuse

heart disease/stroke

also important to mention that cptsd, just like ptsd, can be highly dabilitating and disabling. for many of us, it causes massive strain on our interpersonal relationships, ability to work, ability to care for ourselves, ability to have financial stability, and more. if your muse has cptsd, unless they are deep into their recovery, it would be most respectful to play them as having disability.

IX.                                                            𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃

finally, to cover one of the most important points: recovery. recovery from cptsd is a long road, and usually life-long, non-linear and very slow going. it generally requires having a really good psychiatric care team, including a therapist and psychiatrist, often being on medication (if not many medications) for the rest of your life, and having to reprocess the horrific trauma you experienced.

healing does not look like “man-ing up” or “just getting over it”. it does not look like distracting yourself with work/school/hobbies and then immediately being back in a bad space the second you’re alone with your thoughts. a lot of people mistake moving forward physically in life while still dissociating as healing.

true healing comes from revisiting all of those core lessons taught to the inner child, reparenting the inner child, and grieving and processing what has happened to you in a safe and supportive environment. often it involves making painful, difficult decisions such as going no-contact with family members, if not all family. often it involves painful, difficult decisions such as parting ways with people you love and care for because they aren’t healthy for you, or aren’t respectful of your boundaries, or whatever be it. it also involves relearning quite a lot. relearning how to love yourself, how to love others, how to regulate your emotions, how to advocate for yourself, and so, so much more. if you are writing a muse who is in active cptsd recovery, please be cognizant of the fact that therapy for cptsd sufferers might look a lot different from therapy for other conditions.

X.                                                                                         𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

complex ptsd is a very nuanced and painful condition to have, and, as is true for most conditions, everyone experiences it differently. however, I’ve noticed in the rpc that portrayals of c/ptsd tend to follow the general media’s perception of the condition, which doesn’t do us sufferers any justice. it further spreads an incorrect narrative of what cptsd looks like, and dilutes what is a reality for a lot of us down into something that isn’t recognized when interacting with a cptsd sufferer. as a result, we can be treated unfairly, experience ableism, and have our conditions worsen even.

hopefully this post was at least a bit informative and I hope to see more representation of us out there in the rp world. thank you to everyone who read this, and feel free to leave a comment if I missed any big talking points! admittedly pretty tired now, but I think I touched on all the big outliers I’ve noticed.

happy rping and happy disability awareness month!

[mmorpg-escapism]

Am I a bit late to the party? Yes.

Did this take me several hours because my music taste is so widely varied? Also yes.

Claiming the open tag from @gatheredfates for this one ❤

Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

URL, yes, but seeing as Besany is mostly a self-insert this could be just for me alone too.

M - Meant To Live (Jon Bellion Version) (Switchfoot, Jon Bellion) M - More Than Useless (Relient K) O - Oh My Dear (Tenth Avenue North) R - Radioactive (Imagine Dragons) P - Paper Hearts (Silver Trees, Bailey Jehl) G - GONE (NF, Julia Michaels) - E - Enemy (Imagine Dragons, JID) S - Something Wild (Lindsey Sterling, Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness) C - CHRONICALLY CAUTIOUS (Braden Bales) A - Air For Free (Relient K) P - Perfectly Broken (BANNERS) I - In the Woodshop (Falling Up) S - Survivors (The Afters) M - MISTAKE (NF)

So many M songs @_@ why did I do this to myself

Tagging people is spooky (and I think every mutual I have has done this already?) but if you see this and want to do it, feel free to claim me! 😁

[fairymint]

do you ship any of your muses with some of your others? (Lol. Lmao even.)

From a muse-creation perspective, this blog is ship-focused! Yes, But, I'd say the major differences is how seriously I take the actual ships from each other. (these could be asks all their own, in complete honesty.) idk, I guess I have a compulsion to believe that my muses are prey to tropes and cliches and get critical- Plus, I don't write muses that I 'control', so it doesn't matter how "cringe" or pathetic I might find em- some ships are They're Idiots, others really sweet. Depends on what dynamic and emotions fuel the ship- I write ships that "deal with" character flaws, typically. it's narrative/introspective, morally. But I do know that I 'respect' the ships I have with others' muses more for the most part. though those are often a bit more planned or spontaneous, rather than the limbo my muses exist in between meeting and being 'really close'. (mid burn, really.) anyways.

I'm the most normal about Felix with either Rex or possibly Brookie- the most normie and mundane relationships I think I'd have here; though they aren't yet really 'canon' yet, probably due to being a bit lowkey? He's also not on the muse list currently, but my robot OC, Sterling, also falls into this but it is a little canon b/c he's just a sweetheart. I can't imagine Sterling with anyone but Felix, genuinely.

Most of my canons have an idealized relationship with Felix- shipping them a lot because they're genuine sweethearts, productive sweethearts. yayyyy altruism-

I'm super not normal about my Volo with any ship- because he's a muse that pushes the lust boundary quite close to the line; he's dramatic, he's a baby bi, he's kinky, and his ego size slides on the extreme scales- it's threateningly passionate. He's just not normal about people. He carries chaser energy without actually being one. I joke to myself 'he Will fetishize you' at times. So I find him amusing to make fun of, to a point. But the other half of the time I do adore him, because it's nice that he loves so hard, shows it well. it's just basic, man hot. but the consequences...

I state my opinion on finding Magnus a ridiculous chickenshit quite often, because the man can't communicate. What I like to do is joke like he's a loser, but am happy when he gets good things, ultimately.

I do Ship Pit and Shulk, they just seem like they'd be besties cause they're sweethearts, always have. bffs, boyfriends, whathaveyou. villager, aka Felix, with them is the OT3. I also ship Ninja and Shopkeeper, just cause snarkxmeathead is a stupid-fun dynamic.

I think the only muse I'm neutral towards shipping is Boyfriend, because he's just here to have a fun time- it sounds fun, but he just hasn't done anything besides say really unhinged stuff; it sounds funny as fuck in theory.

[whenmirrorimagestalk]

💖

Send “💖” and my muse will admit something they find cute about yours.

"What I find c-cute about S-Sterling? I guess h-how playful h-he is." Gwen shrugs

[quiiscnt]

― indie && selective fairy tail multi-muse rp blog written by Dia // PAGES

feat : Olexa Holl [oc] ✦ Rayne Lockser [oc] ✦ Juvia Lockser ✦ Chico C. Hammitt request only : Lucy Heartfilia ✦ Lilian Sterling [oc]

mun is 26 years old, she//her pronouns, role playing in this fandom for 9+ years !! interactions are reserved for mutuals only, very open to plots !! please read rules && basic about info !! activity is low due to school but can be reached easily !! graphic credit x

BLOG STATUS :

➤ asks : X ➤ drafts : 2

[frostymuses]

Calvin Sterling | Heterosexual | Hitman - Bodyguard FC: Ben McKenzie Age: 35  Gender: Male Birthdate: July 20, 1987 Hair: Brown Eyes: Blue Occupation: Freelance Gun/Hit

Declassified >> Personalized File >> Database >> Statistics

Calvin Logan Sterling

AKA: C. Sterling, Sterling, Silver Wolf

35. July 20, 1987

Birthplace >> Queens, New York

Male. he/him. Heterosexual

Affiliated >> Self Employed Freelance

Hired Gun, Hitman, Bodyguard, Former Bouncer

Face Claim: Ben McKenzie

Hair >> Brown

Eye >> Blue

Height >> 5"11

Style: Professional suits. Leather jackets. dark jeans. essentially dark blues & black

Addictions >> None

Drug Use >> None 

Familial Files >> Known Associations

>> Estranged Half Brother  >> Conan Sterling

>> Former Girlfriend >> Charlene Maddox  >> deceased

Cancer. Water. Melancholic. Chaotic Neutral.

>> Distant

>> Driven

>> Sympathetic

>> Melancholic

Offenses On Public Records >> Information

Weapons Possession >> Charged & Subsequently Released

Murder Arrest  >> insufficient evidence >> released

Involuntary Manslaughter >>  3 of a 5 year sentence served

A man born with a bolt of steel instead of a silver spoon in his mouth; Sterling, known to most of his associates, had a troubled upbringing left in a slum dive on the east end of Queens, New York. Growing up with his mother, he barely knew he had a father until he was older. The man already had a wife and decided to set up his mother and bastard son in the worst part of the city. A politician’s dirty little secret. For Calvin Sterling the man was worth next to nothing and drove part of his choices to a life on the other side of the law. 

mainly running with small time boy gangs as a teen, Sterling broke from the mold when his mother took sick. Attempting to make a better decision in life he focused on school but the call back to the streets and the crime with it held a strong touch. It took a sharp turn when Calvin was responsible for the murder of his mother’s landlord. It was in defense of his mother who was in danger from owing back rent but most balked at the idea the man even tried to hurt her. At 18, Sterling was convicted on an involuntary manslaughter charge, serving 3 out of his 5 year sentence. Only being released for good behavior and to finish off with community service. Maybe light in comparison to what he could have gotten but Sterling set on the path of NOT letting his emotions bubble over and act where he could get caught.

By the time he was out his mother was on the verge of death, her illness back in full swing. At this time Sterling ran back in with some of his old boy hood gangs. They were grown this time, moving into the territory of genuine mob and thugs of New York. Sterling himself took to the life of hired thug, a gun in his hand every night now. Moving from jobs as club security to bouncers, he used the honest work to cover his less than honest profession working for organized criminal rings. It became the norm for him to be the hired gun, fully transitioning to operating hit man and bodyguard for some important people in the underground. His personal life had a bright spot once but that quickly faded. Charlene Maddox might have been a brief flicker in a dark career but her flame snuffed out due to Sterling’s world of crime and consequences. Currently he’s working as a freelance gun and hit man, retaining an estranged relationship with his half brother Conan Sterling, a powerful CEO/Attorney ( VERSE DEPENDENT ) that is a whole other side to the corrupt coin of their family.

[rottncores]

when  the  barrier  had  dropped  his  veins  felt  like  a  match  had  been  struck  against  them  and  ignited.  so  not  only  had  they  been  keeping  him  locked  up  as  a  prisoner,  but  they’d  also  stolen  what  was  his  birthright  -  his  powers.    now  that  he’s  free,  no  one’s  going  to  stop  him  from  reaching  his  full  potential.   even  if  he  has  to  burn  down  all  of  auradon.  sterling’s  sitting  in  the  backyard  of  gaston  jr’s  party  and  doing  what  was  already  quickly  becoming  a  favorite  pastime  of  his  -  screwing  with  the  royals.   for  a  good  five  minutes  now  he’s  been  using  his  telekinesis  to  yank  the  drink  out  of  this  one  guy’s  hand  and  dangling  it  over  his  head.   a  spiteful  laugh  falls  from  his  lips  as  he  dumps  the  drink  all  over  the  guy’s  date  and  causes  a  fight  between  them.   when  a  hand  comes  down  on  sterling’s  shoulder,  his  eyes  flash  orange  and  fingers  ignite  as  he  turns  towards  the  other.   “  you  want  to  keep  your  hands  to  yourself?   the  smell  of  burning  flesh  would  surely  ruin  this  delightful  get  together  and  we  wouldn’t  want  that,  would  we?  “    ft. @rosaelty

[mydiazboys]

MARCH [TUWYAN]

The last thing Leah had expected when her phone was ringing was for it to be Hen on the other end, telling her that she needed to get to the hospital. Of course, it was late and she had already been asleep so it took a few times of Hen repeating herself before it clicked. And then she was getting dressed in the first outfit she could fit into, her feet just sliding into her sneakers when someone was at her door.

Eddie. Hen had also called him, and told him to pick her up. So they arrived at the hospital together, and they got the story from Hen. Chimney had been stabbed, he’d lost a lot of blood.

It didn’t take long for the trio to get settled into the waiting room, Leah was dozing off straight away, her body physically exhausted as well as emotionally. Eddie had her wrapped up against his side, gently rubbing her stomach as he kissed the top of her head. Hen was sitting near them, a cup of stale coffee in her hand as they waited. Waited for any news about Chimney.

“Hey, Hen, can you-?” He gestured to the snoozing pregnant woman against him, before he gestured to where he knew Athena had Buck sitting.

“Of course,” Hen nodded her head, taking the position of the Texan, and letting the woman snuggle up against her side. It was going to be a long night for them all, the least they could do was make sure Leah was comfortable in the last stages of her pregnancy.

When Leah awoke, it was getting light out and she found that she was snuggled against Bobby, who was also dozing now. A glance around, she saw that some of the 118 Shift B had replaced the Shift C ones that were now on duty. Eddie and Hen were snoozing, each having long nights themselves but any loud and sudden noise had them stirring. But she couldn’t help but realise that they were missing some key members.

“Bugsy?” She called out, frowning as she tried to twist her body to find him. “Maddie?”

“Lee,” Eddie breathed, hushing her softly as he was startled awake by her voice, moving to quickly tug her up against his body, rubbing her back. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“Where’s Bugsy?” She asked, frowning as she settled back down into his chest.

“He’s-” He frowned, because he realised that she had also called out for Maddie. Which meant she didn’t know. Maybe that was intentional, so she wouldn’t have added stress on her or the baby. “Lee, you know that- that Doug did this to Chimney, right?” He asked, looking down at her.

The expression that crossed her face was an answer, and the fact that she was now panicking. “He got Maddie?” She whispered, sniffling as he nodded his head, cuddling her close to his body once more. “Bugsy went after them,” she mumbled, stating it instead of asking. Because she knew Buck. And she knew he wouldn’t return without Maddie.

As the sun rose in the sky, the conversations picked up between different members. Telling stories about Chimney from before some of them were around, telling stories that Leah had been present for. It got around to Hen, and she was telling them a story about when he babysat Denny for her and Karen one time, and they were laughing out softly. 

“We come home and find him asleep, shirtless, on the floor with Denny on top of him, a fan blowing at them, and the vacuum cleaner running in the corner.”

“Wow, uh, he went all out, huh?” Eddie mused, rubbing his chin.

“I’ll have to ask him for tips when this little one is keeping me up all hours,” Leah laughed softly, rubbing her bump where Baby Sterling-Diaz was kicking up a storm, like clockwork.

Her head dropped onto Eddie’s shoulder, as her eyes were blinking slowly. It was hard to stay happy for long, not when they were worried about Chimney and Maddie. His fingers rubbed her knee gently, before their hands were clasping together and fingers tangled together, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Reinforcements arrived, in the disguise of Michael and Harry. Hen got up to greet them, and Leah smiled widely at Harry as he went up and hugged Hen, before making his way around to hug her.

“Hey, monster,” she greeted him, rubbing his side as she looked up at Michael.

“Oh, Harry and I were out. I needed to get some coffee, then we thought you guys probably need some, too,” Michael explained as he handed out the different bags to everyone, the last one to Eddie.

“Ah, we haven’t met but I love you,” Eddie sighed happily, holding out his hand for Michael to shake. “Eddie.”

“Ah, Leah’s baby daddy?” Michael teased, sharing a look with the exhausted blonde. “Michael, pleasure.” He looked back at the blonde, humming. “There’s a decaf in there, just for you, sweetheart.”

“Michael, you’re the fucking best,” she announced, even though the cursing had Harry scolding her.

“For you, I try.” And the pair were laughing out together, as Bobby was joining them. Harry was offering him one of the bakery treats from the pink box.

“You check on Chim?” Hen asked.

“Yeah, he’s still in surgery,” Bobby explained, as he tucked his bear claw into a napkin. “It’s starting to feel like an annual tradition. Another hospital, another girlfriend not by his bedside, and me wondering what I’m supposed to tell him when he wakes up.”

“We’ll tell him the truth. Whatever that turns out to be.” A glance back at the pair, who were snuggled back up in the uncomfortable waiting room seats. Fingers tangled together on his thigh as he got her decaf coffee made to perfection. Hen raised her brow as she shared a look with Bobby, who nodded his head knowingly.

Shannon had arrived at lunchtime, with Christopher and a selection of pizzas. Upon seeing Eddie and Leah tangled up together, sharing a donut and just in general looking close, her sour mood had turned even more sour. But Christopher was excited to see the mother of his half-sister, instantly sitting himself next to her while Eddie got distracted with Shannon. Obviously, when the heavily-pregnant woman had to get up to pee, Christopher took that as his opportunity to seek out Chimney.

She sent an apologetic look to the Texan when he had returned with his son, who once again made a bee-line for Leah, getting himself snuggled up under her arm as Eddie returned to his seat beside Shannon.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Christopher asked her, raising his head with his smile stretched across his lips.

“Not yet, me and your dad can’t agree,” she replied, reaching out to take the pack of cards from his backpack. “Wanna play?” She asked, brow raising when he eagerly agreed. “Okay, but I’m really good at snap.” She challenged, smirking as she got herself sat opposite him, shuffling the cards and splitting them evenly.

The pair would play for a while, setting down card after card with Christopher winning more ‘snaps’ than Leah, and to anyone watching, they could see she was letting him win. But they could also see that she was having the time of her life with the boy.

“Oh, hello, little one,” she said, gasping softly as the baby in her stomach became active after being asleep for a while.

“Is she moving?” Christopher asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah, you wanna feel?” She offered, and he scooted across, letting Leah take his hand and rest it against her stomach where the baby was most active.

“Woah, it’s like an alien,” he whispered, eyes wide. And Leah couldn’t help but laugh, because she remembered the first time she felt the baby move before the first big kicks, where she had let Eddie touch her stomach. She would have described it in a similar way.

Leah had no doubt that Christopher would be the most amazing big brother to his little sister, but a glance over at Eddie and Shannon had her wondering just how much time the half-siblings would get together.

[biirds]

hey watch your back! that’s sterling “birdie” andrews. people say she has lived in sunnyvale for 1 year. I heard they are a 21 year old student and museum guide. don’t you think they look like elle fanning? they remind me of worn down roller skates, books filled with scribbles and doodles, summer rain, vanilla flavored drinks, pink lipstick on someone else’s cheeks.

THE BASICS

full name: sterling andrews

nicknames: birdie, by everyone. 

age: 21 years old

hometown: shadyside

current location: sunnyvale

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: bisexual

occupation: fine arts student at sunnyside university; museum guide

playlist

B I O

it starts as any other story: boy meets girl, the seasons change, and suddenly there’s a house, a baby and a future. henry and eva andrews are the epitome of possibility, a bright eyed young couple, born and raised in shadyside, believing they are the future of the town. for a couple of years, sterling lives in a fantasy world, a reformed farm house filled with books, baby toys and colorful flyers. but fate always has a funny way of chasing after people.

eva andrews dies when sterling is barely two. there is no big accident or mystery, just an unexpected heart attack that transforms her childhood into a murky place. at times, birdie remembers the golden afternoons, her father teaching her how to ride the bike, climbing trees with friends, cheap ice cream sandwiches and laughter. at others, there are only bitter winters with screaming matches and a loneliness that seems incurable. henry andrews drinks some fingers of whisky every night with a sad little grin, and they never talk about the ghost that lives with them. 

birdie learns the piano because that’s what her mother played, but she’s only ever decent with it. she plays at the little league because it makes her father smile, gets the best grades in class, works her ass off in a shitty diner. for at least sixteen years she is a chronic people pleaser, hiding her more rebellious tendencies with smiles and pleasantries. the only thing she allows herself to have selfishly are sketchbooks filled with paint, charcoal and the angsty musings of a teenager.

after a gap year of working and torturing herself with the weight of the future, birdie submits her sketchbook to sunnyvale university. she gets a full ride scholarship to the fine arts program. birdie packs her bags and doesn’t dare to look back, because she knows it would make her come back running to the only place that’s ever been home (as fucked up as it could be at times).

T R I V I A

has an one eyed black cat named meowbeth siddal. siddal is generally a ball of love and purring around birdie and a menace to anyone else. beware.

her father is a middle school math teacher. her mother used to be an union organizer.

though birdie loves working on her own pieces, which are a mix of disturbing and romantic, she intends on becoming an art restorer, since the work (and the paychecks) allow for more stability. 

carries her father’s old film camera everywhere. if you’re her friend there’s probably some pictures of you hanging around her room.

her favored method of transport is going around in her beat up roller skates.

W A N T E D  C O N N E C T I O N S

childhood best friends - they were always sneaking to each other’s houses, climbing trees and exchanging books. most likely someone from shadyside who grew up and went to school together. their relationship might be rocky since birdie moved to sunnyside.

first sunnyvale friend - the person who took her under their wing when she first moved.

more to be added

[mcmcntomorii-later]

🎰 If you're up for it since I know I have a lot of muses (include baby girl Kana too) because this is always fun to see what crazy matches come out

  — Oh I’m so up for it lmao I’ll probably do lists by muse groups you have on your page that have more than five names listed lol instead of compiling one big list so here we go:

tl;dr -  I’m 1000000% down with all of these lmao and I’m down for discussing whatever kind of ship owo

The Vampires:

KYOKO MINORI

ELLIOT LEDGER

SEIJI KURANAGI

AIDEN LEDGER

VICTORIA LEDGER

   — oOOHHH honestly??? I’m down for any one of these ovo I would love more interactions between Mukuro and vampires!!! Either in her vampire verse or out of it

Lycanthropes:

ETIENNE BORDELEAU

DANTE ÁLVAREZ (TBA)

AIAS

LOTHAR ZURCHER

ALARIC ZURCHER

  — ooh again, honestly down for all and any of these ones ovo I don’t think I’ve interacted with any lycanthrope muses!! And I know Mukuro would very much be interested in Aias b/c of the white hair lol

Japanese Myths:

AMAYA

KAZAN

ISAO

INEI

YUKIKO

  — oooo another one where I’m down for any and all lmao with either Mukuro’s normal/human verses or even her dragon one as well!!! owo

Humans:

GENEVIEVE KENNEDY

BRIELLE SULLIVAN

NOVALEE ANDERSON

MICAH MARSHALL

ALAYNA EMERSON

The Chateau:

TALULLA

DREXEL

MEZRELLIE

MAIA

KIYOMI

The Traundrathe Pantheon:

ZELINE

CICERO

SILAS

KEANNE

MARIN

Greek Myths:

HADES

ARES

CHIONE

NIALL

HERMES

Celtic Myths:

AINMIRE Ó CEALLAIGH

THALLAN BREATHNACH

MAVIS MAC CATHÁIN

SIVELLE Ó CEALLAIGH

FINN

Atlantians:

LEIGH DENNISON

ISAAC WINCHESTER

COLLETTE LIVINGSTON

BENEDICT MELLODRONGEA

ALDEN ATKINSON

Elementum:

STERLING CHRISTOU

ICARUS MCKNIGHT

AEROS VERMILLION

DEXTER CARUSO

LAGUNA DEVEREAUX

The Underground and Covens:

ESTHER YOUNG

NARCISSA BLIXT

PETRA OZBOURNE

MOTHER / MADRIA

ORION GRIMM

Town of Liandros:

MARLEIGH

MAGNÚS AÐALGEIRSON

MIKKEL EYRÍKURSON

ANEIRA LAVEAU

CHARLIZE

【 potential ship generator meme 】                 ♡                   【 accepting 】

[kiatheinsomniac]

G O D S A U

Defluxit Cieux (Faded Heavens)

Realm of the tragic gods, their environments reflect their struggles which have overcome many parts of themselves.

Soul for Sale

Arno: God of the arts (also mourning and justice)

In life, she had been the greatest artist: her pieces were in galleries and noble’s homes all over the world for their photo-like realism. Everyone knew her name, knew at least ten of her works. Her art graced every gallery and inspired millions.

But this came at a price.

(Y/n) had sold her soul to the god of the arts in exchange for five years to become the greatest artist history would ever see. There had been a few rules: no cheating death when it came knocking and she could only dedicate herself to art and art alone — she had sold her soul to him so no one else could have her.

She had once painted canvases but, when she died, she had painted the floor under the crushing weight of a chandelier at a venue.

The artist had been confused, to begin with. She wondered and wondered until the world faded to black, worried that she had become lost.

But, she had found herself standing in a stream of wine among the dark mist of the world between the flesh and the world of the spirit. She followed that stream, staining her skin as her feet sloshed through it, until it led her to a grand door.

Upon crossing the threshold, labouring to push the heady door open, she was greeted by slow clapping.

“Here’s the great artist at last.” A man’s voice called out with a smile.

There, seated on a throne, was the god she had sold her soul to. He wore rich clothing in deep blues and the room seemed to have a midnight glow to it. Everything looked like it had been pulled from the Baroque period and (Y/n) adored it.

She hurried over to the throne and fell to her knees at the steps, bowing her head.

“Thank you.” She whispered, voice trembling in awe, “I’ve made my home among history books.”

“And were you satisfied?” He leaned forwards to capture her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes to meet his.

A series of memories flickered through her head like the flashes of cameras she had known so well in life. Canvas tearing, paint splattering, glasses being smashed, statues’ clay faces being smeared and smothered, soft pillows and wet cheeks, hours spent sitting down in the shower.

“I was.” She replied. The god smiled knowingly and released her chin, leaning back then looking down at her.

“You can’t lie to me, (Y/n). I’ve been watching you since we made that deal.”

“All the time?” Her eyes widened. He tossed his head around playfully as he thought.

“Most of the time.” He reached for a glass of red wine which seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “You’ll be taken away for the next hour or so before we begin.”

“Begin what?” She furrowed her brows.

“We had a deal. Deals are only made when there is a benefit for both parties, non?” A french accent slipped past his lips as he regarded her with a sense of melancholy almost.

“I let you slip past my fingers once and now you’ve come back to me, bound yourself to me. I won’t let you leave again. You’ll be satisfied this time, I promise.” He reached out to cup her face, thumb caressing her cheek affectionately.

Her eyes widened slightly as she was pulled to her feet. Statues of marble, cold as snow and soft as cotton, plucked her up by her arms and began carrying her away.

“What do you mean?” She blurted out, confused.

“Welcome home.” He simply smiled. Her dark brows furrowed over her steel blue eyes, even more confused than before.

—————

The Gods were less divine than they wished to seem. They were immortal, powerful, yes. But they were always victim to their own emotions. Fear that she would leave had devoured him, longing for her to return had tortured him and regret for ever letting her go in the first place had haunted him for nearly three decades.

But she was back now and he wouldn’t lose her again.

So, she sat at his feet. Black silk pooled around her, the dark colour a striking contrast against her pale skin. Sterling painted a thin layer around her ankles and wrists, the thinnest and strongest of chains connecting her to him, phasing through whatever object she may try to break them with.

A silver band, encrusted with glittering garnets decorated her ring finger.

In the flesh that came with new life, she had forgotten who she had been in spirit: the goddess of desire and fixation. She had been married to the god of the arts but, being the divinity of desire, nothing was ever enough. She had snuck away from him to lead a life among living mortals, leaving behind everything in search of more. But she hadn’t been able to change her nature of fixation: art. It was her passion.

In flesh as in spirit, she had been willing to do anything to harness the most beautiful art that the world had to give. To begin with, she had collected it. But it wasn’t enough. She began to create her own art, but it wasn’t good enough. She eventually began to pray to the god of the arts, hoping he would bless her with all the skill she needed to be the very best.

This is how he had found her again. For years, he had been grief stricken by the disappearance of his wife, mourning her and longing for her to return. She had left him as so many others had. However, in finding her, he had come up with a new idea: to trick her into binding herself to him so that she would never leave him again.

Everything had gone to plan and the only catch was the five years in which he had to wait for her. But she was here now. And she wouldn’t leave.

Her head fell against his knee and he reached down to stroke her hair affectionately. She hummed and turned her face to him. Her hair had grown a lot since she had died to be with him again: it now fell to her waist in loose curls and she realised that her new desire was him. Her chin became propped on his knee while she looked at him over the thick book on his lap.

The pages were battered and worn: as old as the first play, the first note of a song, the first sign of art.

“I’m tired.” She mumbled against his leg, feeling him smile, even without looking up. She could hear the pages of the book close before he leaned down to pull her onto his lap, her silk skirts pouring over the both of them like black gold.

She rested her head against his shoulder while her hand went up to gently caress the side of his face. He pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled softly at her as she nuzzled her face against him.

“I want to start writing plays.” She hummed as he lifted her up bridal style and carried her out of the throne room.

“No you don’t.” He chuckled softly, allowing servants to open any doors that stood in his way while his wife leaned against his chest. He knew that if she started writing, she wouldn’t be able to stop and it would consume her. “Why don’t we get you some more paintings?”

She smiled contentedly at the idea of this, “I want ones with flowers and women in pretty satin dresses.” She mused as he sat her down on the bed and delicately slid the dark dress off her body, the midnight silk slipping over her creamy skin, leaving her in deep burgundy lace.

She sat there patiently, picturing what paintings she could add to her vast collection while Arno undressed himself.

(Y/n) was often mistaken for the goddess of art, leaving people to believe Arno was the god of theatre and music. But this misconception was created by art being the fixation goddess’s very fixation. She sat and pondered over how many people still believed it. She felt the mattress dip and turned over to cuddle up to her lover, feeling his large hands splay down her back soothingly, pressing her against his body.

She laid there, in the comfort of their romantically lit room, thinking. She was adorned in rich fabrics and fine jewels every day but she wanted more, needed more, desired more. Yet she also desired nothing more than him at once. It was a complex balance which she was yet to figure out.

“Arno?” She murmured against his chest. He tilted his head down to show that she had his attention. (Y/n) shifted slightly to prop her chin on his chest in order to meet those dark brown eyes. “Why did I leave? All I want is you but all I want is more? Why did I leave you behind?”

He let out a thoughtful sigh as his eyes closed in order to piece his mind together. They had already established that she could recall nothing of her previous life with him, just the life which she spent as a mortal.

“Because you’re difficult to please, chérie; and it’s not your fault. Your desires and fixations are at war — they go perfectly yet clash at the same time. I failed to give you my attention: I neglected you, failed to show my love to you, failed to even give you more than an hour of my time per week. With your desire gone, your fixation took over and you left to chase a life of art.”

He watched her (e/c) orbs fill with tears and her lower lip tremble. “I’m sorry that I left you for all those years. I didn’t know.”

He pushed her hair behind her ear, coaxing her to lay her head against his chest. His fingers glided down her arm to the silver cuffs that were melted onto her immortal skin — no latch nor key could open them.

“Don’t apologise. It’s ok now because I won’t repeat my mistake. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

—————

The story varies from here: some say that they continued to live happily, others say that he had put her in a trance so that she wouldn’t leave and some even say he killed her after that moment. Only the gods themselves know.

[creation-is-chaos]

There was nothing in the night save for sighs. Gasping and clutching him closer numbed the atmosphere of much thought. Precision is an attentive lover all of its own. Corvus’ focus becomes her thighs wrapped around his torso, gripping tightly to the warm flesh with his fingers. He marked her there. Leaving imprints of his digits, his lips devoured her throat, tickling the soft skin with each suck. 

His hair was unruly when he lifted his head. Following the swipe of her fingers along his jaw, he allowed her to savor the texture of his goatee as she often does. 

Corvus shifts aside. Stroking fingers along hers is brief. He lets her touch fall away. Quick he is to settle. Harsh breath stirs him out of his highest peak. There is thrill in release. It transforms him to a different kind of terror. Carnality sates his thirst in the physical form. Yet bloodlust remains if the evening calls for such an outing. 

Tonight calls for something else entirely as the midnight hour surpasses itself. A single light follows him glowing with the flicker of a lighter. Exiting the bedroom after fixing his state of dress, Corvus moves to a sitting room. 

He stands near the window. Overlooking an expanse of property Villa Rosa sits majestically. An expensive spot away from inner city. Detroit itself is full of curiosities. There are people who belong to bustling streets. Then there are those weak, uncultured with the life of sleepless cities. Corvus can say he falls in neither category. Though he leans more towards belonging to the smoky underside of it all. That much is true. 

The man inhales smoke. Blowing it slowly through his lips casts fog onto the pane. He stares at the spot. Dark eyes pierce it looking beyond as thoughts come to fruition. 

He does not even hear her enter. Nor does he flinch with her hand sliding up middle of his back. Far more slippery than most she is. Dainty on feet. Yet it is all part of her talents most are none the wiser to discover. That is the difference. Corvus knows most. Perhaps not all but most will have to do. 

“Are you having a moment?” She wondered where his mind veered lately. 

“....you know I enjoy my solitude.” 

“Is it always so bleak?” Her question came rhetorically as she knows the answer. At least it is clear Corvus DeVille is no ordinary man. He is dangerous. Then she has known dangerous up close. “My beautiful moon,” she whispers, pressing a palm to his chest, fingers smoothed against the black fabric. “You perfect how unreadable you are as a person. But even someone who is around you for a long time may see the storm brewing.” 

“Astute, Stefani.” He does commend her observational skills. “I am aware of the tension of the city.” His fingers ghost along her jaw. Placing the cigarette between his lips again, he glances at the window. 

“You are aware of Elijah Kamski.” Stefani states the obvious. While he may not say it she understands how it ripped through him. Corvus is a man of secrets. A walking enigma. Even when she sleeps in his bed, knows him outside the shell of the poised gentleman he still exudes mystery. She is well aware of how fierce he can. He did leave her a trembling mess tonight. That is no different from any other.

When he turned back to gaze down at her, she slipped a hand up to pull the cigarette from his mouth. Her lips pressed up to his. Tasting everything in him left no other richness on her tongue. He is smoky. Wicked and true. “It is alright to say you miss him.”

“I miss no one,” Corvus made clear, gripping tightly to her hip. 

A huff left her as he pulled her close. That motion can damn a thousand others. But she? She craves those hands squeezing her breathless. “Would you miss me my moon?”

His lip curls. Releasing her from the hold, he takes the cigarette out of her hand and smashes it down into a marble ashtray. “Elijah Kamski betrayed everything I gave to him. We were teenagers. He younger. Thrust into a world of academia he had not physically reached but mentally. Others did not understand. Just as they do not understand me.” 

Stefani shifted towards him as he sat behind his desk. She chose to perch upon the edge and adjusted her satin robe for comfort. “You think I do not understand you?” 

He leaned forward. “Would you betray me?”

Oh he counters with weight. Stefani shook her head. “Why should I betray what makes me ignite? You are a hard man to slip into Corvus DeVille. An even harder man to let go.” 

Corvus watched her lips move with the words. An oath. A dedication. He knew it from Elijah. They were dedicated. No one else could obtain what they had together as confidantes. Partners. Soulmates. Loyalty or lack thereof made it crumble down. “I abide by loyalty above all else. When it is broken you are dead to me.” 

Stefani realized only bits and pieces of his relationship with Mr. Kamski. Corvus had mentioned only enough. He never opens up completely. Total vulnerability could never be him but even if he had a moment of weakness she would still love him. It is only a way to show he is human. Yet that is a tall order to expect from a man who is so emotionally closed. He does not speak words of love. He needs not to frankly. Stefani just knows. She also knows hurt hidden in the face of terror. 

“Listen darling,” she encouraged it with a lean, hands cupping his face. Her head dipped to meet his dark eyes. “There is nothing you can do about him.” 

“I may kill him.” 

“Is that what you want?” Oh no she doesn’t think so but it seems that is his deflection for most things. Murder. Death for punishment. Yes he is vicious. She knows being with him puts her in a whole other world of disaster. Then she isn’t an innocent herself.

Corvus says nothing. Their silent eye contact shatters with an abrupt knock at the door. 

“Mr. DeVille! You should see this!” 

Stefani pulls away, curiously but her lover is already up from his seat. There is something frantic about his security’s tone. 

“Remain here.” Corvus instructs her out of caution. 

“....C-Corvus....Deville...” 

The strangled words of the man in the foyer give no answers to his state when Corvus arrives. Blood leaves a trail on his floor. Several people are already around the man. Security of course but one of the house staff cradles the man’s head. Incoherent words spill form his lips as he fades in and out. 

“Where did he come from?” 

“He was dumped over the line, Mr. DeVille.” 

Nodding his head, he steps over. Over the line from Kamski territory. Yes, it seems to be a message but not a very discreet one. Sloppy these days, Elijah? Or simply uncaring in your missteps? “Good, Sterling.” Corvus understood they brought him here for a purpose. “What has he said?”

“Kamski’s name. Regards.” The man simply known as Sterling answered with a dead stare down at the man bleeding. He stepped over and reached down, feeling for the knife still lodged deeply. A groan of pain rippled up the stranger’s throat when it was removed. 

Corvus took it out of Sterling’s hand. Flipping it over, he sniffed the air briefly recognizing the blade. “Calling cards can be subtle if no immediate mark is viable. However there is something about the particular model of a knife that tells a story.” Smearing the blood off the side of the carbon steel painted his index finger. Elijah. “A random man sent to stir me. Out of character or paranoia. Get rid of him if he has nothing else to give.” 

Taking the knife with him, Corvus pauses, gaze resting on Stefani’s appearance. She looked at the man they were now carrying off. A quick look but then she met his eyes. 

“You never do listen my ivy.” 

“Corvus, who-?”

“I will be in bed shortly.” He interrupts her chance to ask him any further questions. This knife will be kept in his private collection. Awaiting its owner....

feat. muses: @st300x​ @cyberneticxcollective​

in response to @creatorofclay​ | here

[theghostofagentweiss]

Watch Dog

Clay sat next to Ray's bed with his arms wrapped around his legs, hugging them close to his chest. He was humming a little diddy and tapping the tune out on his shoes. He had curled up a bit after Sterling had left but he wasn't doing anything but looking sad. Clay was trying to convince himself he'd have to get used to that for a while. He couldn't touch him or comfort him so he hummed a little song in a vain attempt to cheer him from the other side.

Other side of what though? The veil? The barrier?

As a nurse approached Clay looked up then to Ray to see what he would do. What he hadn't expected was rage to explode out of his timid little friend. He'd seen him rage before but there was just so much anguish in this, it broke his little ghost heart.

"Hey! Woah! It's ok! Don't be mean to the nice nurse. She's worried about you. I want her to help you, you goof. Come on. Aw--Not the water bottle. You need that. Stay fucking hydrated! NNNNN! I just wanna get you another one but LOOK. AT. THIS. SHIT." To punctuate the last few words Clay swung his arms through a nearby water bottle, passing through it uselessly each time. He sighed and walked back over to Ray. He wished he could at least sit in the chairs. Be at eye level with him. Recline. Something.

"Come on, Champ. We got this."

++++

Clay watched as Germaine slipped in while Ray was sleeping.

"AYYYYYYY Mad Dog!" He greeted, knowing full well he wouldn't hear him or answer. "Pull up a chair. I'm dealing. King's high. Aces wild. Jack... and coke. I don't know how to play poker. I'm making shit up." He mused to himself as he sat on the floor, criss cross applesauce and wiggling his knees while holding his ankles.

Germaine looked like he fell asleep shortly after waiting for Ray to wake so Clay laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't sure how long he had been here but he knew he hadn't slept. He must not need to.

He sat up immediately as Ray jolted awake.

"What? What? Who? You ok?" Before he remembered again he couldn't be heard. It was weird. He loved making friends and being social and now here he was, trapped alone forever. Some invisible wall between himself and everyone and everything he cared about.

Clay loved that everyone kept offering to let Ray just unleash his feelings. It was nice. At least he knew people would take care of Ray. He couldn't really seem to do anything. But then again, it hadn't even been a day. He supposed he could have been walking around SHIELD if he tried. Maybe go see Ari. Sterling. Burr. Learn classified intel. He could even leave SHIELD. Go home. See his brother. See his mom. Gruber. He wondered if he could get on a plane. Walking to Louisiana to see his dad would be interesting... Though he'd probably have to fly in for his funeral. He'd see him soon. Right now though, he just wanted to be with Ray. Make sure he was ok. Make sure people were taking care of him. He was also kind of afraid to go home. He didn't want to see his brother in the same state as Ray. He'd only seen his brother cry once his whole life. He couldn't imagine seeing it again.

No, he'd stay here for now.

Germaine swooping in with an invite to stay at his apartment with him. That was an incredibly nice offer. Man, Clay was so lucky to have made friends with them. Even if it was brief, they were good guys. Clay watched them as they talked through the logistics of Ray staying at Germaine's apartment but Clay furrowed his brow when Ray started signing.

"How am I supposed to spy on you when you do that. I can't understand that."

“I k-keep wondering, if I had b-been there, if I c-could have made a d-difference. I wish I c-could have been there to help. I sh-ould have b-been. He was my first .. self-made fr-riend.”

"Aw dude... No. Everyone needs to stop blaming themselves. It was Bancroft who did this. I'm not mad. I'm not mad!" Clay frowned, wanting them to hear him so badly. "You were a good friend, Germaine. I didn't know you well but... You really need to see Die Hard though."

“It was sudden. There wasn’t really anything even I could do. Not with- not with fucking Riggs and his super strength there!”

"Was he the big beefy dude?"

Clay was watching the conversation so intently, listening and frowning at their sad reminiscing, but he made a face of discomfort when Germaine offered to lay in bed with Ray. 

“Dude, I’m right here. Oh. Wait. I’m dead. Fuck. Well, this...” He sighed through his nose and found himself curling into himself on the floor beside them, hugging his knees. He was suddenly aware of how incredibly lonely he was. He couldn’t lay down with Ray. He couldn’t snuggle. He couldn’t touch. Anyone. Not to mention it was kind of awkward to watch another man climb in bed with your boyfriend. But Ray needed a cuddle and he couldn’t give him that. 

Clay hugged his legs so tight and rested his forehead on his knees. He didn’t want to watch this anymore. It hurt. Should he leave? No... No, he didn’t want to leave them. For the first time since becoming a ghost Clay felt himself starting to cry. The tears slipped out before he could really do anything to stop them and he wiped them quickly with his hand, sniffling softly. Was this his eternity now? He supposed it was hitting him harder now because Ray had been refusing physical contact so Clay’s lack of ability to provide it hadn’t bothered him. 

But now he wanted it. 

Now he needed it. 

But all he had was himself curled against the wall beside the hospital bed containing his two best friends lamenting his death. 

“I’m right here... It’s ok.” He whispered to his knees. “I wish you could hear me...”