#V. ꩜ TBD.

[oathfcrged]

@neptunemused : [ distance ] unable to touch or embrace receiver, sender self-soothes by wrapping their arms around themselves // aithne.

He  tosses  and  turns  most  of  the  night  and  try  as  he  might  Aksel  isn’t  able  to  fall  asleep.  It’s  quiet  and  he  figures  everybody  else  is  asleep  until  he  steps  out  to  see  Aithne  in  the  distance,  arms  wrapped  around  herself  as  if  she’s  caught  a  chill.  But  it’s  not  all  that  cold  out,  in  fact  the  air  is  a  little  thick  and  humid  and  the  cool  breeze  that  hits  him  is  a  welcome  relief.  

Aksel  slowly  approaches  her  from  behind,  he’s  cautious  as  he  steps  to  stand  beside  her.  There’s  been  an  underlying  tension  between  them  ever  since  they  were  reunited  with  one  another.  There’s  plenty  left  unsaid  and  a  past  that  they  were  yet  to  delve  into,  there  would  be  a  time  and  place  to  do  that  -  perhaps  even  this  was  it.    “  Can  you  not  sleep?  ”    He  occasionally  catches  himself  thinking  about  what  they’d  once  had,  what  he  had  given  up  and  for  what?  All  for  the  approval  of  a  man  he’d  never  please.  Now  he  was  alone  and  Aithne  was  in  front  of  him,  yet  all  he  could  feel  was  guilt  for  not  following  through  on  the  plans  they’d  made  together.

Instinctively  he  finds  himself  wrapping  his  arms  around  himself  as  he  looks  at  her  curiously.    “  It  has  been  a  long  day  -  ”  He  struggles  for  words  and  it  shows,  lips  pursed  tightly  together  as  the  weight  of  their  past  sits  between  them.    “  Are  you  okay?  ”

[nachtsoklein]

[ reassure ] sender reassures receiver by rubbing their arm up and down, hoping to ease their stress.

prompts for touch-starved muses.

it's not like a switch, per se, but the gradual effect is immediately notable, body automatically leaning into touch, seeking out the grounding. kurt slips his tail into his own wringing hands so it doesn't do something embarrassing like curl around spider - man's arm like a child clinging to someone's sleeve. the man's seen him in a state enough already.

a release of breath. ❛ ... right. not the end of the world. ... again. yet. ❜

[werexcat]

It was the wind, blowing the newspaper into his face, that caused him to get ahold of it in the first place, and though he didn’t read these at all, Gabriel knew what it was, but that wasn’t what caught his eye.

What caught his eye was the flashy designs and bold font that brought the ad to the front, holding onto his attention with ease.

“Fine … establishment… People… of all walks … of life…”

It was … a job offer, wasn’t it?

“No pre-ju-dice… of what you are… Try your luck”

This … was a job—a job in a paper… and though he didn’t know what a cab-bar-ret was, maybe he could do this. Though it’d depend on what he’d be doing…

Folding the paper to keep the newspaper open to the ad, he began a search for the Thorn Rose which took a bit until he found a place that matched what was had in the add. It was … bright. Adjusting his pack on his back, Gabriel was frowning though he had the paper in hand, but he steeled himself and carefully made his way towards the first person he saw. / @redlips-blooddrops-deux !

[proephecy]

*       grief was a spindle waiting to be pricked. unavoidable, against all odds    ——    we think that it will not happen to us, but it does. it does. it will.      fortuna knows loss like the lines on her palms.      she knows death the way she knows her cards.      "   i don't want to die.   "      @ettienchanted says, and fortuna knows she should be less callous, but she cannot find it in her. forgive her   ——   two hundred years of solitude hardens the tongue.      "   want is irrelevant. you can die. you will. even the immortal can end somehow.   "      nothing ever stays. her tone softens if only for a second, tinged curious.      "   does death frighten you  ?   "

[fightwing]

do you think he's maybe compensating for something? ( playful gossiping about bruce teehee ) / @supurman

for someone so used to putting on a show, dick never did get used to the endless performance at a gala. the posturing, the people, the pretending to be the person others wanted to see rather than their late night performance was, all together, exhausting. maybe if it was a genuine gathering of their nearest and dearest friends dick might sing a different song, but lost in the endless sea of yes i am that grayson, yes it was a tragedy and 'no i don't want to discuss business proposals', he tends to tire by the first round of h'orderves. so while he does clock someone approaching, he doesn't tempt fate by turning. a critical mistake as the voice rings familiar in his mind, and his instantly bright smile is cut only by the joyous " clark! " leaving his mouth. he claps a welcoming hand on his shoulder and this, at least was genuine. a dear friend and a treasured confidant, it seemed superman always came to the rescue. dick registered his comment, and laughed, a teasing eye roll accompanying his agreement: " over-compensating. " as they both looked back towards where bruce was laughing loudly, and to their knowledge, facetiously. vicki's latest piece in the gotham gazette had hit a little too close to home, so bruce was working overtime on his whole brucie wayne persona tonight and dick was only really here as the necessary out he would need when he'd pretend to have one too many and be ultimately corralled by his well-meaning eldest. CLEARLY unfit for the profile of a competent batman appearance tonight. overall, there were worse ways to spend an evening, but that did mean dick was technically on duty until bruce had satisfied the mental picture he was aiming for. " what brings you to gotham? here for the show too? " by the tight line of bruce's shoulders, the pinch between his sharp eyebrows and the fact he'd been talking to the worst gossip in gotham for the better part of a half hour, dick would wager they had a solid fifteen more minutes before bruce threw in the socialite towel. " i'd place your bets now. don't think he can hold out for much longer. "

[conscriptur]

@hvbris said "there's nothing you can do for me now."

He despised the fact the girl was right. What was there for Peeta to do as the girl was being sent off to fight to the death just as he did before the whole rebellion. It angered the blond that this new government still agreed with decision to create a new games that in the time of discussing it with the other Victors and Coin herself, he disagreed with the idea. His vote of no did not stand a chance against those that approved—Haymitch and Katniss, who inevitably had more sway than he could ever had based solely on the fact he was trapped in the Capitol whilst they spent their time working hand in hand with the rebels.

It may have been unfair, but the announcement after the induction of the new President had been enough for Peeta to throw distasteful words at the two other District Twelve victors. If they had chosen to turn down the idea of the Freedom Games, as they put it, then maybe it would have fallen just as Alma Coin did on the day of assassination. Matters only became worse with the decision to make the previous Victors that were left mentors for these new Games. It was just like the Hunger Games, they were now to be controlled into reliving everything through mentorship and watching the Capitol children murder each other. Peeta was sick at the thought.

The weeks leading up to the Reaping, Peeta had made himself sick nearly every day and outbursts in his home had become even more frequent. It was as if the sliver of peace that he had found after his hijacking had flown away like the dying wisps of smoke from a fire. There was no aid or comfort in Katniss or Haymitch, he blamed them whole-heartedly, far more than the other Victors. Did this all not begin to save the children forced to be slaughtered like pigs?

Due to the mentors now being for the Capitol children, Victors travelled to the remnants of the once pristene and beautiful place to sit as the names were called out and matched with a Victor accordingly. Peeta’s face had paled at the name called in accordance with his name. Cassia Snow! Not only had he spent months with the girl in the Snow mansion but he was sure she would be the number one target for all the other kids when they decided they were no longer scared and could fight. As it was, her family caused this all to happen.

Peeta was slow to meet with his tribute terrorized by the idea of sitting down with Cassia and prepare her for—for what? Death? Just as Haymitch had done for him. Though, he finally sat with her in this quieted room, alone from the other tributes and Victors. A good thing too as he would have had his hands around Katniss’s neck, the itch clawing at him as certain aspects of the room brought him back to his captivity. He had been well immersed in his dread until the silence between them was cut. And the initial anger of her words being correct was a throb against his temple.

Cassia’s words hit him with the pressure of guilt. She had to have know she was the desirable one to fall victim to death first. What her grandfather did to him, unreedemable, and yet he was tugged by something inside him to attempt to save her. “I can help get you out alive.” Peeta offered before further thinking of the difficulty of it. If sponsors were to be part of the Freedom Games like the games before, he could not picture her receiving any due to the extended hatred. “I’ll do what I can to give you an advantage in there.”

[ninnekomata]

"OI! Mutt down there! Look up for a sec, eh?" the command skitters down the walls of the alleyway from the ledge of a closed window, inky black feline perched right on the thin edge of it. tails smacks against worn brick in irritation. a moment passes and then another shout;

"You better be this Charlie I've been sent after - you got people looking for you you know!" (@let-me-be-surprised)

[revengesworn]

“Hey.”

There’s a smile on Mikey’s face, but something about it is... cold. Instead of creating a cheerful atmosphere, it almost seems to make the air around him thicken, creating a tension that’s easy to pick up on without him even saying a word.

...And after a moment, the smile drops off Mikey’s face entirely. As he opens his eyes, which are uncomfortably void of any kind of light, his expression suddenly becomes severe.

“You’re Seiji, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

@rosecoloredmuses​ ( starter for seiji! )

[skulltie]

@volchiy​ said, “The effect I was hoping to have was her death. Mission accomplished.”

     oh,  katya.   this is ...   less than ideal ,  but not something totally beyond the point of remedy.  she must not be that angry with him. 

     the blood has already gotten onto his shoes so he expends no further energy in avoiding the spillage as he rounds the body.  sets the crystal wine glass on the counter top with a bit of punctuation.  

     “ i wasn’t going to fuck her. “

[newsworth]

@socadaf​ said,  “you might as well help, now you're here.”

     he sucks his teeth,  raising a resentful brow. 

     “friends don’t use friends for their bodies.”   

     it’s all jokes.   there’s actually something very affirming about being asked to move furniture around when his regular day to day doesn’t demand much of him physically.    “where do you need me?”

[kaerinio]

@killedarlings approached Her Grace: ❛ i’d be home with you. ❜ ( from Loid! )

Home.

Oh, what a vision it conjures : a treasured vignette of a half-remembered house exquisite in beauty and stature, with its crystalline windows and ceilings rising and rising so high, they dared to kiss the heavens. As quickly as it appears, she is transported. The melody of children’s laughter and cheer fades, like an automobile’s radio slowly losing touch with a tower, its songs and broadcasts stuttering, as it clutches onto phonic remnants, which devolve into the crunch and crackle of static. The air around her transforms, and she is there once more, hearing the soft burst and pop of ash-dusted logs and the traces of bedside tales mourning war and worshiping peace.

Against tranquil lowered lids, red blossoms, warm and glowing, reminiscent of the two vermillion doors that once shielded this cherished childhood dwelling. For years, she had longed for that house. And for years, just the thought of it, with its glossy doors and carved banisters wrapped in fearsome animal faces and her sweet, old bear — — — or, even, the utterance of that once painfully common word ‘ home ’ — — — brought tears to her eyes. So many tears, oh, it would take one’s breath away, how they smoldered, how they once choked her, drowning her, those violet eyes reduced to two weeping wounds that refused to heal. While she ran and ran and ran. Until they all burned away, leaving dreams and determination and duty to blossom in their wake.

  Presently, lounging on the cozy gingham blanket, upon a cushiony bed of emerald-shaded grass, a soft, enamored flush teases sun-kissed cheeks. Home, she savors his answer and dreams again, heart fluttering on hummingbird’s wings, as she soars mere blocks away to a house where the crisp morning aroma of fresh linen harmonizes with vibrant notes of coffee and floral black teas and newsprint and sweet pastries and tender consolation. A truly mystical place where old records fill the air with music and guide every graceful waltz through the kitchen as delicious dinners simmer on the stove, every tango around the terrace as the twilight sky comes alive around them, every vivacious swing through the living room as they tidy up. A place where a smile greets her when she looks up from a book, where laughter fills the hallways, where just the sight of a brimmed hat suspending from a mahogany coat rack casts an enchantment over her, banishing any worries, and filling her with the pure elation of a precious one’s presence. This wondrous place they have built together, it is so much more than anything she could have ever conjured within her own imaginings.

Home.

She opens her eyes, and immediately finds herself floating in eyes so blue . . . A wonder the skies have not turned green with envy, she ponders, studying him, slowly sitting up and tucking lithe legs beneath her body. “ We find ourselves in a wide, wide world, and you would choose our home — — — with me ? ” A tender smile brightens her features, and she reaches for his hand, capturing it in gentle, but secure fingers. “ Hm, ” she hums, eyes narrowing in concentration ( though lips do betray amorous joy ). “ I have lived in many places and seen even more. Across Nortica, Hugaria, all of Ostonia. Give a place a name, and I have no doubt seen it. ” All except one place : the country which once held the cradle from whence loyal men spirited her away.

A plush thumb runs along knuckles, back and forth, slowly, rhythmically, as gaze softens, and she abandons her game. “ There is no place I would rather be than home with you, wherever that may be. No matter what it looks like. ” Her smile is like a vow, soft, yet earnest, sealing her words with a promise. A moment passes, sweet, like a warm breeze, and Daenerys leans forward : “ Shall we go home, then, Loid ? It seems to me that's where we both want to be. ”

[pumpkinstabs-moving]

@disentomb​ asked: That mask. It's shocking, completely unconventional. You must be a creative... It must be said that it gives me such inspiration. My mask, you see darling, is only lipstick and ashes. Father's, naturally. - Morticia

it is strange to feel genuine fascination for another human.  michael hasn’t felt this way in more than a decade,  hasn’t been able to care about anything or anyone with all the years locked in smith’s grove.  even now with his freedom (still fresh--  after all,  he only escaped a couple days ago),  his respect for those around him is still nonexistent.  when he stumbled upon the black-cladded woman in her garden,  he intended to kill her.  break into her house,  look for clothes she might have that would be able to fit him.  instead,  michael stared and stared and stared,  unable to peel those dark,  soulless eyes away.  he’s sure she knew of his presence the moment he arrived,  but she’s only choosing to speak now.  

he takes a step forward,  away from the bushes,  his bloodied,  bare feet soaking into the damp moss below him.  head tilts towards the woman,  not a single word or breath leaving him.  clearly,  she is not kicking him out for trespassing.  it almost seems like she’s welcoming him further in...  so he takes another step towards her,  and though his fingers are stiffly shut around the hilt of his dripping chef’s knife,  he has no intentions to use the weapon against her.  not yet,  anyway. 

[nachtsoklein]

oh , jesus , are you alright ? (from michelle!)

orphan black.

❛ och ... fairly certain i'm not dying, so, probably, ja ... it'll be a great shame if that's blood — white gloves & whatnot ... ❜

[shitdeal]

@tangerinesour said: “Move the fuck out of my way.”

What a pleasant personality. Ladybug's back was forced against the wall to avoid the irritated man storming by. Before he could move entirely out of the way, their shoulders knocked together. The man was a bulldozer. The blow was more powerful than expected, as though he was trying to tackle Ladybug and raze anyone else in his path. "You could try saying please." The words left his lips before he could retract them. This was not the conflict avoidance strategy he'd wanted to practice.

His hands briefly rose, an insistence that he came in peace. There was something familiar about the man's eyes. Ladybug leaned in a fraction, nearly reflexively, to get a better look. Had they crossed paths before? Surely, he'd remember someone with such a short fuse. "The sidewalk is for everyone, that's all I'm saying." The slant of Ladybug's brows and shadow of a smile had a frustrating, almost hypocritically unctuous quality. The less waves he made, the easier it would be to move on with his day.

[marinehero-a]

"WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON, JIJI?!" { oh ouch okay right before Marineford from almost-not-quite-yet marine traitor Buggy- }

@indomiitas — MARINE BUGGY .

ლ.    When would the nightmare end ?

     His footsteps finally came to a halt, his hands in tight fists by his side, almost trembling from the pressure. Whose side ?   The brat had the damn nerve to ask whose side ?

“ This is a matter of our duty and justice, brat ! ”    Garp spat out vehemently, cold and harsh as if he believed them  ( he didn’t  he had to ).  Tilting his head back, but not enough to meet Buggy’s eyes. He didn’t want to look at the betrayal and disbelief he knew would be there. It hurt. It hurt more than it had any damn right to. But he refused to waver. He wouldn't be called a hero if he couldn't keep steady when he wanted to do anything but.

“ Ace knew damn well what he was signing up for when he chose to become a pirate, and we both know it. ”

     The irony of the situation was far from lost. How could it be, when just the other day he was in Sengoku’s office, screaming and raging himself ?   The same sentiment he expressed now mirrored that of then, except Sengoku's words had been far heavier. Weighed down by the knowledge that he'd known. Of course, he’d been aware of his betrayal. He always had been, and Garp wished he hadn’t looked so disappointed.

    Sengoku would spare them the consequences, continue to pretend as though he was oblivious to their betrayal, because that was the most he could do. Neither of them could prevent Ace’s fate anymore. Not when the world was waiting with bated breath. Not when the Government knew of the truth.

“ You knew that this would’ve been the outcome. There is nothing more for us to do, ”    he continued even as the words felt like tar in his throat. Choking him. Really, he just wanted to laugh. How he just wanted to laugh and avoid reality in it.

    He was about to go to war to have the right to kill his grandson. He had no idea if Luffy was safe after the stunts he’d pulled. And Buggy looked a hair away from throwing the past two decades into the sea, because he didn’t understand.

    He had to understand. Garp had to make him understand. He was already going to lose Ace, he couldn’t lose another one of his brats. Did Buggy think Roger wanted the both of them to die ?

     ( Roger would have just saved them both himself. He’d never been afraid of being that selfish, the bastard. “ Save my— ”   don’t think of him. )

“ I won’t force your hand in participation, but you will not interfere, understood ?  That is an order, ”   His voice was deathly serious. Strict and commanding in all the ways he never was. It crawled at his skin, his body and mind wanting nothing more than to gag and reject it. But Garp refused to let it falter for even a second.

    Buggy would hate him, he knew, and he wished that it didn’t tear further at his already scarred heart. Buggy would hate him, but at least he’d be alive. He’d be safe —  protected in the way he’d failed to with Ace and Luffy.

    He had to stay strong, for both of their sakes.

    ...But what if he did so in a different way ?  What if he listened ?   What if he followed ?   What if he turned his back on the Marines, a traitor-hero ?   He could. He’d already entertained the thought more times than he was proud to admit. He could bring Ace out of Impel Down; he was long acquainted with the warden and staff. They would never see it coming, trusting him after all he’d done for them, after he’d nearly single-handedly filled half their prison. It wasn’t impossible.

    Except it was. Even regardless of how the thought of betraying their trust —  Magellan, Sengoku, Tsuru, Kuzan  — made him sick, he was old. Strong, yes, but he was far past his prime. He couldn’t take on the three admirals or Sengoku while trying to protect Ace and Buggy. And how doubtlessly they’d be hunted. Ruthlessly, before the public could get word that the Navy Hero turned on the marines. Because it would have to be kept a secret, lest the world lose faith in them. 

     ( Most days, it was easy to forget how suffocated it could feel. It wasn’t then. He loved the marines, he loved his duty. But the cold apathy of the Government was something that would forever disgust him. He didn’t do it for them. He did it for the people they protected. )

“ I know you're not an idiot, Buggy. So don't choose now to start acting like one, ”   he said heavily as he kept his back straight and facing towards the brat he'd raised for the past twenty years,   “ Don’t do anything rash. Or I’ll be the one to capture you myself. ”

    It was a threat, but maybe an empty one. He wasn’t sure if he could do it, if it came to it. Wasn’t sure if he could bear knowing another death of his family was on his hands. Yet he couldn’t get rid of the image of the brat dead on the ground —  magma, ice, light, poison, shot or decapitated with haki, there were so many ways for things to go wrong —  hands reaching towards Ace seconds too late, as Garp just watched. Would he watch as they killed both his grandsons ?  Or would he act ? 

     He didn’t know, nor did he want to find out. By the sea, don’t make him find out, no matter how selfish it was to ask.

[fightwing]

your job is not my problem. / @dementedspeedster

dick's jaw tightens. he resists the urge to pinch at the bridge of his nose only at the last second, and only because he can PERFECTLY picture the same motion done with a cowl. he understands the ask and who it's coming from. he understands the animosity that is still there --- on both sides surely, but he's asking anyway. " not yet it isn't. " because that's the whole problem with their line of work. don't get it done right the first time and it's everyone's problem, and double his own. he's not asking for a ride to the airport at 3 a.m. he's asking for the only man still around that can do what he does to RUN. like all their lives depended on it. " i need a speedster for this to work, and right now, i need YOU. "