#arghent

[embodies]

“ i caught a glimpse of hell today. ” / @ dean

❛ oh, i highly doubt that, sweetheart. ❜ his voice lilts, riding on a wave of amusement and bemusement in tandem. it's not often he bumps into other hunters but he's willing to bet he holds the monopoly on how many layers of hell have been visited. he remembers it vividly : scorching flames, searing whips and laughter of the uncanny, made by nothing close to human. tongues and teeth and chains, barbs and hybrid - like creatures strewn together from the limbs of the dead. desert - like visions of loved ones long lost. a mirage for a man thirsty for forgiveness. a cruel commodity.

❛ hell doesn't give you a glimpse. no, hell will catch you in its claws— ❜ he shucks another splinter off his stake, brings the point up to the light to measure its sharpness. shucks again. ❛ and twist and pull atcha like a ragdoll, shake you about a bit . . . swallow you. not whole, piece by piece. then spit you back up and leave you pulling yourself together when it's done with you. if you're lucky. ❜

that's hell, rings the finality of his words. bitterly held behind clenched teeth, he eyes his company solemnly. a weak attempt at lightening the mood . . . ❛ what you saw today was purgatory at best. ❜

@arghent.

[everrot]

the scene in front of them is recognized by her nose before her eyes. sick rust fills beck's nostrils and she steps backwards, hand flying to her lips. her eyes trail down, down, down ⸻ as though excruciatingly slow, taking her time to face the inevitable. beck yelps in her palm, her other hand racing out to grip @arghent's arm, pulling her into place at her side. ❝  oh my god. oh my god! that can't be . . .  ❞

031, in front of a suspicious pool of blood in an empty parking lot.

[softersinned-arc]

@arghent said: your fight is now my fight.

Is that how it works, now? A little blood spilled for each other and suddenly they're on the same side? You have a way out sits on her tongue; so does you can walk away from this any time you want. But Astoria doesn't say anything—for once she lets her better judgment win out, and she considers someone else's feelings, foreign as the process is to her.

"Why?" It might be a stupid question but it's the only one that matters to her now. "You have about a hundred other choices. I don't, but you do. And I haven't exactly been kind."

Every instinct screams for her to doubt, lest she walk right into a trap. Here lies Astoria, who trusted the wrong person. Here lies Astoria, who let herself be convinced that help was offered without strings attached and got in over her head. Here lies Astoria, who should have known better by then. Doubt on doubt on doubt, and still, Astoria clears her throat, tips her head back to let the setting sun warm her face, leans over enough to bump her shoulder against Allison's.

"You sure about this?" she asks softly. "Once you're in, you're in, darling. There's no thinking better of it after we start."

[terrifyingstories3]

it was allison's birthday, but it was scott who was given the greatest gift of all: the gift of time with allison argent. if the past was any indication, that was a finite resource, one that could be ripped out from under him at any moment. it's been years, but he still thinks about red nail polish and her body growing stiff and cold in his arms before any of the other many goodbyes he didn't get. it's been years, but there are still so many things he wishes he'd said in that moment, so many things he thinks she deserved to hear.

and allison is rarely around long enough for him to finish saying hello again, let alone manage a proper goodbye. this year was a rarity, and maybe a fluke - he'd convinced her to stay for her birthday, and they'd spent the day in quiet celebration of, as he'd told her, his favorite day of the year. now that it's come to an end, he feels more... what's the word, wistful rather than strictly celebratory. the day has been all too reminiscent of a time where he'd mistakenly believed he'd have allison forever - or at least for the rest of their lives. a time so innocent that it'd never occurred to him it could run out.

there is never enough time, but he's grateful for the time he got. he's learned better than to cling to her, though his heart is still in pieces from the last time she slipped through his hand. it's been a lesson in grace, loving allison argent - learning to appreciate the time he has rather than mourn the time lost, to be grateful for the moments he's been allowed to spend with her than regret the time apart.

"i like the grand canyon," he says oh so earnestly, when allison offers him a rare moment of vulnerability, likening herself to a dark pit with the vastness of the grand canyon - an explanation, maybe, or an apology. "actually, i've never been there. but i heard it's really beautiful," scott says meaningfully, before a more gentle, "we could go there, if you can't be here." maybe grace is something he's still working on; maybe letting go of her is not something he's perfected yet. he's not sure he ever will. / @arghent

[lebonairs]

@arghent said,

"you’re not nearly as quiet as you believe yourself to be.”

"quiet isn't really the goal," hayley says, taking in the girl's appearance with a steady caution. "it's more like… peace," and it's pointed in the way she says it, almost as if she's daring anyone at all to try and disrupt it. after all, she has worked too hard to rebuild it. hayley crosses her arms over her chest and two wolves watch in the background, always on guard, always protecting. she has all the patience of a mother, though, as she offers a polite smile. "do you need some help? you're miles from the highway."

[embodies]

' my own friends hate my guts. '   ↪ @arghent : malia.

❛ i don't hate your guts. ❜ petulance paves the way for meekness, an awkward beat passing as malia considers whether or not she's actually breached the territory lines of acquaintances to friends yet. the coyote would like to think so, but hunters never took kindly to her. without comment on the matter, she decides to continue. ❛ and i don't think they do, either. they're just . . . hurt. ❜ empathy is hard for her, especially for situations she knows very little about. stiles filled her in on the details ( or the down low as he'd rather refer to it ) and she smells the grief of a time once passed on scott anytime the name allison is mentioned. ❛ you've been gone a long time. ❜

[thriev]

@arghent: as long as you're here, i won't be.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” the streetlight overhead blinks, for a second bathing everything in shadow, before it flicks back on and caroline's left staring at the harsh contours of allison's face. “are you seriously trying to break up the band right now?”

[doomdays]

📖  ↺    @arghent

❝  it's a beautiful afternoon.  mid-sixties, sunny, and clear.  it reminds me of my childhood, of pumpkins and piles of leaves and trick-or-treating.  but that’s nostalgia for you  --  the tyranny of those memories of childhood that feel so golden, so perfect.  sometimes it’s hard to remember those days,  you know?   ❞

[softersinned-arc]

@arghent said: ❛ Were you boinking my father? ❜

It's a joke but it brings her to a halt; Astoria turns to face Allison, lips set in a firm line, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, but yeah. I fucked your dad. He's in my phone as DILF #3 and he's been texting me Shakespeare sonnets line by line so he might be graduating from a dad I'd like to fuck to a dad I'd like to marry. You know me. I like my men ready to kill me at any given moment."

(Well. That part is true.)

[huntrot]

❛ i’m gonna need another pair of hands . ❜ prompt .

ㅤㅤㅤ❛ i have a set right here , ❜ he assures , deep voice calm and steady as usual as he lifts his hands to show @arghent - the gesture definitely holding a teasing note . ❛ what do you need me to do ? ❜

[terrifyingstories3]

@arghent hit the ❤️.

“you didn’t know. you were trying to do the right thing. protect people.” the earnestness in his eyes doesn’t know the distance between them, nor months of radio silence. it bears no recollection of his history with argents being quick to the trigger or how far away she’s seemed even in the moments he’s held her closest, fingers cradling little trinkets she’d sent his way. he knows allison, even now, after all this time. he knows her heart, and no part of him doubts her now.

his hand reaches out to her, wanting to offer comfort. “it’s okay.”

[loneheir]

you're going to tell me i'm imagining things.

he wonders if what he sees is reality ; the nights and days blurring as he's aware there's someone else who cares to enter his mind. the batman would like to believe that the lore of gotham is not wholly true , that parts were fabricated .... perhaps stories to scare the children in the early days.

though as they currently walk through the remnants of a glass factor that resides on the outskirts of gotham he's painfully aware of the stories. that gotham at one time was a place of prosperity and pride.

he spies the mark of the kane's upon a nearby furnace ; branded into the iron with their crest and he deeply inhales. gotham has a way of luring one in.

' no i don't think you are ... ' his voice low , melodic ---- calming. ' tell me , do you see remnants of your life that had a way of making you what you are today ? ' there's a lift to words ; perhaps he needs to feel less alone.

his own memories have started to ebb ; like the shoreline on a windy day. carried out to the boundless sea ....

though , he would never admit such a thing the batman is heavy and he knows that feeling frightened never does one good. the mask is now apart of the man , and the man ? well , he's apart of the mask. there is something so delicate about that balance. they turn a corner and he then shines a light upon graffiti:

HELL IS DOWN HERE

' some welcoming huh ? ' / @arghent

[embodies]

' you were not a part of that plan. '   ↪ @arghent : faith.

❛ yeah, well . . . gatecrashin's always been a specialty of mine. ❜ she licks her teeth, a crude display of raw femininity. for she has always been savage at the quick, sharp with a stake and sharper in wit. she can't quite put her finger on what makes her gravitate to these stubborn solo artists, wanton in their renegade journeys. maybe the sheer delight of the intrusion : she is not welcome in this world, pervades any boundary set upon her with a resounding defiance. ❛ so, how's about it, honeybunch ? you gonna hog all the fun or . . . ❜

her words only pause an instant, hefting the hilt of her knife from an undead carcass made ( quite definitely, now ) dead once more. that kill, a proof of her worth. god hope someone recognises it.

❛ you got room for one more ? ❜

[gothyck]

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

[philomelia]

the two of them had taken a corner of the bar, squished together in a booth that feels like it was only meant for one person. her arm brushes the other girl's, sharing a giggle that was all sweetness (she doesn't even remember the joke that they're laughing at-- but they've created a warmth that couldn't last past tonight). " it looks like they're closing soon, " cassie said, glancing around the bar. only the two of them had survived as time grew past midnight and slowly into the early morning. the bartender had been throwing them looks all night, but neither of them had seemed to mind. she reaches out, taking the girl's hand into her own. " my apartment is not far from here. i think i have a few drinks there. " @arghent

[softersinned-arc]

@arghent said: ❝   just couldn’t stick to the plan, could ya?   ❞

"The plan wasn't going to work. We needed to improvise. I improvised." She speaks calmly, but Allison is clever (always has been); Astoria doesn't doubt for a second that Allison will pick up on her unease.

She likes control. She likes being able to look at a situation, no matter how frightening or unknowable, and be certain that no matter what happens, she will find a way to adapt, to keep herself at the reins. Spending her days with an Argent (hunting with an Argent) tends to leave her grasping desperately at whatever scraps of control she can find, and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like it one bit.

(But she isn't going anywhere. Why is that?)

"You'll have to forgive me," she says, rather shortly. "I'm a bit uneasy with leaving my life in a hunter's hands." For now, they have the same goals, but how long will that last? (Why does it trouble her so much to imagine that there will come a time when Allison looks at her and sees prey?) She averts her eyes, then, looks at the bound man at their feet, nudges his knee lightly with her toe. "Anyway. Doesn't matter. We have him, don't we? You can start questioning him."

They work, for now: Allison is the heart, Astoria is the head. Allison has a conscience, and Astoria has never had much trouble turning hers off. (Is that what it is? Is she waiting for the day she outlives her usefulness? Is she waiting for the day she makes Allison worse?) She almost offers up a snide do you want to call your dad? but she bites her tongue; she may not know the details but she's come to understand enough to know that family is complicated.

Instead, she takes a step back, as if to give Allison room to work, as if to give herself room to watch.