❛ &. ┊ lovers tried.

THE HEART WAS MEANT TO BE BROKEN. -- oscar wilde. independent oc / multimuse. sideaccount to moa zhao. written by aylin.

[lcverstried-blog]

&. ┊ Here he’d believed he would have had the apartment to himself, hands placing atop the counter a bag of groceries before wrapping calloused fingertips around a bottle of water. And would his eyes not quite recognise the subtle mess as he spun, hands unbuttoning his shirt only to toss it moments after while feet carried him over to one of Moa’s bathrooms -- but just how stable could feet be when they stumbled backwards as another door opened, eyes catching a glimpse of bare skin long enough for the lawyer to finally realise he was not alone? “ ----------- Fuck -- ” Eyes were already torn off the silhouette, fingertips fumbling to pick his shirt off the ground and hasty in their efforts to put it back on. “ Is Moa -- ” the question, though, he didn’t even bother finishing as he looked past far too much uncovered flesh,  regretting almost not just having driven to his hotel room instead. But alas, some of his more comfortable clothes were still here where he’d first left them years ago.

@atalesdivide.

[lcverstried-blog]

atalesdivide.

he watches her go. not at all intent on moving from his favorite new position, back against one of the arm rests and legs over the other. He had been seeing today’s youths acting particularly sloppy and tried it out. Surprisingly comfortable and usually pissed off the adults, a two for one. His dark brown eyes traveled over to this person Moa said was a people, wait a friend. 

Can I play the recording? He had heard something familiar and something ancient. Attention drawing away from Kua and towards the kitchen where he could hear Moa moving around. Until she gave the go ahead, which honestly wasn’t going to stop him so he just waited long enough to pretend there was adequate permission. Leaning over, half falling off the chair and balanced almost perfectly. Core muscles keeping tight as he swung in the air, long arm moving and hitting the play button. 

Swinging back into his chair just as the voice in the recording started up again. Old Avestan? His eyes closed, it felt like his body was falling back in time. When he next opened his eyes he was back a long long time ago. With an indescribable feeling of nostalgia. And strong magic. There was magic in the old languages and the more ancient the stronger the pull. 

                    “آیا این اوستایی من این زبان را در مدت زمان طولانی شنیده ام” 

His eyes blinked a few more times and the room came back into focus. His voice cracked and his teeth grimaced together. Coughing and covering his mouth. I can help translate but there’s powerful magic in this language.

❛ &. ┊ Fingertips itched to prevent the unwelcome guest from taking what belonged certainly into anyone’s hands but his -- and would he never be quite able to understand what Moa Zhao could find in young men with no manners; that he had not been much older when they first met were pushed into the depths of his mind like the sweetness of her lips’ curvature, the way in which she had craned her neck upon him uttering a joke, her hair falling over her shoulder, adorned with bead-decorated braids. That she had not experienced anything beyond sympathy for he who was not much older than a child, Kua had known. Childish infatuation had turned into fiery passion had turned into burnt ashes that cooled off so slow, a slight breeze could set them back ablaze. 

He no longer was a child, though, and however much older she were, however ancient Moa Zhao truly was, the way in which he looked at her had changed over the years. She had been an angel, become a god, become a ruin -- and perhaps it were because he knew her for so long, had seen her change and then not change at all, that the way the young male across him looked at her set off an old restlessness, made it impossible to not grit his teeth when he pressed play.

Brows furrowed when features changed, grimaced -- appeared to react to slurred words recorded in a way that not even Moa had mustered up to react with. The question lingering upon his tongue was apparent, needed not uttering; but whoever he was, if Moa stopped him not from entering the premises, he ought to at least relax enough for the tension of clenched jaw to release strained features. But alas, how easy was that? To just let go of an unsettling sting in the depths of his stomach. Even Moa’s silhouette reappearing, picking the recording device out of the stranger’s possessionwith slender fingers that knew perhaps just as much gentleness as they knew destruction, changed little. 

❛ &. ┊ “ It’s not my case, it’s his, ” he heard her say, voice warm, firm, a vague gesture sloppily inviting a conversation between both men. But Kua himself were happy enough when the device was back in his own tight grasp, and soon after in his brief case. His voice raspy, cold, when he affirmed, “ It indeed is. And I’m more than capable of recognising non-verbal communication. ”

[lcverstried-blog]

@holysick. cont.

               sabrina tends to be very passionate about traditional dance. don’t get her wrong– she has nothing against contemporary dance forms such as hip hop, it’s not a classist thing. but to see ballet disrespected gets her upper class blood boiling. she’s ranting, hands gesticulating wildly as she regales how merilee plans to change up the swan queen. she gets so passionate in her ranting that her hair is somehow disturbed. she pauses only when gauthier adjusts a renegade tress, the gesture sucking all the steam out of her.

❛ &. ┊ Years has she spent dancing ballet as a child, so comes her empathy easily, without much ado -- the upquirk of lips, though, as wild gesticulation appears to only brighten the glow in Sabrina’s eyes, she cannot hide, cannot keep fingertips from pushing back a wildly curling strand of hair that seems to follow her gesture’s wildness with just as much enthusiasm. An almost pout, then ( almost ), when the gushing of devotion-marked words stops, paints her friendly approach an absent-minded interruption. “ I apologise, go on, ” mumbles she sweetly, mellow -- and is every second of her short apology wholeheartedly meant. “ You think Merilee would think it weird if we showed up at every and each one of her performances? I’d pay for all of our tickets of course. ”

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ So this is who you are, Madeleine. A goddamn monster. Parted lips quiver at the sight of blood, lungs heaving as if they still relied on air to breathe. Not one day has passed where she has not heard her wife’s voice haunt her memory, not one moment of regret missed where thoughts would flicker back to the anger that filled veins like poison, drove her right into a neverending darkness. She had such hunger, such terrible, unbearable hunger -- stomach revolts at the remembrance of teeth sinking into a neck she would have given her life to protect, were she alive still. A part of her had died in the moment of her wife’s heartbeat stopping. It never had left her, never truly would. 

“ Keep your weapon pointed at me any longer and you soon won’t have an arm to defend yourself with when I tear off your head. ” Her voice drips sweet French honey, but Gauthier’s eyes are entirely empty. An exuberant ocean of blood stains the rosy skin of bare feet, fingertips rising up to wipe crimson droplets out of the corner of her mouth, neglecting entirely the vast fashion with which her whole chin is coloured red. And who would care? She does the population a godforsaken favour -- all men laying splattered across a blood-stained floor are criminals. Whatever beast the hunter sees in her, Gauthier might as well have saved children from getting murdered and tossed into the nearest bushes after being violated to the core. What she’d done was nice in comparison. “ I’m counting to three. ”

@southern-gothics.

[lcverstried-blog]

southern-gothics.

He froze right where he was; half crouched over said couch with the intent to lay down on it. His back was a little tense with a need to pop it once he was all horizontal, but that thought was pushed into the backlogs of his head as he looked at Hamad. A sheepish touch came to his features as he offered a small shrug. “Didn’t wanna impose.” There were more eloquent ways to put it, but he was actively making it a point to be more truthful now. Truth be told, he would’ve loved to sleep alongside the other again. His body craved it- his soul even if he wanted to dig deep down within. 

The image of the froth of toothpaste almost made him snort. Beauregard had the corner of his eyes crinkled slightly as he straightened back up. “So you invitin’ me to your bed?” Unable to help himself, he waggled his eyebrows a little for a humorous effect. Yet there was still a small inkling of nervousness that refused to leave his stomach. All of this felt like a dream to him; he knew it was real- his voice was a very good reminder of that, but he honestly never thought that he would’ve been given a second chance. 

❛ &. ┊ “ Don’t get too smug about it, I’m not trying to blow you. ” The playful rise of bushy eyebrows certainly could have been a lot less laughable were he not still brushing his godforsaken teeth -- and would he not possibly be able to believably deny missing his taste on his tongue, his hands on his lips, but mattered it little now. He barely could get himself to even think about kissing Beau again after having done so weeks ago. It still lingered, the warm touch of Beauregard’s lips, the surprise at himself -- a shrug rolled off his defined shoulders, in his mother’s fashion yet entirely unlike her nonchalant performance.

“ But if you don’t want to ---- ” a quick withdrawal, although mainly to finally get rid of the toothpaste that made it incredibly difficult to speak in comprehensible manner, certainly helped the charade, would ( hopefully ) urge Beau to decide a little quicker. A hand would loosen the watch worn round his wrist as he left the bathroom again, a quick glance cast over to his counterpart, his ex, his entire world -- though would he not go as far to call him such openly. Too sore were the wounds still, to vulnerable the heart. “ You comin’? ”

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ “ You sure you’re not lost? ” Albeit not meant as an insult, come his words in a little too harsh fashion, almost judgemental; but throughout the weeks that he has spent at Moa’s flat is he, by far, the youngest appearing as he walks into the open apartment with such confidence only a regular visitor might internalise. One hand holds a pot of coffee, the other an empty mug -- perhaps not in an entirely suspicious manner but might he give off nonetheless a presence that belongs there, in a way, belongs to the perhaps shared friend in a fashion that is complex, eternal. He knows Moa’s place just like his own, goes about his day as if she were there even if she’s not. “ Last time I was around she didn’t have a kid. ” Not another one, at least -- but Hamad he leaves out of the discussion for the young male’s safety. God knows who the smug stranger is to Moa, or if he’s a friend.

@atalesdivide.

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ “ You’re not actually gonna sleep on the couch, are you? ” It feels like it’s been a century since he knocked at his door, even longer ever since they split, but he stands there in his joggers, hand occupied brushing his teeth while he almost slurs his words -- the same tingle in the depths of his stomach as when he first had seen Beau catch his stare. He’s still breathtakingly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful man he’s ever met in his life, ever allowed himself to meet. And home... just feels so empty without him rummaging about in his cupboards, searching for something to snack on while he himself searched through his library to find a movie to watch. His bed just isn’t as comfortable without him by his side, even brushing his teeth without him somehow feels different. But he can’t stop smiling, not even with bone-crushing anxiety in the back of his mind that Beau might leave again. He just grins, white toothpaste in the corners of his mouth, heart racing underneath a bare chest. “ I’ve just put clean sheets on my bed, too. ”

@southern-gothics.

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ It truly is an unfortunate series of events that lead him to an abandoned building complex in the midst of nowhere. His shirt, once gray, now is entirely crimson; his hands he’s washed but can’t he impossibly get her scent off him or his chest to stop heaving. Eyes are firmly glued to the ground, albeit skipping every inch of concrete that even just vaguely appears stained -- avoids, with a terrible amount of effort the ghostly shadow that paces around restlessly. He himself is no better. Voice is unbearably raspy when he finally utters, “ It’ll take two hour, perhaps four. ” How strange it sounds to even his own ears, he perhaps never might get used to; not after ten years of knowing Moa Zhao, perhaps not even after a hundred. 

Muted curses had poured over his lips for the entire time that shaking hands undressed her unconscious frame and removed all bullets from a wound-marked chest before he finally had placed her, not without vomiting after, in an ice-filled bathtub. The icy temperature certainly would slow down her healing -- but was such outweighed by reduced pain during. How often had he found her? How often been called because his number were saved as the only emergency number on her phone? Has he ever regretted it once? Ever wished for less traumatising activities on the weekend? Certainly, but changes wishing for a less destructive relationship little. Hands run their spread fingers through his tousled, uncombed hair before folding in the back of his neck. “ You’re her new boyfriend, then? Or did you just find her like that? ”

@southern-gothics.

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ Hunched over his desk at work, fingertips ghosting over his laptop’s worn-out keyboard, by far is neither the right place nor the right time to discuss what might have lead to terribly dark circles underneath his eyes -- the sleepless nights, the nightly terrors. As much as he loves his coworker, as much as the blind can acknowledges what Moa sees in her; how she carries the sun in her eyes and the calm of an ocean on her sleeve, her steadiness, her durability, is Cheyenne still closer to his mother than to him -- whatever he might utter in her presence, ultimately, his mother might figure out. And it matters little that it’s just nightmares; he doesn’t want to make it bigger than it, quite frankly, is. So he shrugs in response to her question as she enters his office, hand itching to close his laptops and take a well-deserved break. “ I think a new Vietnamese restaurant opened across the street. We could have lunch there? ”

@southern-gothics.

[lcverstried-blog]

hello my name is aylin and im very emotional about kua hale caring for jude lockheart @holysick

[hunterparrish]

soft™

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ His cellphone still is placed in the tight grip of his palm when he returns to his living room; once a terribly tidy space, is it now littered with belongings that are not his -- and upon his couch table, the remains of what had been Chinese take-out. Emphasis lies on the past tense, for all that remains are sauce-stained boxes. Eyes flicker their gaze from cartons up to Jude who sits comfortably settled on his couch. “ You really ate my stir-fry, too, didn’t you. ” It’s less of a question and more of an observation, but he gives but a sigh and turns around to pick out a bottle of beer -- something’s gotta fill the stomach. “ Anything interesting on TV? ”

@holysick.

[lcverstried-blog]

there be 9 random 150x150 gifs of my hubby jack west for @southern-gothics to stare at for having kept me awake until after 3 am. more to follow 👀 not tagging them bc theyre for ro and only for ro bc i love the devil incarnate

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ Fingertips would lightly press a damp cloth against the injured skin of an ankle, soothing the swelling as much as he felt capable of; and it indeed were terribly laughable to think a nobleman would dance so direly that a wrong movement of his foot would leave behind scratches on skin even underneath the princess’s hosiery. But had he, of course, dismissed all of her remarks -- the knight himself had been too busy being forced into conversations he otherwise would have chosen to not have, to notice the forced smile that graced her features until the dance were over. So here he sat, then, silently tending to her discomfort in her dimly lit chambers, eyes firmly glued to his hands to hide the tightened jaw. “ Does it hurt still? ” A question that needed not answering but was asked nonetheless. “ I suppose it’ll bruise. ”

@tequilade.

[lcverstried-blog]

❛ &. ┊ There lies a certain softness in his features once he recognises the delicate expression from the background of Moa’s cell phone as she enters the tailor shop just in time to escape the onset of a rainfall; a cup of coffee rests in his hands, warming the cool fingertips that hide underneath silken gloves. “ You’re as punctual as I was warned you would be, Mrs Zhao, ” his voice is warm, deep, carrying the lightheartedness of a laughter as he addresses her with her wife’s name. “ I shouldn’t be half as surprised as I am. I suppose you’re here to pick up both your wife’s suit & your own dress for the event you'll be attending next week? ”

@dreamblooded.

[lcverstried-blog]

for anyone new to the party: kua, ephraim, and willem all consume moa’s blood, albeit in different ways, and benefit from her healing abilities. the healing duration is dependent on how frequently and how much volume they consume. kua and willem both have on/off relationships with moa (unless she’s in a monogamous relationship lmao) and gain access to her blood that way, and ephraim receives injections / blood donations. on willem, her blood perhaps has the least effect on because he’s not human to begin with. her son hamad receives no blood donations of any kind.

[lcverstried-blog]

tewwor.

@lcverstried - closed!

It was well into the morning where the sun’s rays glared brightly through the thick drapes. Silas cracked his eyes open, disgruntled and groggy to all hell. There was a pang of hunger that came out as a rumble, further wakening him as he yawned; all of his shark like teeth on display for a second before he closed his mouth. “Is it time to eat yet?” He asked in the stead of a good morning or hello. 

❛ &. ┊ He wouldn’t have expected much else, but brows knitted together nontheless, hands busy drying his hair as he stood, barely clothed, in midst of piles of fabric that he’d carelessly tossed the night afore. The bruises on his skin were already paling against the light of a risen sun -- though would it certainly require more than his own healing abilities to appear acceptable again for work; as much as a suit covered up, the slightest hint of concealer would perhaps shed a bad light on either him or his client in court, & he really weren’t known to be subpar in his demeanour. “ I’ve been to the butcher. I’m sure you know where the kitchen is. ”