Can you feel it?

multi-muse oc blog ; multiverse/ship important activity psa [!updated!]

[saliida-blog]

THEYRE PARANOID DONT BREAK AND ENTER OR YOU MIGHT GET HIT…………..im sorry

[ohthativy]

Visit Original Link

we don’t talk about love

we only want to get drunk

[catchthatregenerator]

@paridaemon

Adam knew he should wake him first, but–he reached out and touched the tip of his nose. 

“Got to talk to you.”

[paridaemon-blog]

“Mm...?”

Oliver instinctively - and very weakly - bats at Adam’s hand. He rolls over, towards him, but doesn’t stop until he’s on his stomach. He buries his face in his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

“’M sleepin’.”

[xlivestogo-archive-blog]

Visit Original Link

Held him down, broke his neck,

Taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But in my dreams began to creep

That old familiar tweet tweet tweet

[kwisters-deactivated20190429]

This winter hasn’t been so rough (We’ve had some dark days) Oh it was cold but still it wasn’t cold enough (We’re in the thick of it now) To freeze the blood beneath my spine (And when the ice breaks) At least I’ll survive

[kylejthompson]

[paridaemon-blog]

( psa: I’m not reblogging ask memes anymore. )

Whenever I reblog an ask meme, it generally gets ignored. Most of the time, people decide not to send ask memes and then reblog the same ask meme from me. Then a bunch of people (usually people who also follow me) flock to them and send them a bunch of ask memes. This happens all the time. Literally all the time. So many fucking times that I am absolutely fucking sick of it.

Sometimes people take it a step further and see me reblog a meme, decide not to send one in, and instead raid my ask meme tag so they can go reblog more ask memes from me without sending me any, thus reducing me to just a resource.

Sometimes I only get ask memes if I reblog the same one a few times in a row. Sometimes I have to outright ask people to send them, which is pathetic, but if you got ignored as often as I do then you’d be pretty desperate too.

Most of my RP partners won’t send any to me. There’s no point in reblogging any anymore.

I’m not an ask meme archive. It irritates the absolute fuck out of me when people ignore me and then reblog ask memes from me. It just feels like I’m being used. It feels like I’m just a stepping stone to connect two people so they can ignore me together.

So yeah. I’m done. I’m not reblogging ask memes anymore.

I have one left to answer in my askbox and then I’m done with ask memes.

I’m not sending them either. Not to anyone who’s made me feel this way.

I don’t really care about losing out on people who obviously want nothing to do with me anyway, so yeah. No more ask memes. Not even once. Go find a different person to ignore and use as an ask meme archive. All of you.

[penrosexsteps]

Probably the wrong thing to say. Definitely the wrong thing to say. Alice shoves forcefully – and her unexpected strength, combined with Arthur’s surprise, makes him nearly stumble backwards. He holds his hands up, empty palms forward. With luck, she isn’t holding back.

 Arthur’s not sure he could stop her if she hit any harder – or that he could escape in one piece. 

“Alice, please –”

[paridaemon-blog]

   “Hit me!”

   She grabs at his wrists, throwing his arms apart so she can give his chest another hard shove. Somewhere deep down, she knows exactly what she’s doing - who she resembles in this very moment. She truly is her mother’s daughter. That realization is buried deep down inside of her, though, underneath a tidal wave of anger and resentment.

   The original argument is lost on her. She can’t remember how things escalated - only that she’s angry, he’s not fighting back, and she wants him to.

[mrxna-blog]

   “I see. Well, we won’t tell him you told me.” 

    They sit in awkward silence for a couple minutes until the microwave beeps. Xander turns around to retrieve the steaming mugs of water, very careful in not letting them spill over. After dropping a little satchel in each, he sets one mug on Oliver’s side of the table, one on his. The tea makes the softest fizzing noise as particles dissolve and disperse throughout.

   Xander settles into the chair across from Oliver. Then, he takes a little too eager of a sip, wincing and hissing immediately afterwards as the water scalds the tip of his tongue.

   “—Oy. Careful.”

[paridaemon-blog]

   Oliver laughs - silently, of course - at Xander’s mistake. Little puffs of air escape him in rapid succession, broken up but something very peculiar. A noise. A genuine laugh, however fleeting it might be. He notices immediately, freezes up on the spot while he processes what just happened. His smile fades. He looks down at his tea, frowning a little.

   Moments later, he decides to blow on it. A small smile creeps up on his features. He lifts his gaze, makes sure Xander is watching, then blows on his tea again. He takes a sip, spreads his arms apart as if to say, See? That’s how it’s done.

[penrosexsteps]

Were it anyone else but his kid (now there was a thought), Arthur would be snapping – but all he does is blink, stunned silent by Oliver’s sense of comfort. The book slips from his hand without resistance.

A boy curled up against his parent, ingrained in the first pages of an obscure work. Seems familiar. Arthur smiles silently at the back of Oliver’s head, brushing down wild, stray hairs.

“Give that back to me when you’re done, yeah?”

[paridaemon-blog]

   “When I’m done,” Oliver responds simply, then falls silent. His attention is almost exclusively focused on the book in his hands - must be fascinating stuff, truly, if the way his eyes light up is anything to go by. He’s quiet for some time, several minutes, before he pipes up again.

   “-- I’ve never done this with my bio-dad.”

[supcrbia-blog]

   Pierce hasn’t paid mind to the trivial little note all day – yet when Oliver comes knocking at his office door, he’s immediately reminded of it. And there’s a reason for that. Someone in this office isn’t satisfied with everything he’s graciously given them.

   He can only guess at who it might be – but, being Pierce, a guess is as good as fact.

   As Oliver enters, Pierce doesn’t even bother to look up – though he does acknowledge the boy by setting down his pen, closing and pushing his ledger to a short distance. The moment Oliver poses the question is when Pierce finally looks up. Then, without a word, he rotates his chair to one side, extending his hand.

[paridaemon-blog]

   Oliver has been afraid of Pierce since the day he started working for him - and, as the weeks have dragged on, his fear of him has only grown. He can’t quite place why he finds Pierce particularly frightening. It’s not any one thing, but rather a mixture of things. The way he carries himself, the way he talks, the way he conducts his business, the general vibe he gives off. There’s something inherently intimidating about him. And Oliver, being as small and fragile as he is, can hardly bear it.

   But his fear of Pierce isn’t nearly as intense as his need to do well at this job. Sure, his father is the one who got him this job, but it’s a step up from working directly under his father. If he fails at this, what else can he do? He can’t quit, no matter how his boss makes him feel.

   Carefully, Oliver presses the folder into Pierce’s outstretched hand. He takes a step back, looks back towards the door, then at Pierce again.

   “-- that was all that was left on my desk. Is-- is there anything else I can do for you today?”

[mrxna-blog]

   Xander pauses everything – his movements, his words – in response to the statement. After everything he’s put Oliver through so far, everything that warranted the punches, the screaming; is that really the only thing Oliver has to say to him? Is that what this all boils down to?

   It can’t be.

   But for all his bewilderment, Xander laughs, continuing push his thumbs into tender muscle.

   “I assume that’s putting it lightly.”

[paridaemon-blog]

   “Mm. Very.”

   Oliver has some strong words reserved for Xander - but those words would be counterproductive. He’s just taken a huge step in trying to trust Xander within the confines of his luxurious prison. Backsliding would only inhibit progress. Being especially scathing would only make Xander keep him longer.

   Assuming that Xander is actually planning to let him out.

   Oliver inhales deeply, holds it for a moment, then exhales slowly.

   “-- you shouldn’t’ve kissed me. ‘M mad about that.”

[mrxna-blog]

   There’s the harsh clatter of a pen being dropped against the surface of his desk. Xander doesn’t think he’ll get anything done at this rate; it’s best just to hold off whatever he’s working on until after the guy states his business. It’s too goddamn distracting to write while someone’s talking at him from another room. Being unable to work while his brain continues churning out idea after idea is like having an itch he can’t scratch, and Kristoff probably knows this. But Xander can tolerate it. For now.

    “God damn, alright. Just get in here. You’re clearly in a big hurry.”

[paridaemon-blog]

   Kristoff does know, but knowing and caring are two completely different things, and Kristoff can’t say that the latter really applies. Beaming, he steps into the office.

   "No need to be hostile. I was only looking out for your well-being--”

   "-- Avi.” A third voice, loud and accented, chimes in. As soon as Kristoff turns to face the source, the intruder continues - in a language that might be beyond the grasp of present company. In all his excitement, Eric hardly notices that Xander is even there.

   "Eric, slow down. What do you mean, missing--?” Kristoff tries to interrupt, in English, throwing a helpless look back at Xander as he slowly backs into the room. His hands are raised, as though he’s surrendering. Eric follows him, opens his mouth as though he’s about to start shouting again. When his eyes lock onto Xander, though, his eyes narrow. He falls silent for a moment, fuming.

   “You.” He practically shoves his father aside, slams his hands down on Xander’s desk so hard it rattles. “You-- you were there the last night I saw him. I left you alone with him--”

[thundcrbird-blog]

   If he goes back on this now, he runs the risk of devastating her. He thinks this was a mistake – this, bringing her with him, letting her stay with him, letting her love him. It’s hard to discern whether what Alice is feeling is love or infatuation, but maybe they’re no different in her mind. He almost wishes she would push him away, for once.

   “I do… I do, but–”

    His hold on her tightens a little. He sighs.

   “’M not… ready. T’ say it. This– this is all happenin’ too quick… It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, I just… I can’t–”

[paridaemon-blog]

   This is all happening too quick.

   Alice feels a pang of guilt in her chest. This isn’t the first time someone’s said this to her - might not be the last, if Alice can’t stop self-destructing at every possible turn. She shouldn’t have said it. She shouldn’t have even considered it. But, as with all things she’s done, it’s too late to not say it. It’s out there, in the open. For better or for worse, he knows how she feels.

   And, from the sounds of it, there’s at least hope that she hasn’t royally fucked this whole thing up. Considerably less embarrassed, she reluctantly pulls her face away from his shoulder so she can look at him.

   “If y’can’t, then don’t. I-- I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

   She offers him a gentle smile. It isn’t forced.

   “I understand.”

[supcrbia-blog]

   “… He knows who I am. He’ll stay away if he knows what’s good for him.”

   An exaggeration, perhaps. Percy has the means to keep Kristoff at a distance, even dispose of him permanently. Yet he couldn’t see himself doing such things unless absolutely necessary. Kristoff has not yet proven to be a real danger to them. Percy might be a little too confident in being able to talk Kristoff out of pursuing him – he also hasn’t seen the ring, though. That, if anything, should ward him off.

   For now, though, all Percy wants is to put Oliver’s concerns to rest. Kristoff can wait.

   “We should… we should go to bed. Forget this happened. Everything will be fine in the morning.”

[paridaemon-blog]

   The ring will not ward Kristoff away, but rather make him act with more urgency. After all, engaged isn’t married. As long as they haven’t completed the union, Kristoff will always find a way to wedge himself between them. Nothing’s set in stone. Nothing’s final. Not to Kristoff, anyway. He’ll pursue, even if Percy has his sights set on someone else.

   For now, though, he’ll stay away - go off somewhere to regroup, adjust, plan all over again. If he got Percy in bed with him once, he’s sure he can do it again.

   For the time being, that leaves Oliver and Percy together, in peace. Free of Kristoff until Kristoff decides he’s done waiting. Despite the intensely predatory nature of his father, Oliver feels comforted by Percy’s words. His father may be powerful, but Percy’s reach extends well beyond Kristoff’s. Percy has more connections, more influence. In Oliver’s mind, there’s nothing Percy can’t do.

   He smiles at the thought, wipes the tears from his eyes. He cups Percy’s face in his hands, pulling him in for a deep, slow kiss. After several drawn out seconds, he finally pulls away. With one last caress of his cheek, he stands, offering a hand to him.

   “C’mon. I know how to make us forget about this.”

[sickxride-blog]

@paridaemon (x)

“– … ’m sorry.”

Paul’s expression contorts – he fusses over his own arm, rubbing at a bony shoulder. 

“You did that on purpose, asshole!”

[paridaemon-blog]

“No, it-- it was a reflex. ‘M sorry.”

[saliida-blog]

   “—–uh huh.”

   The irritation and exasperation is clear in their response, and any sympathy they still have is kept well inside. Maybe they feel bad for being so easily frightened and impulsive, but that doesn’t mean that they have to let him off easy for trying to rob them. No way.

   Hands on their hips, Chef watches in a way nothing short of hawkish; that irrational part of them still waiting diligently for him to somehow become a threat. Nothing of any real significance, until their eyes lock onto his phone and it only takes a second, maybe even less than that, for their heart rate to kick back into overdrive. That knife is nothing in comparison.

   Chef snatches it from his hands, looking it over once - all they can handle - and shifting it in their hands in such a way that the camera is facing away. Not that it could ever be far enough away from Chef; they already won’t be sleeping for the next several days. 

   With virtually no tact or care, they pry open the back and work the battery out, tossing it to the floor alongside his other belongings. Chef doesn’t know if that’s going to break the damn thing or what, but if it does, they guess that’ll just be a fitting punishment. The phone is pocketed for the time being. Chef won’t risk him still using that camera against them, even if it’s off. He could find a way.

   “——you’ll get it back,” They finally say, in a tone somewhere between dismissive and reassuring. This is not a fun situation. “—–now, if you got—a boss, or someone who put you up to this, now’d be a good time to tell me ‘bout it.”

[paridaemon-blog]

   The clatter Oliver’s battery makes as it hits the floor is enough to make him flinch - sends a shockwave through his body, causing a resurgence of anxious tremors that he’d only just stopped. His eyes, still welling with tears, begin to change, all color fading from them in an instant. All that’s left is a flat, deep grey - eerie, ethereal, and completely unnoticed by him.

   The one thing he does notice, though, is that he’s on the verge of tears. Quickly, he looks away, focuses his attention on his discarded belongings. Humiliation makes his cheeks burn - he even sheds a tear, which he tries his best to ignore. Maybe if he acts like he doesn’t care, they’ll think he doesn’t care.

   He takes a deep breath, bracing himself in an effort to make his anxiety stop. It doesn’t really work, but he at least somehow finds his voice - quiet though it may be.

   “No, I-- I work alone. Don’t like getting just a cut--”