Hannah. I am only what can be described as the human embodiment of tidus' laugh and must be stopped before I take over the world.
I am a tempest of angst about fictional characters & I sometimes make edits. Go figures.
Oh, I also RP.
send me a number for a drabble | not accepting | @aurescere
Titus Drautos is not a man of EMOTIONS by any means. he does not burst into the flame of temper, nor wallow in the SELF-PITY that comes with that infernal feeling of loss. He’s not cried since his family lay slain ; he, armed with little more than a pitchfork & the intent to kill, fell into the grasp of war with vengeance in his heart. he SURVIVES while they lay dying in the dirt like they mean nothing , when, to him, they meant everything.
‘ just bring them back to me. ’
war has the ability to CONQUER not only lands, but the last lingering remnants of innocent held in honest hearts, turn farm boy into kingslayer. The first nights, he begs the astrals to return them back to him, quiet pleas that go unheard in the night. smothered by GHOSTS who steal them so selfishly from his lips.
why WORSHIP gods whose ears do not SEEK the prayers of the devout ?
he’s sixteen when he pledges his loyalties to Niflheim & twenty when he infiltrates the ranks of LUCIS, to reclaim peace in a world that cherishes children, but never childhood.
PLEASE STOP STEPPING ON MY MUSE I HAVE ENOUGH TO WRITE. *FINGERGUNS AT DASH*
justified anger rolls over the younger in sharp waves, ACCENTUATED only in the sharp bite of a heel against his face. he tries to hide his hatred well ; he --- G L A U C A --- who ripped from him the definition of normalcy with a blade to her back. Sylva fell so easily it was no wonder they aimed for the Lucian royalty as well. Lips twitch into a crooked grin, a surge of lust birthing a warmth in his pants that leaves him GASPING & pleading for breath. were his hands not bound--- heels dig harder into his flesh & titus realises... that tonight’s going to be a good night. // @aurescere
title rolls EASILY from tongue’s tip. he is tempered to kill. trained to command & bear the SINS of war. If anyone could understand it would be COR ; weariness etches lines into the corner’s of his eyes. just what have they seen ? he’s as loyal as they come, but even then the Lucian lapdog likes to let go sometimes. there is no tenderness here. only an honest want to let go, to forget in the most merciless way they know how.
titus is silenced by the rough squeeze of fingers around unshaven jaw --- he’s never been a man of many words, but he knows that it’s a command of silence; hands ease him downwards until he’s lying on his stomach. tiers part to question , soon smothered by a groan, all or nothing is how they’re going it seems. // @valorguard
pushed to his knees , he knows Clarus likes him like this. silent, malleable, OBLIGING under his boot. In times of conflict, there are no shy kisses stolen in the darkened corridors as they once had; there’s barely time to be BENT over & taken on his desk. or in some dingy corner of the LIBRARY , where Clarus has to bite into his shoulder to silence himself, leaving bruises flowering over dark skin.
fingers tangle in a shock of dark hair. tonight, he takes his time. bites & nips & sucks until he’s a trembling mess & willing to do ANYTHING for a taste. Titus Drautos does not B E G , not even as the pointed heel of a feminine shoe digs into his hip & chest. even like this he refuses to BOW to a lucian who is not the reigning monarch --- this must be that FIRE he talks about when he dotes. Titus’ breath hitches, he’s straining against the confines of tight leather & the weight of Clarus’ heel tells tales of promises not yet fulfilled.
They track them. Every one. They have their own unique code.
He knows Drautos says it without thinking. It’s trivia, not meant to be taken as anything beyond that. The man has started to divorce him from other MTs in his mind, he knows, from empty MTs. Drautos doesn’t know what they are, what he is, only that they share a title. Their escape from Insomnia had been difficult, his injuries were not healed, but he knows what he has to do.
It explains why the drop ships kept circling.
He has to make a choice.
He does it when Drautos is asleep. When there’s no chance to stop him (he’s not sure if he would) and it’s by no means painless. The angle is awkward and the cut is far from clean, the scream muffled through the fabric of his jacket and his body wracked with an agony he’snever known. He doesn’t think, he just - grabs the arm, whips it into the river and lets nature take it’s course.
He stumbles back to the Haven bleeding so heavily it’s a miracle he’s still standing.
when he breathes it feels like he’s INHALING shards of glass ; ripping at his lungs & slicing though oversensitive & still healing flesh. that’s why he doesn’t start when the first thing he SMELLS is the pungency of copper clinging to the air. when it LACKS the taste that accompanies it, that’s when the niggle of concern twists in his stomach. it takes a good portion of his strength to rise from the floor of the tent; armour designed to aid now a hindrance ( it can only do two things: repair him, or repairs itself ; he counts himself lucky that it hadn’t prioritised the latter ).
ducking out of the tent his blood turns to ICE.
staggering steps signal physical distress, the wail of steel scraping against the stone sides of the haven in his urgency. as he draws NEAR, the scent of blood only grows stronger. sunkissed skin is now pallid & his breath comes in short pants, a sweat gleaming upon the blonde’s brow ( exertion ? blood loss ? what a fucking idiot. ) --- how many minutes was he away from losing CONSCIOUSNESS ? with the half-lidding of eyes , he could only assume that he draws near.
there’s no asking PERMISSION when he sweeps him off his feet, carrying him up the uneven slope to the campsite to lay him beside the fire. he needs his sword, the tip pressed into the flames of the campfire that, thankfully, hasn’t extinguished just yet, some fishing wire --- that’s in the bag BESIDE the tent, & some bandages. ( those, thankfully, reside in a pouch strapped to his thigh ). the first thing he sets about doing, is a TOURNIQUET of the wire.
@pridevowed said:“ why are you making hot pockets at 3 am? “
“ Because I’m hungry and that’s the only thing here.” He mutters, sighing softly as he leans against the counter, "After I make sure Prompto is okay again, I’m leaving.” He’s glaring, very slightly, at the older man, unsure of what to make of it all. He’d broken Drautos’s nose and hand, and while he felt the slightest bit sorry he wasn’t ready to admit that just yet. Not yet. Not while Prompto was still -
He breathes in, shaking his head as he takes the shitty food out of the microwave and sits on the stool. “Sit. Let’s… We need to talk man. About what happened. The hell you guys fought about that stressed Prompto out that much.” The looming threat of losing Prompto was still plaguing him, the fact he’d lost his father just a few short weeks ago felt surreal enough, Noctis still mourning and grieving, only to have Prompto thrown into the hospital after being okay for so long. He feels tears start to gather at the corners of his eyes and he pinches the bridge of his nose, applying slight pressure to his tear ducts to make it stop.
he makes a fair point --- the cupboards in light of prompto’s hospitalisation were, for lack of a better word, BARREN of anything that even closely resembles nourishment. ‘ my apologies that the contents of my fridge aren’t up to your standards, your HIGHNESS, ’ he quips tightly. it’s hardly a secret that Noctis & Titus have grown only to tolerate each other in the troubles following the fateful call, that not only lead to Noctis breaking his nose, but to DRAUTOS breaking his hand on the prince’s cheek ( more out of retaliation than any true ANIMOSITY towards him ).
arms rise to fold over the expanse of a bare chest, jaw setting almost stubbornly --- what goes on between Prompto & Titus is no one’s business but their own, though there’s a faint hum of surprise that he didn’t know. a hand rises to rub over the expanse of a stubble-roughened cheek, there would be no polite way to tell him to butt out of their RELATIONSHIP by any means, though the strong desire to take Noctis by the scruff & place him outside of the apartment is almost too strong. Titus heaves a sigh.
‘ that is between us. if Prom’s not told you himself then I’m sure as HELL not going to. ’
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