soulsalight

This is a private & selective RP Blog for a variety of characters from a whole lot of different media. multi-verse & multi-ship. Written by Stray. Please check out my rules to ensure we're both on the same page when it comes to interacting and roleplaying. This blog features only canon characters but a lot of their portrayal will be by necessity based on the mun's headcanon.

[soulsalight]

>> SOULSALIGHT is a private & selective RP Blog for a variety of characters from a whole lot of different media. multi-verse & multi-ship. Please check out my guidelines to ensure we're on the same page when it comes to interacting and roleplaying.

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[soulsalight]

A hoarse, curt bark of laughter made it past his lips at the unexpected reciprocation of his quip. "Wouldn't even be the most outlandish thing I've done to get into someone's pants..." The amusement even cut through the haze of pain long enough for him to grin at Seifer, although it did stray just this side of hysterical. "Is it working? Might add it to my repertoire—" Except, Seifer all but shoved the fabric of his clothes into his clammy, cold hands and Irvine bit down on a sound of pain when he pressed his fingers against the tender skin. "Be gentle, will you!" He grunted out when a sharp pain shot up his side, tone brusk with annoyance, more at himself than at the man currently trying to save him from his own recklessness. The only reason he was still standing at this point was the tree behind his back and his own stubbornness to not succumb to the weakening of his knees. He scrunched his eyes shut when their surroundings began to spin before him and it took all his remaining willpower to not let out a pathetic whine when Seifer put into words what Irvine already knew. Fuck, how he hated being in pain. It's why he decidedly stayed far away from the frontline if he could help it. He was a sharpshooter a reason. He wasn't made for this hands on approach and years of training and missions had not made it easier to bear.

"Just so you know: I'm not really into being ordered around." He sneered back when Seifer told him to stay awake with enough intensity behind his words Irvine's military training compelled him to listen. However, the bit of teeth he showed in turn did nothing to hide the fact that his composure was quickly slipping. The longer the throbbing in his side persisted, the more Irvine felt his throat tighten with panic. Gunshot wounds were never pretty, but he had to fight the fear starting to rise inside of him; needed to swallow down the shock, too. Neither he could particularly use right now. They had to deal with this and quickly, for Irvine's sake and to hopefully get away from here as soon as possible to avoid whatever reinforcements would be sent after them.

Still, it didn't help with the unease that he knew Seifer would be back when he stepped out of his field of view. It still made it harder to breathe to not have the other man's presence to anchor him. It was already hard to concentrate on anything beside the pain and the blood oozing from the wound as long as he was there in front of him to quip at. Although, after forcing himself to take more even breaths, Irvine felt like the pain began to fade some. He could barely feel the tension in his fingers holding his vest out of the way anymore either, nor the bark beneath his fingertips where his other hand clawed against the wood of the tree— Ah, he was going into shock, wasn't he?

"And the day started out so well..." He muttered under his breath, the edges of his vision began to blur. His eyes unfocused.

A harsh sensation to his cheek startled him into looking up, lids reopened, dulled blue found the sharpness of Seifer's gaze. Then, his gaze settled on the ammunition held up by the other man, processing his words retroactively. "For me?" He rasped, fighting to regain some sort of control over his body. "You shouldn't have." Seifer's words made his expression fall, bravado faltering as his mask cracked.

Cold sweat painted his forehead, sticking his hair to his skin, which was getting more pale by the second. Seifer's next question reached him as if through heavy fog and took him by surprise. "Cerberus." He breathed, eyes briefly glazing over with a sheen of red as the junctioned G. F. reared its head beneath the surface. "Only him." A tired smile made it across his features. "He gets restless unless he gets to tag along." There was a half truth in there somewhere, but Seifer didn't need to know the real reason. If he could help it Irvine preferred to refrain from using any junctions at all, but it wasn't a luxury he could afford anymore...

There was something in Seifer's eyes then, a similar reluctance maybe, but Irvine didn't have the time to dwell on it. Regardless, it didn't take much to follow the line of reasoning which led to Seifer's question. Junctioning and using magic as a result was better than not having any weapon at all to speak of. "Feeling like taking the dog for a walk?" He asked, voice tinged with a growl not quite his own as he pulled Cerberus to the forefront of his mind. "Be my guest."

The G. F. felt cagey, cornered as it was, with its current master injured, ready to snap and snarl. It's what Irvine always found most disorienting, experiencing the Guardian Force's emotions so close to his own consciousness, as if they were his own.

It was a chore to reach up and catch Seifer's hand in his and he could feel the tension in his companion as soon as he all but thrust the G. F. at him, bracing himself for the harsh severing of the bond between himself and Cerberus. Once it was done, he withdrew his own consciousness from Seifer again, forcibly shaking the connection between them, too. That was another thing he had never gotten quite used to. The way exchanging G. F. made it so he felt a hint of another person within his own mind. Even if it was for barely a split second, it always felt like too much. An invasion, for both parties. Irvine never brought it up to anyone before, the others always seemed fine, unbothered even... Who knows, maybe it was a unique thing Irvine experienced due to a lack of experience. He had only really begun using G.F. after allying with Balamb Garden's forces. Maybe there was something he simply didn't get.

Once again, Seifer was the one to pull him back to the present. Irvine was already getting loopy. Unsteady fingers moved to undo his belt in light of Seifer's words, though, and it took far too much effort to pull the belt out in order to drag it up to his lips and between his teeth. He gave Seifer an expectant look caught somewhere between resignation and trepidation.

Well? Get to it.

[visionaryanarchist]

Trying to focus on first aid while simultaneously having to entertain a flirtatious chatterbox had not been on his bingo card for sure, but Seifer would have to content with it ― after all, he was well and truly stuck with this one in the foreseeable future, considering he had to weapon whatsoever to truly fend his way past any other assailants, should they come at them again.

Not that he minded trying.

“Oh, it’s working. Can hardly contain myself. ‘m blushing like a fuckin’ virgin,” he muttered dispassionately while continuing to work on the other. Irvine’s grunt made him snort slightly, a light tug on the corners of his lips as he glanced back up at him. “Sorry doll, I don’t do gentle.”

Little way around that, too. There was no time to waste as he full well knew from past experiences. Back when he was still a student, trekking outside of Garden to train with his friends ― and sometimes Squall ― usually foregoing any curatives to make things more interesting. After all, there was always Dr. Kadowaki close at hand to patch them back up. Not this time around though, at least not until they knew what was going on. And, frankly, they had never dealt with bullet wounds before, either.

Seifer ignored the others mutterings for the time being, whereas under other circumstances he would have been the first to return any quips to stay on top of the situation. Right now, however, his primary intention was to make sure Irvine didn’t slip into consciousness ― or worse, shock ― and to hopefully remove the projectile so they could stop the bleeding.

At the mention of which Guardian Force the other one had brought along, Seifer paused briefly. Cerberus, of all. He didn’t truly believe in coincidence, but he kept as much to himself.

After all, he had been the one who left this very Guardian Force at the main area of Galbadia Garden, to guard the perimeter and prevent the SeeDs from advancing further. That was, until Squall and his little troop of heroes came along.

He had unjunctioned Cerberus then, letting it roam freely, because he couldn’t focus with the nausea it brought him to have any G.F. junctioned to himself.

“...coming full circle, I see…” he uttered, about to brace himself for the moment he would reach out to the creature and invite it in, but being harshly dragged into the junctioning instead as Irvine suddenly reached for him, clasping their hands as the connection overwhelmed his mind just like Cerberus did, a violent, snarling beast being tossed his way with little to no preparation for him to brace for the impact.

Seconds raced by as his mind rallied against the intrusion, but he refocused with a sharp inhale of breath, allowing for the creature to latch onto him, recognizing him faintly it felt like, while simultaneously he could feel Irvine on the fringes of his mind ― his pain briefly his own, just like incoherent flashes of memories that were not his zapped through his own brain.

As fast as it came, it stopped, the junction complete.

Seifer squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to throw up as he felt himself reeling from the magical powers inside of his body not finding the same purpose they did before in their previous host. How he hated the feeling, the invasiveness of it all.

Almost as pale as Irvine now, he blinked as he fought down the nausea, allowing his body a few moments to settle into the new sensations, stubbornly pressing onward and refusing to let his control slip away.

“Alright. Cool, cool… We’re good, all good,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable as his eyes briefly flashed in the same crimson Irvine’s had moments ago, tapping into the potential at is fingertips now. “Cerberus, alert!” The order snapped then, allowing them some more security in case more of the assailants were around.

At the same time, he could feel any previous sluggishness wash away, his mind slowly readjusting to the haste Cerberus granted him as he gave Irvine a sharp nod, his hand guiding the knife closer to the wound now. Nothing to be done about it but to get over with it, he surmised. “Gonna start working it out on the count of three,” he said, catching Irvine’s eyes one last time before focusing on what needed to be done.

“One…. two…” 

Not waiting for the last number, he pushed the blade inside, avoiding to cause more damage as best as he could while working through the injured tissue. The process felt slow and frustrating with the little material at hand, beads of sweat forming on Seifer’s brow as he maneuvered the tip of the blade to lodge beneath the bullet at last, finding that resistance and working through it, at last dislodging it and pushing it out.

Once the bullet was removed, he immediately pressed the fabric they had used before onto the injury, exhaling a sharp breath.

“...how’re you feeling?”

[soulsalight]

Irvine's teeth dug deep into the leather of his belt as Seifer worked the bullet out. Irvine's breath came in short sharp bursts before, but the moment the edge of the metal dove into him, his lungs locked up and his entire body with them. It didn't make Seifer's job any easier, nor did it help with the white hot pain that came with it. Notably, there was no sound from Irvine, though, not beyond one initial whimper which he immediately clamped down on when he felt it come over his quivering lips. There was no bravado in his posturing anymore, his face pale, fingers trembling, but his eyes never left Seifer's now bloodied hands. His gaze sharp as the steel used to rid him of the bullet.

His vision swam, he felt himself sway on his feet, his jaw tightly set and teeth buried deep into the belt between his lips. Still, no sound. Not as the knife dug deeper, and not as Seifer pressed the piece of cloth against his wound afterwards. But Irvine's body did give in at that point. He slumped as if the proverbial strings that held him up before were cut from one instant to the next. His vision went dark at the edges for a moment, his body briefly slumped forward, but he fought himself back to full consciousness soon after. Just in time to hear Seifer's voice cut through the haze of pain and fear, which Irvine was desperately trying to not let get to him. The belt slipped from between pale lips, making a dull sound as it fell to the ground.

"...Like a million gil." Irvine rasped between sharp breaths once the question fully made it through to him. His body decided to betray him in light of this whole ordeal, slumping forward as his legs gave out, and soon enough Seifer's touch was the only thing holding him up. For a brief moment, Irvine caught the scent of something vaguely familiar as he struggled to lean back out of Seifer's space, and it took him a lot longer than it likely should have to realize that that scent, familiar as it was, was inherently Seifer's. Irvine must simply be remembering it from back at the orphanage. What an odd thing human memories were.

And it was funny how this small sense of familiarity actually helped to calm him down some.

"I'll be fine." He added after a moment, words coming out between rough gasps, not concealing that he didn't feel particularly confident in the amount of truth that statement held. His breath was back to coming quickly now, body actively fighting against the stress and residue adrenaline. "Always been too fucking stubborn to die." Granted, he never suffered a wound quite this severe before, but he helped take down an all powerful sorceress and lived to tell the tale, he would not give in to one little bullet wound, even though he was currently steadily bleeding out.

He grit his teeth against the pain and suddenly felt his back hit the tree behind him as Seifer guided him against it. Irvine closed his eyes, willing the world to stop spinning in time he opened them again. He attempted a deeper breath once more, then forced his eyes to focus, taken aback when what came into focus first was the brightness of Seifer's eyes. He'd never noticed how striking their color was before. Deliriously, Irvine thought of the sea by the lighthouse, of warm sunlight breaking on the water. His gaze wavered.

Damn, just how much blood did he lose?

"Spare a Cura?" He quipped, mostly to snap himself out of this odd place his mind had decided to go, but despite their intent, the words came out chopped and weak. "Unless you feel like carrying me to the next settlement as I keep bleeding out all over your hands."

[soulsalight]

The prince's words draw a breath akin to a chuckle from the king's throat. He agrees with the sentiment, but admitting to it now would hardly serve to calm his companion's anxious mind.

When the prince halts his steps, the king keeps walking until they're stood side by side. The wariness radiates off of his companion in waves, and Barnabas cannot fault him for it. The smell that wrinkles his young companions nose has the king furrow his brow in a rare sign of confusion. But it is not so much the rotten nature of the smell that has him consider his next move carefully, the very air surrounding them feels wrong.

He doesn't answer the prince immediately, trying and failing once again to conjure up even a fraction of his usual power to use the darkness within these ruins to his advantage, to pull answers from the shadows that normally obey his every whim, but yet again, nothing. The king works his jaw, displeased. He isn't used to being impaired in this way. It unsettles him in a way he hasn't been in decades.

Still, he keeps his expression devoid of any indication of this unease. He steps further into the darkness, although rather than welcoming him, wrapping him in its reassuring embrace, these shadows seem near hostile. He shakes the feeling best he can, deep blue eyes scan the carvings on the walls, the murals ancient as the ruins surrounding them.

"I've seen similar carvings before." He says, voice colored with a hint of awe. Everything since his conquering of Ash is little more than passing, muted images, fragmented memories for lack of interest, apathy having befallen the king long ago. But these murals, their contents, incomprehensible to most, stir his mind to recognition. To his knowledge, few in Valisthea are still aware of the teachings he has lived by his entire life, and fewer still would be able to understand even a fraction of what these carvings try to convey.

Yet, the king's mastery of the ancient language is fractured at best. Decades of disuse lay between the lessons of the ancient language he endured as a boy and the present day. Faded and obstructed as the carvings are it is difficult to make them out in the dark. However, he does eventually grasp the rather concerning message scrawled across the wall.

Barnabas touches a hand against the wall, his expression darkening to the scowl he normally wears. "This is a prison." He says gravely, running calloused fingers along the ridges of the stone as he deciphers the ancient language. The stone itself is not cold to the touch as he expects, but warm, and reverberating with a low hum. He stops in his tracks, eyes scanning the carvings once more, raking his brain for another meaning than what he has just told the prince. His brows raise a sense of foreboding overcoming him. "No..." He says quietly. "It's an execution ground."

[captianimarum]

The violent feeling of discontent and misery continues to grow within the prince's chest, so much so that he finds himself briefly paused in his footing and distracted. How close the air feels down there and though he logically wanted to put it down to the fact that it likely hadn't seen the light of day in what one could assume to be centuries, he had the most abysmal gut feeling that it was something far worse.

The murals, once Dion managed to tear himself away from the spot he had paused, we're quite sensational. If the crushing feeling of being so lost and distant were not present, and he was not in the idle company of someone of whom had been actively been trying to kill him and his kinsmen, then the prince would have revelled in such a discovery. Eyes scanned the murals from a distance, furrowed brows as he attempted to decipher what they meant - - but it seemed he had no need for those efforts.

"You have-?" It's a question of pure curiosity that escapes ere he had much chance to stop it - - once, Dion had much preferred scholarly studies and discoveries over battle, but Bahamut had changed that for him. Once... once Dion would have thrown himself into that world of discovery, of the past, of what came before and what they could learn from that but alas, it had been too long. He's naught but Bahamut's vessel now.

"Prison-?" A brow quipped, the majority of his highnesses attention turning to the king in his company - booted feet beginning to cautiously close the gap between them just enough so he could see the part of the mural he was observing, to see if he could gain aught from looking upon it.

The word alone set Dion's teeth on edge, eyes glancing around; a prison for what? The feeling there may have something to do with it, but quite how... Heavens, his first thought had something along the lines of trapped and miserable souls but he swiftly cast that from his mind. Greagor save them---

--only for it to get worse.

"An execution ground? How did you ascertain that from this-?" He gestures toward the mural that he can only just make out in the utter darkness, hoping that the dear king in his company was simply taking the moment to pull at the Prince's leg in jest. But there was something in his tone that said otherwise and Dion wasn't quite certain what to do or say other than to attempt to glance around and pick things out of the dark.

"Executing what-?" Dion wasn't entirely certain he wanted the answer, but his very heart sank in his chest - - no matter what was executed there, the feeling that hung in the air told him that it was not great monsters or things that particularly deserved it. Perhaps there were trapped souls... Not that he would let on to believing such things.

Uneasy is an understatement. Dion knows not whether to be more ware of his company or of his surroundings; splitting it equally for the moment. Still - - - finding a way out had to be a priority. While the prince is certain that his Dragoons will be fine without him, there is still a concern nestled within his chest that there is an

[soulsalight]

"Beings of great power." The king answers, eyes still roaming over old runes, their pronunciations echoing through his mind, muffled by time, and yet ever clearer the longer he traces the carvings in the stone. Translating them for the prince comes surprisingly easy, even after all this time. The runes being displayed here is rather cryptic in its meaning, but as he walks along the mural, taking in more symbols used to indicate the elements, something slowly begins dawning on him. "Fire," he says, touching a finger against the rune. "Ice." He points out to the prince as he moves along, moving his hand along the stone. "...water, earth, wind, lightning." He pauses, hovering fingers in an uncharacteristic display of hesitancy over the next rune before he catches himself. "Light." He points out as he moves on, foregoing touching it entirely, and then: "Darkness." The stone of the rune crumbles under his fingertips, brittle with age, a wry smile tugs lightly at his lips. How very fitting.

He trusts he doesn't have to explain what these beings of great power may be now that the prince knows that the descriptor is accompanied by the elements. The term of Dominant was coined far later than the time these ruins became what they are now, and yet it seems they served a purpose tied to them. He reaches the ragged edges of a rune that has him pause again, the one that made him reach the previous conclusion of this being a site of death.

"The end." He says gravely. "Sometimes interpreted as destruction." He looks up, the mural turns to a scenery of clouds, a sky wide and vast. For some reason Barnabas' chest tightens at the sight of the runes carved beneath it. "Freedom." He says. "Rebirth."

Much like the one before, he doesn't dare touch these. He doesn't shrink away from them either, but he lets his hand sink to his side and takes a step back. Inexplicably, his mind feels a lot clearer now that he has accessed this ancient part of himself. He shakes the feeling and turns back to the prince. His expression darkens, the previous wonder and nostalgia at remembering childhood lessons with a clarity he didn't know he still possessed fading back to obscurity.

"It's a trap." He says. "Ancient sorcery. A way of freeing a mighty mortal vessel of their equally mighty spirit." Barnabas fixes the prince with an intense look in his eyes as he watches realization slowly dawn on his companion. "And what mightier being than a Dominant?" He asks. "What mightier vessel to be freed of its spirit so it can move on and be reborn into a weaker, younger, more moldable one?"

His tone is even and low as it tends to be, but there is a certain fire to his eyes that wasn't there before. The realization that this place is a failsafe used as a matter of disposing unwanted, unruly, Dominants to have them be replaced when the next malleable one awakens... The king hasn't been disrespected like this in half a millennium, and least of all been nigh powerless in light of it. Even just speaking it aloud makes a sudden anger grip him tight. An anger he hasn't felt in far too long, sharp and hot, unlike himself, unlike anything he has known himself to be for decades.

It's almost freeing in a sense.

[soulsalight]

@tripleflames sent: [shower] – sender takes one look at a bruised and bloody receiver, and goes to run them a shower. hot showers fix everything. / maybe the other way around? as a continuation of the one where barns saves theo, let barns take care of him.

a continuation for this one

Barnabas can feel that Theodore is still weakened by the repercussions of his captivity, no matter how quickly Leviathan's powers, at last unbound again, work to heal him to full strength, soothing burned and bruised flesh, marred by abuse of both magical and physical nature. The king all but carries his weight on his own now, despite the young man stubbornly trying to keep himself upright by sheer strength of will alone. His steps are uncertain, his legs trembling and the tremors that go through his entire form are not from anger, nor frustration, no matter how much Barnabas can feel those emotions radiate from Leviathan's temper coiling within.

No, the shivering, the set of Theodore's jaw, the wobbling of his lips when he forces his gaze to look firmly ahead, not meeting the king's eyes, it all speaks volumes of the weakness he doesn't allow himself to feel. He'd rather collapse, would rather destroy himself than admit to the defeat and the pain he's so clearly feeling.

And it's his fault.

Barnabas realizes it with sudden clarity. He'd instilled within the young Dominant a need to excel, a need to overcome pain and grief and weakness to become what his master needs, because that is what was expected of him, too. Another tool to be used at the right time, another weapon forged into obedience, added to the arsenal. But even the strongest steel will burst and break with enough pressure, and while the Eikon coils and hisses deep inside, Barnabas, for once, sees the man, the mortal, the wrongfully injured and rightfully frightened, Theodore, who tries so very hard to adhere to the teachings of a king who has long since forfeit any right to his humanity.

He sees himself in him so clearly now. Recognizes the pain of being broken down and forced to pick the pieces up himself, because it is the same as what he has endured so long ago.

Thus, Barnabas stops them as they pass his chambers. Their previous destination —Theodore's own chambers further down the hall— now abandoned. He hears the subdued noise of pain and despair despite the fact Theodore bites down on it hard enough the king sees a muscle jump in his cheek. He reads it in his posture, too, the fear that, once stopped, he'd not be able to keep walking.

But the momentum is extinguished by the king regardless. He catches his wrist when Theodore attempts to pull away, perhaps in defiance, perhaps because he feels the king might abandon him here to fend for himself and he hopes to find at least some strength still to keep moving by himself.

But Barnabas doesn't mean to cause him more pain, or make this into another lesson in perseverance. And most of all he doesn't mean to add loneliness to the aches, not when it was his failure that forced Theodore into this state. Theodore's will to continue on is commendable and under different circumstances his ability to withstand all that was forced upon him would have instilled Barnabas with pride, but this is not what he wants. Not for him. It is true that Barnabas has forged himself this way, under pain and with denial of the self. But despite decades spent in apathy he finds he does not want this for Theodore. Instead, he wants to soothe him, wants to assure him, to preserve that same humanity he himself has lost so long ago and spare him the agony of becoming what he is.

Theodore still avoids meeting his eyes until the king reaches his hand up to force him to. He sees Leviathan in them, the Eikon's might pulled around Theodore's self like a barrier, his eyes bright with electric blue. He's strong, so much stronger than the day they first met, but for the first time since then Barnabas doesn't want him to be.

He fits his hand to Theodore's cheek and feels his chest expand on an easier breath when the Eikon's presence briefly flickers to make way to soft green, before the starkness of the blue returns full force.

"You have done your part." He says to soothe the great serpent. "Now let me do mine." He watches as the Eikon's temper furrows the vessel's brow and threatens to pull his lips into a snarl. The king's expression softens. "I will now keep him safe where I have failed to do so before." He promises Leviathan, his voice firm, his tone sincere.

It takes another long moment, but eventually Barnabas strokes a calloused thumb over Theodore's cheekbone and sees some of the tension bleed from his shoulders. His own hands are no longer raw from when he broke the wretched collar that edged the slowly fading wounds into Theodore's neck. The king's own Eikonic powers made it so his wounds are faded to little more than tender skin, but he can see the lasting effect on Theodore's neck still, prolonged exposure likely making the wounds harder to heal, or maybe his aether is truly so far depleted there is nothing left to do beyond mere self-preservation. It explains Leviathan's lingering presence, angry and snarling like a cornered animal, but even Eikonic powers have their limits, and keeping the Dominant safe goes beyond the matter of their marred flesh. There were other wounds, those of the mind, inflicted by isolation and torture, and the fear of being left for dead. They would take time to mend.

But the king has nothing but time.

He coaxes Theodore into following him to the bathroom, so that soon clothes and pieces of armor can be abandoned and a bath run to welcome them home. Theodore leans heavily against a piece of furniture as the king undoes each buckle and fastening to uncover his lover's skin. The extent of Theodore's injuries is revealed then. Colorful bruising paints his body, cuts and burns already slowly healing, but speaking of violence endured that Barnabas so wishes to have spared him. It is his guilt to bear and his failure to atone for, and it is what he intends to do now.

Once done with Theodore's he sheds his own layers of clothing and soon steps into Theodore's space again to run calloused hands along trembling shoulders. Theodore is cold to the touch, his muscles tense with defiance, his expression speaking of unwavering resolve to keep himself standing.

Barnabas smiles despite the deep ache of sympathy he feels clawing at his heart, overcome by his adoration for the other. He leans in to press his lips to Theodore's, fingertips alighting on either side of his face as he fits the warmth of his body to the chill of his lover's.

"Break for me." He whispers as he withdraws, watching Theodore's eyes widen at the soft-spoken plea, then turn brighter with the beginnings of tears of exhaustion. Barnabas wipes the first tear away when it falls from fluttering lids, then he catches Theodore when at last his body folds into his own. There is no shame in this, no weakness in enduring all he has only to break now, away from the world and in his lover's arms, and Barnabas will make him believe it, too. He pulls him up, hooks an arm beneath the angle of his knees and around his shoulders to lift him effortlessly into his hold. He presses his lips to Theodore's temple as he walks them toward the warmth of the bath awaiting them.

"Just so." He soothes when Theodore's arms tighten around him, threatening to steal his breath and crush his ribs. He hears his breath hiccup out of him, despair at last breaking to the surface when they're enveloped by warmth. He feels the sting of blunt nails digging deep into the flesh of his back. It's nothing compared to what he knows his lover must have endured. And even so, Barnabas means to bear it all. A hand makes its way into matted hair, gently caressing along the roots as he holds his lover close.

"Allow me the honor of putting you back together, piece by piece."

[soulsalight]

Interest Check

I've had a few new followers a while ago and a bunch of older mutuals I've not really been interacting with much despite either having reached out or plotted before and I'm not entirely sure who is or isn't interested in interacting anymore.

If we're mutuals and you still want to interact with me in the future either like or reply to this post so I can keep track of that.

Bonus points if you tell me which muses you're interested in.

[soulsalight]

Interest Check

I've had a few new followers a while ago and a bunch of older mutuals I've not really been interacting with much despite either having reached out or plotted before and I'm not entirely sure who is or isn't interested in interacting anymore.

If we're mutuals and you still want to interact with me in the future either like or reply to this post so I can keep track of that.

Bonus points if you tell me which muses you're interested in.

[soulsalight]

It's the 24th of November. Happy Birthday Irvine!

[soulsalight]

A mercenary. Right. That... did make sense. As Jak listened to Razer's musings his gaze was glued to the bodies on the floor, blue eyes taking in the blood he had spilled. Aside from being the logical conclusion, it felt vaguely familiar, too. The fighting —the killing. He turned himself away from the scene with some difficulty. The hand Razer offered him for stability was gratefully accepted as a lifeline while he still felt a bit unsteady, and then reluctantly released again when he felt more surefooted.

Paradoxically, Jak felt unsettled mostly by the fact that he wasn't unsettled at all about the conflict, the blood, or death he just witnessed. Regret was the most prevalent of emotions, but the initial shock had been short-lived and mostly due to the fact his body had acted before his mind could fully catch up rather than genuine distress about what he had done.

Ultimately he followed Razer further down the alleyway, keeping close as he did before. It is an odd combination of feelings, trepidation about being offered to be handed a weapon of his own paired with unexplained excitement about the prospect.

Did he like handling weapons like this? The weapon itself earlier wasn't what sparked the recognition, so he must have handled several different kinds before losing his memory, otherwise he likely wouldn't have been able to wield it so easily and account for the recoil and charge up time as he did... His handling of the gun had been too precise to be anything other than intuition forged from experience rather than dumb luck. But still, this was speculation, not him remembering.

Jak scowled. This was getting old fast, and he was still hungry. More so now that he'd been forced into an altercation. It was fortunate then, that they finally made their way inside the place that would hopefully serve to alleviate the ravenous hunger.

Once seated, opposite Razer, Jak reached to take the menu from him, promptly starting to fidget with one of the corners as he looked at the different kinds of food listed on it. Before he could start wondering if he had any specific preferences for food before losing his memories Razer asked after his well being and Jak felt compelled to look up at him, only to quickly drop his gaze once more contemplating.

He hesitated briefly, but then shook his head no. However, instead of leaving it at that, his state of mind somewhat clearly communicated, he took a deeper breath. His lips parted, too, but before he could make an effort to speak, a waitress approached their table.

"Razer!" she called from afar, startling Jak with her sudden arrival and chipper voice cutting through the previously heavy silence. "It is not often you bring company." She said so with a certain familiarity to her tone that had Jak's ears twitch with curiosity. Her attention quickly shifted to Jak. "And such a handsome young man besides." She tilted her head when she regarded him for longer. "Do I know you from somewhere?" She asked, and Jak felt caught like a deer in headlights when her brown eyes settled on him. With his mouth dry and his ears drooping from being put on the spot Jak didn't have enough time to recover from the shock, nor gather enough of his faculties to answer either.

When she clocked that Jak wasn't going to answer her, she turned her attention back to Razer. "What can I get ready for you?" She asked. Jak looked at Razer as well, helplessness and indecision written clearly on his face.

[captianimarum]

Of course they would be interrupted. For but a moment there, Razer thought his companion would speak, reveal a little of what was going on in his head, perhaps give an insight on how he could help but no. The smile Razer conjures is one from the very depths of his person, one he didn't entirely feel but felt the need to present. He'd grown very convincing over the years, especially during his racing heydays - of giving the public precisely what they wanted to see even when one wasn't feeling even remotely like it.

"Surprise us." It's a rather lazy answer, even he had to admit, but it would allow two entirely unknown things to be presented in front of them that Jak could try, see if they could find something he liked and found enjoyable enough to eat so that his stomach no longer grumbled. "Tea and coffee--" Once more, the double order was simply to see what his company liked - - and at least it would then allow them to build up some base of variety that they could gradually grow a smite at a time.

When alone once more, Razer briefly allows his gaze to settle upon the sights just beyond the window - the smell of burnt rubber never disappeared from Kras, even when the championships weren't running, and the sights of tire marks never disappeared from the roads. It was a normal part of living there, the speed and the danger were personality traits, not passing endeavours.

" A good start is having you try a few different things. At least we can find out something you might enjoy." And be able to feed him such from there - along new discoveries, too.

Razer's attention turns to his company once more, focus briefly scanning his person for any new signs he ought to be concerned about but considering all that had but only recently happened... Jak appeared to be in decent condition. Which, alone, was... bizarre. Wounds like his would have set the usual fellow on their back for at least a week, but Jak had just participated in a rather abysmal fight on top of everything.

Safe to say, Razer was a little worried; didn't want him collapsing randomly and have to drag him back home.

"...are you in pain? We can pick up some medication on the way back."

[soulsalight]

With food and drinks ordered Jak slumped more heavily into his seat. Long ears picked up on various bits of conversation all over the place, it wasn't too busy yet, but that would likely change the further the hours crept into late morning. However, he found it already too loud for his liking, too many voices overlapped, too many sounds had him itching to turn his head and investigate their origin if only to make sure there was no threat. He felt uneasy still, the bustling environment made him uneasy, the tension from the alley still permeating his limbs

Razer's question was what pulled him from his thoughts eventually, attention coming back to the man seated across from him. Jak shifted in his seat, fingers drumming on the table's surface of the table while trying to disperse the restlessness that made his leg jump under it. But he wasn't in pain, no. Not anymore at least. So, he shook his head.

But then he brought a hand to his side to prod at his bandaged ribs hidden beneath his borrowed clothes and flinched when even a little bit of pressure assured him that they were still tender. He gave Razer a sheepish look and a shrug, bringing up that same hand, now with his palm facing down and tilting it back and forth a few times to suggest he wasn't feeling great, but also wasn't going to fall over any time soon.

The waitress soon came back with their drinks, and Jak leaned forward to smell the cups of tea and coffee placed between them, only to crinkle his nose at the herbal note of the tea and grab the coffee instead. He took a sip of the dark liquid and crinkled his nose again, setting the cup down and pursing his lips at it. He looked up, scanned the table, and ultimately reached for the sugar, placing a generous amount of it in his cup, stirring, and then trying it again until the taste was more amenable, more familiar.

He nodded to himself. Much better. He thought and took another sip. Preoccupied with his coffee until now, Jak didn't realize he was being watched intently by the other man, studied more like. As if he was a particularly perplexing puzzle to be figured out. Jak wasn't sure if he liked to be looked at like that, but it wasn't like he could do much about it. He had just as many questions about himself as Razer did, maybe even more, but nothing about their current situation rang a bell in his mind, even just faintly, so Jak had nothing to tell him.

It wasn't until the waitress came to their table again to bring their food and ultimately sauntered off again that Jak even attempted to get out another word. Razer seemed to have accepted that Jak wasn't going to talk, his attention moving on to the rather healthy serving of breakfast set in front of him. But it gave Jak a short moment in which he didn't feel scrutinized or paranoid, but rather just grateful. And with no other distraction or interruption he finally gathered enough strength to speak for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Thank...you." He rasped, throat surprisingly tight when he heard his voice emerge from it. It felt foreign and sounded rough from disuse. Quiet, too, in comparison to the activity of the bustling restaurant.

[soulsalight]

@petrokhelidon sent: “You keep drinking like you’re trying to forget something. Or someone.” / foulques to ywain

Ywain stares into his glass, swirling the liquid around by tilting his hand back and forth. Mayhap he's had one too many already, but his day had been shit and it wasn't like he had anyone to drink with so—

He nearly jumps out of his seat when Foulques approaches him, voicing that observation so nonchalantly Ywain didn't even recognize his voice at first. Or maybe that's just the liquor dulling his senses. That had been the plan after all. Brown eyes are wide and his mouth goes slack with surprise when he turns his head and finds the Duskwight that's been occupying his thoughts lower himself into the seat next to him.

Ywain grasps at the composure he prides himself so much on normally, but both the buzz he got going on as well as the rapid nature of his heartbeat make it difficult to keep himself appearing calm and collected. He swallows thickly, suddenly a lot more self-conscious about his current state of being.

"Yeah, well..." His words slur at the edges and his vision swims a bit. "Got some things on my mind." He mumbles and runs a hand over his face. He shakes his head to clear it. Foulques is right, because of course he is. Because somewhere along the way he'd learned to read Ywain in a way no one ever could.

Well, not since him anyway. And isn't that just the problem? Foulques and him are so vastly different from eachother and yet Ywain's managed to do the same damn thing again he'd sworn to not do ever again. It's only gotten him into trouble and worst of all, the last time this happened it's given him heartache it took him decades to overcome. And now he is doing the whole godsdamn thing over with someone who got about as many issues as he does and he really can't afford to set himself up for another heartbreak.

Doesn't mean that when he downs what he decided would be the last shot of the evening and looks up at the Duskwight sitting next to him that he doesn't sort of feel like leaning in, sort of thinks about kissing him, too. As if that wouldn't fuck up the trust they very slowly built over the past few months. As if that wouldn't push Foulques away in the same way it had done to him.

Ywain's just really fucking hopeless in that way, isn't he?

Come back to Gridania. People said. Settle down. People said. Rebuilt your life here. People said. Find a nice girl. People said. But of course, Ywain had to go and fall for the most abrasive, most difficult, and all together most beautiful Duskwight he'd ever seen and— What was he thinking about again?

He blinks, realizing he's been staring into Foulques' eyes, taking in their striking color, seeming ever brighter framed by light hair and dark skin, the lines of his face so much softer in the dingy light of the pub. He feels his heart skip a beat when he watches Foulques' lips part and Ywain quickly looks away before he can do something that will get him punched in the face.

Spirits be good, Ywain doesn't even remember what it felt like to be in love before he fell for Foulques, because every bit of it was always tainted by the taste of betrayal, but now? Now he lights up like the Amphitheatre during Starlight season whenever Foulques graces him with his presence, an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach and a perpetual smile on his face.

His head hurts and worse, his heart does, too. He stumbles to his feet, throwing whatever amount of gil he owes and some more onto the counter. "Mind taking me home?" He asks as he finds his legs in no state to obey him. While aware that asking Foulques into his home, again, might not actually help the dilemma he is in, he really doesn't fancy waking up in some random bush in the morning either, which he reckons is more likely than actually finding his way back home by himself.

[soulsalight]

@tripleflames sent: “Don’t you know how I feel?” / Theo for Barnabas

Barnabas fixes Theodore with an unblinking stare. The question an unexpected disruption of the silence that had settled around them. But instead of answering immediately, he waits to see what he'll do, if he'll falter under his gaze like he used to do, or if at last Leviathan's Dominant has grown into himself as much as he has into his powers.

The king watched him do so with great fascination, watched him reforge himself from a mere man into a true vessel for the mighty Leviathan. But there is an uncertainty within him still which Barnabas doesn't quite understand. Not after spending months offering guidance, training, counsel. Theodore had taken to his lessons well, after initial resistance of his true nature, of course, but that was to be expected after being plucked from the life he knew, no matter how insignificant it may have been at the time.

But Theodore stands taller now, moves with a confidence he didn't possess before coming to Waloed. He has become so much more than what he was. Yet, the king can feel it radiate off of Theodore whenever they're close enough to touch: the lingering uncertainty, a new kind of confusion. And in turn Barnabas finds himself wondering where it stems from, what Theodore thinks. How he thinks.

...How he feels?

It's something he's never taken an interest in before, or at the very least not in a good long while, the way people feel, and why they might do so. But he is able to read them well enough, recognizes anger, frustration, pain, sadness, joy, lust, want, need— all the little intricacies of human nature. And he's seen all of it in Theodore before, sometimes interwoven with each other. The last few of those things were occurrences even Barnabas can admit to thinking of fondly. The young Dominant makes for a rather beautiful and invigorating bedfellow after all.

But he's seen the shift in their dynamic, too. Isn't blind to the way Theodore hesitates around him now, not because of fear, but something else. The way he pulls away from him immediately — not before, nor during their little trysts — but after, when it is just so clear that he wants to stay, wants to be held. But rather than demand it, he leaves, he hides, and he refuses to make sense.

Thus, the question has a dark eyebrow raise, lips part ever so slightly as the king regards him. There is not a flinch to Theodore's person when Barnabas steps close enough that the green of his eyes fills his vision, but then he sees the young man's gaze flick off to the side, he sees him take a step back from him in a way he hasn't done in some time.

Why?

Don't you know how I feel?

"Do you?"

[soulsalight]

@petrokhelidon sent: “You’re staring again. Should I take that as an invitation?” / hien to thancred

It's been a few weeks since he woke up in Mor Dhona, disoriented, exhausted, and weak. As is to be expected, Krile said, after spending five years in the First. Except, he didnt. Or at least his body didn't. His mind however ... His soul did. He's still struggling with the years worth of memories trying to settle within his unresting mind. His body keeps reminding him of things not yet learned, a strength not yet gained.

He has since returned to Yanxia alongside Hien who had welcomed him with relief, and warmth and a kiss that felt like coming home as much as it felt like being torn apart from the inside. It had taken everything in his might to not simply succumb to tears in front of everyone the moment he felt Hien's arms around him. It felt like a dream, like any dream he had of home while stranded on the First with no way back and the slowly settling certainty that he'd never see him again.

On the source mere months had passed, mere months that saw his body confined unconscious to a bed. He was told in time the feeling of unrest and disconnect would settle. The discrepancy between his mind, soul and body is supposedly worse than it is for the others, more so, he suspects, because of his own damaged aether. It will pass. In time.

He's home now. He reminds himself. There is a moment to breathe, to recuperate, to rest. He needs it and the man standing by his side does, too, for he has fought battles of his own while Thancred was away, the marks of which he still bears, although they are healing well, much to his relief. Thancred just wishes he had been here when they were inflicted, mayhap he could have prevented them, but then that would have meant not meeting Ryne, and by the Twelve how he misses her now that there is no way back to the First.

How could Thancred possibly begin to explain it all to Hien? He spent every quiet moment wishing to be back here, to be able to look at Hien again, see him smile, laugh, feel his touch, his lips. But now that he is back his body doesn't feel his own, his mind not at home and his soul like it's torn between worlds. He doesn't even quite recall the last conversation they had before Thancred was whisked away. He sees it in Hien's eyes sometimes, the way he's confused and worried when Thancred doesn't recall what he must have told him not that long ago...

Hien's words pull him from his thoughts and he realizes he has been staring. Thancred clears his throat and looks away, eyes forward, overlooking the Doman Enclave from one of the balconies of the Kienkan. "Forgive me." He shifts, his footing uneasy, his body still weakened. He flexes his fingers, grips the balustrade tightly to anchor himself in the present. "I still struggle to believe this real at times."

He hasn't told him yet, how long it's been, how he lived on a different world for five years, bitter and angry, and how three of these years saw him looking over his shoulder at every turn to keep a little girl safe from any harm. A girl he thinks of as his daughter now, a girl who Hien might never meet.

It hurts much more than it likely should.

He flinches when he feels a hand come to rest on his own. The weight disappears again immediately after and when he looks at Hien, he sees hurt at his reaction flicker across his features before Hien very carefully puts his smile back into place and withdraws from his personal space.

Gods, he hates this, hates how vulnerable and uncertain he feels, hates how he's once again putting Hien's patience and love to the test. "No, wait." He catches Hien's hand before he can turn to leave, mistaking Thancred's uncertainty for disapproval or worse disinterest. "Please, I didn't mean—" He grits his teeth, jaw setting in a tight line when he struggles for words. He tilts his head forward, gaze dropping to the floor. For all his boasting of being a bard by trade he is left horrendously tongue-tied as of late.

He sighs, his breath shaky, and his expression weary. ". None of this feels quite real." He admits quietly. "It's been so long and I— I fear I've unlearned quite a few things in the meantime."

How to receive gentle touch for one it seems, but this won't make much sense to Hien either, not unless Thancred finally opens his mouth and speaks the truth into existence. But he hasn't found the words just yet, to put the grief about losing Ryne out in the open for anyone to look at just yet. She isn't gone of course, not fully, but still so far out of reach his heart aches with it. So, he's quieter now. He's been told as much. Y'shtola especially did not pass up an opportunity to criticize 'his even worse brooding' while they were trapped on the First, nor would she do so now that they're back. But again, Hien wouldn't know.

But perhaps it is time that Thancred lets go of the walls he's kept so securely in place for half a decade now that he doesn't have to pretend he isn't falling apart for the sake of Ryne's safety. He feels Hien's hand tighten around his own and his gaze shifts to take in the way his own is holding on to his lover like a vice.

He forces his grip to relax and then looks up to find Hien's eyes again. It nearly takes him out at the knees when Hien brushes a thumb over the back of his hand. Thancred smiles. It's a tiny little thing, a bit wobbly around the edges, a little broken, a little unsteady. But what else is new?

At last, he leans in of his own volition, having wished for nothing more than to feel Hien against him again. He kisses him, first sweetly, but then quickly shifts to something deeper, something heated, although to him it feels scorching. He is certain he won't be able to pretend he isn't broken if Hien so much as runs his fingers down the body that doesn't quite feel like his anymore, but he can't pretend like he doesn't need Hien close either.

"Consider this an invitation." He says quietly, shakily, and watches as the worry returns to Hien's features. Hien's free hand comes up to cup his cheek and Thancred's entire body shivers with the care that lies within this simple touch. He leans into it, his own hand coming up to cover Hien's. Another unsteady breath. A tear or two get lost between their fingers.

"Just make me believe it." He whispers. "Make me believe I'm finally home."

And make me forget all I have lost, just for a little while.

[deadpoolian]

Dispatch - Episode 8

[soulsalight]

OOC: Me, after literal years of writing with the same 5 people: how does one interact with new roleplay partners? how chat? how plot? also people like random asks right? they do still like those right? right???????

[soulsalight]

Tagging the game as lgbtq just for it to have ONE canonically gay character who doesn’t really show nor mention it except for a time or two and not even being able to date anyone except for two girls is just yucky to me.. not to even mention that you can’t NOT date.. I love the game and I love the characters and writing but it didn’t live up to my expectations back when I saw the first snippet last year.

I hear you. And I agree, if not completely, but I'm with you about 99%.

I think there are more lgbtq characters in the game, since Robert at least also implies he's into dudes a few times as well. But I do agree that the only openly lgbtq character is just there for appearance's sake at this point since they really don't do anything with him. I don't know if they are planning to do more with that part, maybe they're gonna pull a Mass Effect 3 and give us lgbtq+ romance further down the line.

I didn't really have any expectations going into this game since it kinda just showed up in my recommended basically and I went sure why not, so in that way I didn't have anything to be really disappointed in in terms of me expecting something from the stories or characters.

Let me emphasize again that I like the game, I still think they did a good job with a lot of things. but I won't call it a master piece nor perfect as I've seen people act. It's a solid game, decisions don't really matter though, which is rough in a game like this. Like yeah the "big" things do, but sometimes I clicked some options and was later doing the opposite and went wow this has no impact whatsoever, not even on the dialogue in the scene more or less. It really doesn't matter what I do. Which is not a good reaction to get out of your player for a decision based game. (Also I'm just gonna say it here: what is up with the quick time events? They really don't matter at all, turned them off like 5 minutes in bc they're fucking ugly to look at.)

And coming back to the decision thing I'm aware storylines like this have to have a 'diamond' shape of sorts to work for the plot but I'd argue that like half the 'decisions' in this game don't matter whatsoever not even on the small scale of one conversation and the whole bit felt more linear than I'd have liked it to feel.

Also, I'm a bit sad Robert's story just fell flat at the end? I kinda thought it would come down to a decision between him being Mecha Man again or being a Dispatcher for Z-Team. I thought maybe we'd explore more what it really means to him to be Mecha Man and being a hero vs. what he already alluded to with what he is thinking about the Z-Team being good and doing more than he himself ever could. But the story sort of just went off with the whole Visi bit which didn't feel like it should've even been a thing at that point also Shroud didn't feel as much of a big bad as he did like an addendum bc he kinda lacked presence in the rest of the game. Dunno... I'll replay it one more time consecutively with the Invisigal romance to see how I feel about it all after.

However, back to your initial point as I went off on a tangent here. Yes. I agree, the whole lgbtq advertisement and execution was not handled well, I just hope that since they were talking about season two somewhere and clearly made a bit of money with this things are gonna be a bit more polished eventually. Maybe they'll go back and add a none romance option for a playthrough... One can dream.

Also I hope they add just a mode for the mission gameplay. I kinda like the dispatching more than I thought I would but I don't want to lose all my progress every time I go back to play that...

What I think would be great if they gave an option to alter your decisions from the main menu via some sort of flowchart. I again think of the decisions in Mass Effect and how they gave you the option for Mass Effect 2 to kinda do the pivotal decisions from the first game via a multiple choice thingy if you didn't port your Mass Effect data into the second game... I'm just sick of replaying the entire thing to maybe change 3 things since the rest doesn't matter in the first place...

[soulsalight]

Dispatch Episode 7 & 8 spoilers

Yeah not a fan of how that whole thing played out. Right now the whole Visi thing pisses me tf off and these two episodes in general felt a bit like a nothing burger to me lol

Gonna sit with this for a while and replay the game once more start to finish and always pick the Invisigal options to see how much that changes things and my perception of her, though I'm not very hopeful. (I've done both BB and Visi for all the episodes before since I've played the game back and forth a lot and just happened to go with BB bc her romance felt like two adults rather than one person keeping the other from spontaneously combusting. These sort of relationships aren't cute to me.) Also the fact that the "good" ending is tied to a romance doesn't sit right with me at all.

[thunderousmemes]

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 

(starters inspired by too many drinks, city lights, and the kind of honesty that only comes after midnight)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

“You look like you could use another drink… or a bad decision.”

“Don’t tell me you came here alone.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m just—emotionally flexible right now.”

“One more round, and I might actually tell you what I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t plan on running into you here.”

“You’ve got that look—like you’re either about to confess something or start a fight.”

“You’re staring again. Should I take that as an invitation?”

“You ever think about how many bad ideas start with a shot glass?”

“You dance like you’re trying to forget something.”

“It’s way past decent hours—what are you still doing out?”

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓

“You can stop pretending you’re fine. Nobody believes it after their third drink.”

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“It’s funny—liquor makes you honest, but you still can’t say what you really want, can you?”

“You shouldn’t walk home alone. I’ll come with you.”

“You always talk like this when you’ve had too much.”

“You smell like smoke and regret. It suits you.”

“Let’s make a pact—we don’t talk about this in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me. But I’m not asking you to stop.”

“You ever get drunk enough to think the world might love you back?”

“We’re both going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t we?”

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I’ll go first.”

“Tell me a truth—just one. The kind you’d never say sober.”

“You’re going to forget this conversation in the morning, right?”

“If I told you I missed you, would you blame the alcohol?”

“You keep drinking like you’re trying to forget something. Or someone.”

“I didn’t mean to call you. My hands just remembered your number.”

“Why are you crying? Don’t tell me it’s just the gin.”

“You said you don’t love me anymore, but you’re still here.”

“Do you ever wonder how we got this lost?”

“Sometimes, I think the night listens better than people do.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 — quiet streets, unspoken things

“I’ll walk you home. You can pretend you don’t need me to.”

“It’s too late for goodbyes, isn’t it?”

“We shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“You can hold my hand. Just for tonight.”

“Do you ever wish you’d met me sober?”

“Don’t fall asleep yet. The world feels softer when it’s still spinning.”

“Stay until the city forgets our names.”

“You look different under the streetlights.”

“Promise me you won’t vanish when morning comes.”

“I don’t know what I’ll remember most — the taste of the drink, or you.”

[fablesuntold]

@soulsalight sent: "Need a light?" — From Flambae for Robert ✨

What the fuck was this guy’s problem? All the Z-team gave him shit, but 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐀𝐄? It seemed as though he constantly went out of his way to give Robert extra. “No, Flambae. I don’t ‘need a light’ so don’t even think about it.” The last thing he needed was for this idiot of a human blowtorch to spark up and set the whole parking lot and every vehicle in it ablaze to the point they all blew up. Blazer certainly wouldn’t be impressed. Though, Robert would argue that was probably the only thing Flambae was good at 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆— a joke he kept to himself. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Z-team’s childish 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓 today. Crude jokes included. Setting Flambae off would only set all of them off.

Narrowing his eyes at him from across the parking lot, Robert stared over his steaming mug of coffee as he took a sip, weighing the taller male up and down. Between Flambae and Invisigal? Robert swore he was going to go 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 before he even reached mid-thirties.

“Y’know they don’t give out prizes around here for being the biggest persistent asshole, right?” Setting aside his beverage and the unlit cigarette in his other hand, Robert straightened from where he’d slumped himself against a random car, arms folding across his chest. “I’m sure if they did though, you’d win every. single. one of them.” A 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 smile was offered as he made his way back towards the office, shoulder purposely bumping with Flambae’s as he attempted to bypass him.. but not without one last retort first. “Shame you won’t be winning anything for your performance review.”

[soulsalight]

Flambae was halfway through a shrug at the dismissal, smug smile on his face regardless of Robert's tone resembling that of a disappointed teacher or something. He meant to just continue on and go about his business, get some lunch before the second half of the shift when the first unnecessary dig hit and Flambae felt his temper flare immediately.

"The fuck, I was trying to be nice. I didn't even do anything today." The operative word being today, but just because he threatened to set Rob's scrawny ass on fire about twice a week didn't mean he was trying to do it now. His lips pursed, shoulders squared, flames prickling at his fingertips. But then he took a breath and calmed himself. Mandatory SDN anger management sessions, contain your anger, bla bla bla.

"Whatever..." He muttered under his breath, initially meaning to just let this go, but when the insults just kept coming, the eventual shoulder check bordering on excessive, he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. Ah, is that how it is?

"Whatcha doing, trying to pick a fight you can't win or something?" He turned around to watch Robert walk away from him, the shorter man all tense and with a rain cloud hanging over his head. "If you want to get punched in the face so bad at least stick around long enough for me to do it."

When Robert just kept walking Flambae pursed his lips. "Yaknow what I think I know what your problem is." He said, arms crossing in front of his chest. "You've been behind that desk for too long. You're supposed to be a hero, right?" Although Flambae still had problems believing that since Robert was like half his size and a normie. But that's beside the point. Flambae picked enough fights in his life to recognize the act. "Admit it, you're bored out of your mind and crave some action that's why you're trying to piss me off."

Admittedly, it was working now, the fact that Robert was ignoring him almost did what his insults previously wouldn't. "You want to blow off some steam? Want a brawl or something? Meet me at the gym after work, I'll even promise not to kill you."