hand in hand!

—come human error and plain bad luck! / multimuse rp blog!

[spirestar]

ind. + selective low-activity multimuse rp blog featuring muses from various sources. read my rules below the cut before following.

penned by fer, 25, any pronouns! current blog muse list is here and linked at the bottom of my rules! my blog for sylvain gautier from fire emblem can be found here: @ruinskies

don’t be a bigot freak (xenophobic, racist, lgbt+phobic, you ship adults w/ children, etc.)

my blog is low-activity by default since i work a full-time job and i’m often mobile-bound, but this may fluctuate at times when i have more free time (esp on my weekends, mon/tues). thank you for your patience.

this blog is open to writing with mutuals only. i'll only interact with mutuals of this blog (you don't need to be following any other blog of mine). i will follow first or follow back to write with you!! if i don’t plan on following someone back, i typically try to softblock. if we are mutuals, please send me asks, msg me to plot, or write me starters whenever you want! i try to do the same and rly enjoy interacting! i typically softblock after 4+ months of inactivity, but feel free to follow me again if you return after a break!

i typically do not do exclusives, shipping or otherwise. i have mains, which are people who i plot and create lore with at least somewhat regularly, and the only character i have currently who is single-ship is my oc cam with @/songsofreason. otherwise shipping is entirely up to chemistry and plotting, i prefer to have an ooc conversation establishing a ship (even if it's just a message from you saying you're sending a ship meme/ask etc.), and i love writing with different versions of characters!! seeing everyone's interpretations is what makes rp so much fun :D

i prefer longer, more literate replies. a crack thread here and there is fine, whatever, but i like to write stuff with plot or at least some structure 95% of the time! 

as far as nsfw content goes, i’m not comfortable seeing people write smut with the sonic cast (humans are ok though). please tag nsfw accordingly or do it on sideblogs. this includes extensive ic jokes (the occasional one-off is fine) or extensive allusions to nsfw themes. other nsfw content like violence, horror, psychological trauma, etc. is fine. (added note: since i'm often mobile-bound, untagged sexual nsfw can be awkward LMFAO)

let me know if you'd like more specific tags than these!! : my tag for nsfw content is usft / and my tag for suggestive content is suggestive /

i try to match formatting with my writing partners! i'll use regular or small text and when i use icons they're typically 70x70 or 100x100. i will also use bold and italic fonts for emphasis. if you don’t use small text i won’t either.

(8 cont.) i will not write with people who overuse super fancy formatting, if you are concerned your formatting is too fancy, what bothers me the most is fancy/non screenreader friendly fonts and excessive amounts of spacing between words (i don't mean like two spaces, i mean those big double indent spacings between each word, etc). font colors and font size changes can be rough sometimes too depending on the contrast and how often it is used. i really can't read this stuff and it kind of sucks when i can't engage with your headcanons or other posts because of that. i will softblock if your blog is inaccessible to me in this way because it’s just impossible to get stuff started.

i don't follow people who post excessive amounts of ooc negativity or ooc venting. even if it's under a cut, tagged as tbd, etc. an occasional vent is fine of course, we are all human, but please be reasonable.

if we are mutuals for a while and you seem to be present on the dash often (i.e. obviously not on a break/inactive or you aren't someone who is generally away from the dash often) but we can't seem to get anything going interactions-wise, i might softblock you or hardblock you (i opt for a sb over a hb but i know some people prefer to just be hardblocked) after a certain amount of time. if i sb you, you are welcome to refollow as i don't mean it personally, i just assume you are uninterested in writing together and i prefer to keep my following list limited to people i see myself interacting with. i would rather accept we aren't gonna work on stuff than spend the time wondering what's going on or feeling like a bother in your mentions because we can't get anything going. furthermore, please don't take it personally if you refollow and i don't follow back again.

sort of related to the above, mutuals are always welcome to write me unprompted starters, send unprompted asks, go through my prompts tag and send me random asks from those prompts. any time, any place, any prompt. this is a writing blog and that's what i’m here to do!

fer/will/darcy, 25, he/they! PLS say hi! access this blog's muse list here.

[daredevilize-blog]

[viralweaponry]

@spirestar liked! / josie & wyatt!

What a fucking mess.

A victim of Umbrella / The Connections / et fucking cetera winds up in BSAA custody. It's probably better than the alternative ( umbrella / the connections / et fucking cetera ), but the victim is still functionally in a cage. The victim gets used and experimented on and passed around, and the victim is still so fucking compliant because they know what happens when they aren't, and ——

Stop it. You're personalizing. The aborted career in psychology saves the day again.

Wyatt can hear Josie's ( the subject, the man passing them her file had said, and Wyatt had hissed back, she has a name, jackass —— ) heartbeat, however warped it may be, through the door. Everything about her sounds different, smells different. It's overwhelming, but not unbearably. Wyatt's heart aches; the intensity is unexpected, not the reaction itself. The BSAA are supposed to be to the good guys, and yet...

They push the door open and smile, head tilting, warm and sincere. They really are happy to meet them. "Hi there. Josie, right? My name's Wyatt." The close the door behind them. They try to keep their voice steady, to keep from talking too fast. Josie's already putting out enough stress hormones; no need to make it worse. "I'm with the SOU division. I asked the team if I could come meet you. I brought some gummy bears, if you want any."

[spirestar]

Josie has had a few years to get used to the stares and double takes. It's kind of her worst nightmare, being left in big glass boxes so everyone who wants to can get a glance, and maybe it's fitting that that dream has come true an innumerable amount of times now. It could be a good thing--Stuff can't get worse, right? It's probably the exact opposite. Unblinking eyes stare back at Wyatt as they enter the room. The pale fluorescent lights above make the taupe brown of their sclera shimmer a bit. An iridescent mirage. She's wearing a hospital gown with snap closures instead of ties and her jaggedly cut hair hangs limply from her head after so many days of being unwashed. Kind of a last priority for quarantine officers and holding cell staff. It makes them feel disgusting.

"Hi." They mean to just say it but it comes out sharp. It probably doesn't matter, they remind themself. She tries to smile anyway and she's the only person in the world who doesn't find her fingertips cold to the touch when she reflexively moves them to push up glasses that she no longer wears. "Uh. I mean, hello."

Gummy bears sound really fucking good. When was the last time they actually ate normal food? Josie slowly shifts her hand to tug up the collar of the gown so it billows out a bit and covers her neck, the collar sticking on her chin. They pinch the fabric between their fingernails and try not to look as anxious as they feel--People used to say their smile was killer. Well, Amy did. Hopefully it's still a little true.

"I mean, I wouldn' be opposed, but um--" She clears her throat and tries not to move otherwise, Southern accent slipping in just before she does. Sometimes if they move around too fast or anything else like that, people freak out. It's bad enough they don't have any other clothes to hide in. Nobody would poison gummy bears right? Or use them for some kind of test later? "What's SOU? I just--" There's a bandaged gash over their forehead where most people would have a left eyebrow. Some bruises on their arms, bandaids, scrapes over their small nose. The van crash was maybe a little worse than her file documented. "I know the, uh. Umbrella department names a bit better. But--s'nice to meet you." Wyatt. They can remember that. It's easier to pretend they can be two people talking normally when she knows people's names.

[fortruechaos]

Shadow looks at Cam for a long even few moments. Then: "Alright." It's easy to discern what she means beneath the pause in her sentence. They'll talk about it later. He turns and walks away with nothing left to say.

Cam's prediction is right. In the conference room they're briefed on a new mission--one that Shadow would normally turn down due to the magnitude of his pride. The ask is for them to work alongside a new task force in hopes for them to gain more data on Team Dark's synergy--and ideally recreate Team Dark's power in the future.

"That's stupid," Shadow had said, a derisive snort accentuating the breath before his sentence. "As if anyone can keep up with me." Rouge had shrugged flippantly, her blue eyeshadowed lids closing with that same sassy attitude. "I agree, hon, but hey, I don't call the shots. But still... no idea why they think they can just magic up a second Ultimate Lifeform, a rogue E-Series robot, and the world's most beautiful jewel thief out of nowhere. None of us exactly grow on trees...and none of us have the skill set that 'data collection' can ever hope to recreate. Guess we'll just have to see where the chips fall... hell, maybe it'll even be kinda fun."

Which is how Shadow comes back around to being face-to-face with Cam, an unlucky fox who looks about ready to keel over in the presence of Team Dark, and another freckle-faced human who looks eager to prove himself. Frankly, Shadow's kind of insulted.

He fits the comm band over his 'double's' wrist. Who happens to be Cam. Takes a step back and looks at her. Slightly more annoyed than he had earlier. "Waiting until we're on the field?" To talk about whatever Cam needs to actually talk about.

[spirestar]

Needless to say, this was not her plan. Agents like Herald, Spritely, and her don't get to plan or pick where they go next. It's like G.U.N. is loading a bomb on a truck and waiting for one of them to drive over one wrong rock--then the organization would be rid of a few more problems and get to keep all the data and evidence for themselves.

"I know what you did to your last team," she'd muttered to Herald as they suited up. He'd just rolled his eyes at her. They were probably thinking the exact same thoughts about each other: You're not that special. Spritely had been practically trembling in the corner as they strapped a Mobian-sized sniper rifle to their back. Cam hadn't been sent out with the fox before, but Spritely, regardless of their weak fortitude and anxious appearance, was known as something of a jinx among general field agents. Being on an assignment with them was a bad omen. Not that Herald was any better, the kiss ass--"Don't expect them to promote you for this." Sure, she probably had some sort of reputation with other agents too. If she cared, she might've wondered if the nervous nelly and goody-two-shoes team-up was some kind of punishment. Not that it mattered.

She won't let anyone get in her way. They've been sent to the base's air hangar to meet up and, well. Cam hadn't been expecting all of Team Dark. What, does G.U.N. want them all to fight or something later? This sucks. For a few moments, she adjusts the band on her wrist so the microphone will rest right over her pulse; She's hardly dressed any differently than before. Handful of weapons holsters and harnesses and taller boots with better combat soles, but that's all.

Then: "Obviously." Cam's eyes narrow slightly and she doesn't give herself another second to gnaw at the inside of her cheek and wonder about anything else. Better to take it as it comes and find an opening. "Word is we're checking on an abandoned R&D facility that's had activity pop up on some old monitoring system." Her gaze drifts sullenly toward Herald as the man tries to introduce himself politely to Rouge, and poor Spritely is trying to avoid any sort of eye-contact with everyone... Including Omega. Which just isn't possible. The fox tucks their nose into the collar of their uniform jacket. Cam sighs and turns her focus back to Shadow.

"Could be nothing." But it's probably something. If they're all getting sent out. She's not an optimist. "Herald and Spritely will follow in a heli. I'll meet you three there for initial recon." She smirks and her tone tinges bitter rather than flat when she adds, "But I'll stay out of your way. Orders." And then she reaches into her jacket pocket and rifles out a set of keys, clicking a nearby vehicle awake with a high-pitched BEEP! A silver hover-cycle. She doesn't usually get to keep the keys anymore--Not after Italy. Cam doesn't say anything else. But she does wait, lashes lowering over her black irises as she scowls around the room at the other occupants. She's started giving up on fighting to call all the shots. That's not why G.U.N. have her this assignment and it won't help her case, so if Shadow wants to try something different, she'll at least go along with it.

(Spritely seems to shrink two inches when she meets their eyes. God. She knows she's not actually that scary. And Herald has already found his keys for the helicopter too, so he's looking for the proper model among the other aircrafts after waving an annoying earnest goodbye to Rouge.)

[sunhalf-a2]

"We must be different sorts of monsters," she replies to his thoughts, voice airy, arms crossing. Still, she takes the card, eyeing it without curiosity, knowing what it says the moment it appeared in his mind. She tucks it into the pocket of her blazer. She's certain Alice had seen this; no wonder she'd been annoying this morning. She's more likely to reach out than Edythe is, if only to see what visions the other's proximity might bring.

Speaking of — Edythe casts her talents outward, feeling for her sister; ah, there she is. Even lacking close proximity, familiarity makes it easy to find her mind, and — ugh. Alice is obnoxiously pleased with herself and the future she's seeing. None of those futures end with Lucian betraying or harming them, at least, which is a comfort. Edythe withdraws from her mind, not attempting to keep from grimacing as she returns to the other's.

He's laid bare, and his sincerity prompts her to return it, however stilted it may be. Edythe wonders at this person and his...what, lightness? So unlike the monster that he is. That they both are. She might mistake him for having a soul. "My family maintains a permanent residence nearby."

The words are careful — they communicate both the family does not hunt humans, and that there are many of them; that they are not a family to be trifled with. Eleanor would call her overprotectiveness foolish, but she can be nothing but what she is. "The younger we pretend to be in a new place, the longer we can stay before people begin to notice we don't age. We've lived in this town for years."

[spirestar]

@sunhalf

Lucien folds his hands together against his waist and leans his hip to the side, pointing his toe just a bit so he can wiggle his heel back and forth in a little arc over the floor. It's always exciting to meet new people--He's been taken as an intruding threat at times during his travels and welcomed with open arms by others who valued politeness or positive reputation. In France, he once had a small family of his own. But that was a very long time ago. His cheeks dimple slightly when he smiles wider.

"That does help," a nod, "I'm sure staying away from larger communities has helped too. I've always favored a big city for my residences, but you can take the boy out of the village but not the village out of the boy, et cetera."

The slate blue color to his eyes stays muted in the dim hallway light as they talk; A very thin limbal ring of scarlet red flickers halfway-visible when the sunbeams poke in through the high narrow windows. It's not something most people ever notice. Lucien is rarely ever seen as an obvious threat. In his eyes, his soul is relative. He's still alive in many ways, isn't he?

"Where are you from? Your accent is practically authentic." Unlike his own--He's had several different ones over the years and he's worked very hard to make his American one sound right, but there's still a touch to his tongue that the observant listener would note. "My apologies, it's been a time since I've met any other, what did you call us?" His nose wrinkles prettily when he chuckles under his breath and thinks Monsters, with obvious entertainment. "I'm more accustomed to being a novelty. But..." Lucien hums softly, a few notes of Debussy's Passepied, and he doesn't need to focus hard or sniff the air to make the assertion he does next, "You're the same way, no? People are so very interesting compared to old dusty relics." Read: Humans are.

[brbarou]

nunnally seeing suzaku's face for the first time or whatever. i don't care. i don't care

[monorays]

this is from december i can’t believe i never posted it here

[crownmemes]

Questioning Sentences, Vol. 59

(Questioning sentences from various sources to ask all kinds of muses. Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Do you ever feel like your life is not your own?"

"Don't you think you're getting a little obsessive?"

"Did it never occur to you that you're the problem, not the solution?"

"What's Latin for 'losing the will to live'?"

"Is there a reason you're not answering your phone?"

"What? Are we not going to kill him?"

"What's up with you? Are you sulking?"

"It's starting again, isn't it?"

"Who teaches us to be normal when we're one of a kind?"

"Why did I have to love you?"

"What did you just do?"

"How do we make him stay dead?"

"What do you leave here for me that you don't dare bring me directly?"

"Do you remember everything you see?"

"You're not using everyone to further another end, are you?"

"I'm sure you're aware of the consequences of divulging confidential information?"

"How am I supposed to write in this state?"

"Do you remember the fairytale?"

"Does it hurt? The truth you keep hidden?"

"You weren't leaving, were you?"

"You're letting me live. Why?"

"Why do you hold all your hate for me?"

"What colour underwear do you think I'm wearing?"

"Is this a poem?"

"Do you always sit in complete silence?"

"I assume you're here to apologise?"

"Come on! When was the last time you had fun?"

"Are you asking me to help you kill him?"

"What was it that gave me away?"

"How do I know you're actually you?"

"Is there any chance you'll find who really did it?"

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Do you ever wonder if all of this is just a dream?"

"What defines a nice bum, anyway?"

"Don't you want to be saved?"

"Have you ever known me to lose a fight?"

"Do you really think that running away will do you any good?"

[heartinhands]

Looking back on it Verso will wonder if he had a premonition somehow or if it was Verso's soul speaking through him--possessing him, even, if Verso allows the dead Dessendre some specific evils.

For now though they're mostly just taken by the fear and the worry.

"I'm not worried about Renoir being angry with me if I wanted to go back." They're a little surprised by the statement, although they can't really fault Julie for suggesting it. Verso and Renoir have debated over many things, the nature of 'great art' being one of those things, but with this they have never been more aligned. And their father doesn't talk about it, not with Verso, but they've seen the concerned look in his eyes--he's just afraid of what might happen if they can't find Clea and Aline either too. That fear is far more than a cursory fear of mortality. It's not something Verso can put into words with Julie and it's something he's too afraid to put into words with Renoir. Not that either of them will admit it to each other. Renoir, the pillar of the family ... and Verso, the mask-wearer. "It's just..." he laughs a little, suddenly embarrassed. "I don't know. Never mind. Maybe it's the thought of a boy who hasn't grown up entirely." I feel like Maman is the only one who can put it back together again. After growing up, after the fire, after being praised a hero, after becoming a bona fide soldier in the name of Lumiere -- they're still just a child, trusting in mother to make it right.

The second point Julie makes, Verso will allow him. "Alright, I won't push you about it anymore." His smile is apologetic in hue. "I'm sorry. You're right. It should be a choice you make and only you. I don't mean to pressure you into doing something you don't want. I guess I just think--most importantly, you have the opportunity to make your family whole again. You should take it. And plus, then I'd owe you a debt." They let their knees drop and lean back against the box, a slightly challenging look in their eyes now as their chin tilts up, the barest bones of light catching their irises and making them stand out paled by the yellow glow. 'I won't pressure you' they say and then immediately make suggestions as to why they should be listened to.

[spirestar]

Julie has the sudden impulse to sock Verso in the jaw for their penchant for whiplash. It's a talent really. He's good at catching you unawares even when you'd have been able to predict his every move before entering the conversation. Sometimes it feels like they're reading off a script, so terrified of flubbing the words. Who are you, really? She asked him once very early on in their travels and Verso's dodged the question ever since. Her eyes widen as she leans back to get a better view of them--Their embarrassment, the quick switch back to a topic they're clearly more comfortable with, their latching onto family to manipulate her. Maybe too strong a word maybe not. Julie frowns.

"You know I don't like when you do that," she pulls her knees back to her chest tighter and exhales the words like a laugh as she gives him a faux scowl, "when you try to make your idea into mine." Because of course I want to see my family and what's better than a debt that forces you to promise you'll pay it back. "You think you're slick, but I say slimy, Dessendre." Verso gets another elbow to the upper arm. It's not lacking in warmth. "If you haven't grown up already, I'm not sure if anything will convince you."

Verso doesn't usually lie. Julie knows that's true. He dances away from things he's afraid of for reasons he never discloses but he wouldn't lie about Alicia. She rolls the thought over like she might a flicked marble as it heads toward its fellows. Which will it move, who will score the winning point. Lumiere is a city in tatters and it's where children like Fabien and Alicia will grow up. Whether they all come home or not. Many of the builders are gone now and the handful of others left are fixated on the looming stone figure just as she is. There's no right answer. Julie isn't so impressed by herself that she thinks the dent she might make on the city's reconstruction will shape the future. But she's never been an architect--She shapes what she's given.

"What would you give me then when you're back. Hypothetically. You'd kind of owe me a big one. Énorme."

[daisyscape]

"Odd" is the only way Orina will allow herself to describe this feeling now living within her, festering and writhing in her chest cavity like something newly-born and wanting to grow. To examine it further will unearth an ugly, grieved thing aching desperately to rid itself of the emptiness. Finding Siddiwine now, backdropped by rocks and crystal, she's able to tamper the unruly creature down until it's subdued.

"Siddiwine," she calls out with more strength in his name than she thought possible. With the events within the Crystal Tower having reached their conclusion, she'd only spoken to Rammbroes prior to her departure, but something within her felt terrible at the thought of leaving without giving Siddiwine a proper goodbye, also. Eye red-rimmed from earlier tears and voice partly hoarse, she hopes she doesn't look too bad. Still, she manages a small smile in greeting, adjusting the larger pack on her back as she approaches him. "I'm sorry, I didn't get to check on you after," Orina pauses, almost hoping the silence could fill in the blank for her. "-everything. How are you faring?" — @spirestar for Felicity !!

[spirestar]

Felicity is not unobservant. He may not always relate to the way that events impact others, but he can see how it weighs on them. Did he not do enough? He helped them unlock the old crystal spires and he waited for the questions that always precede and follow his interactions with Allag and he suffered the clones left to protect the place because he was helping. He knows better than to complain. Researchers like L'orina's friends are the sort who poke and prod once they're given even a hint toward the truth and Felicity knows what he knows, as jumbled as his memories may be sometimes. His head appears in the front window of his shack but Arc is the first one to emerge, it's perpetually lifted tail dragging behind instead. Felicity is outside in moments--Relieved that the one calling his name isn't any of the other Sons of Saint Coinach.

"Oh," his voice is quiet and he stays stock still in the doorway. Dark crimson eyes bore into the expression on their face as they stand there puffy-eyed. He wonders if he should apologize. He wonders if they might blame him for what happened in some way. Maybe if he didn't know what he knew then this wouldn't have happened. "There's no reason to apologize. I'm." A pause. He considers choice of words. "I'm glad to see you. I thought I wouldn't again. You're--"

Arc begins circling L'orina's feet like a shark--"Um. I think it wants you to come in." Felicity reaches up to adjust the yellow scarf fluffed around their throat. "Will you?"

[bloodpinning]

@spirestar said; no, there's nothing you can do about it. ( for lieberman from frank!!!!! 🥺)

"Oh c'mon, nothing I can do about it--" he gestures broadly to his computer, the whole setup beside him. "Hey, remember when you said my problem is I think I'm always right? Projecting. That's all you, man." The two of them are always talking hypotheticals, when it isn't planning next steps or the odd reminiscence. David is committed — he's the one with something left to lose, after all — so it's not like the random ideas he pitches from time to time are meant to happen soon, or even entirely earnest. Mostly he just likes to talk, to think out loud. Still, he finds himself a little incensed at Frank's dismissiveness.

"Look, I get you probably think I'm some kind of amateur, y'know, given the circumstances," David leans back in his chair, sprawled out posture of a man defeated, and once again waves a hand noncommittally at the whole of their surroundings. "But I've been at this thing for a while." He's quiet for a beat, like he's considering if what's on his mind is even worth saying aloud. Frank says things like he's so sure of them, and pushing back has kind of become David's signature. Why stop now?

"You ever see that movie Nightcrawler? With the crime photographer? Probably not, but sickos like that guy exist in real life. Years ago I had this little, uh... racket, I guess, where I'd scam guys like him, get their photos without paying." Staring at the ceiling, his head lolls to the side so he can peer Frank's way. "Sometimes, if I got those pictures to the right people, it could change the outcome of an investigation. And I realized I could really, maybe help people with the whole computer shtick. So when you oaf around acting like the options are always kill people or do nothing, I don't really buy that shit. Sorry."

[spirestar]

Nightcrawler..? No, that's one of those X-men. Lieberman always has a book or a movie or some other shit to compare things to. Cultural touchstones he'd probably say. Frank can't remember the last time he watched a television on purpose for anything other than the news. Hell, the last time he saw anything other than current events was at a diner. Football game. He tried very hard to look like he wasn't watching.

"You think a couple 'a pictures will put these assholes in a place they can't hurt people anymore?" His right hand gestures vaguely to the board they've with pictures and pins of the guilty bastards Frank's already counted out the bullets for. A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest as he shakes his head and rolls his eyes like the idea is a joke. "Dream on, Lieberman--"

Somewhere a pot of coffee is going cold. In another corner, their recently washed pile of laundry is still damp because someone forgot to hang up the rest on their makeshift line in the bathroom. Frank isn't good at this thing that some people might call teamwork. He has things to lose that he doesn't want to agree matter to him. He wants to be nothing other than destruction. He's good at that.

"You ain't been at this as long as me 'n you shouldn't try to be somethin' you're not." Frank crosses his arms over his chest and when he exhales, the bruise over his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose smarts. He doesn't even flinch. "So be the brains when we're hunting' em down and let me take care of the rest. Yeah?"

[spirestar]

It's strange. Sacha often travels alone these days. He doesn't speak much. Nods. Tries to smile. And the feeling always remains, no matter the setting, no matter the time, that he is not the one meant to be here. Luckily for his sanity, though, he's made a promise not to dwell. He'll live with it or learn to and let the world move him forward. Minfilia once asked if he felt like the world was passing him by after the Calamity. Maybe, he'd replied back and he can remember feeling confused, but mostly I just didn't feel the world moving at all.

He's no longer an unneeded son who's come home--Now he's a hero, one that no one trusts in Ishgard and that the city states want when he'll do what they want and will. He's been given the credit. He stands at the bow of a ship he was never taught to steer and emerges again and again from every battle a victor anyway. Just the fact he's thinking of ships here and now even as his eyes try to find the outlines that differentiate snow-covered tree limbs from the snow covered ground beneath them tells him that he truly has changed whether he believes it or not. Coerthas is a lot like Hyrstmill where he grew up, only colder now since the Calamity. The flora and fauna have plenty of crossover, which is the reason he tells himself he enjoys going out alone in the cold grey mornings and not because he wants to avoid the eyes on his back any time he moves. He pulls his boots on and lets his ears go numb with the chill and he watches the sky in its dark blues and purples and stares from the high walls of the city first thing and then he drags himself down the cobblestone stairs and out into the frosty forests below. Most days he is alone--Today not so much.

@heartinhands says, "Trust your gut."

And the silver lining their hair is the same color as the snow that's peppered the shoulders of their half-cloak. Sacha notices these things and he also notices the entire lack of feeling to the smile that crosses their face as easily as breathing. His body is too light without his shield. He suddenly regrets carrying only the short sword that's appeared in his palm without the idea ever crossing his mind, the one he carries as a back-up, the one he never plans to have to use because it's hardly ever his only choice. Sacha is tall and his nose is numb and his fingertips are too. Before them between the trees is a wyvern too far from its nest. It thrashes beneath a net too small to fully trap it but too large for the wyvern to burn itself free. It moves like a winged eel. It's not used to the cold, Sacha knows. It screeches.

"I'll back you up."

They have a weapon of some kind surely. Perhaps he's a hunter or a merchant. Sacha knows that it doesn't really matter--He'll take the fight if there must be one because it's the right thing to do. He doesn't like how his sword rests in his fingers. Slowly, he slides it back into the leather scabbard lining the inside of his boot. His brows angle down on the far ends and he shakes his head once.

"I'll see if I can't free it," he says softly and hopes to dissuade them from anything further. He wouldn't need help killing a dragon like this. "No need to trouble yourself." And he begins a path forward in the falling snow. It's powder beneath him. Soft. I know you're scared, he thinks it as he realizes it, the wyvern thrashing again and again and only faster as he gets closer to it. He stays by the low limbs of a pine to see if it will spew whatever fire it has left at him. His sword hand goes flat into the air in front of him. Sacha can't offer the beast any friendship but he can catch flakes of snow. He can watch. Another thing he's good at that he can be made to feel guilty for. He doesn't turn to see if the stranger follows him. Maybe they just wanted to be sure the dragon wouldn't burn down the forest or that a worse attack wasn't coming. Sacha knows how he will look if he frees a Dravanian and he finds that despite it all he doesn't care. He crouches to one knee in the snow and keeps his arm outstretched. It's good that his chocobo Bonbon isn't here--she'd be so angry with him. Still, he tries to see if the dragon will even look at him without scrambling into the snow its body is quickly melting into water.

Sacha knows that he will have to kill the wyvern. It will get free and snap at his hands the second he cuts it free. Sacha also knows that it is terrified and that it blames him for this situation. He's the nearest two-legged person and so he must be blamed as the source. That's fine. Sacha understands. "Just a 'mo, yeah," he mutters under his breath as he reaches with one long arm for one of the stakes that has the net pulled taut to the dirt below. He's careful but not so careful that he'll be able to dodge all of what might come next. He's not letting it happen--Sacha chooses.

[hisame-nomi]

Works both ways with these two

[heartinhands]

@spirestar

[fortruechaos]

@spirestar said: i've got--ugh. grievances. i've got questions i need answers to. ( thinking maybe during a GUN raid / a time Shadow was leaving and they somehow bumped into each other in the fray ?? idk. just for your backpocket. from sonic au cam )

GUN loves a dirty secret and Cam Ultio definitely fits somewhere to the top of the list--it's not quite Project Shadow levels of controversial, but Shadow's done enough rifling through secret files he's not supposed to know anything about over the years: relatively speaking, Cam is an old secret of GUN's, so Shadow knows everything about her 'how' and 'why' at this point. Information he hadn't meant to find but had stumbled across in his quest for self-knowledge. It's only surprising the two haven't really talked until now. Introverted heart meet introverted heart, Shadow supposes--he's read enough of her file to get an idea of her personality, too.

"I only answer to Team Dark operations," Shadow replies bluntly. And half the time he doesn't even answer to those anymore either. "If your grievance is mission-related, I can't give you answers, Ultio." His head tilts here, realizing. "Sounds like you aren't asking about a mission though."

[spirestar]

Cam crosses her arms--Not that it's hard to keep up with Shadow when he's walking at a normal pace and not running crazy all over the place, but it'd be kind of embarrassing to stomp after a short hedgehog guy all over the base. Especially when she's not exactly supposed to talk to him. And he knows her name already? That's either... Sort of good or pretty bad. With her luck, it's for the wrong reasons. GUN reasons.

"No, not exactly." She's practically covered head to toe by her black uniform jumpsuit and the grey cropped jacket she sports over it covers half of her palms with its sleeves. Underneath, thin tactical gloves cover the rest of her hands. Cam's nose scrunches. "I need to ask you about something, but." Well I can't do it here. She tilts her head and her ponytail lolls over her shoulder because maybe no one is watching but the way she leans indicates one of the many cameras lining the base's many hallways. She hates it here. She shifts onto the balls of her feet for a moment impatiently, fingers flexing uncomfortably. Restless. "Ugh. Just agree when they say they're assigning your team more support for whatever's going on today." A beat. She has to really grind the word out between her teeth: "Please."

[heartinhands]

The 80s-lookalike in question does a little hair flip to get some of his bangs out of his face, squinting a bit against the image of the mirage onstage, Lucien's features all alight within the confines of the harsh stage lights.

"Dante," he replies to Lucien's rather charming introduction, letting his arms get comfortable over the top of the chairs. "I'm not a cantata connoisseur or anything--" how's that for alliteration?, "but what about that one for the New Year?" Not that it's January, but if you ask Dante, it's nice to pretend you can reset things whenever you want. "For what it's worth, you've gotta be the first person I've seen here too. Dunno how they keep it in business if no one's renting the space out. You payin' the guy extra? I'm sure not."

[spirestar]

The mic stand straightens as Lucien adjusts his posture, rolling his shoulders back before walking closer to the edge of the stage. He has a good view of Dante walking down the aisle. His jacket doesn't look like quite as bright of a red against the carpet that lines the floors and stairs. It's funny--Hardly anyone asks him for songs that old these days. Usually it's Lady Gaga or something off Broadway at the end of his set.

"Certainly not," he chuckles softly and his voice lifts lightly into the sound. "Maybe they're not making any money at all." Then Lucien smiles wider and crouches to sit with his legs dangling off the edge of the stage. His teeth are only sharp at the canines and there's nothing else about him that might be strange necessarily. Nothing about him seems dangerous in the least--To most people. "It's for a choir but the Alto solo is in my range. Do you speak German? I know it in English, too."

[spirestar]

tragic love quiz thingy

cam is stealing gay valor i'm sorry guys

[brokeback mountain] you’re quiet about your feelings, but they run deeper than you let on. you crave connection, yet the weight of expectation or fear often holds you back. love, to you, is both sanctuary and torment. it's something you want to protect but can’t always claim openly. people might see you as reserved, even stoic, but beneath that exterior is a tenderness you rarely show, one that aches to be understood without words. you know how it feels to love in silence, to carry someone inside you long after they’re gone. you embody the bittersweet truth that sometimes love doesn’t need to be spoken loudly to be real. it lingers like smoke on the horizon, persistent, impossible to forget.

taken from @songsofreason

[spirestar]

big day for this gd thread. sheesh