#002.

[gravitonspike]

hello warframe fandom

[samcrosprince]

you really don't give a shit how this affects me, huh. / from sloane :)

has he become completely indifferent or is he simply too exhausted for another emotionally-charged conversation? hard to differentiate these days. he lets out a heavy sigh, a hint of irritation gnawing at his insides, simmering somewhere right beneath the surface. it’s not sloane that he’s upset with, but he’s reached the point where all that frustration is threatening to spill out. “what would you have me do? pack my bags and leave? go nomad?” it’s not such a terrible idea, but there’s a part of him that isn’t ready to let go. jaw clenching, he runs a hand through his hair and pushes stray locks out of his forehead. “look, i’m sorry that it affects you, but you can’t say a thing. about donna,” the blond lowers his voice, even if it’s just the two of them in his kitchen. “it will destroy opie, destroy the club, too.” exposing the betrayal would shatter what little sense of family the club has left, sparking a brutal conflict from within that there will be no coming back from. “promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

[songbirdlucy]

w. @dexthelloyd at. low bird pub - Los Angeles when: one week after the first date

Fazia uma semana inteira que aquelas olhos azuis tinham dominado sua mente, desde aquele primeiro shot despretensioso de tequila que ela não conseguia tirar o tal Dexter Lloyd de sua cabeça, as conversas com Ivy também, não ajudavam em nada, pois a amiga insistia que o rapaz tinha uma vibe diferente, a por mais que Lucille não entendesse exatamente o que ela queria, tinha que admitir que havia sentido certa atração por ele, ok, talvez fosse algo só fisico, mas que mal tinha nisso, ela havia se envolvido com homens menos atraentes do que ele por muito menos. E ainda havia tido aquele primeiro encontro que fora... surpreendente, não tinha como negar isso, tinha aceitado sem pensar e por um momento, pensou que seria só mais um encontro clichê, restaurante e depois ele tentando beija-la no carro, talvez transar com ela, nada que outros cara não tivesse feito também. Porém, mais uma vez Dexter se mostrou diferente, nada acontecera da maneira com que ela esperava, começando com uma pequena invasão a universidade, o que fora um tanto divertido, depois o universo se expandindo diante de seus olhos, ela ainda pensava naquelas imagens quando fechava os olhos, nunca tinha visto algo tão bonito como aquilo. E então, tomando uma atitude sem pensar, ela o beijara, e vez ou outra, quando se distraia o suficiente, ela ainda conseguia sentir os lábios dela contra os seus, o formigamento que sentira e como de uma vez, todo seu corpo implorara por ele. Só que de novo, fugindo de todas as probabilidades, ela acabou no apartamento dele, só que ao invés de sexo, viram um de seus filmes animados favoritos, e acabaram só dançando pelo espaço, ele tinha saído de algum filme de comédia romântica isso com toda certeza, fora a maneira com que ele falava, como se ela fosse essa grande coisa e não só uma garota que cantava em um bar. O problema é que desde aquele encontro, todos os momentos que tinha livre eram invadidos pela imagem do homem, sobre os braços dele em volta de si, e a sensação de segurança que sentia quando ele estava por perto, mas tinha sido só um encontro, e por mais que ela quisesse, talvez ele sequer a chamasse para um segundo, e bem, dada a sua sorte com homens, ela sequer tinha a intenção de que saísse disso, mas na noite anterior, um sonho quente com o rapaz de olhos claros lhe tirou o sono, era como se conseguisse imaginar perfeitamente tudo o que poderia acontecer entre quatro paredes com eles, e o fato de que acordara completamente suada e descompassada foi o suficiente para que ela precisasse tirar a prova, o máximo que iria acontecer era ser péssimo como fora com Chad, e toda experiência contava, ao menos era o que repetia para si quando se decidiu pela música que iria cantar naquela noite. Logo que subiu no palco não foi difícil encontra-lo, era quase como se seus olhos fossem na direção dele automaticamente. Os primeiros acordes a fizeram sorrir de uma maneira um pouco inocente, tratando de desviar o olhar dele até o momento certo, porque estranhamente, aquela música o descrevia até na aparência.

Who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent? Like (ooh, ah) Maybe it's all in my head But I bet we'd have really good bed chem Are you free next week? I bet we'd have really good Come right on me, I mean camaraderie Said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be Where art thou? Why not uponeth me? See it my mind, let's fulfill the prophecy (ooh) Who's the cute guy with wide blue eyes and the big bad mm? Like (ooh, ah) I know I sound a bit redundant But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

A partir daquele ponto, sem pudor algum, os olhos de Lucille estavam fixos no homem, de uma maneira pouco discreta e provavelmente muito desconcertante, se ele não entendesse o recado e a chamasse para sair depois daquilo, bem, talvez realmente tudo só estivesse dentro de sua cabeça.

[kentuckyblood]

she's seen her fair share of horrifying things, but this feels ... different. worse, somehow. more raw and obscene ( perhaps it's because this feels personal — ellison's heartaches are her heartaches, even after this much time). still, that being said, she does not flinch away from the pictures that he showcases or cower at the information he offers up about the murders. instead, nancy looks at it with that keen journalist eye, listens carefully and scribbles notes down onto the notebook in her lap. locations and names, that sort of thing, every little detail ellison offers her.

the pictures that are scattered around tell a story of families torn apart for some entity's sick amusement, and for all of their gruesomeness, none of them make her chest ache as much as the one of the oswalt family standing in front of that goddamned house.

nancy had known what happened to his family. of course she had. the headlines had been scathing, and the internet detectives had all seemed to come to the same conclusion : ellison oswalt had finally snapped. that the murders and disappearance of his little girl were his way of getting his name back out there, just like it was when kentucky blood had first released. hell, even once his name had been scratched from the list of suspects by the authorities, those wannabes had still ran his name through the mud, theorizing and continuing to make claims that he had committed the crimes.

nancy had never believed that bullshit for a second.

her notetaking comes to a halt. the reminder of why he cannot stay has her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, blue eyes shifting from the collection of images to instead look over at ellison.

the sight of him almost breaks her heart.

“ ... where are you going to go, ell? ”

his life is never going to be normal again. he will always be running, this curse following him wherever he goes, waiting for him to rest, to slip up. he will always be on the move, always trying to stop this thing from hurting anyone else. it is a terribly lonely existence — and nancy doesn't think she would be able to forgive herself if she let ellison walk out that front door tomorrow all by himself with nothing but that waiting for him.

she reaches for her coffee mug and takes a long sip from it, passing the remainder of the drink over to ellison afterwards. he looks like he needs the caffeine more than she does. nancy then looks away, attention briefly shifting back onto the pictures and files spread out across her kitchen table. her gaze lands on the photo of ellison and his family once more, and in that moment, nancy knows exactly what she's going to do.

deep down, a part of her had known that it would turn out this way as soon as she had opened her front door and let him inside, no questions asked. after everything he's ever done for her ... she can't just leave him alone. not like this.

“ i'm coming with you. ” the words are spoken with that trademark stubbornness of hers — ellison should be familiar enough with her to know what it means when nancy takes that tone.

when she sets her mind to something, she has to see it through.

“ you're not doing this by yourself. i want to help you. ”

let me help keep you safe remains unspoken.

@finalslay, from here.

Nancy sounds so fucking sad for him Ellison wants to tell her he isn't worth the trouble. He did this to himself, after all, and for all the mistakes he's made in life, he at least is man enough to know when the fault is entirely with him. If only he'd never looked at those God damn reels, never moved to that house, never quit his job as a professor and decided true crime was his real calling--

"What?"

He's only just curled his hand around the mug passed to him when Nancy makes her big, dramatic declaration. The thought of Nancy being haunted by the same god that lives in the edges of his own vision makes him nauseous.

"No," Ellison starts, doing his damnedest to sound firm, "you are not coming. What the fuck are you talking about, Nance?

"I didn't come home for that."

But it does beg the question: what did he return home for? He hadn't even bothered passing by his parents' place; the rental car parked outside Nancy's home only made it to one destination. Somewhere deep down he must have known Nancy would offer her help. Even around the fear that came with thinking he'd fucked their relationship up forever by failing to keep in contact, some part of him knew that Nancy Wheeler was still his best friend. Once upon a time he'd dropped everything to help her find one of her other best friends-- surely by helping him with his troubles, she was only returning the favour.

Ellison almost laughs about it. Even when all he felt was a deep sense of longing (he missed her, and this, and getting to share coffee out of one cup because they were too broke to buy two), he still managed to find someone to use, selfishly, for himself. Knowing how she is, there isn't a scenario where Nancy doesn't offer her help. There isn't a single branch of reality where Ellison, by coming here at his lowest, doesn't doom her to suffer with him.

By God, though, if he won't try to persuade her otherwise.

"You don't... listen, Bughuul doesn't even know you exist." Nancy isn't marked by the films the way Ellison is. The way his children were, because they'd peeked through his recklessly open office door and been discovered by a timeless entity. "You shouldn't have to uproot your whole life for me. Not when I haven't been here for you in..."

Shame twists his stomach. Fuck. It's been too many years.

"Nancy, you can't just risk your life for some idiot who couldn't even bother to send Christmas cards."

[breakthyhuman]

Anthony leaned back into his pillows. After cleaning himself and their newborn up, he was exhausted. The lingering pain still made him hiss under his breath and bite his lower lip — but, God, did any of that matter ? Not when she was here and so lovely already. Their gurgling little girl had gone through her first feed with gusto. Now, swaddled in a plush blanket against Anthony's chest, all she could manage was an occasional coo and scrunch of her small nose. She was full of milk ( and likely just as tired as him, Anthony thought ).

After a few minutes of that peace, Anthony glanced over at Omri. That he was here still astounded the priest, but he was certainly not upset about the fact. It was ... touching, in Omri's own way.

❝Do you want to hold the baby ?❞ Anthony asked, voice reduced to something hoarse and low after the day's ordeal. He smiled. ❝It's only if you want to — I guess I'm just trying to say that you're welcome to. She is half you, too.❞

— from @praytoyourangel, unprompted.

To one who lived forever, standing quiet for a few minutes was like the blink of an eye. Omri had come in sometime after the child had begun feeding-- whatever transpired beforehand was beyond him. All he knew was that the skin on Anthony's belly was now loose without the weight of the nephilim in it, and the thing had taken to sucking its sustenance out of its mother (like him, he supposed, even if the liquid it drank was white instead of crimson).

He hadn't expected to be acknowledged; Anthony and the infant had been so peaceful they almost resembled a painting. But when Anthony looked at him, speaking in a raspy tone Omri only ever heard when he made the human scream for long enough, his head lifted with a curious furrow of the brow.

She is half you, too. Mouth twisting, Omri's eyes landed on the little creature, so small and useless. He hadn't expected anything of his blood to come out so underdeveloped.

"Why do you hold it like that." Even after choosing to stay and learn, Omri was still unaccustomed to curiosity. The high-pitched tone required of such inquiries hardly suited him.

"Doesn't it feel insulted."

[paterpatriae]

@missuscommodus, asked.

Maximus stood in front of the tall, polished silver mirror in the chambers he shared with Commodus. It was only recently that he had declared his intention to stay and raise their child with the emperor — which meant that he now lived in Commodus' chambers. With that had come a new wardrobe : flowing robes, soft veils, richly - colored expensive fabrics, and gold - lined garments whose cost could have once purchased his farm in Spain.

The general had selected something in violet, something light and beautiful. After a moment of consideration, he belted it at the top of his round belly, just beneath his breasts. They were full, and he winced at the bit of pressure even that slight raise applied. His nipples turned out naturally and pressed into the robe. Maximus shuddered. He reached up and touched one of them — and then gazed in amazement at the liquid that began to stain the area.

Milk, he thought, eyebrows raised. It dripped down his front. Maximus grasped a veil and dabbed it against the offending nipple. He was so startled that he failed to hear Commodus come in ( even as he moved aside a piece of the pretty purple and exposed the aching, leaking thing ).

Commodus' love for Maximus' changed body was no secret-- even less so, now that he knew his omega would stay. Despite the logistics of ruling, returning to their shared chambers always flushed the concerns of his people out of his mind; with the swell of Maximus' form, and that sweet scent of pregnancy, and the child that was undoubtedly active in his belly, Commodus' attention could prioritise no other.

That said, the profile of Maximus' full breast was the first thing he saw upon his return.

"Darling." The word itself was sweet, but Commodus' eyes went large. The laurels on his head glittered with the filter of light through the windows, and still it was second to the shine of Commodus' gaze. "Don't tell me..."

By now Maximus ought to be used to Commodus' approach, as well as the entitled touch of his hand. Standing at Maximus' side, one hand held the wrist attached to the veil. The other, shameless and excited, curved under the swell of Maximus' exposed breast to admire the wet bead of milk at the tip.

"My." He couldn't resist the grin, applying the slightest pressure to Maximus' swollen flesh. If his love didn't attempt to move his hand by then, Commodus would be swift to rub the pad of his thumb into his swollen, dripping nipple. "Of late I have wondered... poor Maximus, did your first fill happen while I was away?

"I'm sorry to have left you to such fullness for the better part of the day."

[obligatorial]

[ No, ] she said, and she repeated it, shoving her hands into her blankets as if to push something away. They were gradually pushed off and hit the floor with a dull thump. Harmony whimpered, shivering — from the cold as much as the subject of her nightmare. It was an old but frequent one for the twenty - year - old.

[ No, ] Harmony pleaded. The crack in her voice suggested that her efforts were in vain ( and perhaps had been beyond the realm of her dreams, as well ).

[ no, Mr. Eagan. ]

With that, she seemed to wake. Enough, at least, to sweep her pretty blue eyes blearily around her dark room. ❝Gavin,❞ she uttered, soft and needing. Harmony sniffed and rubbed at her tear - stained cheeks. // @thisiamowed

Gavin woke as soon as his name was spoken, shifting from his slumped position on the chair and immediately landing on the shape of the girl on her bed.

"Darling."

His voice was rough, scratchy from sleep, but the way he rose from his seat was as swift as it was smooth. The small sliver of moonlight that made it through the curtains was enough to help him see the blankets on the floor, but Gavin forewent them in favour of approaching Harmony's bed instead.

She's crying. Instantly, Gavin had to bite back the urge to smile at how badly she needed him to make it better.

"Hey," he murmured, settling at the edge of the mattress and reaching out with one hand. Gavin's knuckles brushed tenderly over her temple.

"Hey, Harmony... won't you come to me?"

And should she rise to the occasion, his arms would spread wide in offering before closing around her. Gavin was born for this, after all-- to hold her, and hide her, and keep her from everything in the world.

[disneybucks]

@general-kalani // from here.

Oh, shit.

"You what?" What in the hell would get anyone undercover in here? Wade's first instinct is to look around and gauge who it is Amos is trying to watch, but considering he hasn't heard any movement behind them yet-- no panicking, no attempts to flee-- he suspects no-one's especially paranoid of them.

So, without Amos' permission, he slides into the booth like he was always meant to be here.

"You're joking," he says lowly, setting his beer on the table. The smile on his face doesn't reach his eyes-- to anyone watching from afar, it'd look like they were two old friends, even if Wade is deathly aware of how serious the situation is. "Why the fuck do you still do undercover work? Isn't that what goons like me are for?"