#areswriites

[thecursedhellblazer-arc]

@areswriites​​​ asked: ❝ I guess humanity isn’t entirely awful. They did make vodka ❞ {from Klaus Hargreeves}

LUCIFER SENTENCE STARTERS || Open !

John lifted his eyes from his half full glass, landing them on the man that had taken a seat next to him not much time before. He hadn’t really spared the guy more than one, distracted look when the other had firstly arrived, before moving his attention back to his drink. On another day he would have probably paid him more attention because, despite the messy appearance, the man wasn’t bad at all, but that night he was really too tired to socialise.

The last couple of days had been Hell, for once not in a literal way. Things had been relatively quiet, if he had to be honest, with no case at hand and some time to tidy up the mess he had made of his safe house during his latest supernatural hunt, but they hadn’t brought him the break he had been looking forward to. On the contrary, he and Zed had had their latest fight, and for once it had been a serious one, so bad that she had packed up and left...with no promises to come back. He should have been glad, because he had wanted her away from the front line since the very start of that business with the rising Darkness, but the truth was that he was not. She had been a bright presence in his life, a true friend, after so much time he had spent without one. Aside from Chad of course.

Speaking of the other man, for once, he had openly taken her side and that had led to yet another nasty fight, which had landed him there, brooding over the usual eccessive amount of alcohol he used to drown his feelings until he managed to forget that they were there, at least for a while.

“Aye, you can say that again, mate,” Constantine commented with a nod, lifting his glass and gulping down what was left of his liquor, before raising his hand to ask for a refill. “No truer words were ever spoken, if you ask me. Every time I think this world ‘s made just of shite, I remember that there’s alcohol n’ that I can get it. Everythin’ else can sod off, but not that.”

[legacydefined]

↠ ancient secrets // c.s.

@areswriites​​     FOR NATHAN DRAKE

   HAVING BEEN ONE of Hydra’s top men, Angel knew far, far more than was strictly safe--for him or for anyone else. He had plans and schematics in his head that could create weapons of mass destruction to put hydrogen bombs to shame; he knew of relations and deals and underhanded money that could change nations, plunge the world into war if he breathed even a fraction of it to the global political stage. He knew were bases were, where troops were stationed, where Hydra had buried and hidden weapons, treasures, and artifacts. Artifacts like the Tesseract--artifacts that could bring humanity to its knees, if Hydra could manage to crack the codes of the places they resided within.

   IT WAS A heavy burden--and one that Angel didn’t like to think about. 

   SO HE DIDN’T.

   INSTEAD, HE WORKED to forget Hydra. Move on with his life. Of course, neither would ever actually happen. Angel was fully prepared for Hydra to come storming back into his life, for the organization to be the end of him. And in the meantime, he was happy to stay here--working at a New York, downtown bar. A hole in the wall; somewhere in plain sight, but so ordinary it would be passed over a thousand times before anyone ever thought to look inside. He’d found a job thanks to an owner that didn’t look too far into official documents, that was all too happy to pay him under the table. It was... Well, he didn’t know if it was nice. But it certainly was better than stealing from gas stations and hiding in abandoned houses.

   BUT IT DID mean that people tended to get nosy, looking into things they shouldn’t. Things that he should have had no knowledge of, but did. 

   “FORGET IT.” GLANCING at the man pestering him on the other side of his counter, Angel didn’t bother to pay much more attention to him than he needed to suss out that he wasn’t a Hydra plant. Hydra was sneakier than that. Hydra was also usually armed, with backup. “The Crown Fire has been lost for centuries. You’re not going to find it.”

[astraheartarchived]

( @areswriites​ ) discussed a thing!

      Dour as the unfamiliar personage ‘fore her seems, she cannot deny that she’s intrigued by the frangible floret nestled against his tenebrous shirt. Conveying nothing more than benevolent intent, she offers an amiable smile. ❝ You know, whoever you’re carrying that flower around for might have an easier time caring for it if you gave them a vase. I can HELP you find one. ❞ 

     Belatedly realizing that there’s a possibility she’s erroneously presumed the reason for the flower’s presence, she parts pink lips once more. ❝ Unless it’s not for someone else, and it’s just part of your look. ❞

[honeydrop]

@areswriites​ said:“ it’s nothing, i’m totally fine ” from cloud! injured sentence starters.

‘ cloud..... ’ 

violet eyes narrow towards him as marnie  saunters  over  ,  one hand placed on his shoulder.  she’s careful in looking him over  ,  dried blood  &  bruises covered by a solid layer of  grime  .  he looks like shit  ,  &  that’s being polite.  her lips form a deep frown  ,  concern etched between her furrowed brows.  what the  hell  happened to him ??

‘ don’t lie to me.  you look like hell. ’

[magicandmayhcm]

victoria was just trying to find new friends. some people to hang out with in austin since they’d left new york and all her former friends behind. which was why when a group of girls had invited her to join them after school, she’d jumped at the chance. things had been going great for a while, until one of the girls pulled out a pack of cigarettes. victoria had never smoked before. and knowing about her father’s lung cancer? she wasn’t apt to start. but when they passed the package around, she felt the pressure to take one out.

they passed around the lighter next, but when it was her turn, victoria hedged. “i’m not really in the mood for a cigarette right now. i think i’ll save it for later.” 

she saw the eyerolls the rest of the girls gave her, but at least they didn’t press the issue. they began to puff away and she excused herself, saying she needed to get home for dinner. grabbing her bag, she stuffed the cigarette inside, promising them she’d smoke it later.

‘we want to see pictures’ one of them taunted, having a feeling the brunette wasn’t likely to actually smoke it.

“yeah, sure,” she mumbled, knowing they wouldn’t get them. when she arrived home, she noticed she’d beaten her father and tk home. setting her bag down on the kitchen table, she prepared herself a snack before plopping in front of the television to find something to watch while she waited for her family to return from work. what she’d failed to notice, however, was that her just plopping her bag down had jostled the cigarette loose and it was currently half sticking out, visible for anyone to see...  // @areswriites​

[sxperflxity]

          @areswriites​ gets this starter.

          Three years. Three long years, she thinks, as she slams the door to her locker shut with a scowl before making her way to the front doors of only one of the personal hell’s she resides in, El standing next to her. They’re both silent, steps slower than normal as everyone rushes out of the building to start their long weekend but Max -- Max isn’t ready to go anywhere, yet, admittedly. School might be hell, but it’s not her only hell and, ever since Bi-- ever since, it’s the better choice of hell to reside in -- a choice where punches and kicks only occur in gym, only occur accidentally.. Someone nudges into her as they walk past, and she flinches, eyes closing briefly as she takes in a deep breath. She can hear El tell her it’s okay, she can feel El’s hand on her elbow but she ignores it for a minute, continues taking a deep breath before opening her eyes and smiling at her best friend, the two of them continuing on their way to Bi--Max’s car.

Max’s car. Because Billy’s not here anymore. It’s been three years since he’s been here, and the best Max can do is let his spirit live through his car, she thinks, grabbing the keys from out of her pocket as it finally comes into view, as far from the doors as possible in case anyone gets any ideas about damaging it, like they first did when she started high school. When El and she finally make it to the camaro, she can’t help the small breath that escapes her, nor can she help the way her eyes flick up to her friend, and then the dark clouds overhead, showing a storm brewing -- though Max can’t help but feel like it’s more than just an environmental storm that’s brewing.

El and her had made plans earlier to go to Hopper’s old place with Dustin, in need of some information with El believing Hopper would have it, and while neither of them wanted to visit Hopper’s home -- they knew the info they needed was valuable, and if anyone would have had it, it would’ve been Hopper. And even though it hurt her friend, Max started to drive the car to the land Hopper owned. The drive over was silent, both of them lost in their thoughts, until they managed to pull up into the driveway overgrown with trees and shrubs, a car already parked in it.

“Who’s car is that?” Max asks, her and El leaning forward. Dustin still drove his bike around in the forest, so they know it wasn’t him, and they didn’t recognize it but -- shutting off her own car, she looked towards El before they got out, hesitant, and unsure, moving towards the door before blinking when it’s opened suddenly. It’s been three years, and suddenly, her and El are faced with ghosts of the past, Max sucking back a breath, her already sore ribs hurting more than ever.

[starcourtscream]

    areswriites said: ❛ don’t give up on me. ❜ from billy   ♡ 3, 4, 5 / accepting ! ♡

          there’s   more   to   billy   than   he   wants   her   to   see   &   she   knows   he’s   not   easy   to   reach.   enigmatic   &   poised,   lydia’s   the  same   with   her   marble   &   glass   illusion,   careful   who   she   lets   come   closer   —   but   there’s   another   side   to   him,   too   &   she   sees   a   glimmer   of   hope.   what   if   she   can   get   to   him   ?    she   wants   to   &   she   tries,   but   when   she   thinks   she’s   almost   there,   he   closes   that   door   with   his   own   chaotic   ways   of   dealing   with   things.   she   wonders   if   maybe   she   should   give   him   some   more   space.   let   him   come   to   her   if   he   wants,   unable   to   predict   when   he   might   snap   &   walk   away   from   her   completely   ---   people   tend   to   lose   patience   with   lydia.   but   then,   he   has   her   attention   with   something   she   didn’t   expect   to    hear.   don’t    give   up   on   me.    something   about   the   way   he   says   that   is   enough   to   break   her   heart.   did   he   really   think   she   would   ?    she   cares   about   him   too   much   for   that,   casting   him   the   faintest   smile.   how   can   she   show   him   that   she’s   not   going   to   hurt   him   ?   he’s   worth   trying.    ❛    i’m   not   going   anywhere.   ❜

[whosxafraid]

Huh. Interesting. Is this some sort of hot spot for supernatural beings? He’s heard of SUCH THINGS - he’s just never been sure if certain cities ACTUALLY DO attract the supernatural.  It’s not like he’d been drawn here. At least, he doesn’t think he had.

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be staying. This place isn’t exactly cheap.” Big cities areEXPENSIVE and his mother was right - these people? They aren’t his problem. The vargulf wasn’t his problem and yet he couldn’t just LEAVE and let these people keep getting murdered by a sick werewolf.

“Wasn’t even supposed to stay this long.” Lynda had told him to leave it, to just leave, but she knows her son is STUBBORN. She knows he won’t leave it be. She knows he’ll do what he wants or feels like HE NEEDS to do, so he’s not surprised she hadn’t insisted they leave right away.

“A troll? Of fuckin’ course.” Trolls? What’s next - fucking unicorns? He doesn’t really seem surprised, there’s probably all kinds of shit out there he isn’t aware of. Like these creatures that tried to EAT HIM.

“This these broanha’s home then or are they everywhere?” Yes, he’s going to keep calling them that. And he’s asking because he NEEDS to know whether or not to look out for bones wherever he goes.

“Just that side warm.” The less cooked the better. in his opinion. He likes being able to TASTE THE BLOOD. As laid back as he seems right now, he is STILL a wolf, and he is still very much WILD.

He turns the heat down only a little before flipping the steaks over again. A slight involuntary flex of fingers after setting the tongs aside. For all that he loves Boston. It gets cold here. Colder than he rightly enjoys. And old bones like to remind him in small ways as well as bigger ones. ANd there’s a shift down the counter. Leaning round the corner of the kitchen arch way. Flipping the heat up another degree. Just enough to take the edge off. And back again he goes to the stove. Another glance at the younger male’s admission he’s over stayed the elngth of time he’d meant to be here to start with. And that peaks curiousity the old half wolf tosses aside. Not his business. 

          “Aye, be o’bit proi’cey. One reason oi’ bought d’is place. Had room fer me pub an’ me livin’ space. Consolidate.”

Because while he is...of not meager means, he doesn’t like to flaunt it. Money was money. Some had it some didn’t and some just watched it swim through their fingers from one destination to the next. It was just the way the world worked. A world that is considerably smaller now than it was when he was new. But the sort of thoughts that led to would lead a man to drink and well...that isn’t exactly the direction the evening has taken him. At least not yet. 

             “Be o’bit o’ah cluster o’em here. O’bout d’docks mostly. D’ey can be anywhere d’ough. New York be teemin’ wi’d ‘em, granted d’ose be more likely ta snitch ye wallet d’an take ye fingers. New Orleans ta. Few o’der places.” 

The heat is switched off entirely then. Steaks moved from pan to plates. And he’s returning to the table again, plates in one hand utensils in the other. Setting the lot down and nudge a set towards the lad as he claims the other. Settling down in a chair at the end of the table. 

             “D’ones here in Boston were gettin’ o’taste for blood more d’an d’rest. Prolly somed’in’ ta do wi’d d’black covens that skulk o’bout d’warfs bu’...”

             “Live an’ let live agreement be keepin’ me outta d’ey business an’ d’ey outta moi’ne. So eat up, lad. Anybody d’ey be seein’ comin’ an’ goin’ outta me place d’ey be leavin’ alone. An’ given  d’warnin’ oi’ sent ‘em scatterin’ wi’d, d’ey be leavin’ ye be permanent loi’ke oi’ should d’ink.”

A chunk of his steak half shoveled into his mouth after. The air about him completely calm and utterly matter of fact. Because it isn’t ego, isn’t pride that makes what he says true. But something else entirely. A sense of knowledge so solid even the most skeptical of beings just might believe him.