#athshainigh

[leastproblematic]

introducing the ptmc vital signs starting line: number 28, captain emery walsh ( @athshainigh ) & number 22, alternate captain melissa king !

[protectxthem]

@athshainigh asked: “Tell me to go, or I’m not going to.” // look i'm contractually obliged to toss luca at grant it's just inevitable xox

too close for 'just friends' | accepting

He's tired. He really doesn't want Luca to go, so why is it taking so long to say one simple word? He places his hands on the counter, looking down at them as his shoulders tense up, before falling into a relaxed and defeated manner. "Stay." He says, softly, almost like it's a whisper. "Please, don't go." He follows up on his previous one-word sentence.

Something about Luca made Grant relax even after a long day/night at North and Vine. Luca always had Grant cracking a small smile, and sometimes could make Grant's heart beat faster. "Don't.. Don't make me beg, because I don't beg." Grant would never stoop to begging because he was the one who had others begging for him in one way or another. He slowly lifts his head and turns to look at the other chef.

[flawedhearts]

[ TXT ] : you start your day at 2pm?

[ TXT - @athshainigh ] Nobody ever needs me before then

[ TXT - Sexy Mama ] Except for you my dear, I'll start in the early hours if you need me

[ TXT - Sexy Mama ] I can be up and ready.. right now ;)

texting prompts

[audaciiaearch]

@athshainigh said: [ FOREHEAD ]:          placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together. // one day i won't toss stentor at alki but clearly today is not that day

This battle had been too close of a call, closer than Alkibiades is really comfortable with. Many men died on both Athens' and Sparta's sides, and at some point, he lost Stentor in the fray. Pure, unadulterated fear runs through Alkibiades as he hurries back to Stentor's tent, fearing the worst, but when he sees them standing there, bloodied and bruised but alive nonetheless, he feels nothing but relief.

"Stentor--" He hurries over and throws his arms around him, trembling. Stentor places a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him close enough to press their foreheads together. Alkibiades breathes shakily, his hands coming up to cup Stentor's face. Why does he care so damn much? So much that he feels sick with it? The thought of losing Stentor nearly sent him over the edge.

Is this love, really and truly?

"I was so...I'm glad that you're alright. Are you hurt?" he whispers, voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I lost sight of you. I didn't mean to."

[muutosarch]

solo act: sender intentionally pleasures themself while receiver is watching. receiver joins in on finishing the job. // twosel!!!

PALM OF HE WHOM SITS TO HIS LEFT rides the length of his own stomach, whilst docile, vessel's defined paws lie obedient on either side of his thighs. natural in the way that they rest - despite one overlapping the muscle of ii's upper leg curling in firmness of grip, with a single swipe of thumb re-affirming. he, vessel, is fully clothed. big black hoodie swallowing hardened frame like the warm comfort of the oceanic void, with hood slung over awkward head-piece of facial obstruction..

neck is stretched, in rest of temple 'long the curve of the shorter man's shoulder.. intent through uncharitable eye-slits, in observation of a cool set of optics which land upon him as palm rolls like a steady tide over the growing bulge presenting... and soon after, the wriggle of fingertips 'neath the lining of his own set of fleece. hooked thumb of the other pressing 'gainst the elastic, and nestling band just below that which he pulls free of their confines. musk of which alone cocks vessel's knee, before calf is lifting to hook atop of the drummer's. snuggling up more firmly against his side, whilst nails unconsciously constrict into clothed skin. the labour of his chest already pronounced, while opposite arm trails acrost him to land softly ( and without obstruction ) upon the other's bicep.

he dare not speak a word. poet's tongue locked behind the cage of his teeth, and swimming in the building salivation of his own desire. for he is mesmerized. caught in slowness of moment where slicked palm grasps, and proceeds to work itself slowly along the length pressed firmly within it. thick callous forged of wood a phantom feel that vessel is ever so aware of. and oh, how he is in-tune with the way in which ii unravels himself the way only those who know you so intimately as yourself can. the way his relaxes, and the way breath held passes sharply through his nostrils. consciously lifting his own head, if only to meet the blue gaze staring back at him. intense, and beautiful. meaning to ensure his attention, which spurs a sudden lurch of longing in the centre of his chest. one he indulges by leaning in and offering a brief series of kisses and caress of slick muscle.. eventually lowering head once more to where it had lain..

he is aching, in agonizing wait. evidence of which is made more than clear, within the tenting fabric and less discernible stain which forms within the sable wool and cotton. moments of observation now seeming to stretch on forever. and yet deftness of one's own hand does stave the inevitable ( he swears, in an attempt to torture ). however, with a second - albeit apprehensive - straightening of his neck, he relents. slow, as clinging hand unwinds from upper arm and crawls like arachnid limbs down an exposed midriff. sliding from navel, 'round slowing wrist. soft pass over pulse making a kick drum of his heart that for a moment, feels as if it would beat out of his chest.

"please.." he rasps, in rounded tone.. sudden break of silence feeling awkward, in the air. "-- can i?"

after a moment of silent contemplation, release comes simultaneous. with eager fingers grasping the other in warmth of his fist, after fluttering from carpus. hand still pressed upon his thigh is able to find one receding, however, and interlock their fingers. lips, teeth, and tongue forming to jaw in compliment of the way he dexterously strokes. silently looking to the other for desired affirmation.

SPICY FREAKS ❤ @athshainigh.

[flawedhearts]

[ TXT ] : i want to take a nap on you.

[ TXT - @athshainigh ] Thinking about my tits babe?

[ TXT - Dr Hotstuff ] Or is it just a tough shift?

[ TXT - Dr Hotstuff ] I'm here whenever you need me

texting prompts

[muutosarch]

would you ship any of your muses together? who?

i would, indeed, ship some of my muses together! allow me to put together a list, lmfao. ( considering my own portrayals, of course! and just in general ).

swiss and rain

rain and dewdrop

emily and mike

soap and price

shepard and garrus

aragorn and éowyn

spock and christine

hawke and anders

asks for muns with a multimuse. @athshainigh.

[dirtandclay]

💞 + so hey dirt.... that arm in ur inventory... care to share ur thoughts on its (former) owner?

❝Contrary to your belief, his hand is my trophy. Nothing more, nothing less. I think very little of the wizard.❞

Their clipped tone suggests otherwise. Perhaps arrogance ambition was a trait that Dirt looked down upon. Perhaps Gale was just an unfortunate victim of Dirt's urge before it was repressed. Whatever the reason, the Tiefling held no regrets, and it tickled him to know that the wizard was without a hand.

He giggles manically.

❝Perhaps one less hand to lecture with will humble him.❞