#etvdes

[redemptioninterlude]

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb ADA AND RIKKIE RAHHHH

HEADLINE: blood, blood, gallons of the stuff meme NOTIFY: @etvdes CONCERNING: rikkie marx

after any good tournament came the moment they could all come together at the bar. ada didn't consider herself a social person, but these were one of her rarefied moments where she could be out, around other people, and it didn't involve work in some, way, shape or form. but of course, there was the biting reality that a group of HIGHLY COMPETITIVE people in a room with too much alcohol, and you never really knew what you might get out of it on the other side. but it did always make for grand entertainment.

bemused, ada sits, sipping on the edge of a glass of scotch, which tastes as offensive as it looks. she's switched it for vodka, and toasts an old friend in her head, the taste of it left burning at the tip of her tongue as her attention was TORN by the sounds of yelling. it begins far sooner than she expected, turning within her bar stool to see the top of a familiar head, her lips curving into sly form. what was she doing, then? as tempers began to flare, and voice rose, even higher, a sudden glass being broken, and ada's on her feet.

she crosses the room, pushing people out of the way, their gawking expressions helping NOTHING AT ALL as the woman managed to make it there just as the first punch was thrown, clipping the side of rikkie's head before she steps in, pushing first into the body of the man making all this noise, catching the edge of wild fists thrown by him to the corner of her mouth, just as she shoved an elbow into the soft part of his rib cage, winding him immediately...

he fell first, the heavy thud hitting the ground before she was able to turn her attention, more startled by how close rikkie was when she did, their thumb swiping across her bottom lip, to where her teeth had split her lip. it smeared red, against her pale skin, ada licking up the excess, a TRIUMPHANT GRIN pulling clean. "want to tell me what that was all about? and the next drink's on you. i think i've earned that much."

[prisonofbone-arch]

closed starter for my diva @etvdes !

the bar still smelled the same as it always did — old wood, citrus cleaner, and whatever cheap beer had soaked into the floorboards years ago and never quite left. emry liked that about it. nothing here asked him to be different than he was a few weeks ago, or a few years ago. he slid onto the stool beside ben without ceremony, jacket slung over the back, knuckles still faintly ink-stained no matter how much he scrubbed them. it had only been a couple of weeks since ben had been back in his chair, skin red and swelling under emry’s hands, the familiar rhythm of needle and breath and quiet trust between them. again. like it was a ritual at this point. since then, time had done that annoying thing where it both crawled and vanished. work had stayed busy, lucky 13 loud and alive every night, and somewhere in the middle of all that, dylan had happened. not loudly. not dramatically. just… there, suddenly, in his orbit more often than not. he flagged the bartender with two fingers, already knowing what ben would order, then finally looked over at him, mouth tugging into something that wasn’t quite a grin. “tell me you didn’t come here just to show off how well that tattoo’s healing,” he said, tone easy and familiar. a beat passed, then softer and more honest, he added, "but, how've you been, really?" his eyes stayed on ben as he asked it, like he actually meant to wait for the answer. another pause, softer still. “and frankie? how’s she doing?”

[prisonofbone-arch]

DIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBSDIBS

lmaoooo we been knew this shshshsh but yes diva!!! i love our shaylas sm

[fauxpunks]

closed starter for @etvdes !

"do you ever have any legit fun? like, something someone normal would find fun?"

[prisonofbone-arch]

continued for @etvdes from here!

winona doesn’t rush to answer. she stays right there, shoulder warm beneath rikkie’s temple, breathing in the familiar mix of couch fabric and the faint oil-and-metal scent that always clings to her. she can feel how heavy rikkie is right now — not in weight, but in gravity; like the world has been stacking itself on her chest one quiet hour at a time. and god, it hurts to hear that apology. it always does. not because she’s angry, but because it tells her how alone rikkie’s been feeling inside her own head. winnie shifts just enough to wrap an arm around her, fingers curling at her side like an anchor she doesn’t have to earn. “hey,” she says, low and certain, her mouth close to rikkie’s hair. “you don’t need to be anything for me. not better. not fixed. not okay.” she presses a kiss into that messy bun, unbothered by grease or days lost or the tv droning on to no one. “you didn’t break us. you just… needed somewhere to land.” her thumb traces a small, absent arc against rikkie’s arm, grounding, present. “i’m not going anywhere. not now, not later. always and forever isn’t a promise you have to repay — it’s one i choose.” she rests her forehead against the side of rikkie’s head then, voice gentle but unwavering. “we’ll wait this out together. however long it takes.”

[prisonofbone-arch]

continued for @etvdes from here!

frankie lets out a quiet breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, the corner of her mouth tipping up as she studies his face. there’s a light there they’ve come to recognize — the kind that only shows up when he’s talking about work that excites him, or when he forgets to guard himself around them. it does something gentle but insistent to her. they’re sure to ask permission to touch with their eyes first before carefully reaching for him, thumb brushing along his knuckles, grounding themself in the simple fact of him being here. “i’m just… really glad to see you happy,” she says, and she means it in the most complete way possible. not as a deflection, not as a sidestep, but as a truth they’ve been carrying around for a while now. happiness, on him, looks earned. it looks like relief. it looks like someone who finally isn’t bracing for the floor to drop out. the words he says next still land heavy, still crack something open in her, but instead of freezing she steps closer, closing whatever space is left between them. their forehead presses to his, breath mingling, their voice softer now but sure. “i love you too,” frankie adds, like it’s the most natural next step in the world. and this time, she doesn’t pull away after — she stays, fingers laced with his, already moving them both forward.

[prisonofbone-arch]

continued for @etvdes from here!

mara doesn’t answer right away. not because she doesn’t know what to say, but because knowing has never been the problem. it’s always been translation — how to take the mess of thought and guilt and fear and turn it into words that don’t sound like excuses. she hears the weight under casey’s frustration, the hurt tucked inside it, and it lands deeper than the question itself. because the truth is that withholding has never been about trust; it’s been about control. if she keeps the worst parts contained, catalogued, unspoken, then they stay manageable. then they don’t leak out and touch the people she cares about. grief taught her early that once you name a loss out loud, it stops being theoretical. it becomes shared. permanent. mara learned to survive by carrying it alone, by being efficient and intact and composed, even when that composure came at the cost of closeness. she exhales, shoulders dropping a fraction, eyes fixed somewhere past casey’s. “it’s not that i don’t think you can handle it,” she says, quieter now, stripped of defense. “it’s that once i tell you, it’s not just mine anymore. and i don’t know how to live with that.” her jaw tightens, then eases. “you were there when everything fell apart. i know that. i haven’t forgotten it for a second.” a pause, heavy but honest. “i wish wanting to protect you didn’t look so much like shutting you out.” she finally looks back at casey then, her expression open in a way it rarely is. “i’m trying. i just… don’t know how to start without feeling like i’m handing you a weight you never asked to carry.”

[prisonofbone-arch]

continued for @etvdes from here!

scarlett doesn’t miss the way the air shifts between them, even through a screen. there’s a familiar tightening in her chest; not fear, not excitement exactly, but recognition. this is the part where honesty stops being hypothetical. she’s always known grey lived half a step inside their own head, always circling feelings instead of naming them outright. she never minded listening; it never felt like labor. it felt like being trusted with a living, breathing thing. still, hearing it said — i think about you all the time — lands differently. it’s grounding. it makes her realize how often she’s checked her phone too, how often she’s reread messages just to hear their voice again in her head. she exhales, lets herself smile without downplaying it. there’s no point pretending this is casual when it hasn’t been for a while. she doesn’t want to scare them, but she also won’t lie to keep the moment tidy. “yeah,” she says, gentle but certain. “i do.” a pause, just long enough to let it matter. “i think about you when my phone lights up, and when it doesn’t. i think about the things you don’t say yet, and the ones you do when you’re tired enough to stop guarding them.” her thumb taps idly against the screen. “i don’t listen because i have to. i listen because i want you here—with me. however this looks.”