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△ YOURS △ for Leon to sit in Claire’s lap!
SEND △ YOURS △ FOR RECEIVER TO SIT IN SENDER'S LAP
If the smell of booze wasn't already indicative of his inebriated state, it was the stupid fucking smile plastered across Leon's face as he lowered himself onto his wife's lap that gave him away. "Hey, you," he greeted, head lolling to rest against hers as he slung an arm around her shoulders. "Am I too heavy? We can switch if you want."
@madeofthreads | X
Wow.
He had expected the Lucian soldiers to be better than this. The rumours and stories the others told about them were scary. How could one man posess such powers? And his band of merry men wasn’t any less terrifying. They were there and then not, disappearing and reappearing from thin air in a flurry of stars and blue. It must look beautiful. But it was certain death. Or so Enok had heard.
But as he had watched this man, his beginning dread had came to a sputtering stop – and he had saved this man from the unfortunate fate of running straight into Emmanual’s loyalist camp.
The hell was wrong with him? Had he escaped from the fabled Mystic and was just running like a headless chicken?
Enok mustered the man, cowering down himself. His body tense and ready to jump up and run away, too. Just because he had saved this man, it did not mean that the man would repay him with any kindness. He could just as well pull out a weapon and kill him. Such was life.
Though the man did not attack him. No. His attention shifted again – to the voices of the higher soldiers. Enok listened, too. But his eyes stayed firmly on the other one. Curiously mustering his armour. Taking in the things attacked to his belt. How he smelt. Of leather. Oil. And fresh baked bread. It clung to his dark hair. To the cloth beneath leather plates.
Gods.
What he would do for a loaf…
For a moment Enok's thoughts drifted, he was so hungry. But those instincts didn’t have a place here now. Enok’s eyes cleared again and he nodded towards the forests behind the man. Away from the camp. They hadn’t seen him yet. Why was he not using this chance and running away again? If he lingered, they could still find him.
“They’ll kill you... after doing worse to you.”
@madeofthreads | X
Viktor stayed quiet and still when the homeowner arrived. Running away made no sense, he was a cripple and thus slow. And... he did not want to run away.
This certainly was not the first time Viktor had broken into the apartment of an Academy student. Far from it. It had become his new hobby - after the Academy had banished him from their grounds for sneaking himself into the body of students.
Stuck-up bastards had not even cared for the fact that he had outdone all the others.
But his face was known there now. So the students' aoartments were the next best thing. Stealing a book and a stack of notes here and there, no one noticed. All of the aoartments had been the same chaotic luxury brat den... all but this.
This here... was a miracle.
Viktor had spent the good part of his afternoon here. And now finally the student that fascinated him so had arrived.
A trained, handsome man - looked almost too good to be this smart. About his own age.
Viktor eyed him up and down, as if he was the one allowed to judge the other here.
The little glowing crystal in his hand - he held it up as if he wanted to ask 'this?' - and then let it play through his fingers like a coin.
"What are you doing here?", he asked then with a nod of his chin towards the chalkboard covered in miracle calculations and notes.
━ continued from here for @madeofthreads .
there's rarely an upside to finding yourself in the middle of a BOW outbreak━ apparently there may be one. KRISTEN IS ALWAYS HERE OF HER OWN ACCORD . making an appearance like the mercenary she is to try and get any upper hand on umbrella activities. EVEN AS UMBRELLA HAS STARTED TO COLLAPSE . maybe she's not an evil or ornery bitch if she cares to do something about outbreaks. vibrant green eyes flick from claire's features to the factory just outside the narrow shaft of a hiding place they're currently residing in. SHE ALSO HASN'T MOVED MUCH OF A MUSCLE . she would ultimately be moving against claire, literally. like physically. kristen's hand moves.
"we still need to get to the reactor room before it becomes too unstable." kristen just whispers, voice steady━ she doesn't say anything else. SHE FEELS CLAIRE'S SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS . if that thing explodes, it'll make a widespread outbreak into the nearest town readily available to go.
"do me a favor, angel, would ya?" kristen's low voice holds just a simple amount of seduction. IT ALWAYS DOES . "go play hero for me while i distract the numerous tentacles because i run faster. don't argue, i promse you that i do." a smile, bright green eyes flashing, as if that may reveal that she's also infected. JUST IN A CONTROLLED WAY .
@madeofthreads don't poke the snake
Time in this place had done nothing to dull the man that had been making a name for himself as the Eye of Zaun; even after so long, some five years and counting, Silco was still sharp, still quick to anger, still a vicious dog they could not quite bring to heel. He snapped at even the slightest wrong look, fists quick to fly, and if his work as a revolutionary of Zaun hadn't made his reputation, the ease with which he took on men two or three times his size certainly did. A feral sump rat, some called him, and he let them.
What did he have to lose? Silco was not seeing the outside world anytime soon. He'd killed an Enforcer, after all, set him on fire with a poorly-thrown molotov, so of course Piltover would have exaggerated the charges to ensure one of the leaders of Zaun's uprising would spend the rest of his days in Stillwater. It took care of two problems: it took a murderer off of Zaun's streets and effectively ended Zaun's fledgling push for independence. He didn't know that it had truly ended, though the Enforcers who pushed him around always saw fit to remind him that he was nothing more than a dirty trencher who'd stepped out of line and gotten not only Enforcers killed but his own people.
When the visitor didn't leave, Silco's eyes lifted, head turning toward the door of his cell, and the dim light caught the sharp green of his gaze. His head tilted to the side a little, his brows drawn together in annoyance; didn't anyone know by now to leave him alone?
Then with a scoff, he turned his head away, the stone wall cold against his back. He could see the man before him for what he was: a Piltie. A Piltie in a pit of rats where he didn't belong because all he'd done was kill a child of Zaun.
"Congratulations on putting down another child of Zaun." There was, however, a slight break in his voice. He'd never imagined one of Felicia's would be a casualty. "What would you like me to do about it? The pain of Zaun means nothing to Piltover. If you had your way, we'd all be buried and forgotten."
🔥
“I want you…”, well, what a confession – not really, huh? Luis has to grin and smirk at that, a little shy even, with how he avoids to look at her for a moment, even if he is all up close and cuddling to her, kissing her.
“Always. Way too often. You make me go loco… you just stand there leaning back at the beach? I wanted you. Seriously, I considered the changing-cabin for a moment. You sat next to me in the car and the wind tousled your hair? We already have experience with a car… but the worst? The worst?”
He chuckles again, hiding his face in her shoulder a little.
“The church we visited? Stop… stop it, I beg you… actually, no, never stop being you... but I’ll go to prison because of us one day…”
@madeofthreads / @clairerevfield
"What's your name?" Claire asks out of thin air. No need for an alias when people only ever know him by a title or a legend, but damn, Mister H.U.N.K sounds like she's talking about adult entertainment not the security detail. She offers a vague shrug. "Mister...?"
The question has evidently disrupted him because as soon as it's asked, he sets down the blade he had been busy sharpening and neatly sets it on the seat beside him. There's a nerve-wracking moment or two where he says nothing, but pivots his head towards Claire. The slight tilt is the only evidence of the confusion that churns and rotates around his mind.
Nobody has ever wanted to know it. Not one in the decade or so that he has vicariously existed behind that mask. They'd created names for him instead. Grim Reaper, Mister Death, H.U.N.K, and more that he can't recall right now.
"Why do you want to know?" The question is surprisingly void of barbs. "If it's the callsign, I really don't care if you use a different one. I'm aware it's not ... ideal." The worst god damn thing they could have picked him, honestly, but you never get a choice in those matters, and now he was forever dealing with the cheek of it. "Grim Reaper is one of the others."
Young Leander @madeofthreads and Somnus, being cute best friends
And let this be the background music to their daily shenanigans
