there’s a laugh that escapes him ; gruff & short lived , but honest. ❛ you don’t think i’m actually going to spill my guts to you , do you ? ❜ / @miindmoved

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there’s a laugh that escapes him ; gruff & short lived , but honest. ❛ you don’t think i’m actually going to spill my guts to you , do you ? ❜ / @miindmoved
starter for @miindmoved
———————— ❝ ya know, it’s much easier to sneak up on someone if you make less noise doing it. ❞
@miindmoved | morning after | accepting
“We played Never have I ever for a while but it’s a blur after we opened up the third bottle of Grey Goose. But I think we had sex.”
SOPHIE (@miindmoved) SAID:
❝ i’m not leaving you by yourself. ❞
Pain isn’t new to Luther. Even on his best days, his body creaks with pains. Sprained muscles. Bone-deep bruises. Cracked knuckles. Scabbed-over skin. He’s durable and he heals fast but he’s never been invincible. The meat-grinder of training and missions has taken it’s toll on him. And every single new mission takes just a little bit more.
Failure isn’t new to him, either. The disasters of missions that leave him so broken and battered he can barely climb out of bed in the morning. In fact, they’d become increasingly more common since his siblings left. Since it’s just him.
This is new, though. Sophie sitting on the edge of his bed long after Dad had ordered Mom and Pogo away. He’s stabilized now; he’ll be fine soon. There’s no reason for someone to waste their time watching him over like this.
It takes all his energy to push himself upright to make himself slightly more presentable. He ends up leaning against his pillows instead of actually sitting up. His arms shake and he pulls the blankets up to cover the bruises on his torso. Cracked ribs were always messy. Sophie didn’t need to see that.
“’M fine,” he slurs even as his head throbs and his stomach churns. Shit. He can’t remember if he hit his head or not and that seems like a bad sign. “Y’dun need t’worry.”
@miindmoved wants a starter
Diego was still in his suit, fresh from shirking Lila at the Consulate when he realized he was being followed by one of the blonds he’d fought off. He kept walking quickly like he already had been, ducking into an alley near a florist shop, he noticed, on his way back to Elliott’s. He got low behind a dumpster and pulled out a knife, ready to hit the man who was following him in the throat. He could hear him coming down the alley and held his breath until the footsteps were close. With a tumble across the alley to hide behind another dumpster, Diego flung the knife and then veered it with his hand with barely enough time for it to fly around the blonde woman he’d nearly impaled. He swore under his breath and looked up over the second dumpster to try and spot the man following him. Not seeing him, Diego stepped out. “You all right?” he asked the woman, careful to not spook her more than he’d probably already had.
“ you’re your own worst enemy. ”
shitty horoscope starters // accepting !
He claps a hand to his chest in half-mock affront, looking at her as though she had just told him his goldfish had finally kicked the bucket.
" Moi ? "
Truthfully, he hadn't been expecting that. More so, he doesn't expect it to feel so accurate, which is doing a wonder for his general sense of self-being. He chalks it up to it sounding like the subtitle of a forgotten self-help book in a shitty rehab ‘library’ and shrugs it off.
Even as much as Klaus would like to blame the dear, departed Reginald for each and every bad decision ( which he could, rest his rotten soul ), he knows there's no use in blaming a dead man. He's not entirely sure who to blame yet, but he's sure there's someone he isn't thinking of.
" That's ridiculous. I happen to love myself, so if anything, it's more of a love/hate relationship. "
SOPHIE (@miindmoved) SAID:
“ you can talk to me, or not talk to me, but i’m here. ”
Luther shrinks back a little when Sophie sits next to him on the worn couch in the corner of the kitchen. He doesn’t mean to, exactly. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be in the kitchen, shouldn’t be sitting next to him. But he still feels uneasy, deep in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he’d gotten too used to being alone and left to his own devices.
“It’s late,” he says, softly. Deflecting a little from her offer. Because it is late. He’s sure she would rather be sleeping, or doing anything else but sitting with him. “You don’t have to. Be here, I mean.”
He glances over at her and tries to smile. He’s not sure if he actually succeeds. Then, Luther looks down at the cup of coffee in his hands.
miindmoved replied to your post “would you consider giving the tm to a rper who deserves it more?...”
im. ............
OKAY RIGHT I AM CONFUSED AND AMAZED AT THE SAME TIME