#prodigalscns

[violvtor]

❣️ / you obviously know this is rem

❣️ for a kiss that conveys an emotion

He doesn’t give a fuck about Louisiana but he asks Remi questions about it so that he sounds interested. This is the fakest that Crow has ever acted — this including the unbearable moments when he must act like an upstanding citizen with a less-than-standing used car dealership. He stops midway in between asking a question about the Louisiana swamps before he drops the bullshit "—ah, fuck it ! I don't care about your fucking state, Remi. I just fucking like you and I know that when people start to like each other they ask each other stupid fucking questions & I'm trying not to scare you the fuck off because I'm not those fucking people. I sell guns to kill those fucking people—" a lump in his throat interrupts him. Crow feels as if he has blown it. He has blown his one chance at a relationship. He has had other situations before that could have formed into relationships, but they required him to change who he was. Yet here was Remi, and it seemed that for all of ten minutes he was willing to actually attempt to do so — to be something he was not. The respected weapons trafficker's hands shook vulnerably as they reached out for Remi's face, as if checking to see that the other was not an illusion — that Crow's true personality hadn't scared the other to storm out. "S-shut up." he barked with the fragility reminiscent of a teenage James Crowe before Remi could pass out a trademark witty remark and demolish what was left of the remaining confidence he had. Crow's lips brushed against the others and then pulled away — his expressions looking almost pained as he did so — before slamming his mouth back onto the others with such a possesive force, "Fuck Louisiana," was the first remark made by him as soon as they both let up for air.

[blossomhcney]

@prodigalscns​

coming face to face with a reaper right now was not something that oliver was entirely looking forward to, but he supposed it was inevitable and he would have to deal with it. he knew how to handle himself and his emotions and nothing would escalate on his part, so at least that was something, right? he couldn’t speak for all the diablos (though, technically he DID now, didn’t he?), but he had no interest in starting an all out war. somebody was going to want to get revenge for camilla and he could appreciate that, but he desperately did not want the diablos to draw first (second) blood. a little stroll through town to clear his head and try to assess the situation was necessary. alone, maybe not, but he needed to get out and see what was going on and if anything had happened and if he would be held accountable for it, if it had. of course, upon not wanting to come face to face with a member of the reapers, that was surely what had happened. before now, he could surely have come up with some topic of conversation. now? the only thing he could think to ask was, ❝ has victoria come out of hiding yet? ❞

[mickxkyle]

🗑️ a text that wasn’t sent.

text: {unsent} It’s 3 am and I miss you 

text: {unsent} But you don’t miss me. 

text: {unsent} I wanna come home to you

[wrrgod]

mad as rabbits

mad as rabbits — do you believe in true love?

“ the fuck do i look like? no. ”

“ no, i don’t. sounds like just another form of manipulation, in all honesty. ”

“ in the platonic sense of the word, maybe. then again, even that may be a bit of a stretch. ”

[aymericxandros]

“ i don’t know if i’m worth all this. “ / Also, everyone loves Sibohan

Marvel Ask Memes // Accepting.

      Tracing the heat signatures of the people who kept his company painted more vivid of a picture than one would ever imagine. Aymeric would like to believe that it was almost like actually seeing, except he had nothing to compare that to. He was always blind, but what he could perceive was much more important than he could ever impress. And usually, he didn’t try to impress it at all. It was easier if people believed that he was disabled in some fashion — less of a threat. He was alright with that.

      It was one thing to know how he perceived himself throughout all of the trials in his life: feeble in his youth and helpless until trained how to harness his own body and capabilities. Aymeric’s self deprecation was only through silent thoughts or soft curses in moments when he was utterly and completely alone. To hear them coming from someone he had admittedly grown fond of and about themselves was something else entirely. His lips pursed, he turned to face her and ran through the series of words that all bombarded him at the same time. A tidal wave, all reasons why her doubt was unfounded but … it was a matter of what she wanted to hear.

      She was beautiful and wild. Her scars told stories, even if they pained Aymeric to hear them. Gentle fingers probed the line of Sibohan’s jaw, thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip to determine the worry set on her features. “Si,” and his hand shifted from her visage to her shoulders, wrapping her into him with a squeeze. He didn’t have many people he could call friend in this world, and that was through is own acts. Aymeric wanted to keep people as far away as he could for fear of hurting them the same way he’d hurt his father in his youth. Or be burned in turn the way his mother had outright abandoned him in fear. It was easier to keep people at a distance … easier to save himself the heartache.

      But he didn’t want to hear those words from her. Friend. The word held so much more weight that he could ever properly express, not verbally at least. Aymeric sighed softly, loosened his grip on her in case she wanted to break away, but made no motion to separate them himself. “To me, you are worth it. And more.”

[leonidasvarian-blog]

“ please, stay. “ / Everyone loves Sibohan

Marvel Ask Memes // Accepting.

      His lips parted, the softest whisper of a sigh escaping from them. His glasses were folded neatly in his pocket, though he used the vaguely to see distances. An old lion, losing his eyesight slowly — the thought was enough to make Lee laugh sardonically, if under some other circumstances. But now there was nothing short of a grim set to his jaw, no hint of tenseness but there he was, standing quite still and with his shoulders a bit too square. Her voice was quiet, a little plea that was strong enough to pierce right through him. Like so many images of lions, large and fierce, stuck with a thousand spears — Sibohan was the spear that counted. Lee couldn’t explain why.

      He wasn’t moving forward, though. Perhaps too still, eerie, like the feline he was ready to pounce. Every muscle in his body was tense in that moment: he, a tightrope walker delicately balancing on a line too thin. Collapsing down one side was leaving, apologizing gently and sealing the door behind him and the other … staying. The pit with spikes, he was sure he’d be critically wounded if he fell down there. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving.

      The sound that escaped him was sharp, chiding himself too hard mentally. One hand balled into a fist, short nails digging into the palm of his hand and leaving half-moons depressed there. Lee turned slightly, peering over his shoulder. She was Ophelia amidst the pond, circled with flowers: beautiful, and tragic. A weakness. His eyes sealed tight, so much so that he felt himself wince for the sharpness in his temples. When he opened the again he was two steps closer to the bed, lowering himself to sit on the edge and offering a calloused hand. He was a contradiction.

      A muss, to the unknowing eye. His hair, usually messed, pushed back more neatly for his meeting earlier in that day — his clothes perhaps a bit nicer than the flannels he usually donned but still not what one would expect from one of the heads of the Leo Alliance. And curled in the sumptuous guest bedroom of his estate was the neutral, troublesome, Puca woman. He’d certainly needed a little help with luck … at least, that was the thought weeks ago when he’d reached out to her. He’d never intended on swaying her to one side or another, and now he certainly wouldn’t ask her of that. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t offer her whatever means he could to keep her at his side, as opposed to the other. Even if it had nothing to do with business.

      “I’m here,” fingers traced along the length of her arm, stopping at her own hand, slipping digits into her palm and offering a squeeze. He’d certainly promised himself he wouldn’t allow this, this closeness … but here he was, and here she was. And there was the door, closed, with both of them inside. “I’m here,” Lee repeated once more, softly.