#strongofheart

[archived-antolcgias]

❛ my, what a helpful contribution — let me just grab my time machine ! ❜

GOOD GIRL SENTENCE PROMPTS  | @strongofheart

❝ Don’t lose your head. ❞ He jerks his towards her though. A janky little movement that allows his face to fall under the light of the wayward and startling lamp on the building’s rooftop. Its fluorescence chases the shadows away quick. The city continues to powering through its Friday evening, dozens of feet below, and the cold winds blow through as they pace about ... the mess of a plan they have. 

❝ ... You can’t do this alone. I can’t. He can’t.  ❞ Jerks his head again at Sam — quiet and observant, perhaps from the accumulation of their individual losses; the realization that they can’t topple this goliath through sheer will — and steps fuller into the light. It flickers when he’s close. The long shadow he casts, pushed away from the light, somehow darker than the night that has overtaken the rest of the rooftop. 

❝ ... We need each other.  ❞

[morethankissed-blog]

@strongofheart​    ➤     “you can be rough with me, i won’t break.” sq

but you might.     lips ghosts along sam’s chest.    his eyes darken ,   flicker up to meet sam’s but    ––     he   h e s i t a t e s .     god ,   he    wants   to.     one looks at those big ,   pleading eyes ,    the adorable pout taking form on luscious lips.     the   primal instinct   in him wants sam whole ,   wants him   wanting    and    helpless   and   whining .    veins coursing with adrenaline.   wants to drink him dry. 

but he   can’t ,   not at the risk of losing all control.

he can’t ,   he has to remind himself as sam whines for   more ,    more  ,   more .     at the way sam’s whole body responds to a single firm press in to the sheets.    how sam fucks himself   greedily   back on to him.    he digs his fingers in to sam’s hips and nearly blacks out at the way sam’s body vibrates with anticipation ,   at every    yes ,   yes ,   please   that falls from his lips.     q kisses him rough ,   gripping his chin and licking every desperate plea out of his mouth as though it could possibly silence him.

but it doesn’t.    and he can’t say no to sam for much longer. 

❛❛   turn over,   ❜❜    he growls out ,   and though he is   f l i p p i n g   sam on his stomach himself ,   too impatient to wait.    he kisses up sam’s spine ,   tries to ignore the allure of sam’s heartbeat quickening.   but it’s  overwhelming ,   has his fangs jutting out at the promise ,   the vulnerability.    he slams in to sam in one swift ,  sudden move ,   no warning.     hears the slap of their skin together ,   the ragged shaky breath sam takes and he grips the sheets.   and before he can stop himself ,   his hips snap back and forward.    he finds a new pace ,   quick and harsh and relentless ,   barely lets sam breathe ,   going so hard   he   has to do the work of holding sam up or his back will give out.  

and in the midst of sam’s cries   ––   so loud ,  he’s sure he   won’t notice   ––   fangs bare and sink in to his shoulder.    and quinn’s caught off guard at the taste ,  at how   good    he tastes ,   how easy it is to control himself   ––   if not for sam’s sake ,   but to   s a v o r   the salt of him.     and as he   toys   with sam in his fist ,   feels him on the brink of eruption ,   he realizes   :  maybe he   w a n t s   to break sam a little. 

[suitedblue]

💍 a rightfully chaotic samteddy revival

Send me ‘💍’ for our muses to wake up married after a night of heavy drinking

Barely can open his eyes, struggling almost pitifully with opening just even the one eyelid. Christ, he hasn’t been this hungover for years; in fact, he doesn’t think it’s a hangover, hell, he thinks he’s still d r u n k. Every part of his body feels as if it’s been runner multiple times and the motion of rubbing his eyes with his hand feels as if it takes a good ten hours. When in fact, he can open his eyes, his vision is blurry and there’s a very obvious headache pounding at his skull - had someone decide to take a drill to his head? 

Slow movements, nice and easy is what he tells himself until he manages to prop himself up, groaning softly as he scratches at his day old stubble. His white button down is wrinkled and he thinks about five buttons are missing, leaving his chest very much exposed. He’s trying to piece whatever he can from what the bloody hell happened yesterday, but it’s rather painful to do much thinking. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he exhales, a string of quiet curses emitting from his lips as he then finally starts to focus in on the oddest of accessories on him.

Was that...a wedding ring? Brings his left hand up closely to examine; can’t explain the sudden hammering of his heart which is in time with the hammering in his head until he hears another groan next to him, and realizes that it’s Sam  -- Sam!!! who is sleeping fitfully next to him. Heart race quickens as he notices a matching ring on his hand too and Teddy - as much as he had clearly drank last night had a sudden urge to have just one more. 

Maybe there was some mistake - some stupid cliche, they wouldn’t have ever -- this wouldn’t have -- they would have talked about it --...? But eyes focus on another item on the bedside table and Teddy hesitantly reaches over to grab it. It’s a marriage certificate. Dated yesterday. He’s a husband. And Sam’s his husband.

           “Holy shit.” Has to be calm, especially when Sam wakes up - how would he feel? What would they do?  Had they -...done...it? They couldn’t -...they couldn’t stay married, could they? Well...well, they could, but... 

              “ --...Hey, Sammy? Sam, hey, wake up. You okay? You alive?”

[joneshead]

   @ineveryvein​ SAID : @croianam​ is always providing POSITIVITY to the people she follows and her voices are so distinct and UNCANNY for her muses. and she LOVES MUMU"S AND WE LOVE HER @fortismagica GIVES HP CHARACTERS THE DESI VAMP THEY DESERVE, and she makes me??? GIVE A SHIT about characters i did not give any thought to previously, and she will write 100 different verses with the best tropes @strongofheart​ ALSO made me care about a char i didnt pay much mind to in canon and now l o v e. i love all the verses and au's they plan their characters into and THEIR MUMU ALSO, and steph is. so chill. i love. @antolcgias REALLY PUTS HER OWN SPIN ON MUSES bc fUCk canon, but like??? i love??? her characters?? she really makes muses their own and is DOWN for so many au's and has *such* unique and creative ideas, 10/10 would recommend

SHOUT OUT TO THESE LOVELY FOLKS <3 You guys are rockstars!

POSITIVITY CALL!

[queenlnss-a]

WEAPONLESS.      I showed that text to @strongofheart and

[antolcgias]

ASKED BY @strongofheart (feat. @luridtruths)  :: "i love you. you don’t have to say it back, though." mutant srs

SPIDER MAN INTO THE SPIDERVERSE

❝ — waited until our worst plan under the most heinous conditions and with the severest consequences to pull that out of your bag? ❞  It’s the first whole sentence he’s been able to work up in an hour now that his ears are no longer ringing. The blast zone still has falling debris over it and other mutants have been working for a solid hour to try and scavenge what they can — information, resources, anything. A destroyed sentinel covered by giants. Reynold smiles crookedly where his head remains in Spencer’s lap, and his hand is held fast with Sam’s. Works up a laugh at the sudden unamused look their chameleon spares him before the slip of a smile emerges, ❝ I love you too. ❞

[antolcgias]

ASKED BY @strongofheart (feat. @luridtruths): “ it’s not a dream , it’s a memory ” mutant srs CAN U TELL IM STILL FUCKED UP ABT THIS

ALICE: MADNESS RETURNS STARTERS

The dream was a kind one. 

Light filtered through the dirt-stained glass ceilings of their old warehouse unit; an off-shoot space they’d made their room in this lesser know base for the revolution. Given time they had hung curtains for privacy. Kept weapons in decoy spots. In the dream, they had finished dragging salvaged mattresses in — and Spencer fell back on them with hair splayed out beneath her. The languidness that comes from overexertion — exhaustion pulling at the controlled posturing she kept all day as their group settled in. Sam had lined up next to her on the bed. He contributed ideas for plants and decorations. The sparse detailings that would make a forgotten place a home. She challenged each one — how would they water the plants, and would they have to go to Target for prope sheets? 

Reynold stood at the periphery. Busied himself by stacking books onto leftover crates — taken from the offices of some production line leader; dusty, and moth eaten in parts, but detailing complex mechanical blueprints. All the way from 1988. A bit of history. Sam and Spencer broke through that little dive into the past with their questions — needing a third to break the tie between them — and he looked at them. The sight of them filled him with something new — a feeling that there would always be a tie to the present.

The hope of a future. 

❝ Give me time, ❞ Reynold says from where he sits against a tree that’s apparently his favorite to read by. He peers up at them from under thick-framed glasses. His eyes a dampened blue — the curtain over everything he is still hanging over his mind. ❝ I’ll remember. I’ll bring him back to you. ❞ 

[antolcgias]

ASKED BY  @strongofheart :: “I can’t stop thinking about you.” single dad/neighbours samreyn

PROMPTS!

Sam’s honesty keeps lifting the downturned expression he’s been sporting as of late — school, work, custody all blending into a cycle of stress he manages to break through with that. Reynold is out of touch — or as his daughter would say, ‘In need of reconfiguring your game’ — which leave silence stretching between them in the four or five feet. Each at the front doors to their respective homes. 

❝ ...  how are you this— ❞ Muttered because that is the barest hint of a raised smirk at Sam’s lips, isn’t it? Then, of course, the reusable fabric bag in his hand reaches its peak durability — rips off at a bottom edge from the weight of groceries — sending out avocados, gooseberries, almonds and everything spiraling towards 

Doesn’t need Grace’s whistle and a ‘Smooooooth, dad,’ from inside the apartment to encourage the blanching, red-eared look he’s sporting as he sputters over bruised vegetables and fruits.