This sounds neat, so I’ll bite! (@ NP, if Aurelio doesn’t inspire anything you can go for anyone else in the same folder as him!)
If I accidentally post this early again, I will die.
Okay, let me explain! Some of my favorite IC games are the ones where you effectively get to do whatever (favorite OC of the person above you, what would your OC do, comment IC, etc.), so this is another one of those, with a kind of twist! You know when a song reminds you so much of a certain forum game relationship, or just inspires you to write in general? That's what this thread is! Grab a song that inspires what you're posting, and jam out while you write some interactions! Does that make sense? Probably not, but oh well!
And rules time:
- Please link the song that inspired you so we can all hear it! You should probably give warnings to any NSFW songs, though.
- Please no severely NSFW posts, I'm legally a minor so I can't tag this. Spoil or black out any possibly triggering stuff.
- Minimum of 3 sentences!
- You may post every 2 posts, unless 24 hours have passed. I may up this if this actually succeeds.
- Follow-ups are not required.
- Over all, please be nice! Rude OCs are fine, but don't be an asshole OOC.
Whoever posts first can get one free! If nobody posts in like, an hour or two, I'll start it off myself.
Black. Shoo.
Here's the song I listened to! Cuco — Feelings! TW because this is the music video and it does have some eyestrain! Also, apologies if I got the premise of the post wrong!
Zinnia kept her hands clasped, staring intently at the vampire while she remained seated. As much as she didn't want to acknowledge it, his abode felt very...dull. The lights were dimmed down, so much so that she struggled to adjust to the lack of light. In fact, the only light that seemed to be discernable was the lit fireplace in the background. It almost fit the miserable-appearing expression Aurelio sported. Zinnia couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt while she stared at his frown, accompanied by the melancholy atmosphere.
"So...I heard it's your, uhm... birthday, sir," the teenager eventually stated, fluttering her eyelashes while she clasped her hands. She tilted her head down, staring at the plastic bag next to her seat. She lifted up her hand, then lowered it next to her, hooking her fingers on the edges. She allowed her eyes to dart to Aurelio, attempting to search for any change in his facial expression. She wanted to find at least anything; even a furrow of his eyebrows could work. She then lifted the bag up, then offered it to the elder party.
"I didn't know what you would like, and I don't have a ton of my own money, so I couldn't get you anything expensive...hopefully, these goodies are okay."
She watched him pull at the bag, allowing her gaze to travel with his hands. He watched him pull out the gift: a small plastic box of madeleines. Zinnia paused to glance around in the dark room, heaving in an inhale before brandishing a grin at the elder party. She clasped her hands together, feeling herself growing even more nervous upon scanning Aurelio's expression. She thought he appeared uneasy, which made her distress intensify internally.
"Do you...like it, sir?" she eventually inquired, continuing to stare at him before standing up from her seat. She rubbed her fingers against the back of her palm, tentatively approaching the elder party. She craned her head over to him, examining his expression once more before pulling him in for a hug.
"Mmh, happy birthday, sir."
mom said it's my turn to throw in the obligatory not-mom interaction into this thread, as a treat.... btw, the song that inspired this response is "This is What Makes Us Girls" by Lana Del Rey!!
"I see," grunted the older woman once the teenager had finished explaining... A lot of what was going on. The feud with Stephanie, the rumors being spread throughout the school... Shit that Brown couldn't relate to personally, for a variety of reasons, but nonetheless managed to prick at her heart slightly as she rubbed her thumbs against the smooth piece of amber. "I see. No wonder you were so upset when that fucking hag put the drink in your hair. It's... Been something that has been happening for a while, huh?"
Yet there was no denying the fact that Brown's voice did seem rather flat for someone who was supposed to be a concerned not-mother; she knew it, and it grated at her psyche... Greatly. It wasn't like she could really be blamed because she didn't remember much about her teenage years besides training under Rochester as one of her interns, and perhaps even her successor- Rochester... Now that was a name that the middle-aged woman hadn't even thought about in a long time, and she had to bite back a whimper herself as her mind immediately skipped over to that day. She wasn't even a teenager any more, at that day, but...
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit...
Brown remained stiff for a second before she grunted, "Well... Shit like that always happens during adolescence... Huh?", with a flutter of her lashes. Shit. Her voice was still monotonous, prompting her to draw her lip back while she reached one hand to gently comb back some of her hair. "... People are rather cruel creatures at times, mm? You should not be crying over it, but shit... I do have to commend you for being able to withstand that shit for so long. I just, well, sort of wish you were more transparent to me about it until now. I know you told me about it before, or at least I think that was the case, but... Shit..." She chuffed in a clear attempt to lighten up the situation.
"Maybe that is what you should focus on, though," the aristocrat advised to the teenager with a nod, "Your strength, I mean. I... I sort of wish I had that aptitude when I was a girl myself. You know?" Which was sort of a lie, as mentioned previously. Her memory was a haze, seemingly ever since her daughter was born... It must've been a lingering consequence of family blight, but you know what was the real kicker? The real fucking kicker?
That didn't even occur when Brown was a teenager. She was already an adult when she found herself gasping for air, biting down every word and tear that she had in her lest she somehow get construed as improper...
With a flutter of her lashes, the middle-aged woman eventually mused aloud, "Not even as a teenager, but as a girl in general. Does that make sense?" She paused before leaning slightly towards the teenager, then carefully wrapping her in a brief but gentle embrace. In the meanwhile, Brown sighed, "... So I suppose that is something we both have to learn. Myself in hindsight, and yourself in situ. I can only hope you turn out better than me in that regard." Another pause, as Brown smacked her tongue against her palate as if tasting the slight regret coating her words. "... I really do hope you turn out better than me in that regard, buttercup. Never mind what I said earlier."
late follow-up, but I'm always down for chaos in this house. mom said it's my turn for this interaction....
Brown’s brows, admittedly, shot up in the air when she heard a rough voice speaking to her, prompting her to clench one of her hands into a fist and prepare to deliver an uppercut to the unfortunate soul in her way at the moment-
Only for her to realize that the fellow whom she was speaking with… Wasn’t as familiar as she expected. Uh oh.
She carefully lowered her fist but kept it tense while grunting, “Well, I’ve never fucking heard of you, so don’t make it seem like we are equals just yet,” with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Nonetheless, the middle-aged woman did take a step closer while carefully eyeing him and those sharp, sharp teeth of his. Uh oh, sisters.
“But yes,” the aristocrat sniffed with a flutter of her eyes, “I do have alcohol on me, and yes!” She broke off into a harsh laugh, though she did sound genuinely amused by the fact that he knew. People did gossip after all! “I do have absinthe!” guffawed Brown in between barks, “But how I tolerate it is a bit of a secret, huh! Maybe, just maybe-” The aristocrat craned her neck towards the other and gave him a huge, albeit sleazy, grin.
“... Maybe I’m not a fucking coward. Maybe? Mm? Absinthe is a bit of an acquired taste, but I see you low-class shitheads drinking moonshine and vodka all the damn fucking time, and you don’t fucking complain! So you might as well be a dumbass. That is just my opinion, if I have to be honest with you.”
Sure.
Her eyes narrowed further when he took a dollar bill out of his pocket. One dollar. How measly, especially in the face of an elitist aristocrat. Ew.
She turned up her nose a bit and sniffed, “I mean, it depends, dipshit. Right now you sound like a fucking coward anyhow. I don’t mess with cowards.” Said the bitch who’s dating a pacifist, but okay. “So maybe it should not be me being the one cleaning shit up,” Brown told him with a scoff, “Maybe it should be you taking the low road for a second now, mm?” Chuckling under her breath, she then grunted with a twirl of her hand. “You seem like it anyhow…” Was that a joke, or…
Not that it mattered, as she hummed coolly, “Well, to be fair, it’s true. Most murders get solved and then fade into obscurity. But mine managed to stay, because of a variety of reasons.” Her smile faltered slightly, though she still seemed relaxed for the most part. “... Well, yes. A variety of reasons.”
“To be fair, though,” Brown replied to him with a raised brow, “I have to admit that I do have one person I want to get rid of… He’s rich, a huge bitch…” She hummed under her breath while holding her fingers out. “... Yes… All of that could work…” she mumbled while looking up at the other party. “Wouldn’t you agree, shitface?”
Whatever the fuck that meant.
.. wrote to You're Crazy by GNR (Lies ver) (which is explicit for sure! but an absolute banger i promise). more strange edgy weiss content because funsies..
"You! What a notorious figure, The Brown! The Wolf! I've heard .." Weiss paused in order to clasp his hands together, smiling smugly at Brown, ".. Fun stuff about you." Yeesh, you can cut the sarcasm with a knife it's so thick.
"I hear you're high on alcohol, too -- specifically absinthe. How you stand that shit is .. outstanding! That's like drinking pure fucking rubbing alcohol. Not like that's baaaaaad! To each their own, yeah yeah?" He shot a look towards Brown and furrowed his eyebrows,
".. Don't get excited now! I don't have any booze on me." Rats.
Nonchalantly, Weiss took out a dollar bill from his pocket and fiddled with it; not so smoothly trying to flex with his cash on this poor woman .. whom, he was somehow likely trying to use for money in the first place, either way this conversation probably had some ulterior motive behind it on Home's side.
He actually decided to break his smoking tendency for once, however.
"I'm sure you don't like me, ma'aaaam! And I understand, but I wanna be buddies with you, eh? Can't you see it now? 'Weiss Heim and The Wolf?' We'd go down in history, of course .. if you clean up that filthy reputation of yours. I don't want to hang out with a serial killer cannibal, now do I?" He chuckled lightly, at what was assumed to be 'a harmless joke', maybe. It's not like he already hung out with serial killers anyway.
"That probably doesn't affect you any, though. This whole urban legend you've built up for yourself seems pretty fun anyway, frightening a whole town for months upon end like that isn't something that .. usually happens after a 'murder,'" he flicked the bill off to the side and gave Brown a side eye, ".. so, hey! Good on you, I guess." Weiss lowered his voice and cackled to himself, pulling a lone guitar pick from his pocket in the process. Where the hell did he get that?
Not his problem, of course. Those lousy picks just appear wherever the hell they want to.
Abruptly, however, Weiss remarked towards Brown in a brash tone, "I know a rich lady like you has got to have some rich friends! Let's take 'em down, together! We can be huge fucking stars or whatever, just to rub it in their snooty faces. How does that sound? Game?"
Please. Please just say no..
np, if nothing inspires you you can use any of the characters in this folder to write to !
Fun fact: I couldn't decide, so I used two songs. They're both from the Hypnospace Outlaw soundtrack. Here's Leather Jacket Man and Awesome Rap Beat. Leather Jacket Man is fairly loud, so TW on that song just in case!
Also, TW in my writing for alcohol, drug usage, and violence! Also, there's a pregnant teenager.
------------------
This was definitely not a place a teenager should be in, let alone a pregnant one. She was distanced far away from the mosh pit, watching intently as a large crowd was gathered around a stage. There was a rush of adrenaline lingering in the air, only intensifying as soon as a fight slowly broke out. A crash sounding from a slew of broken bottles of alcohol sounded like a loud chorus. Fists from the rioting crowd were flying.
Kiko, however, remained seated on her stool, watching as the brawl unfolded. She tilted her head to glance at the man seated next to him, who seemed as high as a kite. The area the two were seated in seemed much calmer compared to the previously mentioned scene. She watched the fanged blonde for a moment, fluttering her eyelashes before inquiring:
"So...you were in that band before, right? Did the concerts always get this bad?" she inquired, tugging at the jacket she was wearing. She tussled with her sleeves, biting her lip while she listened to the elder party speak. She rested her arms against the counter, tilting her head to glance at Weiss again before huffing:
"Heh, my girlfriend would love hanging out here. She's always picking fights with people, and I always have to be there to rescue her." Kiko paused to tug the large sleeves of her jacket; now that that's mentioned, her jacket actually looked huge on her. It almost seemed as if she was trying to hide something.
Kiko turned back to the crowd. It was now growing out of control. There was an ungodly amount of screaming; it got to the point where the teenager's ears began to hurt. People were getting downed, practically getting tackled to the ground. After Kiko heaved out an exhale, she pushed herself up and turned to Weiss.
"Erm, you know what? I think I'm gonna go. Seriously, I need to leave. Uhm, bye."
rusty is back with the questionable music tastes folks (/j). ANYWAYS. the song that inspired this is "Kings and Queens" by Ava Max. we love to see women supporting each other here!!!!
He doesn't deserve her. If he doesn't treat her right by now, she's gone; now she better go chop his dick off- Just kidding. That wasn't what Rochester uttered, or even thought for that matter.
Instead, she just carefully eyed the teenager and sniffed, "If I have to be honest with you, dear, perhaps him breaking up with you was for the best. He was a cold individual; I heard from my wife that he often speaks terribly of women like yourself behind your back, considering them property and the like..." She shuddered while combing her fingers through her hair. "... Though, of course, I'm aware that those are just rumors. And you know how difficult they are, by default, to verify... I have to pity anyone who has to deal with that sort of talk even on a secondhand level. You, on the other hand..." She clicked her tongue and leaned back in her couch.
"... You're certainly someone who's carrying this with hope and optimism on your shoulders," the elder remarked with a chuff, though... A note of uneasiness started to creep into her voice. This was, the more she thought about it, the exact opposite of how one of her interns was treated... Way back when... Except that instead of the man leaving when she needed him most, he was thrown onto her and hoped that she'd "come around" and "accept" him someday. Ew! Rochester curled her lip back into a sneer as she hissed, "You're so much better than him in that regard. He doesn't deserve you."
Oh god.
The elderly woman fortunately shifted the subject slightly, as she started to muse aloud, "What you do deserve is some semblance of satisfaction. You did mention that you have a girlfriend now, right?" She chuffed. "That's a start. The bar is pretty low at this point anyhow." Ew, misandry- With a cough into her knuckles, Rochester quickly clarified, "I mean... At least in the sense that she treats you well? I heard that she has her anger issues, but she is otherwise a lovable individual. At least she treats women with respect." She laughed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the teenager whom she had just spoken fondly of was... A bit like her intern in terms of hating men. In her defense, though, she didn't know.
Maybe she didn't need to know?
Rochester eventually combed her fingers through her hair while humming, "But I am sure that all of this is weighing down on you, right? I would not blame you one bit; it sounds like a lot, especially for someone your age. But... You can get through it." She paused to crack a small smile at the younger party. "You can, really, and I mean it," she reassured the other with a soft chuckle, before turning around and focusing her attention back on the fruit she had yet to cut up for herself and her slug. Priorities. "Not that you need such words of reassurance in the first place, of course. I mean... Look at you and that sunny smile of yours," remarked the elder while carefully cutting up an orange, "Still, if you ever need to remember something to keep your head up... Think of this - okay, miss?"
I'll try my best to do a follow-up for NP if I have the time.... maybe....
I was listening to Miki Matsubara - Stay With Me while I was searching for this thread, so that's what we're going with today. I provided this lyric video with the English and Romaji so you could follow along! Potential TW as the song does contain a sexual innuendo!
Spoilerized due to length!
"Okay, so, we got off on the wrong foot. That's okay, we can get along. You're fairly cool, I can admit that. Let's start over—turn over a new leaf," Stephanie huffed, tilting her head up at Rochester. While the teenager paused to examine the elder party's expression, she allowed the corners of her lips to curl upwards. She continued to stare at the blend of blue, purple, and pink hues on the woman's face, which somewhat complimented the outfit she sported. The teenager paused to turn around and snag her bowling ball, rubbing her fingers against the blue, marbled finish it had. She presented it to the elder party, maintaining her smirk while she fluttered her eyelashes.
"I got this custom made. I got it for my fourteenth birthday, and I haven't stopped using it since. Mmh, this alley is cool with you borrowing theirs. Anyways," Stephanie abruptly stopped speaking, placing her ball on her lap before reaching over the table over to the tablet hanging off the edge. She began tapping a few buttons, tilting her head up to the screen hanging from the roof. One of the rows on the screen read STEPH, while the one below read RO.
"Is this okay, or would you rather have a cooler name? Like, I dunno, 'Death Laser—with a 'Z'' or something—ah, forget it, it's just a name." Stephanie continued to press a few buttons until the display on the screen changed. Stephanie abruptly shot Rochester a grin, her top row of teeth pressing into her tongue. The teenager drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, attempting to be in sync with the percussion in the song that was playing in the background.
"Here, I'm going first. Hurry up and grab your ball!" the younger party chirruped, gesturing towards the display of bowling balls against the wall before standing up and walking over to the alley. She reeled her hand back, pinching her fingers against the holes before she swung her arm forward, causing the ball to roll down the alley. She planted her hands on her side, watching the ball until it collided with a few pins. Her lips pursed into a pout as she stared at the pins that were still standing after those knocked out were swept away. She walked over to another machine, waiting until her marbled ball returned. She locked her fingers into the hole, returning over to the alley and repeating her previous actions, only this time the ball ended up in the gutters.
Stephanie furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her chin up before returning her gaze over to Rochester. She strutted over to the elder party, continuing to drum her fingers in the air with a smirk.
"Alrighty, did you find a good ball to use? It's your turn now, sis."
I was originally going to opt for a different song, but I wasn't sure whether it'd be acceptable for the thread considering that the song itself does contain (non-graphic) nsfw mentions in the lyrics, and I wasn't comfortable linking the music video since it does get a bit graphic in nudity at one part. (and said video was like. the only result actually pertaining to my search rfdvdrtfg- gotta love having obscure music tastes lmao.)
that asides.... kind of went for "The Spider and the Lamps" from the Razia's Shadow musical for this response!! Johnson is... a prick as always.
Johnson cracked his knuckles before turning his attention to the girl and hissing, "Let me make this clear, for one last time: you're going to need to put more strategy and method into your approach if you want to deal with that girl for good. The only reason why she hasn't completely succumbed to your whims yet is because she has someone to protect her-" He broke off to gesture at a neoclassical façade just nearby, which wasn't actually the house of the fellow whom he was shit-talking about, but... It looked like it! Close enough!
"So, you can't just keep badgering her," he grunted with a raised brow, "because she's going to keep running to that person as long as she can trust them. You understand that, right?" He didn't expect her to. The bar was that low, but then again... Johnson did find it somewhat humiliating that he was sort of forcing himself to consult with a teenage girl - out of all the people out there - for this sort of affair. In fact, it made him squirm just thinking about reducing himself to such a level.
Good!
Alas, the middle-aged man shook his head and scoffed, "That's why I have a better idea, so listen to me and stop being such a brat about this entire thing," under his breath. Rude? Gauging her expression for a few seconds, he then proposed with a slight gesticulation of his hands, "It's best for you to sever that trust between her and that confidante of hers. After all, if she can't trust someone whom she previously ran to as a source of comfort, then she's more vulnerable. The school will listen to you more if she doesn't have allies. Besides, as long as that ally has some influence, there's going to be nothing but continual hurdles to your progress..."
Imagine getting involved in petty high school drama in the first place? At least Johnson had the self-awareness to recognize that this was definitely a downgrade from his usual affairs, but... Damn.
"But yes," Johnson grumbled with a roll of his eyes, "we can get this organized through... Bowling, right?" A pause. Finally. The old man shut up for a few seconds or so while eyeing the teenager ever so carefully; after all, if he had learned anything from his rendezvous with Brown and her not-children, it was that minors tended to be unpredictable as fuuuuuuuck. And that made it more difficult for them to rationalize and predict - always a frustration in Johnson's eyes. Good.
Still, it wasn't something that he could overcome with some basic strategy... Right? Maybe government politics and high school drama didn't need to be so different after all, he pondered to himself through slitted eyes. He just hoped they didn't actually have to go bowling. He'd get his fingers fucked up fast.
- Johnson….. no…… >:(
also I actually want to try giving out song recs for this thread instead of follow-ups because why not + my brain is mush from midterms. so!! Hozier’s "Arsonist’s Lullabye" has definite Johnson vibes, and I actually think it sort of fits his overall dynamic with Roswell- :)c (the fire-related title is 100% a coincidence, but shhhhh.)
Volcano by woodkid cause: I feel like writing some baby action for once. Me? Writing action? Shocking I know, I need to take this chance.
--
Roswell could feel his heart race. The night sky was colored with streaks of bright orange. Hints of yellow. Smoke curled upwards and mixed itself with the everlasting smog.
A fire.
Roswell pressed his heels tightly in Gustav's flanks as he tried to keep the distressed camel under control. The beast flaked around his lips, his ears pinned back, still, Roswell managed to push him forwards. Towards the danger.
The leidsman could feel his muscle tense when he found the seat of the fire. A house. Torched by the Jakes. The place was crawling with Nightwatch and watchers. Roswell only managed to push himself through the crowd of Jakes and bystanders, with Gustav. Who showed the whites of his eyes.
The leidsman halted his camel next to Johnson. Giving the reins a firm tug.
"Whaat is going on?" Roswell wanted to know. He shot the commissioner of the Jakes a worried look. "Yer men," he gestures at the house. That cracked under the flames. "They are out of control!" He yelled.
Roswell's lone eye darted over Johnson's face. Hoping to find at least a spark of agreement. Or humanity.
"Foire like dis spread-," he said. Roswell ran his hand through his hair. Mud clung to his fingertips. He had just come back from his field trip with Brown. The memories of that sweet meadow already felt like ages ago. Another lifetime. "- Especially in de Buik."
Roswell's gaze shifted away from Johnson towards the flames. He shivered. Drakenburg's houses were built closely next to each other. Huddled together like lovers. It's only a matter of time.
Just like the onlookers, Roswell watched as the residents scrambled outside. Clenching their stuff close to their chests. Nobody offered them help. Nobody offered them comfort. They just stared. As if they were at the zoo.
"Dis political suicide," Roswell hissed underneath his breath. Gustav tossed his head. Its rider had difficulty staying on.
"Yer 'ave to stop dis," Roswell said. His eye pinned back on Johnson. "Or yer career dies in dose flames!"
--
I just want you to know that Ros wears something similar as the green one in this pic. Poor Wraith
(That being said/memed though: God I love these two.. 😭💘!? Also Wraith's crying broke MY heart)
"Wraith!?" Roswell looked through his 'living-room' as his sweat-soaked hand clinched for his kram. He panted. He'd ran out of bed and put his boots on, just in case he had to flee.
His eye darted around until he found the shifter and for a brief second, he hesitated. The cold of the umbrated living room bit in his sweat soaked back.
"It's just a dream lad," he said. "Just go back to sleep." Roswell wanted to turn around, back to his (warm) bed but seeing that the shifter wasn't satisfied with his answer the old thief gave in. He hung his kram behind his belt of his silk dressing gown. Then yawned. He set down on the couch. "Look at me shirt," he said with a sleepy smile. "Oi just washed yesterday…" He paused. "It's foine," he said. "We'll clean it tomorrow. Sweat can leave salt-marks, did yer know," he chatted on. Just to fill the air with something. Anything but that screaming.
Roswell ran his hand through his hair. Plucked the grey edges around his temples.
He wasn't sure what to do in situations like this and cursed at himself underneath his breath.
If only Xander was here, he thought. Or someone with a 'eart for dat matter.
He awkwardly shoved around on the couch, as his fingertips twirled around de edges.
"Yer alroi sprung?" He finally asked. Void. He was horrible at this.
He started at the shifter's eyes, focussing at his only working one. For a brief second Roswell's brows raised. "Yer not, aren't ye," he said. Though his voice had dropped to a soft whisper and it was as if he was mostly talking to himself, not to Wraith.
"Oy, now, oy, it's okay," the thief said shapeless as the other started to cry. His brows lowered and carefully, as if reaching out to a scared pup, Roswell lay his arm around Wraith.
"It's okay. Yer allowed too cry," he muttered. Softly pulling the younger-man into a soft side hug.
"Just don't cry on me gown, it's made of silk."
The sound Wraith made next put poor Roswell off.
"It was just a joke," he quickly said. Strengthening his hug. "Come 'ere, yer silly."
He didn't protest when the shifter pressed his head against his shoulder and cried on his silken gown. He rubbed his shoulder. Brushed his back.
"It's okay," he told him. Over and over again. "Yer better let dem all out now or yer get 'unted by dem for years. Oi know all about dat kid. Der is no shame in cryin'," he said. "At least not 'ere," he added.
Roswell's grip loosened over time. Not because he didn't care, no. The old man had fallen asleep after an hour or two. His head rested half on Wraith, half on the backrest of his couch. That poor man. He's going to wake up with back pain.
Song - Pieces By Red ( I was torn between two songs but finally settled on this one haha.)
All aboard the angst train, put in spoiler due to length, sorry its a bit of a big one xD
Wraith woke from another nightmare, he sat up suddenly and looked around the room trying to figure out where he was. After a few seconds he remembered he was sleeping on the couch at Roswells home and wearing some of his companions clothes. The thief had been insistent that the shifter got his clothes washed at least once to get all the built up grime out of the scarred mans clothes, Wraith had been reluctant and was quick the fasten up the rather large white shirt that was on him. and rolled up the trousers that were also too long for him. Sweat poured down the shifters face as he looked at the door which led to where Roswell was sleeping. How did this even happen? I never used to trust anybody......that's how I survived...... Even though Wraith liked the company he still couldn't fully understand it properly, he was suppose to be a loner, an outcast of society.....someone who would never be understood or deserved treated with any kindness. But yet, despite seeing the shifters scars, despite seeing his other form and dealing with Wraith's vigilante lifestyle, Roswell hadn't judged him once......why? Why didn't he cast him aside? Why accept him into his home and teach him about the world outside the shifters territory. Why teach him the basic skills that he lacked? Why treat him like a member of the family? Why....why did the thief care so much about scarred man? This conflicted with everything Wraith thought he knew about life. Even now the shifter found himself standing at the bedroom door, fist ready to knock on the wood as his previous nightmare lay creeping in the back of his mind. Growling quietly under his breath, Wraith tore himself away from the door and went to walk back to the couch. I am not going to go grovelling for comfort like a little kid. I'm being pathetic. He thought bitterly as he felt anger build up in him. I can deal with this myself......I always have done....I......I don't need to be coddled by someone.....not ever.....I not defenceless anymore...I can stand on my own unaided by anyone....
He went back to the couch and laid back down, pretty much forcing himself to go back to sleep; it wasn't long until another memory stirred, making the shifter toss and turn in his sleep. The somewhat silent night was interrupted by a hoarse and terrified scream from the sleeping shifter. He didn't hear the bedroom door slam open or the sound of someone calling his name. When he finally managed to woke up, he sat up quickly, the white shirt now nothing more than a soaked, pretty much see through rag which clung to the shifters skin. His chest heaved as his arms circled his stomach, his eyes wide and wild as they scanned the room. His one seeing eye eventually rested on Roswell who was nearby; the shifter noticed the thief was now sheathing the kram in his hand and gave a sigh of relief. It took a few minutes for Wraith to register what was going on, he didn't even object when Roswell perched on the edge of the couch, mentioning something about Wraith getting out of the drenched shirt he wearing. Half dazed, the scarred man agreed and removed the soaked through garment which was replaced with the blanket the shifter had been using.
Swinging his legs over the side and planting his feet on the floor, Wraith leant back against the back of the couch and tried to get his breathing under control. His gaze passed to Roswell who was asking if he was okay, the thief had sat closer to Wraith now that there was room and pulled into a one armed hug, something he was getting used to. The younger male went to make a lie of reassurance when something stopped him. Would it really be so bad to admit that I'm not okay.....He thought before brushing it off. I can't be a weak child anymore. But yet....he couldn't bring himself to say anything to Roswell, not even lie about how he was feeling. He felt his throat tighten up before he sniffed. Wait a sniff? The hell? Wait....why.......why are my eyes burning? What's happening? Wraith thought desperately as he tried his best to wipe his eyes as his shoulders started shaking. He choked sob escape his throat as he thought back to his childhood, which was soon followed by a sound mixed between a grief stricken cry and desperate scream. He wasn't sure what had shocked Roswell more the sound he had made or the fact the normally proud and cold shifter was sitting on his couch sobbing his heart out. Wraith soon felt himself being pulled into strong hug and that was enough for the rest of the dam to break; despite what his pride was telling him, the scarred man hugged the older man back, resting his forehead on Roswell's shoulder as he cried uncontrollably. His muscles spasmed with every sob Wraith let out, his grief caused by both his memories and his self hatred which ran just as deep. The shifter was speaking but the words were incoherent from the intensity of his own crying, one thing was for certain he wasn't letting go of his father like figure anytime soon.
When the shifter eventually began to slowly calm down, the sun was just peaking over the horizon......how long had he been crying? From Wraith could register in his state, it would have easily have been over 3 hours, and he still hadn't let go of Roswell. Regardless the shifter kept his head on the thief's shoulder, drained and completely worn out from being upset for so long; giving the odd hitched breath or sniff as he slowly gave into exhaustion and eventually fell asleep.
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Follow Up:
The shifter gave a low grumble as he let himself get bandaged up. "Can't help it if someone comes up to me looking for a fight," He snorted, his mood made worse by the fact he hadn't recovered from his wounds yet and he still had to put up being treated like a invalid by the hospital. Wraith ruminated in his thoughts until Beatrice brought him out of it.
"Err....yeah I've painted landscapes before, more from imagination then memory though." He said, he had to admit he did miss his spray paints, his shoulders sagged and he sighed. Even more reason to get out of the hospital soon, at least he could do what he wanted then. ".....I guess it's better than fighting?" He said still unsure. "Though painting isn't going to do much to defend myself." He snorted softly.
He gave another grunt at a pain which shot through his injuries. "Yeah I don't know where they got the members of their fighting arena, pretty sure half of them aren't even human; they have no business in my territory." He growled under his breath. As much as he wanted to go out into the city and crack his knuckles against those responsible for landing him in the hospital in the first place, he knew that he needed to recover from his wounds. Sighing in defeat and frustration he gave his companion a stiff nod. "Fine." He said, he really hated the fact he would be hiding from these people like a child.
my music taste is literally all over the place. I'm sorry in advance (/lh). ANYWAYS. Wraith has always given me "Carry On Wayward Son" vibes fsr?? I can't explain it very well, but I'm always a sucker for found family dynamics/unconventionally sweet moments, so. *finger guns* local journalist tries adding a not-son into her collection, as a treat. u_u
"Careful there, sir," Beatrice cautioned while holding up a roll of unused bandages... One that was actually so thin that the plastic tube that the bandages were wrapped around started to become visible. "I know it's tempting to fight back against everything that gets in your way, but you never know when you're going to end up with someone that's obviously going to defeat you in battle." After setting the tube down with a soft clunk on the table, she paused to chew on her lip.
"... Not that I think such a thing would really appeal to you, of course. But all things considered, I just wanted to point that out." Why then, Beatrice? Why then?
The journalist leaned back in her recliner and combed her fingers through her hair in the meanwhile... Just so she could lose herself in her own thoughts, and maybe his words if he felt like saying anything. The latter was preferred, of course. There was that nagging temptation, in the back of the journalist's mind, that maybe she should take him in after his wounds healed, and after he no longer needed those doctors. That sounded nice. Or maybe he could be taken in now? Beatrice, after all, was the type of individual who raised her brows in utter intrigue whenever a maverick was brought up...
She eventually asked after a period of silence, "By the way, sir... Have you ever painted a landscape before? I just started getting into it, but I have to admit that painting those verdant scenes always gets me. I haven't seen the forests since I was a girl, and..." With a surprisingly nervous chuff, Beatrice combed her fingers through her hair before rolling over so that she could face him better. "... I heard from some of my contemporaries that you're an artist- Or a painter, at the very least. I bet that you're itching for something like that right now. You want to feel the spray can in between your fingers, as well as some control when you paint on those walls. It's melancholic but beautiful, if that makes sense."
Beatrice paused for a moment before teasing, "Besides, it's certainly better than fighting others," though... That probably fell flat. Her monotonous voice made it sound a bit too serious, and she was also a bit of a hypocrite. Uh oh! She, in fact, had to carefully hide some bruises on her knuckles while she carefully dipped some of the bandages in gauze.
"Even if it's members from that ring, I wouldn't recommend it," the older woman got back to warning, for better or for worse, "I've done some research, and they're... Clearly something. You need to be careful. You can't ever be caught off guard, not with them lurking about in the cityscape. There are few things worse than being pummeled to death. It's almost like stoning, but not exactly. At least with rocks, you need to take a bit to recharge..." Again, Beatrice's monotonous voice did little to help her situation, as she held some bandages out for the other to take.
"... Obviously, though, people haven't used rocks as a method of punishment in centuries. The last time that happened, it was about three-hundred-fifty years ago. Don't worry about it. What you should worry about, though, is what happens at night around here. Maybe you should lay low for a bit, stick to indoor canvases for your pieces..." Beatrice paused before glancing over her shoulder. "I can provide the supplies for you. Just... Stick with me on this one. Okay?"
- I'm back from the dead with a new and shiny song recommendation. wow!! Beatrice and Black can now be mlm and wlw solidarity as a treat, but also..... "sometimes" by bo en sort of has Black energy?? I have a slight headache rn and thus can't explain myself too well, but something about the lyrics really describes his character if I'm going to be honest. u_u
(This is for default Beatrice! Also, this is inspired by Line Without a Hook because gay ship song goes brrr...)
Black tapped his fingers on the table and stared down at his now-finished coloring page. He wasn’t focusing on his Beatrice, Spot, nor whatever else was in his surroundings. He was thinking. Specifically about a certain somebody’s face and silver hair, along with imagining that specific person’s arms wrapping around Black’s thin frame, and the two’s lips pressing together-
After a few moments, though, Black abruptly dug his fingernails into his arm and quietly hissed, “Stop being so fucking gay for someone who likely doesn’t love you back, and never fucking will, you stupid motherfucking bisexual son of a bitch-” It was only then that he remembered that his not-mom and a squishy sea slug both were watching him. He slowly eased his aggressive grip on his arm, and softly murmured, “Sorry, I was thinking.” For a few moments, he glanced around, trying to look everywhere except at Beatrice. After that, though, he stared back down at the table and softly asked, “Hey, Mom? Is it okay if… I can ask how you met Rochester? And… How long did it take for you to fall in love with her? Surely it didn’t take less than a week like my stupid fucking dumb ass…” As he muttered out the last sentence, he shoved his head in his hands, if only to try and hide his blushing. "Sorry, go ahead. I'm just… Really, really fucking mad at myself. I wish I could stop falling in love with people who are so much better than me and will never love me back."
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"Ah! Good afternoon, Mr. Hall! Such a pleasant surprise!" Matcha chirruped, wriggling his fingers as soon as he straightened up his posture. While his nose twitched at every sniff the canine let out, Matcha watched intently as Black approached him. After he clasped his hands together, Matcha clasped his hands together and inquired,
"So, what can I get you today?"
Upon completing his inquiry, Matcha nodded before taking the elder party's order. With a large grin being brandished by the younger party, he stepped away from the counter and plucked up a bag of coffee grounds. Matcha's disposition seemed to match with the saccharine aroma surrounding the quaint shop, though this was more visible in the grin he maintained.
"It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Was it a fortnight...nah, it was longer than a fortnight. Anyways, I understand you have a busy job, but feel free to stop by and have a chat—that is, when I'm not extremely busy! Anyways, how have you been?" Matcha silenced himself, shifting his focus over to the grounds. He plucked up a spoon, beginning to scoop out the dark, powdery mixture.
"You've stuck to your coffee diet—before this, of course—right? You certainly look like you're feeling better," the canine inquired, fluttering his eyelashes as he spoke.
"You've been drinking plenty of water, right? Make sure you drink plenty of water...you don't wanna be panting like a dog, do you?" the younger party continued, allowing a chuckle to flourish from the back of his throat.
"Anyways, you can chat with me any time! After all, we are friends, correct? I mean, I know we've only talked a few times, but I'd regard you in that sense. Here, while I start brewing your go-go juice, feel free to ask me a few questions about myself, too!"
I'm going to expose myself for having a soft spot for edgy songs. as a treat. anyways. mom said it's my turn to throw in the obligatory edgy song.... "Riot" by Three Days Grace has Brown vibes, and I'm not taking any criticism on this fucking fact (/lh).
Brown, obnoxiously, pumped her fist in the air as she barked at the barista, "You know, sir! You should really fucking lighten up at some point! I know I'm still probably banned from that fucking café of yours, but at the same time... You have had a reasonable amount of time needed to turn a new leaf, huh?" With a grin, Brown slammed her hands on the countertop before craning her neck towards the other party. "Huh? Or did your manager fucking suck at allocating their funds again? Maybe I can beat the shit out of them if they need a talking to that damn badly!"
Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit- Wait. About that...
"Come on," she attempted to egg the canine further with a menacing grin, "I bet they fuck you over every so often. People tend to do that when placed into a position of power - trust me." Brown planted a hand onto her chest and dug her nails into the fabric of her gown just... Ever so slightly. "Really! I have the experience to say such shit with a reasonable amount of confidence! You can't deny that, considering my wealth. And the fact that our past interactions have not been the most... Favorable, have they not? Mm?" Sure...
Like Brown wasn't totally responsible for the shit that went down in the first place. Definitely not. She was definitely innocent and fair, and there was no way in hell that kicking her ass in that regard would be fair.
"But we can change it!" the middle-aged aristocrat barked by slamming a fist down yet again, "We can change it, if they piss you off!" She raised a brow when the glasses on the table started to shake, before leaning on the counter and cupping her hand against her cheek. A lock of hair was pushed up by the gesture and made her seem more disheveled than she truly was- Or feral. That could work too.
With her lip drawn back slightly, she added via the faintest snarl, "... Just listen to me, okay? You do not even have to provide me any booze. I'm not stupid enough to think that a damn café like yours would sell anything containing alcohol, especially after the prohibition. And with that fucking manager of yours..." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced off to the side and fluttered her lashes... Wryly. "... They seem rather strict, are they not? I could change that. I could make them bend to your every will if you want. Just..." Still grinning, she paused and knocked her knuckles against the counter, though each impact was decidedly more and more ominous than the last.
And that was all that needed to be said, really. Thanks for being so terrible and aggressive, furry.
@ NP: Brown is meant to be human, so check out her Human tab if considering her appearance!! I'm just posting as her urban legend tab in case it inspires your response!!
also I lied I'm going to do a song rec for anyone who recommends a song to me...... :3c