#Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

We should have a name. Wha'? A name like for our little trio. Like in the comic books. Feck's o'comic book? Shush it gramps I'm thin--I got it! We can be Beauty and the Butchers! D'at be soundin' loi'ke o'ban', luv. Aye, an' o'horrid one o'tat.

#tabbyrp #[ i hope u love it ive been sitting on it for ages lol ] #[ crow edits ] #[ for tabbyrp mun ONLY ] #[ pls do not reblog unless u are tabbyrp mun. likes are appreciated tho ^_^ ] #Visage || Face #For Who Could Ever Love || Tabby and Luka and Lorcan #The Gemini Project || A Cyberpunk AU #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[macdiari]

#Ceol || Music #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que #Youtube

[whosxafraid]

Beneath The Light

Tracked from [ X ] (it wouldn't trim the post im sry)

Not a people doctor.

An itch at the back of his head. Something disconnected from the pain. Something logical. Something that says he should ask about that. Because most people would say I’m not a doctor. But this woman had said not a people doctor. And while later--if there is one--it’ll dawn on him the hilarious irony of being left for road kill only to be found by a fucking veterinarian of all people, but right now it does not. Right now he can’t grasp hold of that itch long enough to scratch away the haze to see the whole thought into fruition. So he lets it get blown off in the easy breeze making its way across the desert around them.

Another hiss when she takes to wrapping his leg. A tourniquet of some kind, that he both blesses and curses for existing. What he wouldn't give for a morphine drip. A gallon of fuckin' proper whiskey. Anything to make every inch of him stop. But the only thing he has is his grit and the over abundance of stubborn not to die in the middle of a fucking desert. So he bites down on the desert's bones out of spite more than anything else. Pushing words out through his teeth.

"Lass...wha' par' o'dis dunna suck?"

Its malicious just a fraction less than it is sarcastic. Blame the fact he can't unstick his jaw right now. Blame it on how its a miracle he's even concious all things considered. Just don't blame it on him not being the world's greatest perso---

"Shhhhhh---!"

The rest of the word dissolves into how very fucking cold that thing is. And its only after that the rest of what she says filters through. Moving about as fast as that damn piece of metal is heating up. Or maybe he's just fucking cold and hot at the same time. Maybe that's what it really feels like to slowly bleed out. But even for all of the discomfort....

Air is pulled in as slow and as steady as he can manage. In....out.....in....oout.....in...--a cough that triggers at least fourteen more. And there's a groan that starts at the top of his head and ends at his feet or at least that's what it feels like, as the one good bit of green he's got left cracks open again to eye his would be savior.

"W-weell?"

A heart beat.

"C-can we risk m-movin' me, doc?"

Because to be fair the answer to that question? Decides if he's walking away from this on his feet or in a box.

#morgansmornings #morgansmornings 11 #Lost Souls And Reverie || Jay and Luka #Carrion || Biker Verse #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

#No Time For Old Men || John Smith #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

#Ceol || Music #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

#Ceol || Music #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

@mynameisanakin | @brooklynislandgirl

Let us away, heart of mine. Let us away, where none might find us. Let us away.

#[ happy happy birthday shades! ] #mynameisanakin #brooklynislandgirl #He Is My Friend || Anakin Skywalker #She Is My Faith || Melakeni Ivers #His Stick And His Night || Melakeni and Anakin #Wolf Of Another Coat || A Star Wars AU #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

#Focail As Fir || Quotes #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

@mynameisanakin​

Where Night Jedi  l e a d s...                                     Eighteen will  f o l l o w.

#[ HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS QUEEN OF ALL SALT! ] #mynameisanakin #He Is My Friend || Anakin Skywalker #All Is Blacked Out But Continues To Grow || Anakin and Eighteen #Wolf Of Another Coat || A Star Wars AU #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 17 : Wasp Verse: Traveling Soldier || Military AU [ Closed ] Featured: @therealgamble​

The circumstances by which the following occurred can neither be truly confirmed or denied by anyone (save those present during aforementioned debacle) and therefore has been retold in several ways. None of which have been entirely accurate--or so those involved have subtly lead us to believe. However an account of some kind most be written down to ensure that at some point later all might avail themselves of the hazy details to recount in full the actual occurence which lead to the possible beginning to and over all bad joke:

A Ranger and a SEAL walked into a bar...

Only there was no bar as one will care to note, but instead a rather cozy cabin which despite the destruction planned upon therein--neat and tidy. Save for the streak of muddy foot prints and an idle cap that might have been left behind out of forgetfulness by any one of the current occupants that had ventured out into the afternoon in search of restoring the alchol supply which had run rather dry an hour ago. BUt our story is not to divulge the rather uneventful affair of beer mongering but rather the pair that was left to hold down the proverbial fort. Mostly because neither could be assed to drag themselves from couch or floor as was the latter’s case for anything in the world save breakfast.

Breakfast that the former inevitably rose to attempt making. Right up until a rather insistent buzzing vexed a mind already set a light by the previous night festivities. So much so that the other was--despite his argument-- drug from his warm cocoon of unconsciousness to go and investigate the source of the annoying sound. A source that took no time at all to discover was a rather large nest of unwanted flying creatures.

The first idea came out of ease. Hair spray that in silent accordance both would swear they had not seen, taken from another’s bag--and a lighter from a pocket. It had seemed reasonable at the start but inevitably for the pair to retreat again within the safety of the cabin. A swarm of angry insects writhing outside in utter rage.

The second idea had a little more intellect put to it. But did involve a a jacket and jeans. Duck tape and a rather ingeniously absurd stitching of cheese cloth from (the kitchen supplies) into the cap forgotten on the table. And one very sturdy wooden bat. And while full confidence was not at all the issue--once again they found themselves retreating. The bat wielding of the two with a few stings to be cursed over for the next little while.

The third and final idea involved a thicker covering of cheese cloth. Another pair of jeans and in place of a bat the hose from around the other side of the cabin. This again was all well and good in theory however the hose--because no one had consulted it regarding the plan--inevitably loosed itself from the faucet and once again a retreat was in order. However a retreat was in fact fouled this time.

Water and dirt turn to mud you know. And given enough panic becomes just as slippery as ice. And so that is how the tracking of mud came to be inside the other wise tidy cabin. Two men on either side of the table, swollen stings in a hundred places--drinking the very last of the vodka. Burnt eggs in the sink and wanting nothing more to do with the outside for the remainder of the weekend.

#therealgamble #Traveling Soldier || Military AU [ Closed ] #[ post via mobile ] #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 26 : Guitar Verse: Princes Of A Kind ||  Twin Mortal Child Pocket Verse Featured:  @tarnishedhalo​

              STUPID. NO.GOOD.PIECE.OF.FECKING.SHIO’TE!

Each word is emphasized with a strike of wood against brick and earth. Pieces shattering. Splintering off into the dying day. Rage the likes which he has never possessed dismantling the once prized possession. Striking it over and over and over again until nothing is left but what lies in hand. 

           Be all his fault! . WE TRUSTED HIM! I trusted him! HE COMES TA OUR HOUSE!!! MICHAELINE SHOULDNA STOP ME FROM TAKIN’ ‘IS BALLS!

The neck is snapped in two. And for a moment perhaps Luka revels in the silence. The sounds of the evening absent of his brother’s anger. But it’s soon enough broken again. Heavy foot falls stalking about. The scrape of all the pieces being collected. And hatred laced spite seeing it all being thrown into the fire pit they made with their own two hands out here out of sight and sound of the house. The already present fire catching the newly added fuel quick and hungry. The jostle of the bench as his twin half collaspes next to him.

Then don’t speak for what seems like hours. Two sets of green staring into the flames. And while it might be lost on his brother…the analogy isn’t so upon Luka. Because he sees the parallels. How the once instrument was the life they had and the fire is the change neither of them can do anything about. The fire is their father being taken away. The fire is them being uprooted. Brought out here in the middle of no where. Away from any and all prying eyes. They hate it here. Both for the same as well as different reasons. 

And the silence waxes. Grows as heavy and uninviting as the screaming and shattering of wood. Yet it holds because he doesn’t know what to say and Lorcan has said his piece. For now at least. Though he’s a feeling the anger will always remain. Because that is what his brother does. He explodes but then he harbors. And while he’s too young to realize it now–later he will. That this was the moment he should have said something different. That this was the moment who they could have been drastically and irrevocably changed. The moment that a future writer and muscian died. And seeds of future princes were sowed.

       “We be figurin’ i’ ou’ Lors aye? Ma canna keep us hidden here fore’er an’ Da canna stay gone fore’er neio’der. Bu’ we’ll ge’ ‘im. No today or ta’morrow…maybe no’ for years bu’ we’ll ge’ ‘im. Wha’e’er i’ takes. Mister Roi’ley be payin’ for wha’ he done.”

A breath of silence. A hand upturned, settled  where legs meet. And he can feel his brother’s gaze track to it. Sees a jaw shift just like his does when he’s upset. Just like their father’s does. And then…a hand that matches his own settles on top. Palm to palm. Fingers finding niches between his.

       Aye, Luk. An’ he be payin’ in spades.

The first installment of course being the mahogany acoustic that will be ash come morning.

#tarnishedhalo #Whatever It Is We Do It Together || Lorcan and Luka #Their Father Was Neither Anchor Nor Sail But A Guiding Light By Which To Navigate || Lugh Luka and Lorcan #Princes Of A Kind || Twin Mortal Child Pocket Verse #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 18 : Stars Verse: Carrion || Biker AU Featured:  @morgansmornings

He wakes up moments or hours later. It matters little how much time has drifted by. Mostly because he knows--he knows he’s a dead man. That this all borrowed time. Trapped under a mangled bike that has seen him through so much. But not tonight. 

Tonight like himself it had been sabotaged...betrayed. Left for carrion in a junk yard somewhere when what is left of him and it are found. Or maybe this will be both their resting places. They’re so far out right now. So far away from civilized surroundings. The idea of being carrion for the birds and the creeping creatures of the desert night becoming a far more likely reality.

But even as the sand and dust are painted a deep shade than their own not quite brown not quite yellow--green casts itself away from it. Upwards where its easiest to look. Easiest to let his gaze drift because it takes no effort at all. No force of will let the darkness above draw him in. Darkness that is broken by a hundred thousand pin lights. Pin lights that the logical bits of his brain remind him are suns--burning millions of light years away--before it shuts down for good in the silence.

Silence that isn’t really that. The click clack every now and again for of engine screaming out its last words before complete death. The wheezed breathing in his chest. The bugs that have started up again in the stillness. The call of coyotes in the distance. And there’s a bitter kind of blood drowned snort. Be eating well tonight they will. If they can manage to find him before sun up. But despite the haunting sounds his gaze remains fixed upon the sky. 

The wide open expanse of it. How it is truly the final and endless frontier. The memory that at some point when he was small the idea of being an astronaut had seemed heroic. Grand. Even if life had made it ever so clear that was not to be his path at all in his teen years. Even if he’d stopped looking up on the daily. To busy with the ground and what was right in front of him. What was behind. And the blood that got woven into his never written resume in the process.

But right now in the quiet he remembers it. Remembers the constellations--both the official ones and the ones he knows his mother made up. And whether its the blood lose or the memory--it warms him despite the cold evening of the desert. Has him slipping into a false sense that everything will be fine. The stars above blurring together, into a kaleidoscope of colors. The spaces between swallowing him whole with no intention of giving him back.

Even if the universe--in all her unknown wisdom--has other plans entire. And if he were awake to see it, a different source of light is finding its way up the road beside which he lies. His saving grace tired and wanting nothing more than to get home, behind the wheel.

#[ this was not as long as i wanted it but yolo ] #morgansmornings #Lost Souls And Reverie || Jay And Luka #Carrion || Biker AU #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 11 : Glitch Verse: Tra la la la la || Main Verse Featured: @corinnebaileyrp​

It started with little things. Keys not where they should be, only to be where they should be on the fifteenth look. Salt like sugar only to be tested a second time and the brackish taste is once again sweet. Books she can’t find on the shelf, that she swears were they but she can’t find, only for Luka to go in search of it and find it precisely where it should be. The pool that should have been warm this time of year, but she’d jumped in and jumped right back out again shivering. Yet a moment later when he’d come to join her, steam and the satisfactory sounds when he sank beneath the heated surface.

Is she going crazy?

A thoughtful expression on his face. Crazy? No. No he thinks not. But he tells her not the worry about it. Cabin fever might be more the cause of this supposed glitches in her point of view. They’ll take a hike tomorrow morning, he says. Get some fresh air. Provided the weather can co-operate with them. And that is supposedly the end of it. The fix-all. But then evening comes. Time for sleep. And it all escalates.

Lights that flicker on and off from the hall. The gifted book on her side table hits the stone floor like a midnight bomb. Trinkets on the dresser top getting up seemingly all on their own and dancing to music that’s come alive on the stereo by itself. Heavy feet on the floor, and an equally heavy shoulder that slams open her door. And for a split second as everything stop, goes still and inanimate as it should---

Was that voices? Tiny little ones. So small one might think them air current or--A sigh of an eternal. Bemused yet ever so very annoyed at the same time. He’d honestly forgotten about these particular guests in his house. They’d grown bored with their antics played upon him, but he should have known they’d ump at the chance to mess with someone new.  Should have talked to them the second evening of Cory’s arrival here. But he hadn’t. Other things on his mind and all that. And so old bones fall loose and tense muscle relaxes as he moves to sit lean against her bed room door. A tired scratch to his beard.

           “Be gettin’ dress, lass. Be foi’ndin’ me in d’kitchen when ye ready. ”

His gaze shifts and his voice changes. A sane person would think him momentarily mad, talking to dust motes in the room.

            “Ou’ ye ge’ d’lot o’ye...come on... Lady be deservin’ her privacy. An’ we be havin’ manners ta discuss. ”

And at first nothing at all happens, but then...if Cory were to pay mind to the ever so minute movements in the room...wee beings would appear from behind trinkets on the dresser. From behind the lamp on her bedside table, dropping down via hair thin drop lines from the light of the fan over head. All climbing down from a dozen places to march themselves out the door, Luka holds open. The tiniest and perhaps youngest turning at the last second to wave at her--and could she see it-- smile. All snaggle toothed but genuine in its friendly air. 

Because large creatures are the only thing that call this island sanctuary home. Small things do to. Small things like wee Brownies that live for jokes and mischief. Even if some times those things can get out of hand. Like tonight.

#corinnebaileyrp #Tra la la la la || Main Verse #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 6 : Wild Verse: Carrion || Biker Verse Featured: @morgansmornings

If you had asked him five years ago where he thought he would be--the answer would have not been in words. No he would have laughed. Laughed and thrown arms wide around him, as if the answer were not so obvious. Even if the amusement were only skin deep. Even if the reality was--that even then--he was tired of the day to day. Tired of the job as much as the reputation. Tired...of so many things. To the point that when the betrayal came, maybe there was an ounce or three of relief mixed in with the anger and the pain. Not that he would tell anyone. Well maybe one someone. But---

A shake of his head as the last of his coffee is drained from the mug in his hand. Rinsed out and set in the dishwasher like any man with an old lady has learned to do, (If he wants to keep the peace for another day that is) and moves to the kitchen table. Sits heavy in the chair beside it and works feet into boots. Laces them up before reaching for the one thing that used to be the center of his world. Calloused fingers that outline the patch on the front. A mouth that twitches and skews at the reminder of just how much history is woven into the threads. How much blood. But while he could sit at this kitchen table and drown in both--he’s got places to be.

And so knuckles on the table. Hitching himself back up from the chair, because a leg never did totally forgive him for the attempt at murder by motor vehicle. Granted it was far more accommodating than his eye had been. Though he’ll not complain. Least he got to keep the fucking thing, even if it doesn’t work. Even if it twinges a little bit as worn leather is settled over his shoulders. A reminder to take the pills in the daily container on the counter. And maybe he chuckles at that as he goes to do just that very thing. Because when did he become that kind of old man? Can’t put his finger on it really. It snuck up on him, just like the mileage.

    You ready to go? You’ve got an hour before you’re supposed to be there.

        “Aye. Headed out d’door now.”

     Okay. You guys worked out what you;re going to do about lunch?

       “Oisin said he an’ one o’d prospects were goin’ ta pick i’ up from d’wee lass’ favorite place.”

      Good idea.

        “Goin’ ta be late, luv. Dunna wait up.”

      I’ll do my best.

A trade of looks. A kiss for good luck and a last minute hand off of a present he’d nearly forgotten and he’s out the door. Said present carefully stowed away in a saddle bag before keys are turning in the ignition and there’s a real breath of life  for both engine and man. The wild kind of energy that combusts and makes his blood run hotter. Because there is a difference in him when there’s horsepower between his knees. A difference that makes him twice as tall and thrice as wide, yet lighter than anything he could be on his own two feet. Sunglasses pulled from their place in a breast pocket and a helmet put in place.

It’s a three hour drive to his destination, but he’s got people to pick up on the way. A small army. A small army who if he had to guess are waking up their own kinds of wild. Because when a child needs help being brave you step up. You step up and you show them that sometimes being wild is a good thing. 

Prove to the that sometimes the wild ones are the protectors not the monsters in the dark. That sometimes the only way to beat wild evil is with a kind of wild good. And he’d like to see the asshole intimidate a single one of his brothers. Like to see the look on shite bag’s when he realizes the little girl he hurt was a (honorary) patched member of the Wild Suns.

#tw: child abuse #tw: facing your abuser #morgansmornings #Bless The Broken Road || Jayden and Luka #Carrion || Biker AU #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 1 : Moon Verse: Wolf Of Another Coat || A Star Wars AU Featured: @mynameisanakin​ | @brooklynislandgirl​ | @quothesquills​

It’s...quieter up here. Up here where the little Night Jedi often goes to share meal and talk with the elder creature that reeks. Though admittedly no more so than the next living things that passes life upon this metal sphere. And a nose twitches at the reminder. A subconscious snort in an attempt to toss offending smells from Eighteen’s nose. Even if in the very next breath they all return. Though admittedly it isn’t quite so bad up here. The air is much cleaner. Lighter. Not so dense. And while Eighteen is not the chancellor’s biggest fan, the something else approves of the nicer surroundings. Granted nicer to Eighteen is not the same as it is to every one else.

A roll of shoulders to alleviate the itching caused by stagnation. There is no where to run here. No open places for one to stretch their legs. Not in the sense someone like Eighteen wants...needs. The only current available open space is only the dimensions of the balcony upon who’s ledge one sits. Because something else was encouraged to choose sitting out here while discussions over more delicate foods and topics occur within the Chancellor’s quarters. And while someone else might find room to be insulted...Eighteen fails to see it. The insult that is. Carefully chosen words with a perfect concept of do put the dog outside with its dish, boy woven into it.

No the sentiment had gone wide of Eighteen. Instead the something had taken his hardly could be considered cooked meal outside. Eyes almost immediately drawn to the sky. Vast and far reaching as it is from this perspective high above the common spaces of the planet. Where the evening stretches from one horizon to the other. Cut and split by the other towering buildings, but still visible all the same. City transports and private ones moving along below feet that dangle from swinging legs. And while Eighteen can still detect all that is unnatural about this place, an ever so deep breath is taken. Gaze tracking the slow traveling moons across the sky. The brightest of which almost brushes skin.

Brightest of them because...there are four of them. He tries to remember there names but...like many things of common speech--they escape him. But that is all about them that does. Their beauty, what they still have of it, shining bright like the orbiting giants that they are. He has seen many worlds. Both with the one that is gone and the little Night Jedi and the Little Tree. Yet four moons...Eighteen has not seen replicated anywhere. Though blame is born upon lack of having not seen quite so much of the galaxy as Anakin and Keni have.

But it helps to provoke a kind of wonder that the something else often lacks. A kind of appreciation for the natural order. For though they are just as plundered...just as mistreated as the planet--the four smaller giants are just far enough away to pretend otherwise. To still be able to see their beauty untainted. To feel it calling. Feel the pull to run and too hunt. To respond to it. And perhaps for the briefest of moments Eighteen does just that. Finds a tattered strand fluttering in the filtered wind and--

Warm moonlight. Rich, wet soil between toes. Sweet grass. The hum of insects and bubbling water. Peace and calm in a way he has no memory of ever having felt. The gentle tide of the pool upon who’s shore feet reside, lapping lazily.

          “What do you wait for?”

A blink, then two. Dark hair that fans out in the silver black water as she turns. Bright eyes like twin suns meeting mix matched ones. She is beautiful, in every way and more than the moons that call from the physical world.

           “Are you to stand there like tree awaiting its roots? Or are you going to help as I asked to wash away the dirt from the places I can not reach?”

She reaches out and he mirrors the movement. Finger tips to fingertips. His own making wordless declarations they will never touch anything else as soft.

          “Come, C---”

        “Eighteen?”

And much like the momentary light from Coruscant’s brightest moon--it is gone. Replaced by metal and tainted air. Replaced by a far more concrete presence and an awareness Eighteen is perhaps leaned a little too far towards the edge to be safe. And something else pulls himself back. A mental scurry to brush the vision like dream somewhere Anakin will not see. And focuses on taking note of what Eighteen may have missed. A near inaudible growl of a stomach not Eighteen’s giving the something else words to distract from the probable bantha on the balcony.

          “Night Jedi speaks much, eats little.”

          “Little Tree will be displeased.”

#mynameisanakin #brooklynislandgirl #quothesquills #It Comes In Threes || Anikeni18 #That Is Not My Name But One Day I Will Hear It Again || Quothe and Cathal #Wolf Of Another Coat || A Star Wars AU #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que

[whosxafraid]

Borrowed Writing Prompt Meme Day 28 : Aura Verse: Tra la la la la || Main Verse Featured:  @damhsagreine | @macdiari

click >here< i couldn’t make this prompt a drabble it needed to be visual.

#Tra la la la la || Main Verse #Nothing More Than A Villain || Luktober Writing Prompt #Wolves Do Not Lose Sleep Over The Opinions Of Sheep || Que