voxvulgi

[voxvulgi]

Does anyone have any recs for reputable orgs for Jewish solidarity for Palestine?

#important

[voxvulgi]

𝟓 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄.

1. idfc - blackbear

tell me pretty lies look me in the face tell me that you love me even if it's fake

2. J'en ai rêvé - Anaïs Delva

Nous attendrons l'heure De notre bonheur Toi, ma destinée Je saurais t'aimer J'en ai rêvé

3. Icarus - Jeremy Zucker

And I don't know how I'll fall asleep When lyin' next to you is a dream Just let it go and fall into me To me

4. This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory

Ask my why my heart's inside my throat I've never been in love I've been alone Feel like I've been living life asleep Love's so strong It makes me feel so weak

5. For Tonight - Giveon

For tonight, I'm yours So deny the truth We'll stay behind closed doors 'Cause all I wanna do is lie with you Even though it's wrong to lie with you

tagged by: @tenderpulsive a million years ago (sorry and thanks!) tagging: @heirofhermes @lovepurposed @sonoftartessos

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #;; tagged and tagging #character study. adonis

[voxvulgi]

With his heart open and his imagination paralysed, Adonis has no clue what to expect of Francis. He only knows that Francis is not a vicious man, that although he wears the sun, he does not carry the illusion of being the centre of the universe. Francis is not a man who would put his own wants and needs above someone else's. Francis is not a man who would...insist. What did that even mean?

Adonis knew that his partner's reaction to his tears and pleas would be gentle -- as gentle as his fingers on the violin and his lips on Adonis' skin. But he did not expect for Francis' hands to pull him in, mould his head into the warm welcome of his chest. Francis' heart, which Adonis already knew to be a hearth full of embers, sheltered the last bits of Adonis' sanity for mere moments. The storm in his mind, the raging and rumbling of wrath promised to him since birth, all muffled and weakened by the simple proximity to Francis' heartbeat.

And then the lips came, careful and loving on Adonis' sweaty hair. These lips kissed him as though he was whole, as though he smelled like cologne instead of sweat and sex. And even then, with every possible expression of Francis' body that promised he cared and understood, the words uttered by Francis' rosy lips surprised Adonis enough to sway him off his feet.

Yes, Adonis was on his knees as he listened to the words. I see you, Francis said. I will keep this close to my heart, he promised. But most of all--

You will be safe.

You will be safe.

A claim so giant, so grand that nobody could possibly guarantee it. Safe, a warmth and steadiness Adonis hadn't felt for a single day of his life.

And yet, when Francis said it...Adonis could do nothing but believe him.

And it wasn't a sense of being safe from what they did. It wasn't a sense of being safe from his feelings for Francis, sudden as they may be. On the contrary, Francis ensured that Adonis felt safe in what they did, in his feelings for Francis. He wouldn't be safe the moment Francis stepped out of this room or this house; rather, he felt safe here and now, with his head pressed against Francis' gigantic heart.

Somehow, fear and storm and poison all melted away, leaving Adonis' psyche with nothing but the residual love and appreciation you would expect from a morning-after. His fingers squeezed Francis' hands, and his eyes gazed through his lashes to catch Francis' sight. "I need you to know...that your touch is the best thing my body has ever felt," he confessed-- because Francis deserved to know. "I need you to know...that my family isn't aware of...my type. I need you to know that as much as I wish I could love my wife, I don't. I most likely never will." Although his voice was still wet, his face was drying, his eyes gleaming. "I need you to know that, from the depths of my heart, you feel like a fairytale. Being forbidden from you doesn't make me any less infatuated with you. I hope you know that...although every part of my body wants to consume you, my appreciation for you is not purely selfish."

            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── a continuation from this post, for @voxvulgi .

         𝐈𝐅 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 — no, like a music box, dancing and dancing until the gear stops turning, and the music draws to a stop. The room smells of perfumed sweat and stale sex — and already, Francis knows that he and Adonis both know the rules of this game. They play the part of criminals, and now must cover up the crime that was committed simply by existing, for daring to feel. For daring to —

     His mouth is slightly parted and his expression dazed. If he dare say the word ‘love’ now, if he dare even think it — what might happen next? The script has been written out for them — and to go against it would either be very foolish, or very brave — but neither of them will dare step out of this room hand in hand. There will be no climactic performance in which Adonis leaves his home and his wife to pursue the unknown. Francis knows this, because he also knows that while the prospect of love runs deep, fear might run deeper still. The thought of falling from grace, reaching for his golden cage as he plummets from it flightless — it’s a terrifying prospect.

       So, what happens should one wake up from a dream to find it still in his grasp, hovering just on the edge of waking up, of harsh reality. Can one exist in a world where they know that they’ve lost love? What happens if the glass slipper isn’t offered to the princess? What happens if the prince hesitates on true love’s kiss? What happens if they both decide it’s just too hard? What kind of story follows. Francis doesn’t want to know. He’s always loved fairytales far too much for reality to get in the way.

     Only...

     Adonis’s hand is soft against his, gentle as he’d been with the keys on the piano the night before, and Francis can’t help but allow his long, cool fingers to curl around the warmth that his lover promises with such a touch — even knowing that it’s a promise that cannot be kept.

     He watches, almost still as Adonis — still unclothed, still beautiful — tries to slip into the veneer of ‘son to be proud of’ or, perhaps it is ‘the perfect husband’. And Francis should seize the moment and fight for love, as all great heroes do. He can still hear the music passing Adonis’s parted, kiss-swollen lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each note tugged from him. He can still see the way that he’d shone in the dim light like a god. Francis can still feel that body pressed so intimately to his — taste his skin, feel his body give in as it had fallen apart in Francis’s arms. Where he belongs.

      Adonis makes his plea, and Francis can feel his chest heave with the weight of his heart. His chest has been too heavy for such a long time now. He’s carried the world for so long, and he just wants to put it down. To put it down and go back to bed — to cradle Adonis and smile rather than shed tears that they’ve found something divine that feels like the greatest secret of the Universe.

     His hair is still a mess, wild with blond curls and it feels wrong to have to play a part before he’s had a chance to put himself together. He just wants to hold the man crying so desperately to just let the mask drop. Adonis has only just stood up, and Francis reaches up, pulling him back down and cradling his head against his chest, against his wrecked heart — because he’s already been so vulnerable that there’s no turning back now. “I see you,” he says, pressing his lips to a mess of hair, “You don’t have to be sorry. For a moment, we were somewhere else; but now we’re here. I will keep this close to my heart, and you will be safe.”

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #ic. adonis #thread. francis&adonis #lovepurposed

[voxvulgi]

what poisonous flowering plant are you?

Doll's Eyes

This is the poison of unchecked vices. You slip into hallucinations. You are wracked with convulsions. The delirium threatens to overwhelm you. What are you running from? You look in every direction, wild-eyed at every turn, seeking some reprieve from what torments you. Each vice brings new consequences, and the price of escape seems too great, and yet you cannot seem to face things head on. If you aren't running from yourself, I hope you find a true way to freedom soon. And if you are running from yourself, perhaps you would do well to realize your pain is not something you can simply escape by avoidance. You deserve healing just as much as the ones you love. Someday, soon I hope, you will know this and feel it and reach inward to grant yourself all the kindnesses you offer others. That is the only true way to peace for ones like us. Oh, and if the pain of it seems too great? I hope that you realize you don't have to do it alone.

Tagged by. @endlessdrifter a millions years ago Tagging. @heirofhermes

#character study. ian #// this is really on the nose and yet it is so correct xD #;; tagged and tagging #;; a postponed reading [QUEUE]

[voxvulgi]

what is your duality?

big bear; little princess

this is a fun dynamic isn't it? a big burly character, often aloof, finding warmth and love while caring for a little helpless person or animal. and so that's the duality here, one where you can be tough and butch and gruff, but that's because you're protecting a deep sense of wonder and delight for what you love that others have poked at before. it's not selfish to enjoy that side of yourself, and it's not weak to show it either. i promise i promise, the right people want to see you love.

tagged: @endlessdrifter a million years ago tagging: @heirofhermes @mythvoiced

#// i answered these questions for ian but i got the most ivan answer possible??? #character study. ivan #;; tagged and tagging #;; a postponed reading [QUEUE]

[voxvulgi]

Maverick seems to be a poet, unbeknownst to even himself. Though, to be fair, anyone could be a poet when they speak about life. The very reality of existence was controversial and confusing and-- wonderful. Not just human existence, mind you, but the deer and birds that fascinated Maverick so much. Althea could say that they fascinated her, too, though not to the extent of her companion. This was what made conversations so magical: Another person's words could make you appreciative of things you've never thought twice about.

For the most part, however, the true appreciation building up in Althea's mind now was of Maverick.

"Bloodshed and dirty politics could easily be agreed upon. I don't think you'll meet a single person who approves...unless they have a hand in them, that is." And then, of course, there were the people who turned a blind eye to their friends' practices. Ask them if they approve of slave labour, and they'll yell God, no! while inviting their friends with claims in overseas mines over for dinner.

What do you love, Althea? The question is what do you love, not what makes you angry.

"Music... Can you compare music to the sounds of nature? Is it biased to prefer music to the sounds of nature? Is it because I understand the music humans like myself make, but am not looking deeper into what the birds have to say?" To be fair, the birds are more than likely asking for sexual partners. Which...is not so different from human music. "Would it be pessimistic of me to confess that teaching sucked some soul out of me? I could tell you about multiple lessons I was excited to teach, but ultimately, my excitement is extinguished by my students not caring as much as I do. I was very excited to read Romeo and Juliet in class when I was their age, but this generation is...different. Which is fair and natural, but I won't lie and say it doesn't sadden me. I...just realised I have not been excited to teach in a very long time."

These were questions that he was not used to being asked, so when he did receive them, he was quiet for some time. Pondering, looking down and trying to get the answers out of him in a way that was genuine. It then occurred to him that he might be coming across as boring this whole time, because compared to the questions he asked, this was interesting. Had he been conducting this whole lunch date like he was interviewing her? Seems silly.

Maverick was smiling by the time he was ready to answer Althea, leaning forward a bit and keeping a steady gaze as he spoke.

“When I am in those empty fields, I empty my mind. I get rid of all the clutter that circles around in there and then, I feel renewed. Reborn, even. I think about the birds, and how a mother bird is never trained in the ways to build their nest or how to gather food for their young, and yet they still manage to find a way. I think about the deer and how the family sticks together and travels, and how each member has a role in protecting the young. I think about how mankind must have learned all this from witnessing animals themselves. And at the same time, nature is not perfect. There are rivalries and bloodshed between animals, so there is the same with humans. Would it be the most idealistic thing for me to say- that I wish there was no bloodshed and dirty politics in the world?”

He shrugged, reaching for his drink and taking a sip before adding, “and for the things I love- sounds. I like the sound of wind rustling, of wind chimes and owls hooting. Music, parties, dancing- they all make me feel alive. What about you? Has there ever been a lesson plan that you have been particularly excited about teaching?”

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #ic. althea #thread. maverick&althea #iincantatorum

[voxvulgi]

hiya, i'm lurking in my drafts

please dont stop talking about palestine

#;; out of voices [OOC]

[voxvulgi]

Motaz Azaiza Via Instagram

" The phase of risking our lives to show what is happening is over now and the phase of trying to survive has started. I have reported enough and God knows it was for his sake and for my country.

We are living now under internal siege.. we can neither go north nor south.. the Israeli tanks are surrounding the middle area from north and south. Our situation is tragic more than you can imagine.. remember we are not content to be shared, we are a nation being killed in the cause of trying not to be erased..

How alone we are.."

#important

[voxvulgi]

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ  NICHOLAS GALITZINE GIF PACK  ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

By clicking on the source link at the bottom of this post you will be able to access #1,109 gifs that are 270x180 in size from Red, White, & Royal Blue. These gifs were all made by me from scratch, for roleplaying purposes. Feel free to crop/resize/edit for personal use. Please don’t repost into gifsets/gif hunts or claim as your own. Please reblog if using. Hope y’all enjoy! This pack is completely free but if you enjoy my gifs and would like to, feel free to tip me on payhip or ko-fi.

#resources. ian

[voxvulgi]

PUBLIC COMMISSION!     NICHOLAS GALITZINE     ,     THE CHANGOVER     ━━     [ #126 ]     ／     click on the source link below to be redirected to the gifs.     all the gifs were created from scratch by us.     respect our work, do not claim as your own, do not edit, do not redistribute.     lastly, please like and reblog if you find these helpful or have intention on using in the future.

[ ! ] content warning: guns, kissing.

#resources. ian #resources. ivan

[voxvulgi]

Palestine is NOT a trend. boycotting Israel-supporting companies is NOT a trend. your compassion for the innocent is NOT a trend. isreal was, is and WILL continue killing Palestinians and bombing Gaza for as long as the world is silent. do not stop talking about it. do not stop boycotting. never. stop.

#important

[voxvulgi]

life update:

also you can donate to the medical aid for palestinians society here

#// i was really excited to get my little gay flag in the mail #// but all i can think about rn is the deadliest palestinian massacre in recent history #// which is happening right before my eyes and there’s only so much i can do about it as an arab #// bc white countries have all the power #// sinday? more like trauma dumping sunday 👌🏼 #;; out of voices [OOC]

[voxvulgi]

@sonoftartessos (cont from x)

León didn’t think he could find anything Althea did threatening. Hostile, perhaps. Her folded arms said he should tread carefully if he didn’t want to offend her. But his lack of experience around women who weren’t in service of him or chastising him was limited. ‘Well…’ He leaned as if to point somewhere but gave it a second thought. ‘We can go onto the roof gardens. Or walk the city?’ But the blazing heat of the midday sun made that a reckless choice for anyone who didn’t need to go out. He put his hands on his waist and considered Althea’s rooms. ‘Or we will not tell anyone if I come in.’ Althea pictures walking through the city in the midday, high sun and unknowingly shook her head. Thankfully, before Althea voiced her concern about the heat, Leon finally concluded that they could simply converse in her room without letting anyone know about it.

"I wasn't planning to," she pointed out, unable to stop herself from grinning at this small victory. Who could have thought that a king's son would be willing to compromise?

Althea didn't dislike Leon, and he didn't dislike her. Yet. That was a good start for any pair about to be wed as per their families' wishes.

Althea stepped into her room, took a quick look out the door, and then pulled Leon inside by his hand. She shut the door with a solid thud.

"So," she began, leaving the man to stand wherever he wished as she went to sit on the edge of her bed. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #ic. althea #thread. leon&althea #sonoftartessos

[voxvulgi]

hi guys

ni/co/la pe.ltz is an isr.ael apologist so i would like some recs for a new fc for mahogany

thank yoooou

#// yes i am alive just very very busy #// very masters student #;; out of voices [OOC]

[voxvulgi]

@mythvoiced (cont from x)

The amount of ways things could go wrong here reaches a number especially comical if contrasted to the way things actually go wrong.

They don’t, actually, which is a shocker in on its own. After Eddie had successfully snook all the way into the Quill manors only (and evidently very precious, at least from a financial standpoint when looked at from her father’s eyes, which only makes Eddie want to rip into his throat) daughter, he’d have thought that the true trouble would only start once they get to figuring out how to get him the fuck back out of it.

Sneaking around and reaching the bedrooms shouldn’t have been possible in the first place. What the fuck is Philip Quill thinking? Does he want his daughter to get caught alone in her bedroom, dolled up for the first deranged fucker brave enough to will his way to the next floor with intentions nowhere near as ridiculous as Eddie’s mere desire to make her laugh?

He tries not to think of the answer to that question, to the implications that Jackie is to be kept safe from only those Philip doesn’t deem a valuable asset to add to his vast vault.

He tries not to think about that, about the eyes he knows must have seen him head upstairs, even in a hall full of people out for meaningless conversation and appearances, someone must have seen, on accident, the turn of a head, the lift of a gaze mid-word, and yet, and yet, and yet.

He tries not to think about that, lest he might do something stupid like grab Jackie, haul her into her father’s car and then set the entire place on fire.

Maybe he’d spare her mother. He senses no venom when she speaks of her - the resemblance seems evident now, but where Jackie is a Fabergé egg, her mother glows as dimly as a diamond shattered against the wall.

Maybe, though, the lack of venom was to attribute to her laughter. Or the ease with which she slips in and out of his space, brushes her fingers against him as though he owed it to her, this much at least. It’s a silent deal of sorts, is it not? How many rules is he breaking by being in her room?

Fuck the legal issues of breaking and entering in the first place, fuck whatever trouble he might get into just for showing his face exactly there they want to see it least.

Jackie had not just allowed him into her room, she’d suggested he’d stop there.

And now it seems she’s not as inclined to suggest he leave it again.

There’s an urgency to the way she halts him before he can break out of her cage again to visit her prison’s courtyard represented by the class downstairs. Or maybe he’s projecting, maybe it’s his own iron-grip on the doorknob that he loosens just in time to pose no resistance to her suggestion.

He had the DIPSHIT ready. He had the shit-eating grin of her laughter brushing against parts of his soul he’d thought dead, infusing life into him he’d thought to stay away from, turning him into a moth to her flame, or an Ifrit ready to become her wrath.

Flames again.

Maybe of the heart.

Maybe the source of the ash he always senses on the inside of his palms.

She’d allowed him into her drawers.

She’d allowed him to see, the one thing she hints at but never mentions, a flask as glaring in its presence as the disgust in her eyes whenever she’d looked at the sun and decided, today, today in particular I want you to burn me alive.

He likes it more when she wants to see the rest of the world burn instead.

She’s strong.

Stronger than him certainly, as he stands there and ignores the whispers of ants there where she touches him. And ignores the absolute ridiculousness of whatever the fuck was being suggested here.

He frowns, which seems understandable, at least from his point of view, shifting his weight to lean on one leg, while his hands busy themselves with his chest pocket, looking for cigarettes, a habit, a tick to look busier than his hurricane-like mind.

There’s a tightness to his throat as he gives up, patting down on nothing and ending the unsuccessful movements with a sigh. A tightness that he knows will make his voice seem odd, his words strained.

Would if he wasn’t used to feeling a little too much of everything around her.

He could go for something strong to shoot down his fucking throat right now.

“Jack,” he doesn’t use that name often. Too masculine, maybe? Nah, it wouldn’t bother, not him at least. Friendlier, though. Jackie fits her because she responds to it, because she doesn’t wrinkle her eyes in distaste (he’s never seen her, at least), because ‘Jacqueline’ is too formal and definitely not been chosen by her mother (or had it? Coerced or deliberately?).

‘Jack’ feels like the full stop to his sentence he needs.

He could address the nightgowns. He could mention how he most fucking definitely will not be putting his hands and face, his face, anywhere near something that has touched her skin in the privacy of her nights - which is a fucking thought of a thought as is.

But if he were to mention that, he’d have to explain why, most likely. She’s never let him get away with anything. That would mean, either the truth… or a lie so final it would kill whatever neither of them are adressing between them.

That particular ‘something’ they keep nudging and nudging back and forth until one of them breaks.

He runs a hand over his face.

He’s going to… ow fuck…

He gives her a long, hard look. Tries to convey what she’s doing to him and why he’s playing along, that this is exception, not a rule. He doesn’t have the habit of hiding in women’s closets. Or be in their bedroom, for that matter.

Or be worried about the implications of either.

He thinks about the way she’d laughed and the ease with which she’d allowed him to walk around her room and take her things, and-

“Just so ya know, though,” he rolls his shoulders, sighing again. “Ain’t much of a fan of tight spaces, so if I don’t fit, I don’t sits.”

Already on her bad side his ass.

It wasn’t a lie, actually. Which is something else he tries to convey. He doesn’t want to guilt her, doesn’t want to say, look what all I’m doing for you. Because he’s not. His motivations are as selfish as they come.

He wants to see her laugh like that.

He’s a fucking ass.

He takes a step closer. Then he turns his head to glance at her, lifting an eyebrow, a last silent question if she truly, really wanted him to do this.

The biggest curse of an all-red dress was how easily it could accentuate the blood rush to one's face. Whether it was a particularly cold day and Jackie's nose went as red as a cherry tomato, or she was so embarrassed that she blushed vigorously, the red fabric would only serve to highlight he face.

So, the way she blushed when Eddie called her "Jack" must have been extremely obvious.

But just like everything regarding this strange dance of theirs, if she pretended it didn't happen...he would pretend, too.

Why do they always pretend?

She literally told him to get in her closet with her nightgowns. He could make her laugh as if nothing was wrong with the world -- no, as if every fucking debauchery around them was a hilarious reason to be alive. He let her touch him, and she let him touch her with these stolen, feather-light movements. So...why do they always pretend?

Perhaps Jackie just wasn't ready for the showdown, the whirlwind that would consume her life once she decided she had feelings for Edward fucking Wilson. She wasn't as strong as she seemed; she might not be able to handle it. Plus, the moment she let herself become Eddie's lover would be the moment she begins to disappoint him more and more every day-- until he ends up resenting their relationship, or worse: her. And then he would disappear from her life, poof, like a figment of her imagination. Or a manifestation of her hysteria.

Fuck, what if there was no Eddie? What if Jacqueline's sick mind had made him up just so she could feel worthy of...anything?

No, stop. Stop it. Don't think that.

"What, you scared?" Raising an eyebrow at Eddie, she forced herself back into her body, into the present. "I would offer to come in with you, just to hold your hand through it, but...tight spaces, huh?"

To be fair, she would hate being in a tight enclosure, too.

Unless it was a tight place with Eddie in it, and barely any space between them.

"Come on, go on in."

#// hey i had to separate your reply with a break line instead of the indented text bc tumblr wouldn't publish the indented text 🤷‍♀️ #;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #mythvoiced #thread. eddie&jacqueline #ic. jacqueline

[voxvulgi]

The slightest pressure on Adonis' pulse -- applied by nothing more than Elijah's thumb -- sends him spiralling into euphoria. The danger of baring his very arteries to someone's touch, the power he's putting into Elijah's hands, it all sends a thrill all over Adonis' body like a spasm.

And the thumb wasn't enough, and neither were all of Elijah's fingers. No, he had to offer his lips to Adonis' jaw, painting a picture of a man offering his neck to the teeth of a higher being. Elijah's gentle hold on Adonis' body keeps him in place, frozen in a position he doesn't wish to escape. The arms of a man willing to worship his body in any way, shape, or form was the highest pedestal Adonis could imagine himself on. Little sighs escape him at the light scraping of teeth on his skin, and the weight of Elijah's hand on his thigh is more than enough to make him whimper. Adonis couldn't pinpoint the moment their bodies connected, merging into one continuous shape, but he didn't need to. The pleasure, the purpose, it's never-ending, it's--

The retraction of contact makes Adonis gasp, as if Elijah pulling his hands away were equivalent to electric shock. Adonis' previously half-closed eyelids flew open just in time for the god's hands to hold his face instead, for the pair to make an eye contact so intense that Adonis felt sucked away from his body, his soul exclusively occupying Elijah's realm for that moment.

Do you understand how great you will become? Elijah's words sounded like they were coming from an oracle's mouth, and Adonis could only respond with: "What?"

And next thing, Elijah's hands are at his jaw, pulling. Adonis, obedient as ever, does allow his mouth to fall open, but the astonishment and confusion still conquer his face.

Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

He does. He is beautiful, and that is all.

"I...do," Adonis manages to say, though the words are rumbling from his mouth like chalk. Not smooth in the least, and greatly unsure. "But-- It is all I am."

Adonis Belcher is beautiful, but he is nothing more.

He is so easy to squish like this.

He could crumble in Eros’ grip and might even thank him for the chance of having the heat in his eyes function as his funeral pyre.

The thought alone makes it hard to hold back, though Adonis does not make it any easier with any other aspect of himself, either. The cage of his legs, the living, human warmth of them wrapped around Eros’ own, does he not know he is the kind gods worship? The gorgeous youths they fight wars for, mess with the fates, challenge the great thunderer?

His hands navigate both. The one guided to rest against Adonis’ neck wraps around his throat with the gentle ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times before, each time more adoringly than the last, brushing his thumb along Adonis’ pulse, pressing his skin into his with each heartbeat, matching the rhythm on purpose as though intending to leave an imprint he could trace back with his heart alone.

He pulls him closer too, always gentle like he’s holding something fragile enough to tempt him to shatter it, like he’s holding back from crushing him between his fingers pliant in his devotion to the god he doesn’t even know he’s accidentally indulging.

He brings him closer and presses small promises along his jaw, soft caresses of forgiving lips brushing like wind gods reminding their lovers they still exist enamoured with them somewhere via the touch of breezes, and small bites that sting like frostbite, like a snake learning how to kiss, softening or tightening, gentling or growing rougher based solely on the object of desire beneath his hands and his responses to being a work of art Eros is in the process of confirming as such.

He’s still slow about it, though, unhurried in contrast to the tremble that had accompanied Adonis’ fingers for so long, seemingly so inherent to him like the warmth of his skin buried beneath the fabric of the pants wrapping around the thigh Eros is dragging his hand along, drawing teasing patterns until he frees his hand from the weight of Adonis’, finds his hip and pulls him there too, flush against himself, so very perfect in the focus of his attention.

His laughter would make any mortal who had been ravished by a god shiver in negative anticipation, as Eros throws his head back and removes both his hands from where Adonis had wanted them to grab his face instead.

“Adonis,” he sings against his lips, barely touching them, eyes glowing with Adonis’ warmth, life, reflected in them. “You’re perfect. Do you understand what you’re doing right now? Do you understand how great you will become?”

Gods, he’s going to swallow him whole.

He’s going to bury himself under every layer of skin he can pull back and render Adonis divine, elevate him to co-exist with the stars, make him immortal with every kiss, pull him apart to taste his heartbeats directly on his tongue.

His hands slip to focus on Adonis’ jaw, urge him to open his mouth and tell him if he does, if he does understand.

“Gods, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #ic. adonis #thread. eros&adonis #mythvoiced

[voxvulgi]

Hailey more than just wore her heart on her sleeve; she usually threw it at people with sound-barrier-breaking velocities. Some found it endearing, some even found it helpful, but Hailey was all too familiar with emotional rejection from people who felt she was too much. Too loud, too emotional, too...nosy. And well, despite Ben opening up, she did prepare herself for rejection any second.

Except, that rejection was immediately dismissed by the man whose morale had buried itself in the sand. Talking about your feelings was...important -- especially in this life -- and Hailey released a sigh of relief when Ben said his brother's name. Samuel.

She didn't know what she would do if anything happened to Jace.

"It's probably hypocritical of me to say that...what happened to Samuel probably wasn't your fault." Especially since she just confessed to blaming herself for her mother's death. "You know what? Maybe we should both let go of this...guilt. I'll try to let go of mine if you try to let go of yours? That was we're killing our demons only figuratively! As opposed to, you know, killing actual demons as if it will bring our family back. But-- I think it's valuable that... I don't know, but for me, hunting is about...making sure nobody else has to lose their family. Mom is dead. I know she is, but someone else's mom is probably alive today because of us. And someone else's brother, too."

Even though it absolutely wasn’t funny, Ben laughed, grinning as he turned his gaze up toward the ceiling. “Thank you for validifying my homespun tragedy,” he said. “But I don’t know, I suppose I’m just not a ‘wear my heart on my sleeve’ type of guy…the less chance to get hurt, the better, I always say.”

Or don’t say, in his case, seeing how he meant it – he really didn’t choose to unburden too often, yet something about Hailey was warm, comforting, freeing.

Or at least, it had been until Hailey sat up and asked that question.

All at once, the smile wiped clean from Ben’s face and he looked away again, anxiously lacing and unlacing his hands. “I don’t,” he cautiously began, “but Samuel – my brother – deserves to be remembered. I don’t even think I’ve allowed myself to say his name since the day he died…” Releasing a dry, unfeeling laugh, he said, “It just doesn’t feel right. It’s wrong, somehow, speaking of him when it was my fault.”

Unsteadily, Ben finally sat up as well. “As bleak as it sounds, I’m beginning to think that all hunters are trying to run from something,” he said. “Even you, one of the kindest people I’ve ever met…we’ve all got demons. How lucky we are that we can also slay them whenever necessary.”

#;; a postponed reading [QUEUE] #ic. hailey #thread. ben&hailey #honorhearted