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@loveshard
#LOVESHARD is a selective multi-muse / multi-verse / multi-fandom indie roleplay blog focused on queer muses. slice of life, supernatural, fantasy, superhero, and horror centric. dead dove content warning applies. triggering content will be present / tagged. mun does not equal muse. fandom crossover friendly. written by china. 21+ writers only.
GUIDELINES. MUSES. OPEN STARTERS. WANTED PLOTLINES. ASK MEMES.
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"I fucking hate you" she whispered, as she came for the 10th time on your hands
unfortunately, heartbreak looks good on him
BRIDGERTON (2020β) S03 // E08
looking at him is his favorite thing to do, you know. it has been for some time, and regan wishes it felt easy to do this time; instead, he's just barely glancing, flickering his eyes away, flinching from the sight of his labored breaths and wincing at the smell of iron in the air. he comes forward readily when he's pulled and his chin dips, watery eyes locking with holden's, and it's then that he somewhat begins to register the guidance. breathe, the man with the wooden stake lodged between his ribs tells him, and he swallows tightly over the plea reverberating both of his eardrums. "...okay," he whispers, the word thick in a tight throat. "i will. get you home," as holden lowers into the seat, regan does what he can to assist him; guides his hip, secures his foot inside, shuts the door and then whips around ( again, too fast, scrambling with hyper feet around the front of the truck ) to the driver's side.
for the first time in his life, he genuinely forgets to buckle up β or maybe he just doesn't care, it could be either. his gaze flickers to holden when he's being given instruction even now, and while there is a large part of him that wants to argue, but just the mention of cops is enough to make him pale. his second enemy on earth. it goes doctors, and then cops. "okayokayokay," this is hissed out through his teeth as he's pulling away, head shaking, rejecting even just the idea of that happening. no cops, he's thinking. no cops, no cops, no cops. while they're driving, he connects his phone with a shaking left hand to the car's speaker, speed dials his sister. she picks up on the second ring. "scout?" he shouts into the car, and a groggy yet concerned voice comes through the car speakers: "bubba? what's wrong?" β "kids in bed. all of them, even sawyer. especially sawyer. kids in bed, potions ready, pullout set up, towels all over it, anything first aid you can find," all of this is said with an urgency, his eyes firm on the road, hands trembling on the wheel. "whoa, what? reganβ" his sister starts, and regan ends the call before she can ask any questions, eyes wide on the road; one hand, reached out to squeeze his shoulder, the other on the wheel. "talk to me, holden. talk to me, please. you gotta stay awake, baby. stay awake."
this is a pathetic display, he knows; tears in his eyes as he just-borders on speeding towards his house, holden half-dead next to him, somehow the calm one in this situation. it's all his fault, he knows, too.
the pain in holden's side was a living thing, a parasite eating at the edges of his vision. the wool of the coat had gone wet under his palm, and he avoided looking down. he wanted nothing to do with what he'd see: the spreading stain, the rising panic in regan's face. he'd done enough looking for one night. his grip loosened, palm sticky, and he forced himself to keep looking ahead. he counted streetlights, road signs, headlights β each one a small proof that he was still here, still counting.
"i am awake," holden grunted, hating how slurred he sounded. even after a couple of drinks, he'd never slurred this bad. but the warlock was alert, talking a mile a minute, but still relatively composed (they always were functional during a crisis); that was the important part. meant things weren't as bad as they could be. his arrival, late and ill-timed, had saved regan's life, or at least bought time. it was a fair trade. he could afford a little blood loss in return. his head rolled against the headrest to glare past regan at the world outside the glass. he wanted to tell the warlock to focus on the damn road, and not on him. and yet regan's hand sat as an anchor on his shoulder, and he hadn't moved away from the contact. to feel the reality of another person, right now, right here, and not about to be dusted in an alley was comforting in a way he could not name. his head stayed where it had fallen, tilted toward the window. the rolling nausea in his gut was a tolerable background noise for the most part, a sign that his body was still in the fight.
"not going anywhere," he reassured, then flinched as another pothole jolted the truck, dragging pain up his entire side and everything in his head went white. "fuck," he hissed, teeth grinding down hard on nothing, and his eyes slammed shut. just for a flash, the memory arose of the vampire's face β skin slack around the mouth, fangs sunk in, and a last desperate scrabble for survival as holden had driven the stake home. the predator had died with their eyes open, pale blue and unreadable, and the image wouldn't leave. it came back as a haunting poltergeist, circling the drain of his daydream until he forced his mind to the present, drawn to the warm, steady weight of regan right beside him.
"keep talking. tell me something, anything," the hybrid ordered, because his body demanded some distraction, any distraction, from the next pothole, the next minute. the warlock's panic was contagious, and he could only counter with his usual nonchalance. "try something that'll keep me awake."
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kavi hasn't anything to worry about β as it would turn out, link can't accept a compliment either. at least, if he's mortified ( he is, actually; you wouldn't think it, but there comes a level of praise that makes his stomach swell with butterflies, and kavi's reached it ), it doesn't show; besides, he catches kavi's own embarrassment, and he's just tickled pink by it. he's always thought they were just the cutest, and it holds true now. "i'm overselling? ... baby, you are. you think i do my job?" he can't help but laugh, as unfunny of a thing as it is to say. "seriously, i'm... like, i'm one drunk-at-work write up away from being fired. i'm just glad they work well enough to button my shirts." again, unfunny, but not even really meant to be anything but. link's perception of himself is far from generous, and far be it from him to advertise something false.
"ohhhh, capitalism, shmapitalism. i hope it all burns to the ground. i'll pay an artisan eight thousand dollars for a watercolor if it makes me eight thousand dollars worth of happy," link squeezes their hand back, now taking his free hand and holding over top of kavi's, starting to play with their fingers, his smile lazy as his gaze flickers up to their eyes, down to their hands. "i'm not really a having plans kind of guy. you know what i mean? like, what's the opposite of a schemer. that's me. that said, if i disrupt the economy... artists are getting paid mad bucks, and the one percent β my family, for instance, full of ghouls, my boss, those guys, they're having some kind of consequence? good with me. i'm going to pay you thirty bucks per word, now, by the way. i'll venmo you when you finish." he will.
kavi barked a laugh, a true mimic of link's contagious cackle, and the tension in his shoulders melted a notch. their hands were still wrapped together, a true fusion experiment of flesh. he could not recall the last time he held hands with anyone for this long or this gently. maybe never? "well, you're not fired yet," he pointed out, lips stretching so wide that his face hurt a little. "so your hands are definitely doing something right," he continued, and he knew that much was true because their hand-holding skills were above average, at least by their standards.
kavi was not, on any level, prepared to have his hands manhandled like this, or for the suggestion that his attempt at a scarf and dumb little puns were worth more than the price of his entire college degree. he couldn't even earn thirty an hour at his tutoring gig, or get his parents to cover his phone bill without a speech. he never knew his friend could be so reckless with affection, but it was starting to feel like some kind of drug. an intoxicating, gently deranging drug. being under such dedicated attention felt much like a heat lamp, and his brain fumbled for a response that didn't sound totally unhinged. "you keep upping the bid, i'm going to have to actually make you another scarf, just to justify the rates. maybe a matching beanie, with, like, an even bigger hole in it. make it a real collector's item," kavi warned, pretending a level of chill he absolutely did not possess. "i'm going to start a whole... line. a kavi exclusive. bespoke imperfections only. i'll even throw in a weird little hole for free," he stacked on, his nerves making him ramble too loud, too fast.
this whole approach was a little forward of her, maybe, but thyme had no intention of letting this pass her by. months of a crush that felt agonizing, watching nyeleti from afar, trying to befriend her. and now, with a one night stand that finally got her in, it meant that she was ready to make sure this would only be the beginning. and so far, it seemed like her strategy was working. the other's words made her grin, then laugh something bashful, her cheeks splotching a bit of pink across the apples of them. "of course! all of it, really. your amazing personality, the best cuddles, your comfy bed, and the fact you folded my clothes for me," thyme enthused, couldn't help letting out a bit of a giggle at the end of it too. looked at the waffle that was still suspended in the air and leaned in to steal it from the fork, just for some sugary confidence. "y'know, also the many, many orgasms that i wasn't even aware i was capable of in one night, that too."
nyeleti almost choked at the casualness of their answer, her face going hot. "youβ" she started, then caught herself fixated on the soft, unguarded look of thyme's eyes. they were completely serious, and she almost wanted to hide under the duvet, but that would be tragic, because then she'd miss out on the next forkful of waffle and whatever outlandish confession thyme would share next. "babe, you can't just say that in the morning. i have a delicate constitution," she protested through her own fit of giggling, her laugh a little too loud for the time of day. she was pretty sure the soundproofing in this building was definitely not up to code, and the neighbors probably already had enough material to keep them gossiping for an entire week. "i mean, you're welcome? am i allowed to brag about this to the chorus of my group chats? or is it, like, a sacred confidence? i don't know the etiquette," she asked, fishing another bite off the plate.
Albert Camus, from a letter to MarΓa Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959
continued from nyeleti's open starter (@saternal)
"sharing is my second love language, right after acts of service," nyeleti said, swinging open the fridge and grabbing the pizza box before she could change her mind. she could already taste the congealed tomato sauce and bell pepper, her stomach already making eager noises at the thought. "and if you care about me even a little bit, you'll let me have the crust," she added, grinning victoriously.
@strangebound sent: "I shouldnβt be this close." from tension liner prompts
"Not like I'm contagious," Ramiro told Arwyn, leaning back onto the railing, "unless you're into that. Kinky, even for you." While he never cared much for boundaries, he kept his distanceβout of principle, out of the perverse delight in watching others squirm under temptation. Nothing but a solid two meters and the night's fog between them now. He nursed the stub of a cigarette, ash dropping to his boot, each ember a tiny sun in the urban dark. Inhale, exhale, and repeat as the toxins sank into his lungs. "You're the one who wanted the tour. Or did you just want to see me?"
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β jax for @loveshard
" it sounds like you've got some baby elephants out here. what the hell are you doing ? " towel wrapped around his waist, another around his shoulders and suds on his legs half wiped off and still dripping down his legs. a soak after a practice had been all he'd wanted, something longer than a quick shower that could ease his various aches but the banging around had the opposite effect for relaxation. " do you need help or something ? "
cameron grinned at the spectacle placed in front of him: jaxon's towel barely clinging, a trail of foam marking his path from the main bathroom. he was always a vision straight out of a wet dream that he couldn't help but oogle for a second too long. he dropped the collapsed shelf on the floor, dusted his hands, and matched jaxon's energy with a little flex of his own. "nah, i'm good, unless you're certified in the fine art of shelf reconstruction," he said, cocking his head at the wreckage. "though i could use a third hand. or, you know, an extra set of calves."
@strangebound sent: "if you keep doing that, i can't promise i'll behave." from touch-starved muses prompts
Fighting down a smile, Cameron tried not to show how much the threat worked on him. He stared straight ahead at the television, every muscle in his body tuned to the heat of Archie's thigh against his. It was just a sliver of contact, but it made the rest of his skin feel electric. His right hand stilled in midair, unsure if it wanted to reach for the bowl of popcorn or for Archie again. He didn't want to be the one to break first, didn't want to give them that satisfaction, even if he already imagined giving in, just once, to see what would happen. "Didn't realize you were so easily distracted," he said, allowing his knees to fall a little wider apart, a silent invitation for attention. "Thought betas had more self-control."
the realization that i have over 160 threads and still constantly want more π
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"you? demanding?" she tried her best to look offended at the thought on willow's behalf, but broke into giggles before the facade had fully formed. "well... surely we can pause the bed strike long enough for me to get something that's been delivered. the doorstep's basically right there!" and down a narrow hallway, but ingrid never cared much for semantics. echoing the gesture, she used her knee to nudge willow's. "mmm, there might be a secret stash underneath here but... definitely not donuts, and definitely not anything a lady such as myself would pull out in front of decent company!" she teased, though it was ingrid's ears that had turned a faint shade of pink at the admission.
"i have never been considered decent company in my life, so, you know, you're safe," willow reassured ingrid as her own cheeks felt traitorous and hot, their faces becoming a matching pair. "but okay, now i'm intrigued," she continued as the thought of some forbidden treasure dawned on her, brown eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. her curious mind simply won't quit, even for a second. "if you've been hiding contraband under your bed all this time and didn't tell me, i'm going to have to launch a full investigation. badges, flashlights, everything. ou know i have a sixth sense for forbidden objects," she warned with a hushed voice, her eyes trailing up to peer at the other's face.
silence fills his end of the line, lump in his throat too hard to swallow. he'd thought, foolishly, that even if they weren't in a relationship they could go back. to friendship, to how things were before they'd taken the step into something more and he almost wished that they hadn't β not when they couldn't even get through a casual conversation like this. " ... you don't want to be friends ? " needed the clarification of it being spoken for him to be able to gather his thoughts, lick his wounds, and shift cassidy from the space that still occupied his mind and heart to something else. " okay. i won't call or bother you anymore, i understand. "
"no," he answered, plain and simple. he didn't mean it to sound cruel, but apparently, he was out of practice at sounding gentle. "or, i meanβ" he exhaled, the sound appearing harsh through the phone's speaker. "i don't know what i want, brendan. maybe that's the whole problem." there was still that voice in his head that always thought they could fix thingsβmake the parts fit if he just tried harder. maybe if he let brendan talk, or if he learned to listen better, or if he remembered to say the right things at the right times. and maybe then he'd finally stop spinning out every conversation until it meant something other than what it was. but then again, maybe he'd just fuck it up, anyway. "i don't even know what being friends means for us. i don't know how to do it without ..." cassidy wanted to say 'missing you', but he stopped himself, leaving the rest unsaid.
