mostlyvillainous

Potentially yes, I've considered coming back to indie rp. It would probably be on Tumblr here on this blog, but we can chat.

despite the severity of the situation, hunter can’t help but smile a little. for once, it isn’t solely because of the alcohol in his system, either. he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss beau. ironically, the freest he’s ever felt was with beau’s collar around his neck. it’s not to say that he didn’t enjoy bucking the system; he’d just enjoyed the feeling of being loved, protected, and looked out for a little more. a lot more, actually. he hasn’t known that feeling — before or since. sure, he’s had a couple of casual encounters with doms and subs alike, but at the end of the day, they were just that: casual. “yeah… yeah, i think i’d like that.” hunter murmurs. this time, he lets his hand find beau’s. “i can sleep on the futon for the night and you can take my bed. i’ll just have to change the sheets first.” a pause. “a-as long as that’s alright with you.” he doesn’t want to overstep and make beau uncomfortable. the fact that he’d technically be harboring a fugitive hasn’t even crossed hunter’s mind. if it had… well, rules are meant to be broken, anyways. “you know i wasn’t trying to be a dick by asking if you wanted to stay, right? you wouldn’t be you if you couldn’t hold your own, but…” hunter trails off for a moment, running the fingers on his other hand through his hair. “it’s just that… you helped me when nobody else would. i’d be a pretty shitty friend if i didn’t at least offer.”

Beau didn't miss that smile either (though he did miss it, according to the other definition of the word); his eyes fell on it with fondness and his expression softened a bit. To the average person, he was an incredibly cold being with no capacity for love or affection, but things had been different with Hunter after the night he'd saved the boy in the snow. The submissive said he would like having him over and Beau nodded, inhaling as he worked over a response in his head, but pausing when he felt the contact to his hand. Now he was the one smiling, looking at their hands with a gentle gaze. But the mood shifted again when he was told he could sleep in the bed while Hunter took the futon.

Things were different in a big way, he'd have to remember that so that he didn't end up disappointed. Hunter had been his claim, but the law had made that irrelevant. They didn't belong together anymore. A touch was a touch, it didn't necessarily mean anything.

"I understand," he said simply, squeezing Hunter's hand gently in support. "I do. And you're not a shitty.. friend. It's fine." Shoulders raised and rolled, nonchalance settling over his features again. "How have you been? Taking care of yourself? Are you still getting in trouble?"

they were an odd couple back at the academy. to say that hunter’d been a problem sub is putting it mildly. he’d lived to flout authority and punishment had done little to deter him — well, until the winter formal incident, anyway. while hunter’s never vocalized it, he regrets waiting as long as he had to come forward. in addition to futilely prolonging the inevitable, all it had accomplished was causing others to suffer without food, heat, and hot water. in hindsight, thredson had probably known it was him all along. hunter can’t blame his classmates for not wanting much to do with him after that, but it’d still made the recovery process harder. the only person that didn’t completely jump ship on him was beau, one of the so-called ‘monster’ doms of all people. the last person who anyone (including hunter) would have thought was capable of fixing and not breaking. beau could have easily taken advantage of him, but he hadn’t. he’d taken care of hunter and made him feel like a person again. when hunter realizes that he’s lost in thought, he blinks a couple of times. beau’s words about having nowhere better to be are all too relatable. “i guess that makes two of us, then.” a pause. “look, about everything that went down after that bill passed… i’m sorry.” sure, it hadn’t been hunter himself who’d done anything, but it’d been people like hunter. the old hunter, anyway. “you know i’m the first one to be like ‘ra ra, equality’ but… jesus, b. what they did to you and yours is fucked.” hunter’s hand starts to reach for beau’s, but stops. instead, his fingers close around his drink. he downs the liquor in one swig and sighs. “do you… y’know, have a place to stay?” hunter asks in a quiet voice after a moment. “my apartment isn’t much, but it’s warm.”

The situation is a difficult one to swallow for someone like Beau, but it's not all bad. With his Father dead, he's more free than he's ever been, which is ironic considering his status as a fugitive. There are people looking for him, but his Father isn't looking over his shoulder at every moment. Even while he was locked inside of the academy, supposedly cut off from the rest of the world, his Father had eyes on him. Beau's eyes idly scan the table just to do something while Hunter speaks, his expression stone; his signature. He'd always had the best poker face, it was very rare that he cracked or lost control . He saw when Hunter reached for his hand, then diverted that path to reach for a drink instead. It was horribly embarrassing to be in a position where a submissive thought it pertinent to ask if he needed a place to stay, but his pride would just have to deal; this new world had a way of pushing back against the things he'd been trained to want, feel, believe, and do-- and many people would say that was a good thing.

"I do have a place, I still have some money too," he began. It wasn't easy, but he was resourceful enough to figure out how to use everything that might be helpful to him and keep himself stable. He no longer lived in a mansion, but he did have a place to stay. For now. His new life included a lot of moving around sometimes. "but if you're saying you want me to come over, that is possible."

he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t feel emboldened by his new rights. even though they aren’t much, they’re still a lot more than he’d had while he’d been in school. his time at mckinley is something he’d rather forget for the most part, but the one person he hasn’t been able to get out of his head is beau. theirs had been his first and only real relationship. sure, he’s had others since then, but they hadn’t meant to him what beau had. not by a long shot. he quite literally owes beau his life. he isn’t sure where he’d be right now if beau hadn’t helped him heal after the headmaster’s two-week long punishment from hell. now that beau’s sitting in front of him after all this time, hunter isn’t sure how to proceed. the confidence he usually exudes is shaken. he shrugs sheepishly at beau’s question before cramming his hands into the pockets of his work slacks. “i always come here after work.” nobody dulls the pain in his feet and the empty feeling in his chest quite like jack, jim, and jose. “wh-what about you?” this place doesn’t seem like beau’s scene, but then again, hunter hasn’t been around him for a long time. if the scars on beau’s face are any indication, a lot has changed — and not necessarily for the better, either.

There is no doubt in Beau's mind that Hunter is still someone he can trust. Many people would turn him in, but he knew Hunter wouldn't. Watching the submissive fidget nervously reminded him of the day that he'd saved the other man from the snow to take care of him. Hunter had acted like this, back then. Beau helping a wounded submissive was about as likely as Hunter fidgeting nervously, but both had happened.

Licking his lips, he took a moment to consider how he'd answer the question that had been asked. Smythe Manor, his home, was gone. His Father was dead. He didn't know where his Mother was. Other 'monster Dom/mes' like Beau had been chased, brought to court, and in some cases either institutionalized or incarcerated. Beau himself was on the country's wanted list, his family had been one of the worst as far as abusing submissives was concerned and many were sure they'd want to make an example of Beau; though none knew he'd been disfigured and some believed him to be dead. The manhunts for Dominants like himself were broadcast on television, as were events like Smythe Manor's final hour. He knew that as high and mighty as he had been before equality was born, he had lost all of that power now. No longer was he the type of person that hung out somewhere to enjoy himself, now he spent most of his time in hiding... but that wasn't something he would admit. The great Beau Smythe did not hide.

"I don't have anywhere better to be," he decided on as an answer, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. Was he going to be the first to admit to any sort of emotion? He turned his head so that the scars on his face were a but more hidden by shadow and took a swig of the alcohol in front of him. No, absolutely not.

to say that hunter’s had a long day is an understatement. he’d just spent the last 8 hours of his life on his feet making shitty food for ungrateful customers at the mcdonald’s a few blocks away. his boss is an idiot, his coworkers are incompetent, and he’s underappreciated. even with the new laws, the opportunities for submissives are still very limited. there’d be time to curse the “s” behind his ear later, though. right now, all he wants to do is get drunk at one of his favorite haunts. the only problem is that somebody’s in his seat. too tired to fight, hunter opts to plop down in the adjacent seat instead. the other’s words find his ears and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “look, buddy, you’re sitting in my seat, so i guess i’m gonna have to —” his voice stops dead in its tracks as recognition hits him like a freight train. hunter hadn’t gotten a good look at the other male when he walked in, but now? there’s no denying it. he knows this person — or at least he had, back at the academy. “b-beau? beau smythe?”

It was just Beau's luck that the person that had approached him was just as headstrong as he was. For a moment, he kept his gaze away as if the person wasn't even worth looking at and silently thought about what kind of person he was dealing with. The attitude was indicative of one of two things: this was either a Dominant that felt he had to swing his dick around because he'd lost so much with the way the world had changed or it was a newly-courageous submissive that was testing just how far his new rights would take him. Neither was the type of person that Beau really felt like dealing with, but none of that mattered when he finally did deign to look over at the person that had seated himself in front of him and was greeted by name.

"What are you doing here?" Hunter was strong, and he knew how to adapt, Beau had made sure of that himself. He was sure that the submissive would be taking advantage of as much of what was formerly out of his reach as possible. Was he bemoaning the loss of his former owner? Was that why he was in a dive bar? Old habits die hard, he couldn't help but dissect every possibility mentally, as if life were a giant game of chess and he had to be ready. As a fugitive, he should have told Hunter to stop saying his name, but his pride wouldn't allow him to speak such cowardly words.

The Countess didn't have to hear the rumors of Briarcliff to know they were true; she could feel the anguish and pain of its residents from miles away. Their emotion had drawn her, and there was even enough to satisfy and fill the void inside of a greedy emotional vampire like Elizabeth. She couldn't turn back until she'd seen inside its walls, to witness their torment firsthand.

And to find out about the other presences she felt on the property. There was more going on there than anyone else was aware of. So she devoted a small portion of her fortune to a potential donation and noted that one of her stipulations was a chance to tour the grounds.

She showed up in a more subtle outfit, but she was still as extravagant as always and stood out terribly when she walked through the big double doors at the entrance. Her eyes scanned the dirty lobby until their piercing blues fell upon a nun in their traditional garb. How quaint. "Excuse me, I believe you were expecting me."

"You're a long way from Kansas, Dorothy," Leonard commented, eyebrow arched as he looked at the man that approached. He kept his cold gun in hand at the ready and his eyes glued on the other man; this man was dangerous to his mission and he hadn't planned on his appearance, which meant that he was Leonard's first priority.

It was a good thing he was always ready to throw away the plan, and it was a good thing that he always did extensive research on anyone that might try to stop him, otherwise this would have ruined his day. "I hope you don't think you're going to stop me, that would be embarrassing-- for you."

Grace’s mouth was open the entire time she listened to the other girl talk. She wasn’t sure if she finds it interesting that she knew that– or be terrified that she knew that.’’I’ll be sure to mention that next time someone tells me that  they are going on a diet to get skinny.’’ She gave a nod, a small forced chuckle leaving her lips.

All the while that Grace's level of discomfort rose, Hester remained completely unaware. Her grasp on other people's emotions was slim to none and she did not care to change that. "I'm glad to be of assistance; feel free to let them know that I would be more than willing to assist them in their endeavors. I find it fascinating."  The smile on her face remained as she looked the girl in front of her over. "What about you, Grace? Feeling a little... heavy?"

Her next mission was simple; find Eleven at any cost, including taking down anyone that got in her way. She wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, despite enjoying the little bit of freedom involved in being out in the real world. She had no plans of acting out, but the threat of the behavior modification chip put her on edge. Being outside, it felt like she had a higher chance of stepping out of line and being shocked. Already, she knew she didn't like that.

Walking through town, she stuck out, but she didn't notice the stares. Her focus was on her mission, nothing more. When she saw someone that she recognized from the array of photos that she'd been shown of Eleven and those known to associate with her, she stopped them bluntly, cutting them off by stepping in front of them. "You will come with me."

“THE Roma are as diverse as any other people.” Peter said, trying to relax his shoulders, anything to make him look less awkward and out of place here. This guy, Elias, was – for lack of a better word – fucking pretty, and it was throwing him off. Why him? The dirty romani boy out of all the women in their assortment of dress? Flat bellies out and littered with gold. An obvious temptation to any man, though they’d give that man a swift kick in the balls if the touch was unwanted.

“THERE was a misconception that we came from Egypt.” Peter says then, matter of fact, “And so the gadjos began to call us gypsies, but we actually came from East Asia.” He cleared his throat then, trying his best in all honesty to dance, but every move was…distracting. He’d never actually met anyone so totally unafraid of physical contact.

“I’M Peter.” He adds then, “Me and my mother aren’t as heavily involved in the culture as either of us would like but…we have our reasons.” His grandfather, Nicolae, for starters.

It would be easy to assume that even though he asked, that Elias would be uninterested in the information given to him, but that was not the case. He was not only polite and quiet while he listened, but he was intent and entertained. He could tell how distracting he was being too, and he loved it. He loved the bouquet of emotion coming off of the man.

"Assumptions are the ruination of many men," he replied to the commentary about the romani people. "But it is the prerogative of narrow minds to remain narrow." His eyes remained locked on Peter's, reflecting gold in the light of the many bonfires.

Scott was already halfway down the stairs, heading into the darkness. At Isaac’s words he stopped, turning to look at him. ‘’Why – what’s wrong?’’ the words left instantly, before he realized what this was about. The moment he did, his gaze shifts back to the darkness shortly before back at Isaac, heading back up. ‘’Uh, okay. You don’t have to, you can.. stay here, keep watch.’’ He’s not one to force someone into anything, if Isaac didn’t want to go, he didn’t have to. 

Isaac hated how weak his fears made him feel. Looking down those stairs into the darkness reminded him of looking down into his father's basement. His claustraphobia kicked in and he could feel the walls down there getting smaller and smaller, like the ice box he'd been locked in so many times. It terrified him, but logically he understood that it was just a staircase and it led to somewhere that just happened to be dark. His fears were unfounded, but they were still there.

Trying to stay composed, he tried to keep eye contact with Scott but found it faltering. He kept looking down into the black abyss and every time he did, he could feel his heart racing. "If you need me..." He said finally, reaching out to touch Scott's shoulder. This man in front of him had helped him so much, there wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do for Scott, including brave his fears if he needed to. Keeping watch would help, and he could do that, but if Scott insisted he go-- or called for help once he was down there, Isaac wouldn't hesitate. His fears were not as strong as his connection to Scott.

Eric walked back into his office at Fangtasia and sighed, rubbing his temple. “I thought we talked about your drug use here.” He growled at Tristan as he casually sat in his chair. His blue eyes landed on him and he showed no expression. “I can’t be trying to manage my bar and making sure that you’re not over dosing.”

“You’re better than this Snart. There is good in you and I’m not saying this just because I’m the hero and having one less villain would benefit me. I’m not. I enjoy having you as one of my adversaries. I’m saying there is good in you because you’re not as bad as many others I’ve had to face.” He lets out a sigh and slowly walks towards the other, keeping the Cold Gun out of his reach.

“I don’t want you to change. I don’t want you to be a hero like me. You’re fine the way you are.”

It was hard for Len to accept that someone might actually like and accept him, so when Barry approached him and continued his hero's speech, he wasn't sure what to make of it. Doubt furrowed his brow and he found it difficult to look the other man in the eye.

He could rob a bank with confidence and pride, but this was making his sweat.