want too much

welcome to @ofplanetsloved, a multimuse semi-selective indie rp account featuring muses from The Boys, Supernatural, and Broadway.

penned by ryan, 18+, any pronouns

She takes it after a few moments that leave Noir wondering if he’s done something odd. He’s delighted that she’s willing to indulge, because he had no cards left after that. A scrappy twirl, then the knife drops and – oh. The air lines with iron and a clean cut makes itself known on her hand with vibrant colours. It’s stark against her white and yellows, so terribly uncouth for Vought’s standards. Noir’s lucky that his blood soaks in well with the dark patterns of his suit.

( “Uh oh!” ) ( “Uh oh!” )

He idles for a while. The room falls into a still, awkward quiet. The Birds bob on either side of Starlight, worried looks, as if she may blame them for his own actions. His head looks between her face and the injury, an unknown cacophony of thought behind his mystique. Well, really, it was only one thought: maybe he should’ve given her a smaller knife, he thinks, before he turns on his boots and simply walks out of the room.

He’s gone for a while. As he seeks out a certain item, his friends tail with murmurs and chattering. ( “Do you think she’ll be mad?” ) ( “I don’t think so. It’s the knife that’s the problem.” )

Coming back, he re-approaches Starlight with the same amount of overwhelming neutrality as usual. Only, now, he has something in his glove. Vought brand gauze - appropriately patriotic. In a couple smooth motions, he uses another knife to cut a long strip of the fabric, then offers it to her. She shouldn’t be dripping blood on the floors. He’s heard the janitors get upset about that before.

okay, so she’s made a fool of herself and he’s leaving her.

it’s not something that she hasn’t seen before— is it sad to say that she’s used to guys leaving her? her prom date never spoke to her again, there was that incident when she defended a guy and he got all MISOGYNISTIC about it... even platonically (professionally, really) she’s a repellent.

and it stings. a bit.

the embarassment hurts more. tearing of the skin via blade hurts, like a bitch for just a moment, but once that’s done and it’s just bloody, there’s not much paint. just absolute humiliation. what’s worse than not being able to hold your liquor is not being able to hold your knives.

nobody give her a gun. ever.

she doesn’t really have fabric to press down on it. would be a great time to have a cape, but apparently capes are only okay when homelander wants one. nobody wants to see his ass, anyway.

❝ fuck, shit, fuck, ❞ she murmurs to herself, and almost turns to leave the room when noir comes back. her prince charming with a kill count.

she smiles and takes the gauze, wrapping it tightly around her hand as she lets out a soft, pained gasp. and not a drop hits the floor as she tucks the gauze in on itself.

❛ You’re far brava’ than I could eva’ hope t’ be. I would neva’ return t’ the tower if I was here doin’ shit t’ try and take Homelanda’ down. Does that Compound V shit make you feel stronger against him? I ain’t got any of that, maybe I’d feel stronga’ if I did. ❜

annie froze. ❝ i don’t— i don’t take V. ❞ she knew people who did— loved people who did. ❝ and you shouldn’t— you don’t need it to be strong. it’s all very complicated. ❞

“Panels and talks mean you have a platform. A voice. Something you wouldn’t have back in Iowa.” At least not on this grand a scale. Local rallys. Crime. They were nothing compared to the reach that Annie had now.

And, yeah. True. Most everything they said was scripted and/or monitored by Vought. Even Maddie knew that. But there had to be something Annie could do…some good she could spread…because people listened to her. Little girls listened to her.

As they listened to Maddie…though Maddie didn’t always think about that. As she mostly saw herself as an extension of her parents. Part of their narrative. Not yet her own.

❝ a voice doesn’t mean that much when it’s not really mine, ❞ annie shook her head. ❝ other people’s words in my voice, rather, i guess. ❞ her reach was devoted to lying to teenagers and telling them she was a virgin and to convert all their friends. even when she stepped forward and spoke her TRUTH, the truth, she knew it was only a matter of time before vought took her voice again.

* @ofplanetsloved​ sent ❛  you obviously have no idea with whom you are dealing.  ❜ from meg to valeria but meg is also wrapping her legs around valeria’s lap and sitting down thank you

there was a moment where she froze as the other woman settled onto her lap. under different circumstances val might be leaning into this, reveling in it even, but right now she was trying not to. “i doubt that, i’ve been around a few of your kind before.” she should have never let the demon get this close, but now that she had some of the hatred she bore for demons seemed to have gotten caught in her throat. she didn’t make any effort to move meg, but she didn’t encourage her to get comfortable either. valeria’s arms stayed at her sides, one hand even tucking into her jacket pocket.

her kind. fuck her kind. her kind was trying to kill her— a demon civil war, one half lucifer and the other half crowley. one was dead and the other was british, so no winning for meg. her kind. what garbage.

meg did not tie or restrain the hunter— sure, that was always reliable and easy, particularly for getting them to a secondary location, but it just didn’t seem necessary. also pretty pointless, since most hunters could pick locks or slice rope. beside, meg still had the upper hand, as long as there were no devil’s traps around.

“i hope so too,” she mumbled, letting her tone fall quiet as he kept speaking. dean had always seemed a little distant and hesitant to get personal. she’d slowly learned she didn’t want to cut him off when he spoke.

“yeah?” caroline was surprised he thought about these funerals at all, after there had been so many of them in his life. “i don’t think most people did. i mean, unless they were vikings.” she didn’t know much about vikings, but she’d heard they burned their dead on pyres. part of her wanted to ask if he’d ever come across any vikings, but it wasn’t the right time or moment. if that or something else came up she could try and prompt him for stories later.

he didn’t used to be so distant. he remembers when he was twenty-six, crouched down next to a child who hadn’t found the words to describe his own pain, but could hold a crayon, and told him about his mom. that she told him to be brave, that he also stopped speaking after he watched her burn on the ceiling. he used to talk. he used to provide comfort. he used to be vulnerable in order to help other people.

he’s so tired.

that’s all.

❝ i want a big funeral. a hunter’s funeral, of course. ❞ he knows he has to be burned. when it really comes down for it to be over. what’s burned should stay dead (of course, castiel somehow was an exception, but castiel usually was). ❝ live band. drunken wake. i don’t want a single sober person at my wake. and i want sam to do the eulogy. but don’t tell him i said that until i’m dead, you know? ❞ he didn’t want sam thinking about his death as long as he could avoid it. it’s not like he did so hot the first time. well, the first hundred times. and then the actual one that took for 6 months. ❝ that’s what i want, though. ❞

summer wanted to offer her more comfort. she wanted to try and be a friend to her, bring her out for drinks or dinner. she wanted to do something more for her. she just didn’t know what or how. there wasn’t much she could do without risking pissing off ashley, or worse, homelander. 

she nodded, “that’s all you can do.” she decided to risk it, sort of. “if there’s anything i can do, any kind of help i can offer, i’ll be happy to do whatever i can.” there, summer had said what she could. she could rest easier knowing she hadn’t completely shut up out of fear of what would happen if she hadn’t. she hated this, she hated not feeling like she could offer her friendship to someone who so clearly needed allies.

starlight paused. every day, every conversation, every glance was MEASURABLE. she was constantly on a scale, measuring who she could trust and who might kill her (or worse, hughie). every sentence had an underlying meaning. she doesn’t remember the last time someone just said what they meant to her— but she couldn’t remember the last time she said what she meant either.

she did not want her life to be like this. you have to believe her.

she’s walking down the main hallway on her floor of vought when he catches her eye— it’s not the black suit she sees, which almost blends in, but the LIGHT dancing in rays and beams.

❝ Shit. Shit. Here's the TRUTH. Anyone who tells you they know the answers is lying. And I know, I know, I'm supposed to be this HERO-IDOL-SYMBOL-WHATEVER, but I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I'm just as scared and confused as the rest of you. I'm done pretending, and I'm done taking any more shit. ❞