#* ... inbox messages.

from: meme.

mist clings to his skin, damp and unpleasant. but, his block is the next one and soon, they could duck into the warmth of his apartment and escape the chilly afternoon.

her hand is tucked comfortably in the crook of his elbow, and he makes sure that his pace isn't too quick, strides even with hers. he maneuvers them around larger puddles, partly because he didn't want the ends of his trousers to get wet and also for her sake. he cringes when they step into an unavoidable puddle. he'll change as soon as they get in. or, he'll be too distracted with @cderiva , too distracted with making sure she feels comfortable, too distracted with a growing desire for warmth and something more. in that case, he won't need to be worried about changing into something dry.

they're stopped at a crosswalk and kento gently pries her hand from his elbow as he stretches his arm out to settle instead across her shoulders. public displays of affection weren't really his thing. at least, not when he'd initially thought of what it would be like. not that this is really all that overt. but, it's a form of ... possession when he thought of it as he did it. even if it was mostly just to feel her closer. to make sure she feels as warm as he does with her by his side.

maria's face tilts up, and he glances down at her with hazel eyes that look a little greener than brown right now. a smile melts across his lips; he melts in general.

they’re sitting across from one another in the bath. the steady drip drop from the faucet echoing in the quiet. it’s not an uncomfortable silence,  but one that comfortably blankets over them. 

his keen gaze remains steady on her,  as if trying to spot the small differences in her appearance, though failing as nothing has changed at all. maybe more freckles,  maybe the length of her hair but nothing so discernible that denotes time having passed.  a few months isn’t too long anyways. 

the water ripples as his hand surfaces, calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist and bringing her hand to his lips,  pressing softly against her knuckles.  his eyes slip shut briefly,  savoring the feeling of her skin on his lips,  to be able to be this close once more and bask in the warmth of her presence.  then, golden irises once again reveal themselves and this time, they don’t hide away but remain gazing up at her as his lips venture over her wrist and up to the crook of her elbow. 

there’s a firm tug,  an invitation to come closer, and closer still until her knees are framing either side of his hips. his head tips back, and his hand rests now on the nape of her neck,  drawing her lower until his lips meld completely against hers.  there is no hesitation in exploring the depths of her,  tongue dragging against the roof of her mouth as soon as the seam of her lips part.  he kisses her like a man parched,  a passion that only she’s grown to know.  when the inevitable break for breath separates them, their foreheads bump and the tip of his nose glides along the bridge of hers. it’s not long till his mouth seeks hers again.  he missed the taste of her.  he missed her.  

mihawk has rarely allowed another person close enough that their absence made him ache.  not in the same way that hers etched a profound emptiness in him. 

now,  he allows @counterspll to come and go as she pleases.  not that he ever had any real control over a spirit as free as her own. or, maybe he did,  proven by how long she stayed in the first place.

the sound of @willofd 's voice is both a relief and sets her on edge, but only for a moment. any voice belonging to one of the charlotte's sparks a reaction that very little else can get out of her.

her shoulders relax against the wall again, gaze kept fixed on the subject of her attention. he's one of the so-called supernovas, not at all inconspicuous as his voice practically rocks the entire establishment. nothing interesting yet. nothing they don't already know, at least. morgans instructed her to keep an eye out for any new alliances in particular, less about something to report and more about something to be in the know about. until it did become a story and they could be the first to report.

from: meme

featuring: matt & dawn, @fatescattered

“guess we could call it an occupational hazard.” the metallic stench of it coats his nostrils, the taste of it stuck to his tongue. it was an easier night than the ones previous, however. but, no one would ever know that by taking a look at him. he’s sure he popped a couple stitches; new bruises joining the old, too.

from: meme. verse: main, post-rosinante coming back.

they've found strategic ways to fit on a couch that was either only made for one napper or at least, two people of more average height and build. but, she likely wouldn't admit that she prefers being a mess of limbs, squished together in a smaller space than anything more spacious. the soreness and aches of sleeping in odd positions serving as evidence that it happened, that he was here, and they were together.

she could see, however, though how her arm tucked against his side would be uncomfortable to him.

her eyes squint open against the sunlight coming in through the window, grunting as she starts shifting, trying to find a better place to position her arm. the warmth they've been bathed in has made her drowsy, her body feeling heavy and sluggish. she finally finds a place to stretch her arm, tucking it in a different position that would certainly be uncomfortable for either of them again at some point. but, she just wants to stop moving, wants to enjoy this until life beckons at them again.

"stop complaining." iselda mutters into the crook of his neck.

from: meme. verse: main. featuring: perona & drucilla, @spiritmarking

they still sat at the table, savoring breakfast while the faint sound of shovel meeting soil repetitively filtered in from the garden. it had been quiet for a few minutes, which was odd since anywhere perona was, there'd often be some sort of chatter going on every few minutes even if it was mostly just her talking and her companion listening, or nodding in (preferably) agreement.

then, she had said something about how it felt so very domestic around kuragaina now. which is to say, the closest to domestic she's ever experienced.

she hated the thought of tabloid headlines boasting gossip about her and a new love interest in her life. she'd much rather an unflattering mugshot be plastered across the papers than sneaky pictures of her "canoodling with mystery man". even if that is a given when you're in the spotlight. and, that's only one of several reasons she gives when one night stands want to make it more than they were meant to be.

but, there's the unfortunate or fortunate exception to every rule, depending on how you look at it.

it actually doesn't start off as much more than a professional relationship. @spiritmarking asks questions and she answers them. he's more genuine than most journalists she's come in contact with, desirous of knowing the story behind the music and everything that came with it. not because he wanted to expose some hidden secret, but to reveal the artistry and the passion. she could respect that.

while iselda could argue that how she felt took her by surprise, there were also very deliberate choices made that led to her showing up at his front door every time a tour was over or work brought her into town. she felt less and less apprehensive about joining him in public for dates, even if she went through the trouble of wearing something of a disguise, which was to say, not her stage outfits.

but, it was only a matter of time before she was spotted and their faces were on magazine spreads and speculations about their romance on gossip columns.

it was both surprising and not when iselda told him one night that maybe they should take some time to cool off, so she could have time to focus. that's all she really had to say, but in true tactless fashion, her words were thoughtless and haphazardly thrown together, doing more harm than good.

it's backstage at one of her band's shows that iselda sees rosinante standing in the hall. she assumes he's there to interview the band they're opening for. she turns in the other direction, pretending not to see him, but there's soon a hand on her arm and she's pulled into an empty dressing room. a quick look around tells her it's more of a storage space for costumes and extra clothes than any specific artist's.

when he touches her cheek, iselda is torn between an irritated protest and leaning into his touch. when he says her name, she teeters towards the latter and allows herself to sink into the moment.

someone outside is calling her name, they're supposed to be on in five minutes.

she starts to tell him that, but his lips are so sweet and tender on hers. a delicately soft kiss that wants for nothing more than to feel her lips again. "i love you." rosinante says, and she has to fight not to sigh. her tongue brushes over her own lips. she knows he doesn't say it to persuade her, or maybe she's wrong and he is. it wouldn't be so bad to be coveted by rosinante.

from: meme. context: a scenario in which ginny lives, making it to an island before she perishes, nursed back to health by jin'noko.

the hard minerals still peppered her skin, puckering through flesh and making movement almost unbearable. it was a wonder she made it all the way through the ocean to whatever island she washed ashore at, but every little cry and gurgle from her baby fueled whatever strength was left in her reserves to make it somewhere safe. although she had originally been headed to the island kuma and herself made their home, the possibility of that dwindled with each passing day.

but, with the help of the island's doctor, a man she has only begun to acquaint herself with, ginny was pulled back from the brink, albeit still in critical condition.

eyelids fluttered open, squinting as breaths came in short, shallow bursts. the large, familiar shape of @kaihonote filled her sight, giving way to the beginnings of a small smile. her hand unsteadily reached out, seeking to touch him, to confirm the reality of his presence.