#3atmaggots

❛❛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎so‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎, ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ i'm‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ easily ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎amused ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎by‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ morbid ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎creativity‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ . ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❜❜ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎shoulders shrug & graceful‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ hand ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎sweeps‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ through ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎air ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎, ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒅𝒐 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒚𝒐𝒖 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒎𝒆 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎?? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❜❜ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎to ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎pity ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎them‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ?? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎humans‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ are‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ their ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎creator's ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎playthings ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎role‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ is‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ not‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ to‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ judge ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎or ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎condemn‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ , ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎but ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎bear ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎witness ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎mortal ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎folly ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎&‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ guide‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ them‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎final ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎rest‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ .‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ riveted‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ grays ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎peel ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎themselves‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ from ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎television‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ screen‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ & ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎seek‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ his‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ , ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎amusement's ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎traces ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎scintillating‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ash‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ . ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎delicious ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎irony ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎doesn't ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎escape‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❛❛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎did ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎you‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ assume‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lack‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ a‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ sense ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎of ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎humor ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎?? ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ mmm‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ , ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎the‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ way‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ they‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ƎꓶꓭWⱯꓤꓛS‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ to‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ conceal‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ their‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ sins‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ; ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎desperate ‎ ‎ enough‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎to‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎use‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎a‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎hacksaw‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❜❜ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎fingertips ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎gathering ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎against ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lips ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎abruptly ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎bloom , ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ahh ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎,‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ chef's‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ kiss‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ !‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙸𝚂‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝚈‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙸𝙽 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝙱𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ , ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚈 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝙸𝙽 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝙰𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎& ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ revels ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎in ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎humanity's sheer audacity ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎to ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎defy‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ & ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎play ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎god ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎with ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎each‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ other's ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎lives ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒊𝒕'𝒔‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒚 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒂 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒊'𝒎 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝒏𝒐𝒕‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ . ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❜❜

" I am not. " His response is quick because he doesn't want the king to get that idea inside his head. The last thing he'd do was mock him, no matter their bond he knew it would be unwise to do something like that to someone so far above him. He'd had respect drilled into him from a young age, it never falters, it still slips from his mouth when they're alone and even in bed. But maybe these days ' lord king ' and ' your grace ' means something a little different when he says it.

memes. ╱ always accepting.

　There was no shortages of people needing help, another universe ending crisis on the horizon, another cat to save from a tree ——  endless emergencies that Steve found himself drawn to. They gave him purpose and in the end, he couldn't live with himself if he wasn't the person everyone could depend on to get the job done. After all, the serum had given him the power and responsibility. Failure has never been an option for the blonde.

As much as he'd like to believe that was true their positions made that impossible, Lachlan had other priorities as a leader and as a King. He had to act in the best interests of his people, not his own and not his. It wasn't possible, not when so many looked at Aksel with judgement - when most were yet to trust him, and why should they? He wasn't one of them, he'd come asking for help. He was keeping his own men from attacking Scotland and for good reason - there was no reason for such violence, but it could all change in a matter of days. How far would their bond get them then?

@3atmaggots જ⁀➴ 𝓛𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒍𝒂𝒏 : “I'm fine, just … give me a minute.”

𝓣𝒉𝒆   dark   gift      …      like   smoke   filling   your   lungs,   nerves   ᵂᴵᵀᴴᴱᴿᴵᴺᴳ   away   as   the   body   dies.   Throat   burning,   aching   with   a   thirst   that   is   unquenchable   and   raw.   Carnal.   Undeniable.   𝐼’𝑚   𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒,   he   had   said,   though   he   was   far   from   it.   The   thick   sheen   of   sweat   dripping   down   the   skin   was   all - telling,   drenched   from   the   fever   as   mortality   ᵂᴵᴸᵀᴱᴰ   like   a   flower   in   the   winter.   Lestat   had   a   thin   amount   of   patience   reserved   only   for   this      …      a   sensation   he   remembered   all   too   well.   It   had   been   years,   but   the   day   he   had   been   dangled   over   the   brink   of   death   was   forever   fresh   in   his   mind.   The   day   his   maker   had   ᴬᴮᴬᴺᴰᴼᴺᴱᴰ   him      …      forced   to   navigate   the   depths   of   vampirism   in   solitary.   Nearly   driven   to   madness   because   of   it.   Lestat   would   not   abandon   his   fledgling,   no.   He   couldn’t.   

“It’s   going   to   take   ᴹᴼᴿᴱ   than   a   minute,   mon   ami,   you’ll   need   to   feed   eventually,”   Lestat   cooed,   the   tips   of   his   fingers   carding   through   the   short   and   bristled   hair   atop   Lachlan’s   head,   damp   to   the   touch.   There   was   something   so   deeply   ᴵᴺᵀᴵᴹᴬᵀᴱ   about   the   process   of   bestowing   immortality   upon   someone.   Someone   who   was   deserving   of   it,   deserving   of   him.   𝐷𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑘   𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚   𝑚𝑒,   Lestat   had   said,   𝑏𝑢𝑡   𝑛𝑜𝑡   𝑡𝑜𝑜   𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ.   Just   enough   to   save   you.   Just   enough   to   ᴷᴱᴱᴾ   you   forever.   His   blood   was   still   fresh   on   Lachlan’s   lips,   but   it   would   not   satiate   the   newly   found   lust.   The   searing   desire   to   ᴰᴿᴬᴵᴺ   a   body,   to   kill.   To   squeeze   every   last   drop   of   life   from   a   worthless,   snivelling   mortal.   Somebody   𝑛𝑜𝑏𝑜𝑑𝑦   would   miss.   

He had been asleep or at the very least on the verge of sleep. The dead of night and the only sound the occasional guard walking the halls of the castle made it rather peaceful. Aksel had been on his best behaviour the majority of the day and that night, after a drink or two, he'd retired and taken himself to the room that had become his home since his arrival. He'd not expected any visitors, but it was difficult to sleep when the silence felt so deafening, despite peaceful surroundings. Memories of the fire were so vivid he could feel the heat against his skin. The guilt came next and eventually he would tire himself into a deep slumber.

Except this time he hadn't quite gotten there yet, but he'd been in enough of a daze not to hear the door open. Only when he heard the voice did his eyes widen. He should have been on the defence, ready to attack, but that voice was familiar - it took a matter of seconds for him to realise just who was standing by his bed.

Fingers grip his wrist in his hand, tips massaging the skin there where he can feel the ache radiating from deep within his bones. It'll bruise probably, at least his knuckles will turn a shade of black and grey if not the rest of his hand. The punch had been unintentionally hard, he'd meant to do it - he'd not deny that, but he'd lost all control over his strength when the king had been threatened. It's only the others hand to his shoulder that brings his attention back to his surroundings and then Lachlan, feet following him though his gaze is on the man he's just punched until they're out of sight.

memes. / always accepting.