#ategods

BONES AND ALL PROMPTS. ACCEPTING.

faith peers down at herself with a lax disinterest, as if she had spilled a dreg of gravy on herself, or a beer. killing is as casual as eating to her, as intrinsically a part of her day to day life. a shrug of her shoulders punctuates the moment, although she'll shuck the overshirt regardless to lessen the visible damage. ❛ yeah, that's . . . kinda a common occurrence. ❜ in her tank top the marring to her own body is more visible, fading, thanks to those slayer genes healing her up stat, but bruised and blotched all the same. tomorrow she'll be good as new.

❛ 's not my blood if that's what you're worried about. ❜ but a glimmer of realisation surpasses her, wondering if there's more than meets the eye to the vampire's concern. index finger darts between them for a moment, pointing at jessica and faith herself in turn — an easy you - and - me motion. ❛ is this gonna be a problem for you ? you gettin' thirsty or somethin' ? 'cause that's gross. ❜ she eyes her shed clothes, rusted with dried blood and ready for the trash. disgust wrinkles her mouth and brows.

❛ what can i say ? 𝖎 𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖔𝖞 𝖈𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖊 𝖆𝖙 𝖒𝖎𝖉𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙. it helps me sleep.  ❜ a wry grin curves farther up on one side as lestat leans back in the booth , hands cradling the mug of coffee @ategods has provided to him. 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐃 -- then again , he hadn't enjoyed it as a human either. but it is better than the food served here. 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓀 ; paste --------- nothing worth the facade of being human. he is not here for human's delicacy. he is here because of her --------- sookie , if her name tag is to be believed. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐌. her blood . . . well , when it hit the wind , he couldn't keep away. away from new orleans , here to this rural town. he's not sure why , 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖚𝖙. ❛   seems im the only one who feels this way , no ? ❜ bright blues flicker around the diner , empty save for him &* the cook in the back.

ONCE AGAIN, : ANOTHER REALM BEGS FOR YOUR PRESENCE, O' WARRIOR. once again, you shall face the gods, &. slay them. ... as ever so seems to be your way, you have attracted the company of such a merry band ; CONTRASTS OF EACH OTHER, yet somehow, all of them seem to compliment themselves. ... there is still a long journey ahead ; but now they are provided with rest. the crackles of the fire lit to warm the camp echo into the night, along with the ambient sounds of the forest around them.

SHE WAS ABOUT TO APPROACH HER, : BUT BEFORE ANGELIC TUNE COULD BE HEARD, a hiss caused by pain is heard first. &. her steps halt, as she watches over @ategods + shadowheart, brows slightly furrowed by concern. the flash of purple, dark glow was not missed, &. golden irises, their dim glow more prominent in the darkness of the night more visible now, focus first upon her hand, &. then back to her features again. ... ❝ what was that? ❞ CONCERN LACES HER QUERY.

PROMPTS FOR FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS. ACCEPTING.

he is drunk with that post - act lust, rose - tinted glasses blurring the bedroom into a dreamy haze. not quite love, but something adjacent : the closest thing hunters like he are permitted. a grin spreads like butter — and it sure wouldn't melt — across a satisfied mouth, propped up on his forearms amidst the sheets. he thinks it a damn shame she's retrieving her shirt already, spares a last forlorn glimpse at the curve of her spine and allows his eyes to lower further with a boyish need. sookie motherfuckin' stackhouse, god rest my soul. the thought comes unbidden, thinks of those raven locks so recently tangled in his fingers and wants to relive the sensation, to tug gingerly until her throat is laid bare—

her words breach his daydreaming, a comical blinking bringing him back down to earth. reminiscence makes way for amusement, a brow raising with interest at this new information.

❛ an' they believed it ? ❜ a low whistle under his breath, play disbelief sweeping his expression. ❛ hate to tell ya, sooks, but you keep company with some chumps. winchesters ain' exactly known for being boyfriend material. ❜ he doesn't fear the word, teasing evident in his tone as he sits up further to close the distance between them, his voice still husky with the remnants of desire for that sweet southern comfort.

❛ what'd you go tell 'em that for ? should i be buyin' a ring ? ❜

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

oh , she has slithered all the way to the shadowy side of the camp to pay him a compliment , has she ? his first instinct is to spit out the chunk of apple in his mouth and demand her to 'take that back!' instead , a drop of skepticism arches into the high bow of his brow , the honed angle at which it points itself outward displaying his emotions clear as day , no other emotion managing to stick to his face other than sheer disbelief he watches her silently for what feels like a small eternity . ❝ no , ❞ the drow finally agrees , because well - in a sense , he does agree , just not in the way he knows she means it , though .

❝ of course not , ❞ he shifts his thighs , uncrossing them only to cross them again , the opposite way this time , as he leans back into his chair - regal looking , almost , in the way he sits there , observant , poised ; thighs folded neatly , left leg perched high as his knees stack , swinging idly , the hint of a velvety smirk smoothing itself along the edges of his mouth . ❝ i'm much , much worse , my little ghost . ❞ oh , the things people are willing to forgive if you're just charming enough .

@ategods. deacon st. john & sarah whitaker.

❛ they're lookin' pretty clean to me. ❜ the joke lightens the air just a touch, barely the uplift of a smile tinging his features as he closes the gap, takes said hands carefully into his own in a meeting of minds. it wouldn't work as a response, not from anyone else. because perhaps he's the only one with as much blood staining his own ( first afghanistan, now in the shit collecting freaker ears like trophies, getting low with the rippers, hell, even humans if they get in his way ) and his heart aches knowing the solemn solitude she feels she must lather herself with as punishment and penance. at least he can kid himself. deigns to claim his nomadship as if it were a title, a badge, easily identified with. she has always been a people person, the fingers he now gently clasps made for tending and nurturing, not bloodshed nor war. maybe they are living proof that opposites attract, for he doesn't know a purpose other than soldiering on against all odds.

deacon puts her hands together like a prayer, warms them between his own and stoops to meet her eye. scratch that, he does know another purpose after all. deacon st. john was destined to meet her, love her, do everything in his power to make her happy. he knows no greater medal of honor than that.

@ategods. from jesse pinkman. ♡