#darkdevour

❝        no  .        ❞        wow  ,      that  response  came  really  fast  .      like  ,      so  fast  he  didn't  even  think  about  it  before  he  said  it  .      it's  the  sibling  instinct  in  him  :      any  comment  that  could  possibly  put  @cseavers into  a  good  light  is  getting  an  automatic  '  well  actually  he's  the  suckiest  guy  ever  '   before  the  actual  ,      true  feelings  come  out  :      '  and  now  here  are  all  the  reasons  why  he's  the  best  brother  a  guy  could  ever  ask  for  '  .      call  it  ryland's  tendency  to  information-overload  someone  with  everything  he  knows  .      except  in  this  case  ,      instead  of  water-based  assumptions  ,      evolutionary  models  ,      or  foxes  ,      it's  about  his  brother  .

case  in  point  :      he  doesn't  need  to  think  for  the  words  that  follow  ,      either  .        ❝        mentally  ,      he  thinks  like  a  normal  person  ,      yeah  .      i  mean  ,      the  car  crashes  didn't  exactly  help  him  out  .      like  ,      if  you're  asking  if  he's  always  been  like  that  ,      then  yeah  ,      i'd  say  he  doesn't  act  much  differently  than  he  did  when  he  was  a  kid  .      it's  ,      uh      …      more  like  the  job  that's  got  him  wired  differently  .      to  me  .        ❞        he  has  to  make  that  clear  .      he  has  to  make  it  clear  that  colt  isn't  someone  inextricably  different  from  the  rest  of  the  world  .      ryland  figures  everyone  sees  him  as  the  '  more  grounded  '  one  ,      but  that's  the  wrong  thing  to  call  it  .      colt  is  the  one  with  higher  ambition  and  the  drive  to  achieve  it  .      ryland  is  the  one  with  the  fear  of  difference  ,      the  avoidance  of  conflict  when  it  gets  too  large  and  out  of  control  .

❝        he's  used  to  falling  down  elevator  shafts  and  driving  through  explosions  .      the  life  of  a  stuntman  .      you  won't  catch  me  dead  out  there  .      but  colt  ?      ask  him  to  drive  you  down  the  highway  at  a  hundred-twenty  'cause  you  forgot  your  purse  at  a  restaurant  .      he'll  go  a  hundred-thirty  .        ❞        the  stupidest  ,      bravest  guy  ryland  has  ever  known  .        ❝        yeah  .      he's  okay  .      but  everyone  needs  to  take  it  easy  on  him  sometimes  .      or  else  they'll  have  to  go  through  me  .        ❞        they  aren't  there  anymore  ,      but  his  knuckles  have  plenty  of  memories  of  the  way  he  used  to  fight  kids  on  the  playground  for  being  jerks  to  colt  .      ryland  might  not  be  the  stunt  guy      …      but  he  is  the  stunt  guy's  twin  .      they  are  each  their  own  individual  person  .      but  they  have  their  overlaps  .

❝ quick question though . are you okay mentally ? like your whole brain ? is it okay ? ❞

 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ ㅤ*ㅤ UNPROMPTED .  /   𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 .

❛ ─── Nice haircut . ❜

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwhile bounties are not something he often deals in,     they exist quite open for the taking.     as word often goes :     where there’s task,     there’s a greymane chomping at the bit.     kliff’s fangs had not sunk into the task on purpose ;     rather,     HE’D HAPPENED UPON HER LIKENESS MERE HOURS AFTER SPOTTING THE POSTER.     his brief difficulty in recognising her hadn’t held him back from the task,     though.     the only difficulty that remains,     as with every wanted person,     is the monumental chore in getting her back to the issuer.     rodion,     or so he remembers.     a name which seems to leave a sour taste in her mouth,     though more often that not,     in a glob of spit by his boot.

@darkdevour. " you gonna untie me so I can eat or are you gonna feed me yourself? " she huffs some distance away from the fire, raising her bound hands to remind him, just in case he forgot.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝     a wee bit impatient,     are we ?     ❞          out of the corner of his eye,     he spots a small shadow move in the grass.     a moment later comes the loud chirp of a cricket to cleave through the silence.     she’s given him no reason to believe she won’t use her hands to shove a knife in his gut.     but she’s right :     she won’t be able to eat so well with her wrists tied.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤdespite his doubts,     KLIFF RISES FROM HIS KNEEL BY THE FIRE,     unhanding the stick he’d been using to stoke the flames and shrinking their distance in a mere two strides.     the ropes are taut around her wrists,     and through the firelight he swears he spots her skin’s rubbed raw.     he works carefully,     unwilling to burn his own fingers from a faulty grip.          ❝     out you get,     then.     i’ve got the vegetables finished,     but you’re gonnae have to wait if you want meat.     ❞

`  ❏ .     UNPROMPTED   :    snatches this and runs with it.

tail swishes, the smile fox-like in its nature doesn't quite meet his eyes. "careful, every human that's tried to tame me has died."

unprompted ask // always accepting !! There’s a softness about him when he sleeps; sparking tenderness that enflames her with an intrinsic desire to act as sentinel against all that could harm him [ all that might harm him except she herself as she willfully remains at his side ]  His birthday was a grand affair, one that had clearly wiped him out as the evening drew to a close and the raucous party died down, the pair finding themselves back in his apartment once more. Sett had settled comfortably on his sofa while vasya puttered around the kitchen to make them both a final drink, settling into comfortable, casual intimacy that shaped their relationship. He’s asleep when she returns, lips parted and visage relaxed, wiped clean of harsh lines. a stronger person would slip away and leave it at that, but she is not strong. Not as a slender finger reaches out to trace the bridge of his nose and the high points of his cheeks. The tenderness within expands, pressing painfully against her ribs, against her heart until she feels she could burst if she doesn’t act. There’s a word for it, not that she allows herself to think it. it always hovers between them; four letters that frighten her to the core. the ends of inky black hair tickle his face as she leans down, pressing her lips to his in a feather-light kiss. “Happy birthday, baby. . .” vasya whispers, mouth moving to then press against his forehead before backing away. Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, she wills it to settle and relinquish its roaring need to wake him and say more. ( @darkdevour )

sleep had taken him, but not deeply. he had drifted in and out, his structure heavy with exhaustion but his senses still sharp ⸻ years of instinct and survival conditioning would not let him slip too far. he knew she was still around before she even came close, could hear the way her footfalls softened whilst she approached, the way she lingered just within reach but did not dare wake him. a little ghost, quiet, attentive, but daring not to give away her presence when he was finding repose. in truth, he should have stayed under, should have let her believe he was still resting, but the moment her digits ghosted along the bridge of his nose, skimming his cheekbone, something in him changed. she never let herself touch him in such a way when he was awake: not with the kind of hesitance that reflected the fear of the weight behind the gesture. he kept his breathing even, his structure relaxed ( for after all, with her, there was no reason for extreme alarm ), absorbing every small movement, every brush of warmth whilst she leaned in. he could feel the tickle of her hair, the scent of her lingering so close it sent a slow ache curling in his chest.

but that damn whisper of tiers against his. so light it almost was not there, so light that it could be misinterpreted [ ... ] but he felt it, an evident jolt to his system. she murmured words against his tanned complexion, and he barely stopped himself from responding. it would be so easy to catch her then, to open his spheres and pull her down into the weight of his need, but he let it play out, let her retreat. he felt her pull away, sensed the moment she hesitated. if she had left, if she had turned and walked out of the room, mayhap he would have let it go. mayhap. but she did not. and he cared not to have the reasoning when the golden liquid was influencing his thoughts.

❝ you always make it so damn difficult, vasya. ❞ his spheres were closed, his tiers naught with a smirk, naught with an indication that he found the event amusing. only after a few seconds ( that seemed naught an eternity ) did he open his aureate spheres, dark gold cutting through the dimness of the room. she was already tensing like she was preparing to slip away, but he was faster ⸻ always faster. his calloused hand caught hers before she could retreat, digits wrapping firm but carefully around her wrist, and with an effortless pull, he had her toppling towards him. not onto the couch, not onto the cushion beside him ⸻ onto him.

he  can't  say  he's  expecting  her  to  go  and  push  his  glasses  up  his  nose  ,      when  they've  been  so  comfortably  hanging  on  his  ear  the  past  several  minutes  .      or  maybe  they've  been  folded  in  the  collar  of  his  shirt  .      or  maybe  they've  actually  been  on  his  face  the  whole  time  ,      and  he  just  didn't  notice  until  she  said  something  about  them  being  on  his  neck  .

❝        '  on  purpose  '  ?      oh  .      no  .      they  just  do  that  sometimes  .        ❞        he  says  it  with  a  straight  face  somehow  ,      but  he  knows  exactly  what  he's  saying  .      or  rather  ,      what  he’s  implying  :      these  things  just  move  by  themselves  !      carry  on  .      they  don't  exactly  move  by  themselves  .      it's  clearly  grace  that  moves  them  off  his  face  when  he  has  to  look  into  the  distance  ,      and  back  on  when  he  has  to  look  at  something  up  close  .      they're  ,      like  ,      a  more  annoying  version  of  bifocals  .      even  though  he's  heard  bifocals  are  pretty  darn  annoying  .      the  actual  ,      real  reason  for  all  of  this  is  because  he's  gotten  so  used  to  doing  it  that  he  just  isn't  aware  when  he  does  it  anymore  .

a  thing  which  he  explains  with  great  amusement  to  vasya's  exasperated  face  .        ❝        you  know  when  ,      uh      …      people  lock  their  doors  out  of  habit  ,      and  then  wonder  after  walking  off  if  they  locked  their  door  because  they  can't  remember  if  they  did  or  not  ?      i  think  they  call  it  ' habit  blindness '  .      it's  the  same  thing  i  get  when  i  take  my  glasses  on  and  off  .      i  mean  ,      i  do  notice  eventually  ,      when  i  actually  have  to  see  something  ,      so      …        ❞

 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪ ㅤ*ㅤ UNPROMPTED .  /   𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 .