#haruspicina

           Twyrine tastes like the herbs it is made of, earthy with a hint of spice, burning as it slides down his throat. He never understood its appeal when he first arrived at the town ------ Peter and Andrey seemed to enjoy it well enough (the former enough to drown himself in the stuff), but Daniil had little time or reason to indulge. Now seems like as good a time as any to do so.

He swallows a mouthful without really tasting the stuff. The streets are mostly barren, and it seems even the nightly rabble doesn’t feel compelled to scurry about causing trouble. Daniil almost wishes they would. It would give him something to do than sit here and drink and feel ------ nothing. It’s the feeling nothing that bothers him the most, really. He’s numb where he should be... angry. Upset. But there’s nothing. Just a chill in his chest where his heart should be.

I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT THE PREVIEW FOR THIS ASK WAS “i hate you. i hate you i hate you...” AND I HAD A FUCKING HEART ATTACK LIKE “BRUH I ONLY HAD THIS BLOG TWENTY MINUTES HOW AM I ALREADY GETTING HATE”- 

    ❝   we can always switch places if need be. i have no quarrels with providing a proper place for a good man like you.   ❞   as he spoke, he maneuvered himself towards the whale oil lamps in the corner of the room, tampering with their brightness as to wake the man in a gentle manner,  allow him to adjust to their light.   why bombard him with harsh sunlight when the outsider preferred the darkness anyway ?   it was cozier, more comfortable.  if artemy wished to change that, he was free to.    ❝   do you have plans for today, sir ?   ❞  

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛs / ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴀ ᴋɪss / @haruspicina( 3. Kiss to the eyelid )

          He wakes up well into the afternoon on the thirteenth day, having finally managed to find the time to sleep for the first time in nearly two weeks. The air smells of herbs and old blood, oddly comforting where it wasn’t so long ago that he would have been repulsed. It takes Daniil several seconds to remember where he even is —— Artemy’s lab, not the Stillwater.

Details of the previous day come back slowly: the Polyhedron’s destruction, followed by a bit too much drinking. Artemy had found him later, he thinks, probably after administering his panacea to the town. Brought him here to sleep it off, and instead they… talked. Well into the night, passing a bottle of (much better) Twyrine between them. This is the Haruspex’s victory more than it is his own. Still, at the conclusion of the events, he still feels relieved.

He opens his eyes and realizes he’s stretched out in bed next to Artemy, precisely where they had been the night before, still clothed and pressed close in the small space. Has he ever seen the other man asleep? He doesn’t think so. Artemy must have gotten even less sleep than he had during the outbreak. Daniil studies him in the dimly lit room, the way sleep softens the lines in his face caused by stress, hair mussed in sleep, the rise and fall of his chest. He reaches out with a cautious hand to trace his jawline, surprised that he doesn’t so much as stir.

In the dark room, where there’s no one to question him, where there’s no one to judge him, Daniil frowns and leans in, pressing his lips to his closed eyes. He lingers for only a moment before drawing back and closing his eyes again.

meme !

   his charm worked ,   that much he knew   —  but he never figured out the extent until now.  was the outsider a confident man ?   perhaps so,  he’d had his moments of courage,  but he never assumed another person’s feelings were the same.  as a result his own flirtations kept themselves small :  compliments,  brief touches,  smiles when others received but a glance. 

   when he felt artemy’s lips on his own, oliver’s eyes widened, the instinct to push away that surfaced alongside natural surprise soon quelled.  for a moment he merely stood there, a mixture of emotions washing over him.  hands placed themselves on artemy’s shoulders with care, sliding over them, fingers trailing the fabric of his shirt as they reached his shoulder blades. oliver rose onto his toes in order to reach similar height and as the kiss ended, he simply lingered close, weighing his options for a second before pressing another to his lips, then another — passion increased with each one, length drawn out further with each one as a hand traveled upwards and dug between locks of hair.  uncaring of how this looked,  oliver chased his feelings, body pressing against body.  warmth meeting warmth.  

   finally he pulled away, somewhat disheveled from the sudden insurgence of feelings and his sensual manner of managing it.  with a soft thud his heels hit the wooden floor beneath him and fingers traveled downward, seeking out artemy’s.  𝘁𝗼   𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱,   𝘁𝗼   𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹.  a slight tinge of pink could be seen upon oliver’s pale complexion, unusual for him to show without a fuss.  for once,  he desired this romance,  found no reason to hide it.  despite that he couldn’t get himself to look him in the eyes.  thumbs rubbed over the top of artemy’s hands, a comforting silence filling the room.   gaze wandered upwards  – wanting to see that handsome face once again, in order to take in what just happened.  that was when he noticed the mess left on artemy’s face, traces of black lipstick smudged across his lips.