#spooky thunderstorms

Send me “Goodbye” for the last voice message my muse leaves for yours before they die.

       "This wasn't how it was supposed to be," the message began with a crack in the Siren's voice. Pain is ebbing through him, coursing with the slow drawl of the poison in his veins. "I was supposed to be the one crying over your death-- Mason I'm so sorry. I got myself into a big mess, my dear... I don't think I'm going to survive this one."

       A low groan escaped him, the clawing fires of his healing process trying desperately to repair the damage, which was happening too quickly. His major organs were beginning to fail.

Send me “Grab!” for my muse’s reaction to yours grabbing their ass unexpectedly.

       A yelp fell from his lips as he felt a hand gripping his rear end. A bright blush lit his cheeks an apple red color, his bright eyes growing as wide as dinner plates.

My muse has left their old, brown leather book somewhere by accident. It looks like it’s seen years of wear and tear, and upon opening it your muse discovers that it’s full of wishes that never came true and times in their life when they were hurt/alone/sad. Send me a “✝” to read a wish or sad memory (specify which.) from the book.

Send Me “Fingers Through Your Hair” for My Muse’s reaction to opening their eyes and finding their head layed back in Your Muse’s lap, while Your Muse Strokes their hair..

           Breath came with traces of pain. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the sound of a gun, and shattering impact and pain. The Siren's head spun, and his stomach clenched with nausea.

           "Aye, Fates," he cursed softly, his weak voice carrying with a crack in it. He could feel something faint through his hair, giving him little comfort against the cold ground. A ringing in his ears brought him back to his senses. His mouth was dry, but tasted of blood. The pain of the bullet wound that was once in his temple began to fade away.

           "What happened?" The question fell out like an automated response, his fingers coming up to meet with the delicate ones in his hair. When he felt her heartbeat under his fingertips, he remembered all too clearly. The man from the other night had come back for her, and he had stood at her defense.

           "Mason, my dear are you alright?" Concern laced his features as the alley around them began to clear in his vision.