#terranalexander

he wasn’t expecting a quick turnaround, naturally. matthew leaned on his cane and simply listened to the inevitable outburst from the sex worker he had approached out of concern and a chronic inability to mind his own business. there were things people’s heartbeats and scents couldn’t tell him: the intricate ramification of choices that led them on a certain path was something that took time and patience to unravel. he wasn’t quite certain what instinct bade him to make the approach on a gloomy afternoon, the scent of oncoming rain hanging heavy in the air - but what he did know was to heed it. the pull of compassion ever tugged at the strings of the saint, and he felt strongly for the telling heartbeat of a person who is always on the lookout for danger. one whiff of his scent spoke of fresh clothes, light dabbing of a delicate perfume on the juncture of his neck and jaw, and on his wrists; but also of skin rife with the violence of other men’s sweat and hormones; the smell of ashtrays from cheap motels, smoke from seedy bars, the stickiness of dried alcohol under his boots. he sensed a miserable existence, and he couldn’t simply stand by idly; more often than not it wasn’t a choice, and these individuals were part of a growing network of human trafficking and slavery, chained to a life that drained any chance at happiness and freedom and merely reducing to a state of shameful survival in exchange for abuse.  perhaps this all too familiar story wasn’t the man’s own, and that it was his conscious and willing choice to a degree: but there was a nervous energy about him that he couldn’t ignore, and he couldn’t take the chance nonetheless. there was a special place in H E L L for sex traffickers, and the devil was ready to give them a taste of it; he just needed more information to track down the ring that was infecting hell’s kitchen. 

*“I dare you to kiss the prettiest muse on your dash.”

(No muse was specified, so we’re going with Chris and the first rp partner i spot on my dash @gypsylobo)

This was an easy dare in his opinion. Looking around Chris spotted Peter and hopped up to his feet to make his way over to him. 

“Off the streets, kid.” He isn’t the cold hearted killer everyone claims he is, he has lines he doesn’t like crossing and though he will get the job done and cut through an innocent if he has to.. When he can help it he makes sure his line of fire is clear. He’s still a trained sniper after all, still skilled with any firearm you place in his hand.

“Would ya spit it out already?”

The Kid’s done more growing up in the last couple of years than he should have ever had to, but that’s just his lot in life. When he’s not guilt-ridden about it, Frank’s proud of him. Maybe it’s wrong-- he’s still wrestling with that from time to time, when the dust of emotion in that particular compartment gets all kicked up; yet he’s gotta be glad for it. The kid had made himself a survivor in addition to an ally-- a partner in ways Frank had never expected. He’s the cocky recipient of plenty ‘attaboy’s’ every time he proves himself and reminds him of it.

But he’s still the shittiest poker player Frank’s ever had the misfortune of knowing. Terran’s got tells you can see from space, and the amount of time they’ve spent in each other’s back pockets? Only makes them that much more visible. He’s been fidgeting since their third exit from New York-- or so Frank thinks. He’d figured one too many teas and not enough bathroom breaks, but when they hit and leave a rest-stop and the Kid’s still fidgeting? He finally figures it out that it’s not potty dance that’s got him wringing his hands and chewing on his lip. It’s like his angst about his missed dinner with the Liebermans-- only he doesn’t put together that today’s discomfort is on account of his pointing their van south, instead of back in the direction of Michigan and Beth.

“You began saying that forty-five minutes and twenty-six seconds ago. Further delays will result in a late arrival to your appointment due to current traffic pa-patterns.” The android continued poking Stiles’ shoulder rhythmically, providing just enough stimulus to override his owner’s sleep-state without invoking an actual anger response.

@terranalexander

He’s on his run home through the city late one night. Even when it gets late with his work, he likes to stretch his legs, get a view of the city, and some fresh air. It was nice, it gave him time to sort through his thoughts, and it made him a bit fitter. Fitness studios were just never his thing. 

He takes a shortcut through an alley, and almost stumbles over a pair of legs. “What the - look where you - “ He is out of breath,a nd cursing, when he realizes there’s no movement. At first he thinks it’s a corpse, but a closer look makes him think differently. 

“What happened to you, buddy?” He mumbles, frowning as he crouches down next to the android. For a few moment he just considers him, cataloguing all the scrapes and searching for hints at what kind it was. 

Despite knowing better, STiles can’T leave it here. If it doesn’t work anymore, he will properly dispose of it. And if it works - well he has no idea. Still, here between empty beer bottles and broken furniture it just looks wrong. 

Glancing around to make sure nobody was around who this might belong to, he lifts the android. Groaning lightly under the weight, he makes his way home. 

He puts it into his work shop - which is really just a place to store his computers and all other technology, so he doesn't fall over the cables in the living room or something. 

When he is showered, and done with dinner, he takes his laptop with him and returns. With ‘True Detective’ in the background, he slowly fixes everything he finds broken, also fixing up what he can on the outer shell. He doesn’t have too many materials for that here, but as he likes to take scraps from everywhere sometimes, he does have enough to make it look at least a bit better. 

@terranalexander continuing from here (X) 

The days passed in relative peace and safety along the shore, allowing Merran plenty of space from his pod when life with the other mers got too rowdy for him. Naturally curious and sensitive, he preferred to keep to himself as he explored rocky shallows and collected a myriad of different objects he found.

He was aware of humans – as all merepeople were, raised on horror stories almost from birth – and maintained his distance from them. It didn’t help that the humans seemed to be taking up more and more space in the water, making the chance of encounters increasingly inevitable. Their presence was often a dull buzz of activity at the periphery of his awareness, a way to keep himself safe should they venture too close.

— Until the instant the buzz suddenly changed to a higher pulse of alarmed panic, drawing his attention away from an object he’d pulled from the seabed. He could feel the disturbance in the waves and found himself swimming toward it on impulse. Small as he was, he was able to move quickly – faster than any watercraft he’d ever witnessed on the surface. There was a familiar cliff-face up ahead, a garden of knotted kelp and old rope netting along the floor at its base. He had seen humans fall into the water there before, hooting and hollering when they bobbed back up into the open air.

One had been caught, dark-skinned feet entangled in the mess. He paused to observe for a moment, knowing that humans had limits to how long they could be below water but waiting to see if the — man? — could free themselves or if another would dive in after.

A couple of heartbeats passed — no other being broke the surface of the water, and the trapped one’s panic was weakening dangerously. Quick as a flash, Merran approached with a sharpened bone dagger in hand, slicing away at seaweed and rope. Once the human was freed, he wrapped an arm around the torso and jetted them both upward. Top-side, he dragged the body toward the shore, wincing as he scraped against rocks before he found one suitably above the tide to place the human down. Anxious on being out of the water, he was on high-alert for other humans if he needed to escape quickly, while also monitoring the one beside him, giving rough nudges to see if it would survive.

Ash had been told he was working too hard. That he was spending too long on the ice rink, in the dance studio, or in art class, and that he desperately needed a vacation from it all. He had argued that he was just doing what he loved really. He wanted to be the best! To show that all this hard work he was putting in was going towards something great! His friends had argued that no work and no play made Jack a dull boy. So after much begging and nagging he had agreed. 

Jumping off a cliff into deep water was not the first thing that came to mind when he thought of relaxing, but it wasn’t the craziest thing he had heard up. Watching his friends go one by one Ash watched how they kept their feet straight, and how they made sure not to look down at the water when they landed in it. Someone had said it was to keep from getting your face smacked by the water’s surface, but he had been watching the most recent jumper surface and make their way to the shore. 

Finally though it was his turn. Somehow in the excitement he had ended up as the last to go, and could hear his friends cheering him on. After much convincing and talking himself up Ash took a running jump. The feeling of rushing through the air was something he had expected, very similar but not quite the same as when he was attempting a jump on the rink. Landing into the water though! It was both breathtaking and thrilling as gravity helped him to shoot deeper into the cool liquid. Even though he wasn’t even out of the water yet, he knew already he wanted to go again!

Not even a second later though, that mixed feeling shifted to terrified and panic. 

As he had come to a stop and started his way back to the surface, something caught hold of his foot. No amount of tugging or clawing at the... rope he believed?... would free him. The more he struggled to free himself, the more he began to panic, and the more he felt the need for air rise. Ash honest to god tried to keep himself from breathing in any water. But when the body demanded you take a breath, there was a limit to how long you could hold out on that. Soon enough that reflex took place and the world around Ash was starting to go foggy. 

A small part of him was aware of being jostled around, but he couldn’t really make sense of what was happening until he was suddenly brought to the surface and dumped onto a rock. There were a few moments of silence, until a couple rough nudges roused him enough. Coughing up a lung and clinging to the stone for dear life with one arm Ash flailed his other around a bit until he was able to latch onto his savior. 

If he could manage words at the moment, he would be thanking the person over and over. But currently he was coughing up water and was trying to take deep breaths. 

terranalexander said: "Said you'd give me light --- but you never told me about the fire." / fleetwood mac - accepting !!

“TRUTH IS, I wasn’t expecting it to go this way.” matthew confesses in a quiet breath, features serenely distended into a gentle smile, and holds terran against his heaving chest as they bask in their afterglow. back when he first approached him on the street he was naught but a good samaritan, looking out for a young man he fully believed had been outrageously mistreated and had lost his way; so this was the very last thing he’d imagined them engaging in - and he still doesn’t know if it’s nothing but reproachable as he wades in the morally grey waters of bedding a sex worker, though there were mutual consent, palpable chemistry, pent-up desire and definitely no transactions involved. there is a pang of guilt festering in his chest as he thinks about the stark difference between being a lighthouse and a consuming fire of passion. matthew’s just like the rest of them, fallible and sinful beneath the kindness and compassion. but he’s done his damnedest to treat him right on those now worn silk sheets, spending the whole night praising his body with his mouth and hands the way he’s sure he’s been missing out on, if the soft gasps and barely restrained noises, galloping heartbeat and quivering limbs are any indication.