#thread 8

After running around trying to track his two dads, having been caught up with Badou, staggering around with him and finally departing, he's caught sight of a familiar mop of brown.

"Hey! Old man!" He trots over, cross hauled over his shoulder as he catches his breath, the phantoms haunting him ignored down to a science at this point, even if he dodges around Livio who stares at hi with a hole in his head.

Roberto looked well. A little roughed up, sure, but he looked well. Better than some people he's sure. Like he might run a mile even though he's old as dirt.

After the whole debacle with Thor, Astarion was sore, aching all over, had his stupid log and wanted to just relax for a day. Maybe more.

He found himself at the door of perhaps the only true friend he'd made in centuries, a paper bag filled to bursting with supplies he'd need for the dolls his mind all but demanded he make.

He needed to do this with another or he feared his mind would wander too far.

They'd talked about it, speaking of doing something for this fancy event to celebrate. New to this world as they may be, the idea of exploring something with freedom and no fear of something destroying it in seconds was a huge relief. He'd give anything to experience all the events this new world has to offer, for Cazador had banned festivals and such.

Looking to the bag, he's met with the red wool first, settled beside the royal purple. His mind drifted as he awaited the door to be answered once again to the companions left behind. The fireball of giddy energy that was Karlach, the sassy know-it-all nerd that was Gale, the spicy ball of fire that was Lae'zel.

His chest hurt, his mind shaking and his unneeded breath caught. Damnit, he wanted to bury his face in the yarn and cry for the loss, but he shook himself and gently knocked on the door again, perhaps a touch desperate this time.

It had been years- years since Wilder had felt so free. He stepped out of the administration office, a duffle bag over his shoulder and the welcome letter in his hand and he took a deep breath. He took in the warm salty, humid air of the Caribbean Island, the scent of different species wandering around, he took in the sounds of distant chattering and the sounds of life around him and sighed deeply. This was his chance to start over, to try new things, to make a newer, better life for himself, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted, it had cost too much to get here already. He opened his eyes and looked around before spotting someone and clearing his throat. “Excuse me,” he called in his Kiwi accent. “D’you know where I can find room 304?”

Wat had been looking at the piles of newly turned in scripts in his hands, leaving his office to head to the suites. Student one acts would go easier with a glass of blood wine and-- 

He stopped dead, hearing the voice behind him. How had he walked past without even noticing. He knew that voice in an instant. Wilder Hayes haunted his dreams and nightmares alike, the moments that he could trick his mind into slowing down, something adjacent to sleeping that he no longer needed. That lull of rest he would so frequently and freely take with Wild in his arms, or he in Wild’s. 

He resisted the urge to transform into a bird and leave his students hard work to the breeze. Besides... surely Wilder had caught his scent by now. If he cared to remember... Even for a were-creature now... 80 something, five years and heartbreak were still a memorable thing.

Wat turned around, finding his throat dry, face to face with his old love. Not looking much older, though the beard and long hair was a surprise. It suited him, strangely enough. Wat looked the same, almost exactly, as the day they’d met. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

@girlsarebettertm

Bekkah was genuinely trembling as she dragged her suitcase towards her new home. The travel had absolutely exhausted her, and she hadn’t recovered fully from her ordeal yet. That, combined with the prospect of being at the mercy of any number of people that she didn’t know had her in state of complete anxiety.

All she wanted to do was get to her dorm, climb into bed, and cry it all out. She was praying the room would be empty when she found it, biting back preliminary tears as she continued to shunt her suitcase along the ground.

“Need a hand?”

It was easy to tell she was new. But Jody, being the guidance counselor, knew there were three new comers to the island. He was trying to be better in greeting them in early days, at least in their first week. It was a nice day out, Jody was dressed in dark jeans, brown boots, and a nice dress shirt rolled up to the elbows.

He gestured to her suitcase but didn’t pick it up for her until she gave him the go a head, or would leave it be, should she decline his help.

@opheliaxazarel

Dhani had learned of Ophelia’s hospitalization from Magnus wandering in and being half coherent about what had happened. Ophelia was hurt. And in the hospital. That was about it. Dhani didn’t even know if she was conscious or not, but he brought flowers with him anyway.

And a book.

“Hey,” Dhani smiled, looking a little pale when he saw Ophelia was awake. She looked terrible. Even Dhani had only gotten his face really beaten in once. Luckily he had supernatural healing so it hadn’t lasted too long.

“How are you feeling?”

"Divine?" Wat gave a short laugh, then almost felt badly for it. Raziel was perhaps being sincere, but he had to realize how laughable using that particular word was. Wat, afraid of death because he knew there was nothing but hellfire and damnation waiting for him, and Raziel, a being Heaven didn't want and hated for existing.

❛  you  are  the  brave  one .   ❜

❛  we  are  not  born  broken .  ❜