Did   she   sigh?   maybe   at   his   response   (   or   her   own   lack 

HAPPY CASS DAY 🗣️🗣️🗣️

Papers in the wind. Hotaru, Good Samaritan despite the way he speaks of people: bends to help gather the materials which seemed to spill from the professor(?)’s hands. Sometimes a rabbit doesn’t know it’s crossed a lion and wanders in its den regardless. “… bad weather. Ah, here you go.”

a single second. lots can change in one   —   an arrow might strike true, or an encounter might occur. in a single second, his attention drifted. golden irises, deep and rich like pools of ichor, glance towards the sky. it's getting later, the purplish orange hue edging the far reaches of the sky warns him. still, the sun hangs up above with unchallenged bravado. it does not shy away from the shadows; it does not fear sinking beyond the skyline   —   it knows it will rise. it will always rise; its destined to shine, so let it do as it was destined. and in a single second, he's jealous of its certainty   —   of such a simple fate.

papers slipped from his fingers, plucked by thieving winds, howling and cackling as they went. a soft curse, a dead word, in a foreign land   —   slips from his lips. at the very least, none of them went far. explaining how he lost more than half of the documents pertaining to the school wouldn't have been a pleasant conversation. not that thane worries about such things. it's almost time for him to find another place, as things would have it. to see what the next school might offer   —   he's sure his colleagues are appalled by how often he comes and goes. their job security is why they stay. however, it's the security he does not want.

the thin metal clips in his dreads clink gently as he kneels carefully, none too eager to exacerbate old wounds. everything he does is stiff   —   a plain attempt at coddling discomfort. and suddenly, he's not alone, not that they crept 'pon him unseen. it's just more papers returned to his hands than he gathered himself. some of the glow in his gaze darkens if only for a moment; it's never truly gone   —   the lambent within.

❛  & —— and just like that, you're my favorite student.  ❜   lips curve into a mannerly smile.   ❛  even if we've never met before.  ❜   he straightens up, smoothing out each document, a practiced gesture.   ❛  thank you.  ❜

unprompted,

tag dump ( 4 / ??? )

❝He was a mess of scars like the sky was a mess of stars.❞

Hafsah Faizal, We Hunt the Flame

"You're so fucking crazy!...omg you ARE my girl 😍❣️💕💞"

So what I'm learning is I need to deep-dive into their comics and story because the Flash is actually a ridiculously decent mentor by the looks of it.

seldom   does   he   offer   genuine   concern   'pon   others.   it's   equal   parts   his   nature   —   equal   parts   resisting   attachment.   still,   the   other   looks   beaten   to   shit,   whether   physically   or   mentally;   he's   yet   to   prod.   there's   a   cadence   in   his   voice   expertly   honed,   a   mellifluous   and   compassionate   patchwork   of   sympathy.   ❛   that   so...   ❜ his   eyes   drag   themselves   over   their   stained   coat   and   linger   on   the   two-tone   coloring   of   their   hair.   if   he   notices   anything   out   of   place,   he   graciously   doesn't   insist   on   questioning   them.   it's   better   to   puzzle   over   things   like   this.   (   at   least   there's   fun   to   be   had   in   trying   to   solve   them.   )

❛   a   couple   bloodstains   usually   ain't   enough   to   get   people   to   make   faces   like   that.   ❜   at   least,   not   in   his   experience.   no,   no,   countless   days   of   wandering   gave   him   a   deadly   instinct   for   probing   the   truth.   sometimes,   he   can't   help   himself.   truth   can   cut   deeper   than   any   blade,   whether   the   sting   of   denial   or   bitter   acceptance.   assuming   he   had   been   unerring   in   his   questioning,   he   quietly   gauges   their   reaction.   noting   the   softness   in   the   features   and   wondering   if   that   gentleness   he   sees   could   merely   be   false.   those   marks   didn't   appear   defensive   —   not   to   him.   ❛   but,   you've   got   tired   eyes.   fishy   ones.   ❜

yeah,   that's   what   he   decides.   there's   a   deeper   melancholy   to   them   that   the   surface   permits.   all   bundled   up   in   that   coat,   something   is   twisting   and   writhing;   whatever   feelings   haise's   nursing   were   tricky   indeed.   some   of   his   tact   fails   him   as   he   stares.   for   a   moment,   he   thinks   about   himself   and   whether   he's   ever   felt   such   things.   if   the   sting   in   their   eyes   matches   the   one   that   greets   him   sometimes   in   the   mirror.   was   their   pain   similar?   or   was   he   so   desperate   to   see   himself   in   others   that   he   clings   to   the   tiniest   modicum   of   recognition? 

flashing   a   smile,   he   gingerly   picks   some   dirt   from   beneath   his   nail   —   his   troubles   quickly   forgotten.   ❛   ain't   always   gotta   be   the   tough   guy,   y'know?   older   i   get,   and   the   more   good-looking,   mind   you,   that's   what   i've   learned.   ❜   with   preening   done,   he   inspects   his   fingers,   framing   haise   with   them.   ❛   ...   lemme   see   if   i   can   get   some   of   those   stains   outta   that   coat.   you're   a   bit   of   a   mess,   my   friend.   damn   near   a   fashion   travesty.   now,   before   you   answer,   think   about   what   i   said   —   then   answer.   there   is   a   wrong   answer.   ❜

જ⁀➴        @amcssing   (  Bradley  )  finds  Haise  after  he  has  been  in  a  fight.

The sting of humilation lingered like a bitter aftertaste — the fact that he, the squad mentor, the one tasked with guiding and protecting the Quinx, had been the one roughed up like this during their latest investigation had Haise reeling. How could he possibly command respect, lead effectively, when he had so demonstrably lost control? 

It haunted him — their expressions as he had come to his senses again, each of his subordinates' eyes filled with a mixture of incredulity and unspoken judgment. He suspected harsh words lingering in the minds of even those who had never outwardly criticized him, silent doubts harbored by those who had come to trust him — and he didn’t even want to start thinking about those who questioned his authority, the ones who already bordered on outright insubordination.

This incident would undoubtedly worsen the already tense atmosphere within his barely held-together squad and further shake the fragile foundation of his team. His stomach churned at the thought of distrust and disrespect taking further root within those he so desperately tried to hold together — a sharp, unpleasant feeling, it mirrored the throbbing pain radiating from his battered body. 

And fate, it seemed, was determined to deny him even a moment's respite. The sound of approaching footsteps caused Haise to stiffen, to pull himself a little straighter, despite the protest of his aching muscles. The thought that someone was about to walk in on him while he was feeling sorry for himself — wallowing in self-pity with his coat stained in half-dried blood — only increased his burning shame, fueling its already stoking flames. His cheeks flushed with heat as he prepared himself to wave off the inevitable gaze of concern and confusion. 

❛ I’m okay. Just a rough mission. ❜ It was the kind of line he had perfected by now — light, casual, deflecting any kind of concern that could be directed at him. He hated this; the idea of causing anyone worry. Deeply rooted was his desperate desire to not be a burden to those around him, to prove his worth. 

With trembling fingers hidden in the folds of his stained coat, Haise looked up to give Bradley a smile — subtle, yet reassuring, the kind that was designed to convey a silent ‘Really, I’m okay’, despite it not quite reaching his eyes. 

concerned  roleplay  starters,  accepting  ! 

Cassandra Clare

taking   a   moment   to   let   his   gaze   linger   on   the   sea,   brad   doesn't   answer.   not   something   one   sees   often   as   he   surrenders   himself   to   thought.   for   a   moment,   his   gaze   is   as   tumultuous   as   the   waves   themselves.   at   times,   it   seems   he   might   even   see   something   beyond   the   deep   pool   of   blue   —   far   beneath   the   shifting   tides.   eventually,   he   meets   brant's   gaze   again,   except   this   time,   it's   none   lacking   in   clarity.   no,   it's   clear   and   strong,   none   too   different   than   the   keel   of   a   ship.   ❛   wish   i   could   say   this   is   my   first   time,   but   it   ain't.   didn't   pop   my   cherry   this   time,   cap.   your   loss.   ❜

❛   hard   jobs   are   the   thankless   ones.   it's   why   i   haven't   worked   a   day   in   my   life.   ❜   aside   from   documenting   his   adventures.   (   he   barely   considers   that   work   at   all.   )   with   a   neat   laugh,   his   gaze   sweeps   brant   once   more.   it   lingers   on   his   hat,   more   than   anything.   ❛   if   you're   looking   for   a   hand,   then   mine   are   free.   been   looking   for   a   way   to   pass   the   time,   anyhow.   ❜   something   to   help   him   chart   his   next   course.   ah,   he   wonders,   could   this   lead   to   something   new?   something   exciting   beyond   his   dreams. 

stepping   back   fluidly,   he   offers   a   courtly   bow   that   lacks   some   of   its   poise   because   of   the   grin   that   takes   his   lips.   it   hangs   there   more   naturally   than   the   sun   in   the   sky.   his   voice   flows   like   liquid   —   his   next   words   are   unthinking,   instinctive.   ❛   if,   and   i   know   i   can   be   quite   intimidating,   you're   willing   to   invite   me   aboard,   captain?   ❜   part   of   him   just   wants   to   hear   it   again.   ❛   i'd   be   honored.   ❜

A showboat, then, though Brant has neither the room nor desire to complain. Confidence is a fashionable trait to those with the skill to back it up, and he could hardly accuse his new acquaintance of lacking base for it. As such, he's happy to extend his hand in return, easygoing but firm in shaking Brad's hand.

"Haha! Captain Brant, at your service." Releasing the offered hand, he follows up with a quick tip of the hat. "Always happy to put on a joint performance, as it were. I'm conversely very used to fighting alongside my Troupe, but it's not all that often we get to see a new face that's on our side."

Indeed, meetings with the powerful often tend towards the adversarial when it comes to Brant and his merry band of accomplices. There are always exceptions to the rule, but he really can't remember the last time he'd gained an unexpected ally like this—save, of course, for when he seeks them out himself to join his crew.

"The law really ought to thank us with how often we've been left to deal with the messes they turn a blind eye to on the high seas, but, alas. We're no better than pirates ourselves, from the perspective of those in power." He heaves a performative sigh, though the soft shake of his head and amused smile give his dramatics away. "If it weren't for that, I'd have half a mind to ask you to join us in dealing with the problem for a little while. What with your self-proclaimed isolation, and all."

For something that's almost an earnest invitation, it's not particularly subtle. But Brant rarely ever aims for subtle, anyway.

i need to keep a little sticky on my desk that reminds me which muses are cheesy dumb flirts and which ones are clever they blur