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libertytm · 3 years

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❛ mark .

the stardust’s grand opening is a glittering example of just how much had changed since steve had last seen las vegas. if he had been standing in the arid nevada desert a hundred years before, give or take a few decades, he’d have been smack dab in a sober railroad town. a juncture between los angeles and salt lake, nothing more. now people from all walks of life flocked to the escapist paradise. rubbing elbows with celebrities and politicians. a city of false idols, plagued by sin, so of course this is where amora had asked them to meet her. steve had scoffed at the suite they’d checked into, it was exactly to her taste. expensive and expansive, due to amora’s close friendship with rella factor according to jason ( somehow he always knew the latest about each of them even when they weren’t together ) it was lucky he’d taken to being steve’s traveling companion as of late or the older immortal likely wouldn’t have gotten the prestigious invitation. the sun had set on the strip. now highway 91 was cut with neon, a 3-mile display of hedonism. a grotesque approximation of the old west mingling with an mob bankrolled turn at the glitz and glamor of hollywood. the view through the tall windows held jason’s attention as they waited for meave and amora to retire from the festivities of the party below. his broad frame was unencumbered by clothing as he leaned a forearm against the glass, eyes trained down toward the street. steve was reclined on the royalty-sized bed, wrinkling the suit he hadn’t bothered to remove, while admiring an entirely different view. ❝ je pourrais utiliser une main avec ces boutons embêtants, ❞ the less than subtle hint earns a soft chuckle from the object of his desire and steals him his prize, jason’s curiosity. no time at all is made of the space between them and steve’s skin is cooled by the fan overhead as it’s exposed inch by inch to the unnatural and manufactured cold. nimble fingers quick in their task as hungry eyes drink in the defined planes of his stomach. so much fire still burned between them even after all their years exploring each other. ❝ tu es plus belle que toute cette ville. ❞ when the door finally clicks open, steve’s panting and breathless. pinned beneath jason’s body with nothing remaining of his clothes except the tie left mysteriously ringed around his neck. jason’s fingers were curled around the thin strip of cloth, using it as leverage to turn steve’s head to the side, intent to play one of his favorite games. ( marking the pale and sensitive column of his neck with bruises and bites and then watching them fade ) it was an intoxicating experience that turned the stoic warrior into a pliant participant in whatever games the hours before sunrise might hold. the light and bubbling champagne of laughter that precedes the two beauties into the room is a song that stiches a familiar and pleasant ache in steve’s chest. a simple sound that made the world slow down and anchored his thoughts to the moment. it’s clear by the look that greets him upon lifting his gaze toward them over jason’s shoulder that they approve of the show that was waiting for them. designer dresses join the littering of clothes trailing the floor on the way to the bed, but steve misses the show as jason reaches down between them and demands his attention as he weighs their mutual desire in his hand. passion aching and pulsing together in the rhythm of a perfect grip. eyelashes flutter against the rise of his cheekbones as his lips part and his toes curl. he doesn’t see the exchange, but he hears amora’s soft voice as he feels her settle on the bed to his right, ❝ pour toi mon loup. ❞ soft music fills the room with muted horns and gentle strings. blue eyes are wrestled open just in time to catch a glimpse of amora slicking jason’s palm with the shine of lubricant ( one of steve’s personal favorite discoveries of the modern age ) but, it’s a brief show as the bed dips to his left and maeve’s firm grip commands the tie around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss that reignites an echo of ancient desire in an instant. the fresh and floral fragrance that naturally perfumes her skin mingles with the vanilla and bergamot he attributes to the blonde beauty swimming into his view as she leans over to steal maeve’s lips away from him. they kiss to devour each other in the breath of space above steve's lips and he gasps as jason drags his nails down the contours of his stomach. scarlet lines follow in the wake of the sharp touch that ends at the angle of his hip bones. without seeing he knows the next tongue to invade his mouth belongs to amora. he could recognize them by kiss alone. each of them speaking their own sacred language in that intimate press of lips. she tastes of a chenin blanc, like summer and sun ripe grapes off the vine in loire. her grin turns wicked as his teeth bite into her kiss, much more aware than steve of the progress jason had made in preparing himself to welcome steve into his impossibly tight heat. ❝ seigneur -- ❞ steve’s voice is hushed but sharp with surprise, every muscle in his body trembling with the sudden effort of restraint. ❝ s’il vous plaît. attendre. ❞ of course, jason’s response is infuriating and exactly what steve asks for and there’s a self-satisfied energy practically radiating off of him as sinks down and settles his weight across tense thighs, awaiting the desperate plea to move that would inevitably follow. he’s tempted to struggle his hands free from where jason had them pinned at his sides, but before he can make a move there’s a limber maneuvering and amora’s weight is added to the sum balanced over him. she’s not shy as she seats herself on steve's stomach, lustrating him in the evidence of her desire, before she leans forward and splays her hands out on his chest. like machine parts moving together jason shifts forward to shadow the curve of her spine, his grip finding amora’s hip as his other hand steadies himself to bury inside her. becoming a physical bridge that felt like conducting electrical current. there’s a much more gentle tug at the tie that brings his gaze to rest on maeve’s soft consideration. a tender touch pushing his sweat-soaked hair off of his forehead as he whispers ❝ maestà, ❞ in divine reverence. she traces her index finger down over the curve and bridge of his nose, coming to rest against the soft bow of his lips, eyebrow ticking up suggestively. steve’s only response is an enthusiastic nod that elicits an amused chuckle. he can’t keep his eyes off of maeve’s body as she lifts onto her knees, amora and jason both reaching out in near unison to influence the direction maeve turns so that they’re facing each other as she lowers herself down. steve’s mouth and tongue immediately becoming enthusiastic servants of her pleasure as his own body is assaulted with sensation.

@ofrevival / @ahmora / @vmaeved // the enormity of my desire ( not currently accepting )

#OFREVIVAL #AHMORA #VMAEVED #REPORT.#NSFW.#AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.#DYNAMIC. I’M ALWAYS IN THIS TWILIGHT IN THE SHADOW OF YOUR HEART. *VMAEVED / AHMORA / OFREVIVAL #long post //#posts this quietly in the middle of the night #nobody saw anything #def not a 1200 word spice fest

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libertytm · 3 years

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“five times touched”

i. pain isn’t a distant enemy, it’s a companion that stalks and consumes him at every step. surrounded by a sea of hot sand and facing an endless horizon. his stomach eats itself again and again, the thirst burning his throat like hot coals, and it never ends. there’s no succumbing to an inevitable darkness, no promised purgatory, just what seems a living death. there’s no direction to his baring, so the sight of two souls crossing the burning ocean toward him reads like an illusion. ( a trick of his scorched mind ) the pair of silhouettes approach from the west, the sun setting at their backs. friend or foe was impossible to determine and stephen reaches back for the handle of his sword, but fumbles sweeping for it. the world seems to tilt as he tips off balance and lands on his hands and knees, clutching at the fine granules that soften the blow in an effort to anchor himself. chapped lips split and crack as he opens his mouth to warn the strangers away, the taste of copper on his tongue a momentary bitterness before the split heals again. what should be miraculous instead hangs on him like a curse. he has no strength left to fight as his body continues to struggle against the slow consumption of dehydration and starvation. twin shadows are cast over stephen and he struggles to raise blue eyes to regard the demons that had finally come for him. but instead of further punishment a soft touch falls against his jaw, holding his face steady as the cool flush of water splashes into his mouth. the words whispered in a melodic and feminine voice aren’t in any tongue he’s ever heard before, but somehow it still feels as if a reprimand. there’s a warning in the back of his mind that brands this creature’s touch poisonous, but for a man ready to die, the thumb that caresses the hollow of his cheek feels more like an offer of salvation. ii. the campfire familiarity had settled into something stephen could nearly allow himself to hope for. the solitude of his exile ending at a fork that seemed to test the faith in his heart against the doctrine he’d been forced to swallow for the length of his memory. prayer and reflection had offered little insight or comfort in their weeks of traveling the desert as companions. he’d never experienced anything like the two women that now kept him under watchful consideration. even across the chasm of his self-imposed isolation he can feel the warmth of their gaze, feels the familiar swell of shame and guilt as he thinks of them. even the acknowledgement of their beauty within the walls of his own mind a damnable transgression. it’s when the flames quiet to ember and the stars pour into the inky ocean hanging overhead that maeve comes to rest at his side. forgoing the warmth of the dying fire to the chill of rockface he’d propped himself up against. she sits close but doesn’t seek to cross the divide his faith carves between them. while she doesn’t understand and has no fear of speaking her mind toward the topic, her words never chafe with attempts to persuade. instead the lens she offers him to view through is held with patience and a burgeoning regard for one another. yet, something compels him to bridge the distance between them, maybe the realization that she wouldn’t. it’s a careful journey his hand makes to rest gently over hers, thumb tracing the edge of her wrist. iii. vows of chastity seemed to age from concern, fading like worn leather with every new day. the heat of the summer months coming as they reached morocco. he missed amora’s company ( a fact that would please her too greatly ) and he could tell maeve did as well, but he understood the intent of allowing them this time together. if their lives were to truly intertwine over the course of an eternity, perhaps he couldn’t view matters of the heart as cloistered as he once had. there was a pull between them that was undeniable. the looks that seemed to linger as the weeks of travel passed into months had turned to exploring touch and soft caress. they have a view of the sea from their bed, the doorway to the balcony inviting the perfect breeze to play across their overheated skin. he’s still catching his breath and her grin is somehow saccharine and predatory in equal measure. as eager to teach him as he was to practice her lessons. he leans up and captures her lips in another kiss, unable to get enough of her. ❝ je t’ai dans la peau. ❞ whispered in the space between their lips, the french had a way with passionate sentiment. ❝ montre moi comment te faire plaisir. ❞ iv. it was something in the connection between them that allowed for important communication to go entirely without being given voice. he can tell there’s something wrong as soon as maeve enters the room. a dark look shadowing her expression as her eyes widen a fraction in response to his unexpected presence. ❝ got an earlier flight, ❞ he offers as answer to a question she didn’t ask. the vague voicemail she’d left him was concerning in tone and lacking in explanation, he’d had no problem paying extra to be standing in front of her sooner. ❝ what’s going on? ❞ she doesn’t respond, instead her gaze finds a fixed spot on the floor and he’s left crossing the distance with a few long strides and folding his arms around her. concern only building as she presses herself against him like they’d been apart for decades instead of a few short months. the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his serves to partially soothe his fraying nerves, but there’s a storm of apprehension starting to brew in his gut. ❝ talk to me maeve, ❞ he eases away and ducks to the side until he can capture her eyes with his. ❝ tell me what’s wrong. ❞ v. the breath of life is accompanied by the snap of bone and the burning stitch of ligament and muscle. a familiar and excruciating reconstruction. but it’s not fast enough, not this time. maeve's skin has already begun to chill when steve crouches at amora’s side and reaches out to place his fingertips below the curve of maeve’s jaw. the thrum of her pulse, nearly as familiar to him as his own, was gone. not even a whisper. a gulf of grief floods into his lungs and he has to swallow it down again and again as his body threatens to collapse under the numb weight of shock. it wasn’t fair, she didn’t get to abandon them like this. they weren’t ready to be without her. stabbing sorrow and uncertainty struggle for dominance as he attempts to summon his endless years of training toward the end goal of their survival. ❝ we need to move ‘mora, we can’t stay here. were totally exposed. i’ll take her. --- let me take her. ❞ he studies the contours of her face, a futile attempt to commit to memory what he knew would fade with time. he’d never hear the sound of her voice again, feel the warm reassurance of her touch, would never feel the weight of love in her eyes. this would be the final time he held her in his arms.

@vmaeved | five times touched ( not accepting )

#VMAEVED #REPORT.#AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.#long post //

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libertytm · 3 years

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❝ i’m not sure what you want me to say, of course i’m upset. you could have been seriously injured back there. ❞ @vmaeved ( secret sc )

#VMAEVED #FILE: VMAEVED 019 #AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.

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libertytm · 3 years

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@ahmora : mad | send a word for a specific text from my muse to yours

✉ divine beauty : you’re so lucky i can reach my phone. ✉ divine beauty : bring back the keys to these handcuffs or i’m turning this bedframe into kindling.

#AHMORA #FILE: AHMORA SMS #REPORT.#AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.#BC I CAN #also you kno she saved her name in his phone

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libertytm · 3 years

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V E R S E I N F O R M A T I O N

true name: stephen rogerus current alias: steven rogers place of birth: york, england year of birth: 1069 a.d. year of first death: 1099 a.d. preferred weapon: a xIIa two-handed longsword & pavise shield special skills: expert level swordsman, master tactician, high pain threshold significant romantic history: romance with maeve ( 1105 - present ), romance with ámðra sigmond ( 1312 - present ), romance with jason toussaint ( 1829 - present )

biography: stephen was born to danish family living in york just before william the conqueror obliterated the countryside to squash an uprising in the winter of 1069. this would later be recorded in the domesday book as the harrying of the north. as an orphan at just 6 months old, stephen is taken in by a knight named joseph rogerus, who served king william. he is raised as a page in joseph’s household, coming to know him and his wife sarah as surrogate parents. he struggles with illness during his childhood and he believes he owes his life to sarah, who was a nurse in service of the king’s court. with brutal determination and strength of will, stephen overcomes the challenges of his health and is taught the knight’s code of chivalry, as well as trained in the art of the sword, bow, and horseback riding. joseph is killed in 1083 during the first year or the four-year long siege of sainte-suzanne, and while sarah begs king william to let her keep stephen with her, her plea falls on deaf ears. during the next warm season of 1084, just shy of his 15th birthday, stephen is sent as a squire to the household of alan rufas. the richest and most powerful landowner aside from the king, ruling north yorkshire as his own province. without children of his own, rufus takes a shine to the young squire and ensures his continued training is above reproach. by the time of his dubbing ceremony as a full fledged knight in 1090, at the age of 21, stephen is the most skilled warrior in northern england, tested in combat and sport, and proven unequalled among his peers and superiors. he stays as a knight to rufus for five years before hearing tales of pope urban ii’s decree asking for faithful servants to join the first crusade to re-take the city of jerusalem. he travels to frace in 1095 and joins the ranks of the burgeoning templar order before beginning the long pilgrimage to the holy city. it’s during this time that he’s involved in various conflicts and historical events; the battle of nicaea, the ambush at dorylaeum, the battle of montgisarda, a visit to the first templar state of edessa, the battle of antioch, and the discovery of the holy lance. stephen is killed for the first time just before the successful capture of the city of jerusalem by the knights templar. he falls to a volley of arrows and awakens later covered under a funeral cloth, disoriented and confused, mind filled with dreams of angelic creatures he’d never seen before. [ to be continued. ]

#VMAEVED #AHMORA #OFREVIVAL #long post //#AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.

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libertytm · 3 years

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FIVE TIMES TOUCHED

i. there’s no telling how many days stephen spent chained to the floor of the small cage in ile aux juifs. the island was surrounded by the choppy water of the seine. at night he could hear the sound of his brothers being burned alive. king philip truly was the plague of france and obsessed with finding a hidden treasure that didn’t exist. they’d taken nothing that he claimed from the sacred city and now were being tortured into false confessions. words hissed over forked-tongues claiming to serve a higher power. condemning men to needless death over the slightest trespass. inside seconds where the pain and ache in his muscles ebbed, stephen’s thoughts turned to the women he’d failed. they’d walked into a trap, and it had been his need to return and seek closure from his order that brought them to paris. it’s a dark and cyclical thought, persistently coming to rest at the forefront of his mind. the only reprieve offered under restless spells of unconsciousness. but with every miraculous resurrection he earned further scorn and scrutiny. he knew it was only a matter of time, with fearful whispers swirling, before he’d get the noose or the ax. for a moment when he opens his eyes again, he attributes the sight of amora to a lingering and blissful dream. it’s only the firm and disapproving line of her mouth as she works the lock of the cage open that gives him some indication she might be real. ( in his dreams she’s always smiling ) she wastes no time crawling in to unlatch the chains that bind him. her hands are gentle and her touch is healing water over skin that had already mended, but would never be the same. no outward sign remaining of the scars left etched deep under the surface. ii. stephen’s death at agincourt had been particularly brutal. assigned to the forward advance, meant to draw in the french troops so henry could flank them and use the battlefield conditions to erase the advantage of superior numbers and position. he’d spent too long in the mud, choking on rain water, buried beneath carnage and decay as his body stitched itself back together. alone in the wake of it all had seen him to a solitary march, following the king’s tall shadow though the french countryside, to an unexpected end. amora’s plush bed stands a stark contrast to the death marked fields of battle that stephen made his home for the last century, running from something he hadn’t given himself time to know. ( intimacy on a level that frightened him into the service of the english kings’ guard under an assumed name ) it wasn’t a lost irony that one of the reasons he’d fled was the very woman waiting to welcome him into the lavish court of charles vi. the grand tour had started and ended in her private rooms, though stephen couldn’t complain. the bath had been welcome, his body aching with the phantom of heavy plate armor, and it was a surprise to him that she allowed so much space and silence. their eyes catching in a playful and curious dance until he finally settled in the bed beside her. she reaches out to him and he meets her halfway, pressing his cheek into the curve of her palm, face crumbling at the tender touch. tears threaten to gather along his eyelashes and he blinks them away. ❝ i’ve missed you terribly. ❞ iii. rolling waves lapping at the wooden hull of the ceres serenade stephen’s solitude on the deck with a soothing music. they were somewhere off the coast of scilly, the moon seated overhead in the center of a starless sky. it reminded him of his first time crossing the channel, the world only seeming to get smaller with every passing year. he’s leaning against the railing when he feels slender arms encircle his waist. the press of a warm kiss to the back of his neck follows and sends a shiver rolling down his spine. he can feel a grin spread over amora’s beautifully sculpted lips at the reaction her touch elicits. ❝ you’re not coming to france, ❞ there’s no question to the words, stephen knowing already that she and maeve had something calling them further north. every touch since they’d set sail from boston harbor had taken to feeling like a goodbye. ❝ i have to go, to see this treaty through. ❞ he doesn’t need to say it, she already knows, a soft an affirmative noise nuzzled into the side of his neck. we’ll find you when we’re done. is all she offers in response. nothing of the explanation he wants, but all the information he knows she’ll surrender. it wasn’t as if this was their first time parting. he turns, remembering himself, and draws her in delicately by the back of her neck. sealing a real goodbye, and a promise to reunite, between their lips iv. côte d'azur was gorgeous after sunset. a brilliance of light meeting the ocean and the sky. every person with a title or wealth wanted the chance to join the elite few given the opportunity to visit the new mecca of bourgeoisie indulgence. steve only there as a decorative ornament at amora’s behest. if there were only a single truth on earth, it would be that the blonde beauty on steve’s arm was opulence incarnate. at her side he finds it easier to turn off the buzz of moral commentary that dominates his inner monologue and just be. she’d layered him in silken finery to match the dress she wore. it shimmered like an ocean of glass beneath the crystal chandeliers of the excelsior hôtel régina’s grande ballroom. when he’s had enough of rubbing elbows he takes her hand and angles them toward the gardens. they make it as far as a narrow and secluded courtyard with trees planted inside and curving overhead in a blooming floral arbor. the path is littered with fallen petals in shades of pink and red. the breathtaking sight brings them both to a halt and steve lifts amora’s hand to his mouth to press a reverent kiss to her knuckles. v. there are things about the modern world that steve will never understand. convivence was a concept he could grasp, not that he always agreed in those matters that the end justified the means, but at least there was purpose. what he couldn’t grasp was the inane, beyond frivolous and into what he could only fathom as some type of collective mania. that was the only explanation he could use to justify certain trends of humanity. then there are things he’s adopted as completely necessary that another might see little value in. the tablet he holds aloft frames a view of him against a central park sunrise. the time difference putting amora just after dinner in tokyo. a technological lifeline keeping them tethered when safety and duty continued pulling them apart. ( after losing maeve it was too dangerous for them to stay together ) they needed time for things to cool off, and until then he holds a hand to the screen and waits for her to do the same. he watches the sorrow mingle with a brief respite of joy in her eyes as their time window counts down the disconnection of their secure channel. for a moment he sees her fingers meet his through the tempered glass and across thousands of miles. he offers a soft smile that breaks as soon as the screen goes black.

@ahmora | five times touched ( not accepting )

#AHMORA #REPORT.#AUV XVII. FOREVER IS HARDER THAN IT LOOKS.#long post //#*pushes glasses up nose* would u like several history reports w/ ur meme?

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