This is getting out of hand!
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we're not kids anymore.

ellievsbear

if i look back, i am lost
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@cinnabunsys
This is getting out of hand!
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Chrysalis
more priestposting
Pain
This has surely been done before
"Are you okay?" No. Heart hands Lyon.
The Binding of Lyon
felt compelled to make this for no reason
I definitely like his eye a normal amount.
lyon doodle EUEUEUUEH
OK. You people want more Roathe posting. I am going to dump thoughts.
The poem. In my eyes he perfectly fits this little poem.
"If I cannot not wanted, then I will be needed. If I cannot be needed, let me be used until there is nothing left of me."
He lets the drifter drag him into situations. He phrases them as deals - you do this for him, he does something for you. Even if he doesn't want what his end of the bargain would be - see that one descendia conversation where if you're not to 21 completions and he'll basically beg you to stop because he knows enough and does not want to know more.
Roathe being a yes-man though he disguises it as bargains, as deals. Roathe breaking down when he doesn't know what he's supposed to do or why you continue to want to help him. Roathe begging you to stop because he realises he's in over his head and doesn't want it. Not knowing quite how to tell you he doesn't want it. Roathe not quite knowing how to explain why. He doesn't know how to accept that he's allowed to be upset and have his own opinions and even phrases it in a way that is almost detached.
Roathe, possibly dissociating when he's overwhelmed, because distancing himself from his emotions is the only way he can keep doing what other people want of him. He wants to be good. To be wanted. To be needed. He needs it like he needs the air he breathes. Trying to take back his agency and convince himself he has a right to be angry and upset and hurt but not sure how to display those feelings without being the way that he always has been. A cold, threatening weapon. Like the blade of his tail he has been honed to a point to be useful. Because what is he if he's not useful. If he's not impressive and ready to do whatever dirty task is requested of him and come back stained in blood and muck.
Maybe he enjoys it. Maybe he enjoys the tasks of violence and tearing things apart - but is that because it's what he wants or what Nitokh and later the Drifter (via the gemini skin) wants of him? Is it the serum, the way the infestation twisted him, making him crave violence? Does he crave it or is it a need or is he just letting himself be USED.
He says he lies to himself. The lie was the weapon he excelled at and he turned it upon himself and "Oh, how I bled" - did he want it.
Roathe standing at the doorway waiting for the drifter to collect him, blood around his claws, blood in his mouth and he cannot shift the metallic tang of regret no matter how many times he bites his own tongue to convince himself it's his own blood he tastes. He is a killing machine and likely hasn't been seen as a person - stay with me - in a while. He wants to just be a person it's why he likes Bird 3. He can just be himself. How much of what we as the player see is just the persona he puts on to try to convince us he is Useful and how much of it is truth? Has he lied to everyone so well he's convinced himself that in order to be worth something to these people he must be sharp and antagonistic. Which isn't the truth at all.
Roathe curled up at night because all he is, is a soldier. Roathe trying to war with that fact that he deserves to be a person and forgiven for the things he did to survive. Roathe not understanding the concept of mutual love - not really. He understands ownership and sex and devotion but love, his hands would shake as the drifter held them softly because he wants so much to prove to them his own devotion that he does not realise it's their way of proving their own. He doesn't know how to be held softly. To be truly tender. To be kissed as not an ask of violence pending but to be kissed out of love. Roathe not understanding the concept of consent because he wants to do whatever it takes to make you want him. To prove he's something worth wanting, because he doesn't believe that he is. Roathe down on his knees clutching the drifter's pants and pleading silently to be something to them and they're looking at him like he's the one who put the stars in the sky for them to discover.
Roathe needs to be useful or he will be disposed of. Fearing for his life now that there is no chance of the kuva saving him. He is not done living it. And at the drop of a hat, if he ceases to be useful, he may no longer have a life to live.
Just thinking so hard about how Roathe made himself sharp. Interpreting it as he was sharp BECAUSE he didn't know what else he could do to be useful. He had to be useful. What purpose did he have to Executor Nitokh if he wasn't everything she wanted him to be? Even if he had a tumultuous relationship with her. Even if he hated her. He still "loved her" to some degree.
Now applying this. Roathe making himself useful for the drifter whether it be finding them things he considers of interest. Telling them things they didn't know. Using whatever tactics he has got so that they don't let the operator finish what should've happened on the night of the naga drums, when he should've died with everyone else.
Making himself useful for Marie and Lyon, too. Bringing them pastries whenever he could. He was grating with them because he didn't want to be there and it has to be so utterly boring being ditched with strangers by someone who'd offered him a second chance and remaining trapped in what's basically a basement.
Taking it steps further. Roathelyon. Roathe fussing about whenever he had the opportunity to, making himself useful, whenever Marie isn't there - tending to Lyon's wounds in stony silence because he doesn't know what to say. He's not sure how to empathise with this, he doesn't have this experience, but he has experince with men dying on the battlefield and his soldiers dragging themselves limbs twisted to him for any shred of compassion whilst they faded away. So he puts himself to work. Wet rags and whatever alcohol he could find to use as disinfectant because it's dark and gross and dirty in here and he doesn't know if the twisted abominations that are the protoframes can get infections in their wounds. Sitting away from the altar and watching like a hawk as Lyon's face burns red where he's slapped himself. Wrapping the priest's knuckles when they bled after punching the wood so hard it splintered and bit into his skin. Roathe accepting candlelit silence as comfort when he was used to the bustle of life of the empire because it would be out of place of him to ask for more light. He wouldn't be serving right. He claims that the path to victory is through seeming submission but he doesn't know how to take the space that doesn't belong to him.
I imagine Marie caught him once. Stood behind Lyon and clearing blood from gashes. And he would've frozen, startled, before trying to regain his composure. She says nothing. He tries to say something but the words don't come out. But he gets back to work because how can he be useful.
ROATHELYON!!!! YEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH
RoatheLyon Post
The day had been like any other. If anything, it was incredibly repetitive. Lyon muttering illiteracies in the name of Lua and whatever psychiatric episode he was experiencing today. Marie was... likely trying to drown Lyon out via her prayers. She worried about him, but there was only so much help she could provide. And then there was Roathe - the Devil of Tau, the Grand Carnus, eyes fixated on the priest as if he could see through this man and extract every last worry from his mind.
Roathe glanced down at his tome, sighing ever so slightly as if his own emotions had gravely inconvenienced him. His eyes flickered upwards at the priest, who had fallen against the alter, nails clawing into the wood with one hand. The other had a fistful of hair. Was his breath shaking? Roathe didn't understand the traumas behind Lyon's person, but everyone had trauma, if it were a competition, Roathe was sure he'd win.
"Stop your whining, Priest." Concern etched as disgust was a go-to. "Some of us are enjoying the silence." Said priest's eye glanced over his arm, recreating the Fall of Lucifer painting in some biblical aesthetic. Marie made a noise, hesitating with her words as if to stop him or tell him to be a tad softer with his words, and Roathe just waved a hand in dismissal.
"What..?" The voice was small, shaky. Like a small child plagued by the monster in their closet. He sounded as if he was on the cusp of tears, and Roathe felt a sliver of regret for speaking so harsh, but the harshness got through to him better than Marie's softness ever had.
"You heard me, Lyon." Roathe huffed as he stood up, approaching the cowardice ball which was the priest. His hand rested close to where Lyon's hand was, not to touch, or to stop him splintering skin until it bled. Just.. offering some form of awkward comfort. "You can have your pity party, but be silent about it."
Lyon blinked, his eyes flickering around to look anywhere but Roathe, his nose flaring with heavy breaths. "I... suppose you're right." Albeit stubborn, Lyon could see the irony in his breakdowns. He never talked about what ailed him. The deepest of his pain was between himself and Lua. Lyon supposed he could see the attempt at consolation Roathe was trying to offer him. The Devil let a brief flicker of relief fall unto his face as Lyon spoke, his hand slowly moving to rest on top of the priest's. Lyon flinched but accepted the touch nonetheless.
The way Lyon looked up at him, so helpless... broken. Fuck. Roathe felt genuinely bad for this poor man. "Come, stand. You look pathetic down there."
quickie inspired by recent chat with migraines (and all I've got was this lousy badge)
Harrow
the award for the trio with the prettiest eyes goes to the devil's triad