king with no crown @dark-sirenparis - Tumblr Blog

About: Paris Ness

PERSONAL:

Full Name: Paris Aegon Ness Nickname: N/A Do they like their nickname?: N/A Birthday: January 28, 1459 Birthplace: The Dead Sea Hometown: The island Delos Species: Siren Ethnicity: White Religion: None Pets: None, he doesn't want any Subject: Sculpting & Carving Current Occupation: Professor Sexuality: Heteroflexible Relationship Status: Married, to Selene Ness Do they drive? What kind of car do they own? He drives an ivory Aston Martin Vanquish

Finances: Paris is excellent with finance, but he can also afford bankers and accountants for the necessary upkeep and investing Alcohol Use: Not an alcoholic, but it wouldn't matter anyway since it doesn't typically affect him. He likes having a drink with dinner, sometimes with lunch. Drug Use: He doesn't bother. He doesn't need any - but certain fish or jellyfish when consumed can give similar affects, he learned in his youth. Morning/Night Person?: A morning person primarily, but can function at being both. Morning Routine: Paris wakes up early, and exercises almost immediately. He showers and eats a lavish breakfast, preparing everything for the day. Day Routine: He dresses, takes any calls in the morning he needs to take. None of his classes are offered past 2pm, so he spends the days in his university office, grading projects and papers and teaching. Lunch is brought in by one of the slaves, typically, sometimes he pulls one in to have sex in his office. Evening Routine: He has an early dinner typically, and does any of his personal work. He'll usually have some alone time swimming in one of the pools in his home, or just in the ocean. He calls or spends time quality with his wife. Night Routine: He stops by the trench or checks in on one of his other ventures on the phone. He is in bed by a reasonable time, and rarely is he ever alone - but, typically, once he's done with them, he makes them sleep on the floor or kicks them out of the house altogether so he doesn't have to worry about them in the morning. Sleep Habits: Not for very long, he only sleeps about 5 or 6 hours in the night. Special Skills: Swimming, he's an incredible artist. He plays most string instruments - his favorite is the guitar, but he does enjoy a harp. Excellent dresser. Very good singer, but that's a given. Unskilled at: Being patient. Not the greatest with technology, but he's learning. Video games. Not a good writer. Bad at finishing television shows. Hobbies: His art, woodworking, gardening/landscaping, reading.

#all about paris #poor wayfaring stranger || musings #pinned post

#hypnotizing and mesmerizing || reflection #q

#hypnotizing and mesmerizing || reflection #q #lensa

stydixa

#poor wayfaring stranger || musings #q

#hypnotizing and mesmerizing || reflection #q

#hypnotizing and mesmerizing || reflection #q #lensa

@auggiecrosby

Head tilted towards the sky, tongue out to collect the icy flakes falling from the sky when and where they could as it continued to sprinkle down around them, Auggie exhaled aloud. The fresh cold air felt so nice after being in classrooms, no matter how open and large they were. Being cramped in with a lot of people was never their forte to begin with, even if it was something they had to adhere to. It was just part of living among people. A creature that craved closeness in some capacity, especially in the cold like this. Body heat and all that. Something Auggie wasn't exactly the best at as is, which might've explained their desire to be out of the room, out of the building, and stretching their legs under the table in the Quad they were occupying.

With the holiday's approaching, the hollow darkness that always settled in around this time was creeping in yet again. It was never the same this time of year without having someone he was somehow attached to, to depend on for the sake of the silent mourning process he took to remember his sister. No one to hold his hand, or even hold him while he sat beneath his cloud. Now he was amongst strangers, depending on only himself. Something he had done before, but it had been a while. He had to remember how to do it all by himself again, and that wasn't sitting right with him.

The stark white dove that settles on the table, shaking her feathers and tilting her head up at him read: stop being sad, my child, and go make friends. Although he couldn't hear her voice literally, the tone is familiar enough that his mind supplies it on its own. "I've never made friends before," they argue, brushing the snow off of their notebook where they had been re-writing notes that had been rushed at the end of class, "so forgive me if I don't know how to go about this like a person might." The dove coos, pecking at the back of his hand, causing them to huff but not flinch. "I know, I know. No excuse. Just do it."

Flipping the page in his notebook to a blank page, they tap the end of the pen against it before standing again, and drawing the black jacket collar up around their ears. To protect their ears from being pecked at if anything, as the dove flutters from the table and settles on their shoulder. Moral support, perhaps.

Squaring off, Auggie pushes through and approaches the first person that appears from the falling snow, notebook and pen in an iron grip. "Hi, hello - excuse me." A clearing of their throat, a subconscious nervous habit they were falling back into since they were alive. "I am required to come up with some holiday themed recipes for the culinary class I'm taking. Perhaps I can take a moment of your time to fire off some questions so I know what exactly the pallet is of my fellow Islander's? Nothing off the table." Clicking their pen open once more, ignoring how the dove rustles her feathers as if adding her own intimidation tactic to get the other person to do it or else.

"Don't mind the chicken, she's clearly only using me for my body heat. I was thinking of cooking her personally, but⎯"

Paris, by nature, was not a fan of the cold. Thank the gods his home had an array of pools to swim in - heated, for obvious reasons - to keep himself right. He never really ventured anywhere cold, so a brief but rewarding shopping spree had the finest coats and winter apparel shipped to his house. There were some last minute assignments to be graded before the end of the semester, and as he trudged through the snow he was surprised by a very eager face rushing up to him, a bird on his shoulder. Paris, always bad at hiding his facial expressions (not that he cared), had an obvious grimace as the other spoke. "I suppose," he said, slowly. His head cocked to the side as he listened, his face offering no indication on whether he was paying attention or not. Paris's face pinched into confusion and mild suspicion. "Son, that's not a chicken-- that's a dove - are you aware that is a dove, do you know the difference?"