HIS BRAVEST KNIGHT.

affiliated lancelot du lac.

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❝ i’m not what i once was. ❞

meme sunday asks.

he looks up. her words possess a certain sharpness to them, as though one wrong glance away could slit the back of his throat ajar, blood weeping from the wound thus staining her floor a dirty, unnecessary red. he keeps his eyes upon her, though it seems to burn to do so, to look upon her form and figure, as she waits for his reply, no doubt. but he is yet to focus fully, yet to summon what he believes would make her pleased to hear. not that he seeks her gratitude or warmth, he knows from the cold expression she harbours that there ceases to be any of the sort. though he serves as her knight evermore, that he does so willingly at least. “ but you shall always keep with you some fraction of things, i suppose. “ he speaks out of turn; assuming she to know entirely of what he means. riddles upon riddles for his king. though ,she isn’t just that. no ‘ king ‘ is merely the title of which it is famed, the status nor the image perhaps of what being a king may mean. his king, her radiance still glowing before him, is a dream & not just a figure for which he must dip his head before.

finally, he does chance a turn. swift heel seeing him turn his back upon the form of his keeper, to that which he remains indebted to, as if tied to her for as long as the pair of them still draw breath. though here, just hollows of the beings they once were, is it still a crime for him to look away and face the door? “ this world cannot change us both, not as much as you do claim. “ alas, he does not understand. he fails to see, fails to know, for his own selfish pity clouds the mind far greater than any blind love, any selfless desire to be a better man for the sake of the king or the people. he is cruelly focused, only upon himself it seems, for his mind wanders to how he has changed, how he deserved a fate worse than the one dealt unto him, where he may imagine he is looking his king in the eye when he glances over her darker form. how he selfishly wishes he was looking instead into hell itself, for some comfort at least could surely come from the fleeting absence of life he may feel!

“ i’m afraid i speak out of turn here, my king. i ask for your forgiveness. even here in this unknown land it seems that i cannot help but stumble into my faults. “ 

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"Can you feel the joy rising in your veins like the sap in the springtime?"

meme sunday asks.

the sun does wash over them both, as if they bask within an ocean of daylight and liquid gold itself, merely soaking in the warmth as the two knights meet beneath the shifting shade of the tree. the gust has blown about the tree so much that, despite them having sought out safety from the burning rays, they sit baked and full-blown beneath the light regardless, not that lancelot has care to mind. sunglasses disrupt the view of his eyes, thick black lenses stylish to him at least, shaping his face into something sterner in a way. he turns round to glance at his good friend, an amused glint lost behind the eye wear. “ it’s certainly much warmer than anywhere else i’ve been. “ he admits, sweat beading at his brow only slightly.

“ isn’t it too hot with your hair hanging like that? “ he decides to ask, gesturing of course to the crimson waterfall which befalls tristan’s cheeks. the cascade of ruby strands, whilst admirably beautiful, do seem far too weighed to be providing him any cool relief from the shade, aside from shading his neck perhaps. “ here, take this. “ lancelot tosses to him a ribbon, shed from his own person, as a means to draw back some of that hair. 

“ you ought to write down those words; you seem to make even the dullest of questions sound like a song. “ he sighs, leaning back to rest his palms upon the grass. 

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❝ okay, i’ve said ‘fuck off’ politely as many ways as i’m gonna. now i’m fixing to be direct. ❞

meme sunday asks.

despite the poisoned tone shot firmly his way, a mere booted foot comes to cross upon his lap, a relaxed visage for the knight who feels as though the scenario should be quite the reverse. “ i was seated here prior to your arrival. “ he finds the bite of his words to take even he by shock, as he avoids gawain’s gaze with adamant determination. only when his lids fall closed as his mind feels blank, does he appear any inch of cocky, save for the tired expression he seems eternally damned with and the fact that, even reclined, he is a man of some graceful posture. 

“ and that language is crass, unbecoming. “ he notes only slightly, the air about it all very distant in his mere observation. it is not spite which fuels his reckless mistreatment of his former brother at arms, but a mere irritation in the end. irritation that gawain, oh proud knight as he is, dare walk to him and spit at him so viciously, so cruelly, with words he knew did not best suit his old friend. lancelot’s eyes opened and only then did they lock sight, gaze upon gaze for a moment of some tense animosity which coupled only with the underlying notion of regret. 

“ there’s plenty of room, however, if you wish to join me. “

[ichorveiins]

AMERICAN GODS SENTENCE STARTERS

episode one - the bone orchard. ( contains violence and nsfw themes )

❝ no expertise can surmount a sea that does not wish you to reach shore. ❞

❝ wind can be reasoned with. ❞

❝ celebration was cut short. ❞

❝ only good thing about being in prison is the relief. ❞

❝ tomorrow can’t do anything today hasn’t already managed. ❞

❝ this country went to hell when they stopped hanging folks. ❞

❝ no gallows dirt, no gallows deals. ❞

❝ you know, i’m not superstitious. ❞

❝ i don’t believe in anything i can’t see. ❞

❝ i feel like there’s a fuckin’ axe hanging over my head. i can’t see it, but i believe it. ❞

❝ i can see it fine. ❞

❝ prison has a way of trying to keep you in prison. ❞

❝ i smell snow. ❞

❝ i love you. something feels weird. ❞

❝ i love you too. what feels weird? ❞

❝ the air feels constipated, like if it’d just push out a storm, it’d be okay. ❞

❝ a hundred twenty hours till you’re home. ❞

❝ waiting for the sky to fall is gonna cause more bother than the sky actually falling. which it isn’t. ❞

❝ do not piss off those bitches in airports. ❞

❝ i guess this must be your lucky day, huh ? ❞

❝ you nervous ? ❞

❝ just sit back and be a bird. ❞

❝ i offer you the worm from my beak and you look at me like i fucked your mom ? ❞

❝ you’re just the first person i’ve met who isn’t an asshole. ❞

❝ give me time. ❞

❝ what would you have done, my boy ? ❞

❝ seems like a firm decision made for good reasons, i can respect that. ❞

❝ you lost something vital in there, and not just time. ❞

❝ what might i call you, if i were so inclined ? ❞

❝ always good to meet a fellow traveler. ❞

❝ i usually end up getting what i want. on average, over time. ❞

❝ it’s all about getting people to believe in you. it’s not their cash, it’s their faith. ❞

❝ now, what’s keeping us aloft ? faith ? or newton ? ❞

❝ don’t rush into this, take your time. ❞

❝ there’s always work for a big guy who’s smart enough to know he’s better off letting people think he’s dumb. ❞

❝ by the end of your tenure, you could be the next king of america. ❞

❝ a man gets out of prison, he should be focused above all on not going back. ❞

❝ believe. ❞

❝ i don’t think i have the talent for it. ❞

❝ you … like me ? ❞

❝ i’m not what i once was. ❞

❝ you’re perfect. ❞

❝ i don’t know what i’m doing. ❞

❝ what man does ? ❞

❝ do something for me. worship me. ❞

❝ worship me. pray to me like i’m your god. your goddess. ❞

❝ you feel so good. i could keep fucking you forever. ❞

❝ say my name. ❞

❝ beloved, i worship your breasts and your eyes and your cunts. and i worship your thighs and your eyes and your cherry red lips. ❞

❝ i am yours, my beloved. ❞

❝ go on, let go ! give me everything ! ❞

❝ i love you. ❞

❝ not that rushing into things can’t be a good thing … ❞

❝ sex rushed into tends to work out best for all involved. ❞

❝ okay, i’ve said ‘fuck off’ politely as many ways as i’m gonna. now i’m fixing to be direct. ❞

❝ what the fuck do you know about [ … ] ? ❞

❝ more than you, it seems. ❞

❝ i’m not gonna work for anyone who’s got worse luck than me. ❞

❝ call it. ❞

❝ rigged games are the easiest to beat. ❞

❝ you’re a little creepy, and you’re forward, and familiar, and i don’t like it. i don’t like you. ❞

❝ who’re you ? ❞

❝ i’m a leprechaun. ❞

❝ we don’t come from moscow, russia. or moscow, idaho, for that matter. ❞

❝ no details. ❞

❝ devil’s in the details. ❞

❝ do you know who he is ? who he really is ? ❞

❝ he’s hustling you. he’s a hustler. ❞

❝ damn right. i’m a hustler, swindler, cheater, and liar. it’s why i need assistance. ❞

❝ name your price. ❞

❝ how’d you do it ? ❞

❝ with panache. ❞

❝ simplest trick in the world. ❞

❝ i’ll fight you for it. ❞

❝ win or lose, and you will lose, it’s yours if you fight me. ❞

❝ can you feel the joy rising in your veins like the sap in the springtime ? ❞

❝ i wanted to be a part of your history. ❞

❝ it’s just anger ––– makes you feel like you can change the outcome. ❞

❝ [ … ] had the nerve to ask me what i wanted him to do with it. i told him leave it where it found it. ❞

❝ target would be more interesting than here. ❞

❝ if there isn’t some kinda life after death, i’m gonna be so fuckin’ pissed. ❞

❝ there is no closure from the dead. ❞

❝ i’m sorry for your loss, [ … ] , i really am. anyone tell you that yet ? anyone even hug you ? ❞

❝ hear me out, this is a good one. lex talionis. an eye for an eye. a blowjob for a blowjob. ❞

❝ jesus, who knew i could be so angry ?! ❞

❝ i am trying to get my dignity back here ! ❞

❝ don’t fuck with me, [ … ] ❞

❝ what’s he doing here ? what’s the plan ? what’s the game plan, man ? ❞

❝ how auspicious, you must be special. ❞

❝ [ … ] is history. forgotten and … old. ❞

❝ we have reprogrammed reality. language is a virus. religion, an operating system, and prayers are just so much fucking spam. ❞

❝ the dominant fucking paradigm, [ … ] , that is the only important thing. ❞

❝ by the way, i was sorry to hear about your wife/husband. tough break. ❞

❝ so, i will ask again: what is it [ … ] is up to ? ❞

❝ you saying you don’t know ? … would you tell me even if you did ? ❞

[farchog-blog]

galatine replied to your post: 

YOU CANT TALK LIKE THIS TO THE KING YOU PIECE OF SHIT DIE

jesus christ gawain write my callout already if it bothers you so much

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did you get a haircut because i said your hair was greasy

i got a haircut because ur girl said she prefers the masculine touch

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listen. you're purple... I'm pink... what are we gonna do about this?

we need a red member then we can start a band

[farchog-blog]

contumelae replied to your post: I like your haircut. It's very "I own the...

Lancelot.

my king, 

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i'm here to provide the Good Hugs to my Bestest Buddy!!

this ask is too cute for me to do a shitty meme reply to

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go on... flirt... so that i may ascertain that youre feeling fine

you WOUND ME tristan buddy

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I like your haircut. It's very "I own the carriage, but I don't drive the carriage." Have you considered getting an undercut?

“ and what does the undercut mean? is it any better than the ‘pull on my hair and spank me’ ponytail. “ 

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euphonis:

farchog.

         “… Then… you do plan to partake in the festive dances…?“ Voice is soft, addressing his fellow knight and trusted friend alone. Eyes flutter open to watch him fiddle with the garbs he now adorns, not a choice adhering to the casual dress code but still befitting of him; it’s when he moves onto his hair—long, pooling over his shoulders—that Tristan shifts towards him, closing the distance between them. “… Do you require assistance, sir? Allow me.“

perhaps there is no place for him there, such a gentle and sweet collection of people and celebrations. spring; birth & life anew, a world fresh-eyed and willing to love. he supposes that his presence may linger, as death does at the funeral’s door. “ .... “ he refuses to speak so soon, fingers failing to button himself up entirely for a few moments. nails slip, digits fall. the armour of stained rust has long since been swapped for a far tidier sort of attire; dark blue bleeding into black for a suit that says anything but casual. but he prefers it. it suits him better than any grand uniform might have done in these troublesome years of regret.

“ ah, yes... my thanks. “ he releases the curls of runaway lavender, thick locks collecting about his shoulders like loose vines wrapping about the spiral of an old and lonely tower. “ it has been so long.... since this sort of thing.... “

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#emo he may be but deep down he’s that same cucker

[archers]

pendanto:

dont help him hes emo

look at him rin, he’s… in need of desperate assistance… his hair is nice but everything else? probably has a shittier fashion sense too… i cringe at the very thought…  in any case i see past what he has become… even though my eyes are like 99% closed… i see it… it’s deep… way deep down…

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i trust you know my ears work perfectly at this current time? i merely needed help with the knot of my tie, however you have disgraced me far enough. forget it, old friend. i shall struggle alone as i am meant to, without your pity nor your shame. good day.

[farchog-blog]

vaikartana:

       and here we have Heroic Spirit Karna, bathroom goodies in hand – soaps, bath bombs, even a new towel. For all it’s worth, the scene is quite otherworldly; a Servant with golden armor that brought massive attention to his person, looking around the hair products shelf with a troubled expression, if only to oppose how bored and uninterested he often looked.

       Would the Gods ever have mercy on him, or would Karna be cursed ever after his imminent death? 

as per the suggestions framed only too delicately by his trusted friend, the noble knight tristan, it is only due to requirement that the servant awkwardly shifts between the shelves of the store, scooping up bottles of shampoo with only a bemused expression to befall his face. it is only after pushing aside a bottle of lush pink conditioner that he spies a face upon the other side of the aisle, one expression of boredom he feels resides with him internally, for his own confused expression may have stolen that place. “ hm. “ he decides to add, removing his hand from the shelf. “ ...do you know, perhaps, if there’s any... ‘ coconut wash ‘ on your side of the shelf. “

[farchog-blog]

@rogabitque

TWILIGHT SUNG A CHORUS of freckled and splattered lights; starts twinkling in the heavens like lazy, watchful eyes as the night stilled and seemed to hand in anticipation. alas, so little did move upon that chilly eve. instead, a lonesome man did linger and sit consumed by the internal strife of his thoughts, wondering how it was he’d come to be as he is, though he was rather sure of the question’s answer. he thought upon days lost and forgotten to time, but unforgotten to a man who never seemed to lose track of the pain he’d burdened with himself for so very long, as if he himself was locked within a collection of moments. haunting, broken moments.

he supposed, as the wind rustled the trees overhead causing the fairy lights to wave softly, that he deserved to feel that poisonous loneliness. that even amongst the merriment of a festival, he should sit apart from it like the unwanted rat the feast. but he did not sigh, nor did he weep. he sat as still as a statue and merely listened to the sounds of the night tremble in their slumber.

once in a while, the silence was disturbed by a passing figure, late home from the festivities of the dance and lifting their shoes within their hands as they skipped across the pavement. but they paid him no mind, perhaps never seeing the knight sitting there, locked within the shadows of the garden. alas, it was how it should be. he felt unclean in a way, despite the ‘ normal ‘ clothes he felt he did not deserve, the smartness of the suit and tie lost upon the rugged and tired-seeming knight they clothed. his hair, a rugged and matted flow of lavender locks both an elegant frame to his thinned face and also adding to the wildness of his visage. neither a man of valour or beauty, framed in that wretched light. 

did he wait for some holy sign of recognition? perhaps even the faintest glimmer of hope etched within the skyline? whatever the reason for his poetic lonesome, it was disrupted prematurely by the approaching footsteps sounding down the pathway up ahead...

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contumelae replied to your post: 

stop being fcking emo and go

its not a phase mom this is my life