α gσ∂'ѕ ρ ℓ α у τ н ι и ɢ

[clearslime]

[ganxmede]

starter call?

[goldenheartx]

[ganxmede]

[dmaurier]

[ganxmede]

[ganxmede]

devotedspirit:

“If that is the case, then I shall stay.” Her answer was honest, but rather simple. His question surprised her, bright eyes glancing over to the man resting upon the bed. “…Perhaps.” She admitted with a slight sigh. “I am also lonely, so I suppose that I DO have two reasons for it.” 

In truth, she does not believe she has it good. Better now in Chaldea, but her life was not good. Still, she could feel emotions which was something he seemed to desire. Meanwhile to HER, emotions made her vulnerable. Whether to be summoned as an Avenger, or losing who she is as a whole. Though she would not wish to be hollow either. 

“…A STORY?” She paused for a moment, her husband never allowed her to read anything inspirational in-case it inspired something within her soul. It was one reason she sung and danced so much for he could not steal her voice nor dance from her. “…Anything I want….?” A slight smile, before placing her hands within her lap.

“The only story I know is of Joan of Arc and my father. A peasant girl who was illiterate, said she was blessed with the voice of God. Their tale is one of the maiden of Orleans leading the French army with my father Gilles de Rais and second husband Andre. Rebelling against the English attempts to conquer France during the Hundred Years’s War. The English slayed the maiden, French collaborators viewing her as a heretic and the very King they assisted in being crowned betrayed them. My father had collected the oil to even anoint the King.“

Even before that tale, her mother would always entice her imagination. “My mother used to tell me tales of great warriors who would fall in love with the loud mouthed maidens of old. Warriors who challenged the odds and followed their dreams however impossible they appeared.” It all sounded so childish, now she was an adult…but she did love hearing stories. “I would not know a happy tale, sadly.” She felt happy, for simply meeting someone who had showed her kindness. “Perhaps that is why I wish to save people…to bring some light into lives so they are no longer tied to only being a LEGEND or myth…” 

          As she begins her tale -- the only one she knows, she claims -- he closes his eyes and simply listens. Her voice is soft and lilting, and the colors that flow through the blackness behind his eyelids paint a portrait of the tale she spins. Lush hues of gold and silver line the woman’s armor; he isn’t sure why he pictures her as a blonde woman, but he does...and flashes of black and red pour over the battlefields. An illiterate peasant girl who could hear the voice of God? What a strange idea -- but Zeus often times visited earth, and took a particular liking to mortal woman. He supposed it wasn’t so strange...but he does not know about the God she worships, and whether or not his intentions toward her were pure -- he couldn’t imagine they were. No Gods had pure intentions...perhaps they never had. If he’d learned anything in his eternity, it was that the Gods were not benevolent and wise. They did not favor humanity...they were simply unending, and bored to madness by their endlessness. Humans were simply a way to pass the time -- a distraction, to momentarily assuage their boredom.

          He finds that the ambrosia offers a similar effect; if only for the moment, he feels good, and as such, his existence is bearable...if only for a short while whilst he is elevated by the nectar’s effects. So, her FATHER had fought alongside this woman of which she speaks? It’s a rather boring story, he thinks...but, she is human, so what had he expected? ❝ It’s sad, isn’t it? ❞ He murmurs, a yawn giving pause to his commentary, the ghost of a smile tugging at porcelain tiers, though he knows not why he smiles. ❝ Humans are so fickle...we’re so fickle, so selfish. That woman that you spoke of...she risked her very life for that King, and yet, once he had his crown, he had no more use of her...and it didn’t matter if she died. COWARDS -- all of us. ❞           Bright eyes flutter open, fogged, and he turns his gaze over in the dim lighting toward her figure -- so lithe, so pure, like an angel watching over him. ❝ You can’t change that, you know. No matter how hard you try...no matter how many people you save...you can’t change the nature of humanity. They’ll always see things the same way -- through narrow sights. They don’t live long enough to understand things on the level that we do. ❞ Perhaps even she does not see things on that level, through eyes like his own -- eyes that have watched the world move in syncopation with the seasons, decades and centuries bleeding into one another, progression -- regression. He wonders why it is, that he wants her to relate to him; ah, but that’s because he’s lonely. He’s been lonely ever since that day, when the eagle dug its talons into his flesh, and tore him away from the earth.           ❝ Do you really think...that you can save a creature that doesn’t wish to be saved? ❞

[ganxmede]

i’ll try to get stuff done here tomorrow!

[zuraun]

[ganxmede]

ridehercrop:

“Because love is such a wonderful emotion. Have you ever been enveloped in love my dear Ganymede? It is such a decadent feeling.” Even if the feeling was one sided, Medb loved the feeling of being loved. It gave her such power over the other person. It was beautiful.

          Enveloped in love? He ponders this a moment, mind reeling back to obvious possibilities, memories faded and crumbled to dust, like his Kingdom. He couldn’t remember his Mother’s face, or what his brothers arms felt like when they hugged him. ❝ ...Perhaps, once...long, long ago. ❞ But he couldn’t remember what it FELT like, anymore.

[aniquotes]

I don’t like pity. Pity makes you feel small and weak. I’d rather have someone hate me than pity me.

Marco, Book #15: The Escape, pg. 98 (by K.A. Applegate)

[evildcers-deactivated20190419]

Apparently, these run faster so…

Hi ! This is your friendly neighbor Julie with an invitation to add a healthy dash of evil in your muses life !  Muses and mun are both over 18 (most of these assholes are actually pretty old, the youngest being 32) and will not interact with minors. Clickety click the like or the reblog button if you would be interested in roleplaying with a bunch of original antagonists ! This is a new blog so reblogs would be greatly appreciated. 

[ganxmede]

          There's a shallow awareness as the stranger bends down to his level, and his hazy eyes focus on dark-skinned features -- scruffy, rugged, rough. He watches the man's hands move with something held within them, which is then slipped about his slender throat; he can't tell what it is, but it feels tight, even for his thin neck. Then he is being moved. The ropes are loosed from his wrists, hands and feet having fallen asleep from the lack of blood-flow. Calloused hands move him at the shoulders, and he feels like he's going to throw up. That's the worst part about human drugs -- the fall, the nausea that follows. He groans, hardly able to stabilize himself, but feeling his tongue enough to speak clearly after wetting parched lips.           ❝ ...Where? ❞ It's the only word he can muster, throat too dry -- thirsty. He needs water, but he's able to stand on his own two feet. If the other asks him to walk, he'll stumble, but he's awake enough to make out his surroundings a bit more clearly. It's a small room, rather empty aside from the chair to which he'd been bound...and he's starting to remember things from earlier -- what had happened before he'd been brought here. He remembers his Starbuck's latte splattering over the ground as he was pulled into the alley behind the building, his mouth covered with a rag that smelled acidic. He remembers flailing, then feeling like he was falling. After that, it's all a blur -- BLACKNESS.

[ganxmede]

@evildcers, cont... x

          -- Fuck, his head hurt; he could feel every throbbing pulsation emanating from the knot slowly rising to a swell on his golden crown, like a heart-beat in his skull. Thump, THUMP. He’d been drugged, he could tell by the residual dizziness -- the numb tingling all through his limbs. What a crock. He did drugs like this like kids would pop candy past their rosy little lips. Men were talking -- talking about money. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that a model was taken hostage for a ransom...but he couldn’t make out most of it, since the sounds all garbled together in his ears beneath the rush of blood. He managed to lift his chin enough to see the two, though his head lolls at the effort, blue eyes hazy with stardust, cheek mottled with a pretty bruise.           He didn’t recognize either of them. Yeah, definitely some kind of hostage situation; oh, well. It was something different, at least, from the hum-drum and the boring. Maybe Zeus would get pissed, and smite them both for bruising his favorite little TOY -- but the more coherent he becomes, the more sense he begins to make of their conversation. They weren’t arguing about a ransom...he was being sold. Oh, that’s rich. Some human trafficker, then? What a moron, to take someone famous...and beyond that, a demi-God. This would at least be entertaining for a little while, until Zeus decides to look his way, and notice...but that could take decades...           ...no matter. He has all the time in the world to WASTE.

[atesan]

[ganxmede]

devotedspirit:

She did take his warning to heart, but even so, she was no mere CHILD. Her passions, her faith and desires were what kept her ALIVE. It was why men found her so beautiful while she was alive. Worship dance within the Church at night time, something frowned upon yet it brought much joy to the children. Her singing soothed the elderly and the young. 

Her existence was shrouded by both her fathers glory and his disgrace, even though her first husband owned her, her heart nor soul nor mind were EVER his. He may have had her BODY but never more than that. If she let go of her emotions…she would become hollow or tainted, neither could she allow. Her father always said her faith and passion could crush a human man, even though she never fought, she inspired even a saint.

He had neither asked her to stay nor to leave, so she made the choice herself.

“YES, quietly still in silence.” Honestly if one walked in, if not for the bright light within her eyes one might ACTUALLY believe he has a life sized doll of a woman within her twenties. Until they realised, that is. Was rather comedic. “An odd woman, yes, always have been.” 

She never did deny her oddity of existence, one would usually expect her to be akin to a damsel. “Indeed, I do NOT have to do anything, but I choose to worry for you. I hope that is not a burden to you.” A small smile crossed her lips. “I am aware I do not have to stay, I am choosing to less you request me out of your sight.” 

          The words that she speaks, the reason that she presents...it does not make sense -- but, perhaps it does not need to. Asking questions simply for the sake of asking questions, though, was a good way to pass the time -- and at this point in his eternal existence, any and every thing that could occupy his mind whilst time passed was worth pursuit. He hums, shrugging lazily as he stretches his arms up over his head, twisting his fingers among the sheets in a portrait fit to seduce a God. ❝ No, you don’t have to leave. Stay if you want. But tell me, why do you feel worried? Do you think that something is going to HAPPEN TO ME if you leave? ❞           Perhaps that’s it; perhaps she’s paranoid, or perhaps she’s simply lonely. That’s sad, he thinks -- that such a sweet, pretty girl should feel lonely. She should be showered with love and attention...but that wasn’t the way of the world anymore. Perhaps it never had been.           He doesn’t see the white walls anymore. Instead, the shadows are dancing with rich colors as his heart slows, eyes fluttering shut, and even then he cannot ESCAPE the aurora borealis against the back-drop of his eyelids. He smiles --  his first smile in a long time, his breath tasting like honey. Poor girl. She should forget about things like sorrow. They don’t matter, anyway. In truth, he’s jealous of her for being able to feel them...she doesn’t know how good she has it.           ❝ Hey...tell me a STORY. It can be about anything...anything you want. ❞

[ganxmede]

fatedlegacy:

Cassandra looked down into her own goblet, looking back at her reflection in the wine… and in her vision, her reflection was replaced with scenes. Memories. A funeral for a hero, the seer’s arms clutched around herself in silent sorrow… a great wooden horse, her cries of anguish as the people pulled her away from it, axe and torch in hand… her city in flames, her legs burning with both heat and soreness from running… and a brute of a man on top of her, ruining her chastity in the sacred temple of Athena. “…I can only hope…” The princess spoke softer than before, almost breathlessly.

          ❝ ...I know you’ve suffered -- but humanity is made up of suffering...of loss, and pain, and grief. Try to remember how it feels, Cassandra. Cling to it for as long as you can. As terrible as it feels now, in a few centuries, you’ll long to feel ANYTHING, no matter how unpleasant. ❞ What he would give for even an inkling of pride, or carelessness, or even anguish. ❝ There is nothing quite so exhausting as apathy. ❞ He tilts his cup, swirling the contents in a small whirlpool, gold glittering through the liquid which moves more like silk in the wind. She hasn’t partaken, but he doesn’t feel insulted. Some people would simply rather not relinquish their control.