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OC RP Blog. Images are representative only; the views and statements expressed on this blog are those belonging to the fictional character 'Theron/Erebos', only, unless expressly stated as ooc. There will be NSFW content; writer & characters are above 21, and it will be tagged, but not under read-mores.

[ghost-god-man-guru]

The flicker of disbelief that fell across his features as I lowered myself to his level did not go entirely unnoticed; nor did I for a single moment question the reason for its existence. As inept a father as I might have been, I was at least entirely aware of my failings in that particular area. It was merely that the extent to which I genuinely cared appeared to vary on an almost moment-to-moment basis. Therefore it was hardly surprising that he be taken aback by my apparent show of concern- a display which, in this particular instance, was wholly sincere.

Nevertheless, whatever anxiety I might have had for his physical well-being extended only so far as the time it took for him to rise, however unsteadily, to his feet. The human body is a curious thing; so fragile in many ways, and yet so remarkably capable of healing itself with minimal intervention. Admittedly, Thomas could not quite be labelled 'human'; a fact which became more blatantly apparent with our every encounter and with each new modification to his body.

I, too, rose to stand upright once more, our height almost perfectly matched but for the minute, pained hunch in his posture. My gaze sought his, head dipping in a slight nod as I reached out, resting a hand ever so lightly upon his shoulder. “Good.”

The manner in which his eyes slid over my shoulder, combined with the unmistakable tread of Christopher's weighty footsteps, alerted me to the presence of my friend and employee as he rounded the corner behind me.

Allowing my hand to fall from Thomas's shoulder once more, I turned halfway about, glancing across to where Chris now stood, doing a decent enough job of eclipsing what small amount of light had been cast by the lamp that was now hidden behind him. It was clear enough, with a single look, that he had been roughly as fooled by my son's habitual bravado as I had myself. But then it had always been a thin smokescreen.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Chris. I trust that Felix has filled you in on today's progress?” Or lack thereof. I appreciated the two of them- more, I expected, than they would ever truly know. Yet at that moment I had no need of his presence. Perhaps, once I'd discovered precisely who had left my son in quite such a state – and, of course, why – well... but no. In truth, that was one familial task to which I would be only too glad to apply myself wholeheartedly. 

Returning my gaze to Thomas once more, I cocked my head a touch in the direction of my office, offering no immediate assistance and yet remaining close enough that I would be able to catch him with ease should his legs give way. “Shall we?”

[ghost-god-man-guru]

I was taken aback by the manner in which he stumbled back from me, propelled by a force that I had clearly underestimated, and crashed against the wall behind him. True, I have not often been known to be the most sympathetic, and I can hardly imagine that I might ever be described as gentle; yet I had not been expecting quite such a dramatic reaction. Nor, might I add, had I desired one. As conflicted as the relationship between myself and this, my most prodigal of sons, might have been, the notion of purposefully causing him harm was one which remained repugnant to me,

A frown furrowed my brow, a rare flicker of concern awakening within me as I noted the resigned agony written across his features and throughout the tension that gripped his slim frame. Slowly, I squatted down, lowering myself once more to his eye level, the apology that broke from his lips and the wry smile that he'd set upon them sending a twinge of discomfort through me.

Once more, I was silent, measuring the situation before me. It occurred to me – briefly – that I might contact Alex... yet for a reason utterly beyond my ability to grasp, he had chosen to come here, rather than to run to his mother.

A low hum sounded within my throat, lips pursed minutely in thought as I came to a conclusion, gaze focusing once more upon the pitiful sight before me.

“Can you walk?”

[bi0w0lf]

–– @ghost-god-man-guru ; father dearest 

          There was a chill that hung in the air, weeping skies drizzling with a dreary gray. It clung to his clothes and skin, beading and running down a face marred by blue and black, untouched by a smile. It would be the first instance he’d entered through that side door without a loud call for at least his uncles, fumbling fingers twisting the brass knob and letting out the warmth of the hallway.           Slim figure slipped in through the crack, the door eased shut behind him, the soft click of the lock lost in the drifting voices that carried from the busier interior just beneath him. It sounded like Chris, he thought, and maybe Felix. He couldn’t hear his father among them, another unnamed voice delivering a punchline that must have been funny, because immediately he heard Christopher laugh.  Or maybe it’s not funny, the man is an idiot. 

         For a brief moment, Thomas considered skipping past the oak door just down the hall. He could dip right past, amble downstairs and see the more jovial pair. It would be easier, but something about it made him feel gritty, uncomfortable even. Bypass Father? I can’t. Mismatched eyes stared at the fogged window, out of focus as he set his jaw, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. Yes, hi dad we’ve not spoken in several months but I’m here and vaguely purple, don’t ask. No, no that won’t sound right. Sup, pa- … No, no not that either. Fuck. 

        Breaking from his thoughts, Thomas turned on a heel, drawing in a trembling breath just to hold as he closed the distance between where he stood to the door of Theron’s office. He tried to stride through with a false confidence, but the moment his fingertips touched the door’s handle, it left him in an instant, brows knitted in worry. He’d only opened the slab an inch, pulling it back shut to turn and rush toward the stairs, limping gait loud on the hardwood floor. 

       Fuck, fuck, fuck, nope, fuck that. 

[ghost-god-man-guru]

The day thus far had been a frustrating one; three meetings, each with equally unsatisfying conclusions. Too much time had been whiled away journeying back and forth across the windblown city, one phone call after another spent dealing with the fallout of another person's fuck-ups – of which there seemed to be an almost unending supply.

A dismal rain fell lazily from the clouds that hung, dark and heavy with moisture, beyond the car windows. It was the height of summer, and yet in London it could have easily passed for mid-winter. Even so, I personally possessed no particular aversion to the cold and, spying Felix glowering through the glass out of the corner of my eye, could not help the small flare of amusement at his ever-apparent discomfort. The British might be famed for their so-called 'stiff-upper-lip', but it was evidently one skill which my second-in-command had, at the age of forty-three, yet to master.

The vehicle drew smoothly to a halt, pulling up beside the doors to our own headquarters- for, I hoped, the final time that day. My patience had been worn unusually thin, and with it my tolerance for the imbeciles with which I was forced to deal with on a daily basis. Perhaps it had been too long since I'd adopted this form of mine; perhaps I was growing too accustomed and too fond of human ways and the comforts afforded to them. Yet the dark, cocoon-like warmth of my study beckoned to me, begged to give me a moment's respite from the interminable dullness of the day. Humans.

Nudging the door open, I climbed into the chill, damp air, allowing myself a quiet chuckle in response to Felix's now audible grumbling. I, for my part, merely turned my collar up against the rain, ignoring the few droplets that had snuck in at the nape of my neck and now trickled down the length of my spine beneath my shirt. Even so, and in spite of my own ambivalence, my driver was already at our sides, his umbrella blossoming open above us to protect us for the ten or so strides that it would take for us to reach the entrance to our building. So much pretense; so much practiced merely on principle. Yet they are a traditional bunch; my companions, colleagues and my rivals. They understand power only in the terms of certain, archaic structures; a fact which makes it delightfully simple to pull the wool over their eyes.

Almost the moment that I crossed the threshold, a little of the tension seeped from my shoulders- a tension of which I'd barely been aware. Pretend as I might, I couldn't help but become invested in the life that I had carved out for myself; a fact that was a constant source of internal and self-directed distaste.

Shrugging the heavy woollen trench coat from my shoulders, I draped it across a nearby coat stand, plucking the cap from my head and tossing it in the same direction. My holsters remained strapped about my shoulders beneath my jacket; those would only be disposed of once I'd reached the confines of my own office. And it was in that direction which I now strode, acknowledging Felix's departure to the lower levels of our base with a minute nod of my head. Chris's laughter rang from the floor below, his voice as ever breaking out above those around him. For a moment I considered joining them; partaking in the jovial community that our dysfunctional working family had formed. But the dull throb behind my eyes nudged me onward, toward my study- and directly into a small, damp figure.

For a moment, the darkness of the hallway concealed his identity to me; only when my hands had grasped his shoulders and pushed him with perhaps a touch too much force back from me by several steps did I recognise my son. The dim lighting cast distorted shadows across his features, yet even that was incapable of completely hiding the bruises that blossomed across his face from me.

My hands dropped from his shoulders, eyes roving briefly over him, taking in his appearance. Which, somewhat impressively, was considerably more dishevelled than usual. I lifted my gaze to his, remaining silent for several, long moments. When I did speak, it was to utter a single word, my tone matter-of-fact and emotionless.

“Thomas.”

[aranoburns]

[modernmansworld]

[lovelustquotes]

Comparing her light to that of the stars wouldn’t be right, they don’t burn as hard as her fire.

Parth (via lovelustquotes)

[stevenknightdrownedmyship]

Cillian Murphy in “The Meeting Of The Waters” music video.

[aranoburns]

[bitchassbidness]

[sneakyshelby]

The one minute. The soldier’s minute. In a battle, that’s all you get.

[replicated-archive]

I feel… some type of way about this

[braidimagines]

Tommy Shelby Aesthetic

requested by anon

[timotaychalamet]

The Edge of Love (2008) dir. John Maybury

[ghost-god-man-guru]

RULES: post a song that reminds you of your muse(s) TAGGED BY: @visionsinthefog (I didn’t even realise it was you to begin with and was so bloody confused)​ TAGGING: no-one because I am too antisocial for this hellsite

(honestly bitch did you think it was gonna be anything else?!)

Take a little walk to the edge of town And go across the tracks Where the viaduct looms Like a bird of doom As it shifts and cracks Where secrets lie in the border fires In the humming wires Hey man, you know You're never coming back

Past the square, past the bridge Past the mills, past the stacks On a gathering storm comes A tall handsome man In a dusty black coat with A red right hand

He'll wrap you in his arms, Tell you that you've been a good boy He'll rekindle all the dreams It took you a lifetime to destroy He'll reach deep into the hole Heal your shrinking soul But there won't be a single thing that you can do

He's a god, he's a man He's a ghost, he's a guru They're whispering his name Through this disappearing land But hidden in his coat Is a red right hand

You don't have no money? He'll get you some You don't have no car? He'll get you one You don't have no self-respect You feel like an insect Well don't you worry buddy 'Cause here he comes Through the ghettos and the barrio And the Bowery and the slum A shadow is cast wherever he stands Stacks of green paper in his Red right hand

[droptheaddy]

Blade Runner 2049, 2017, Denis Villeneuve.

[eranogiornidivitadura]

Athens 2016, Parthenon

[ghost-god-man-guru]

To bring you my love

[astarwalker-blog]

ghost-god-man-guru:

My embrace loosened, allowing my hands to fall to the small of his back - gently arched as his body curved toward mine - with fingers linked lightly together. The simple, basal pleasure of his physical proximity was one of which I’d been deprived for too long; the subtle shifts in his posture; the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed; the warmth of his slender physique emanating through the layers of fabric to touch my own skin; all felt as if they were luxuries of which I was utterly undeserving. Not, of course, that such notions would ever stop me from indulging.

Beneath his fingertips, the faint ghost of a smile flickered across my features, amusement at his almost childlike glee burning behind the bright-blue eyes that had so much become a part of this particular form’s identity. Raising a single eyebrow a fraction, I cocked my head minutely to the side, the corner of my lips just barely quirking upward. “Go on, then,” the words were spoken almost indulgently, charmed by the enthusiasm which underlined his every word and movement at the prospect of showing off his latest toy.

A soft exhale fell from my lips as the barrel of the gun was pressed beneath my chin, his deliberately provocative actions prompting a deepening of my previously quiet smile as a cool spark of mirth flared within me. I allowed him to force my head backward, obedient as a cowed puppy, though my gaze never once strayed from his own, the sharp blue tainted with a hint of something darker and altogether more visceral. Only as he leaned toward me, bringing his lips once more to my own, did I raise a hand to the nape of his neck, fingers sliding neatly about its elegant curve and threading loosely through the luxuriant strands of his raven locks.

And then he was gone, cool autumnal air rushing between us and leaving me suddenly chilled as my human body cried out for the sensual warmth of his. Yet I remained motionless, leaning backward against the wall and peering at him through eyes half-lidded with a slow-burning combination of affection and arousal. His words provoked a low chuckle to sound, rough and deep within my throat, inescapably tickled by his apparent dedication of the weapon to myself.

“And does he manage to live up to his namesake? Hmmm…?”

The words were murmured in low, amused tones as I finally pushed myself away from the wall and closed the space that had grown between us with but a few, sauntering paces, coming to stand what might have been uncomfortably close before him had he been any other individual. I lifted a hand to his cheek, running the pad of my thumb over the high arch of his cheekbone as I had on so many occasions before. But for once my desire was shelved for the moment, overrun for the first time by an alternative agenda that claimed priority; that of our young sons.

“Someone may have told me something about Tommy and Artemis commandeering a certain vehicle of yours…”

   The smile that teased at the corner of red lips was fond, but the gleam in pale eyes altogether devilish. I’d known the reaction I would get from my bold display, the scent of him changed now, and his posture… open, tempting, seductive. It was his very nature, of course, to push the boundaries of desire, but whether Theron knew he was now… I did not know. 

   Crimson silk was moved, gathered slowly in my fingers as I crept the skirt upward and away from my thigh. The pale length of a slender leg was visible for only a moment, the weapon slipped away in its soft holster, gleaming against the black leather before it disappeared entirely, covered once more with the folds of luxurious silk. It clung in places that now seemed to grow tighter, squeezing my torso as a rush of a sigh fled from between parted lips. 

   “They are related to their father.” Words were shaped through a puff of steam, vapor coiling and disappearing in the cold that closed in around us. It threatened to make me shiver, an unconscious step taken forward, slender frame now pressed to his front. My hand was lifted then, covering his own that lingered just at my cheek, head tipped into his palm as lips caught the soft skin of his wrist. The kiss lingered there on his pulse, feeling the faux pulse that throbbed just beneath. 

   “I missed you.” 

[ghost-god-man-guru]

There could be no question of him being somehow unaware of the utter sensuality of his movements, however minute. From the distribution of his weight and the gentle slant of his hips; to the manner in which he drew back the crimson silk between those long, slender fingers of his to reveal the palely perfect skin of his thigh; his every gesture was endowed with an inescapable and yet almost careless elegance. And I had long since ceased to so much as feign indifference.

Now my gaze drunk him in, indulging the appetite that the months spent apart from one another had done little to feed. With little thought and entirely without inhibition, I reached between the split in the fabric that had once more closed over the garter holster upon his thigh, my fingertips blindly brushing first over the smooth metallic surface of his recently concealed revolver, and then ghosting with a feather-light touch across the warmth of his thigh.

Perhaps, knowing him as I did, I should have known better than to expect Alexios to allow the focus of our liaison to shift - even for the barest moment - away from him; unless, of course, he himself desired it to. His flippant response to my question merely prompted me to cock an eyebrow upward in bemusement. Well, I could hardly claim him to be wrong, in this instance. Nevermind the blood shared between myself and our twin sons; they'd certainly inherited a little more from me than simple DNA. And whilst I might be loathe to admit it too readily whilst in Alex's presence - especially taking into consideration the current status of his most beloved vehicle - I could hardly help but be just a little proud of the proactiveness that they had demonstrated in its acquisition.

I remained still as he inched further toward me, content enough to silently relish the warmth of his figure rested flush against my own, my gaze fixed with a soft focus upon his features. Nevertheless, even I was incapable of resisting the hint of a smile that caught at the left corner of my lips as he murmured his admission. A quiet hum of acknowledgment sounded low in my throat, head tilting minutely to the side as I regarded him and my blue eyes flickering this way and that, committing every visible inch of him to memory. The hand that had remained quietly dormant upon his thigh slid upward, caressing his smooth skin with the lightest touch, and when I spoke it was with a quiet, musing tone. 

"Is that so?"

Impatience, for once, won the silent internal struggle for control, and the narrow gap between our lips was bridged as I drew him into an insistent kiss. The hand that had been rested upon his cheek fell instead to grasp his slender waist, holding him firm against me as my tongue flicked across his lips, teasing them apart. Silk creased beneath my fingertips, my grip tightening even as I leaned back a touch, breaking the kiss with a cruel abruptness.For a long moment, I merely watched him in a pensive silence, jaw tightened and breathing ever so slightly elevated. Then I spoke once more, vocals tangibly lowered by the desire that he was all too talented at provoking, yet remaining smooth with a self-control that I wasn't entirely committed to.

"Do you have any fucking idea how much I want you? Hmm?" A pause, lips quirking upward at the corner and perhaps the slightest hint of amused irony apparent within my tone, "no-one fucking else, just you," my fingers, between his legs, snuck upwards to the warmth at their crux, "it's not very convenient, you know."