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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@goetiya
#GOETIYA. ⟡ a multimuse blog ft. lucretia vega. crossover friendly. highly selective. not affiliated with respective creators + rpc. triggers present, will try to tag. non rp blogs dni.
⁰¹ doc. ⁰² ask. ⁰³ prompts.
TRAVESERING THROUGH ICHOR WITH: @allmonster
was with my family so i didn’t have the time to listen to the new s/leep t/oken album upon release. but now that i have, all i can say is DAMN.
going to be away for the rest of the week!
When the mouth of infinity Buries its teeth in me I'll smile through the agony for you And I know you still bear the weight of your own existence And you'll never bear the weight of two
"High Water" - Sleep Token
contemplating revamping my roster a bit.
blog glow up thanks to the lovely @almadael. my oc lucretia is the new theme. let's gooo.
Goro Takemura
“You haven’t kissed anyone for a while now. To you, everything tastes like blood.”
— Warsan Shire, from “Souvenir,” Our Men Do Not Belong to Us (via lifeinpoetry)
and he had been indeed gone a while, the wailing of the man on the bridge drawing to an abrupt stop at some point; but he wasn't vapid and didn't miss the rising suspicion that had cropped up into what was for now a milder conversation. and when arms came around him, he was disarmed for a handful of seconds before he wriggled his way out, returning to a stride when rather predictably, the starless lord continued to inquire. ❛❛ oh, is there? ❜❜ he proposed it thoughtfully, with a look over his shoulder and a wrinkle to his nose, but yes, there was more. ❛❛ yes, i suppose. well, he was claiming to be some long lost rightful ruler — along those lines. ❜❜
but he didn't sound so sure himself (only that a thankless journey and errand had been in order for certain, which he had no interest in nor the honour to fulfil without coin), and there was a reason why. he folded his arms a second time, gesturing dismissively. ❛❛ it doesn't matter, we'll never know. ❜❜ another look was tossed his way, which meant his consort wasn't particularly satisfied. he gave a puff of breath, arms spreading. ❛❛ well because, i pushed him off the bridge. haight was his last name i think, d'suppose that's funny? ❜❜
persistent annoyance had been made silent. the cacophony no longer a hindrance to his senses. it seemed off. there was no muffled arguments or any obvious violence painted upon his consort aside from the remnants of those they had slain previous. aleksander's offered affections were shrugged away, causing him to relent with a soft huff. no action made to inch closer, or rid himself of the distance put between them. ❝ — and you doubted his declaration of kingship? ❞ inquiry careful, he could see his sun was already offput by the scenario he had just endured.
dark locks bounce to the side as head tilts, regarding kenneth careful. a dangerous distinct derision dabbling in his mind. not yet vocalized; however, the starless one was sure there would be more to the story. ❝ ah. ❞ and the demigod does stifle a big of laughter, sculpted brows raised. ❝ haight. i am not familiar with it. you likely made the correct decision in doing away with him. he was probably about to coerce you out of your gold in his search for aid. ❞ again he moves in on the distance created, inching toward sunlight.
“ i'm coming with you. ” the fold of her arms was so tight she was practically holding herself. her face reigns in the more vulnerable aspects of herself before this obstinate companion can read them plain. was it wrong to guard what little she had left?
faced with the county's decay, the more animalistic traits in her couldn't be persuaded to stay still.
@goetiya for ashen.
❝ you don't have to do that. ❞ there is a tinge of uncertainty to their tenor, sanguine gaze holding that of the determined other's intently. genuinely not wanting abigail to get herself into some kind of trouble for them. (it wasn't worth it. as a lot of the town's veteran's depended upon her care.) but raw determination is what they are left with. a woman who would not be told otherwise. she was coming.
how many times had abigail tended to their wounds? found them laying in the forest half broken, half exhausted. unable to move. at times they had bullet wounds, broken limbs. as the cult was unforgiving in their sense of justice. ashen wouldn't be submissive to their wants, they would always fight back. always try to get away.
❝ what's your plan anyway? are you going to get them to cease all violent activities on your word alone? i know you aren't one to be reckoned with but i think they are well armed. and you, well... you're without a weapon abigail. ❞ a huff of breath taken, trying to speak quickly as the other marched forward. she was a smart woman, she had to have a plan, right?
she doesn't like you much. the words made james scowl, his mouth twisted and his jaw set for a beat too long. he'd stood relatively calm until then, brows furrowed with concern, eyes both keen and protective cutting lines over aleksander. they'd taken note of his taut shoulders, his curled fists, nails likely biting into skin, drawing blood — a pain he knew all too well. ❛ lovely woman, your mother, ❜ james lied, thinking hog instead, voice low, measured. ❛ but she ought to trust your judgement more. i'm not so rotten, am i? i am responsible, and i care for you. ❜ the relationship between aleksander and his mother was beyond james's comprehension. a son of two thoroughly disinterested academics, he had freedom, and all the chance for vice, should he want it. (usually, he didn't — private, picky, and hating distraction, he liked to keep to insular ranks.)
james stepped closer, his gaze intense, unshakable— it lowered, took fresh stock of the self-destructive hands, then flicked back up for eye contact. he tried to exude a sense of ease, hoping to inspire it in aleksander, who was close to breaking. but his own worries prevented him from doing so. the young man was irritated, puffed up, debating the stability of his place in the other's life.
will he deny me if she asks? cut me out? james's possessive tendencies extended far past romance, touching every connection, every person he held dear. hardly pretty, it tasted of acid as he swallowed it. they were both drawing breaths now, finding their footing in calculated inhales and exhales. ❛ you are allowed to keep things for yourself. to connect. everyone else does. why should you go without? ❜
he paces back and forth— back and forth. silver-gray optics averted from the man speaking. unable to face the defeat his mother would etch deeply into the lines of his life. would he always back down when she made her threats of supposed betterment? how could she know what was best for him when it isolated him from the world he was supposed to be apart of? these questions had ivories skimming the sensitive flesh of his inner cheek, ivories grit as he finally makes sense of his choice. ❝ yeah, she is. ❞ but there isn't much emphasis to his vocalization now. it is apathetic, as if the woman he once adored had become shrouded in mistrust. being able to entrust another with your worries and frustrations did not come easy to aleksander. much less someone who could handle his demeanor, and james could do that. he was able to speak his mind without fear. there laid no intimidation, no space between them that comfort could not cure.
❝ james. not even an inch of you is rotten— maybe your humour, but we're not going to go into specifics. ❞ aleksander is attempting to make light of the situation for james, not for himself. his friend has been through far too much. he'd not see that countenance downturn toward disappointment on his watch. he flexes his palms, noting the unshakeable gaze meeting his equally brooding intensity. finding himself a little bit further from breaking when he let himself be comforted / quelled by the other.
❝ I won't cut you out! she can whine all she wants, I am able to make my own decisions. ❞ he says quietly, only for the actor to hear. a level of inspiration to them. james was right. ❝ this is how it has always been. she doesn't understand what it is like to be so alone like that. it is like I don't even exist outside of the work I do for my future. and even then, who is going to trust someone they barely know? ❞ he felt it too, the need to cling to that they had. to hold it so tightly, it could not escape his grip.
my friend birgitte @mutantapologist and i did a fun thing where we each did lineart and then did the coloring for each other’s lineart ! so here’s a jean grey that birgitte drew and i did the coloring for <3
' his name was kenneth? ' ( from aleksander
his stance wasn't particularly defensive, but it was rather stern even for him, as if he were about to deliver a report or a lecture or simply administer his disapproval with a frown. that was after he had been forced to stop in his tracks as well, his fast-paced return and the commotion of it drawing to a halt like a bow pulled taut. the happenings of his every day through limgrave had led him to that crippling bridge, and there he had found a man calling out for help — he had dispensed of this event plainly, before throwing away his armaments and striding further into the keep. the loyal shadow he called his own had followed after him mildly perplexed. barring his way now, they were facing one another.
folding his arms against his chest ( the silver armour was filthy, and robbed off a poor, decrepit soul who had been pardoned from defending anything now ), he said monotonously, and with a shrug, ❛❛ yes, it happened to be. ❜❜ with equal seriousness he warned the starless lord, ❛❛ horribly chatty, he was. trust me, you can't believe a word of someone named that. ❜❜
the day had started how it typically did, morning dew dripping from dawn-kissed foliage. the sound of cries in the distance, and his love ever ready to take on what the day would bring. they tended to the enemies in their path, bloodied carcasses thudding to the ground with a booming familiarity to aleksander. who is not expecting the morning to take a turn as it would. he let kenneth take care of the man hollering for aid atop a fallen bridge, his shrill annoying tenor kept the starless prince from following his consort to the man's side. waiting ever patient as the shroud of night would cleanse his armor from copper tinge threatening to mar its obsidian appearance.
gilded golden star appeared before him once more, arms sternly folding over the muddled armour of his chest. (noting to himself that kenneth deserved better than a deadman's remains.) ❝ of course, beloved. you were gone awhile, ❞ he moves to wrap his arms around the stoic tarnished's waist; bringing him closer as if sensing the foul mood nestled deeply into his brow. he aimed to soothe despite the oddness of his declaration. curious to see where it would go. noting the air of suspicion surrounding heartsigh's aura. ❝ there is more to it, isn't there? ❞
lucretia appears like a golden saviour in the form of eloise, the angel of retribution, and when gabriel meets her gaze, he knew the disappointment was inevitable. he's honestly surprised she managed to keep it in with just a frown keeping that scorching tongue of hers at bay until they reached her safe house without further problems. but he knows why. she's always been soft hearted, doing so now for dior's sake, prioritising her over all else. good. he doesn't say a word—— even when she disappears with the girl after a nod her way she's safe before slumping down onto the first chair he could reach. gabriel feels his blood ooze through his fingers while his stomach continues to knit itself closed.
even in a sluggish doze, he can feel her presence, and the predictable insult from his question brings a smile to his lips—— though the hand taking over with applying steady pressure turns it into a grimace, pulling a soft grunt out of him. ❝ it's a long story. ❞ and still not over with danton on their trail like a relentless bloodhound for dior. gabriel starts to get up on pure instinct after being on edge for weeks with every possible danger lurking in the shadows to check on her —— and definitely not as a way to slink away from the conversation —— but lucretia knows his stubborn ways, pushing him back down against his bare silver chest to sit on his ass, making it clear he's not going anywhere. and that dior is well. he knows that's true, and finds it to be so, picking up on her slow and steady heartbeat.
gabriel's gaze breaks away from the room she’s sleeping in, sliding back to lucretia who glares in disapproval, waiting. he continues with a sigh. ❝ it has everything you like in it: mystery and intrigue. people pissing me off. possible answers to daysdeath. killing ancien. my continued hatred of fucking potatoes. ❞ a travelling company that would've benefitted in lucretia being their chosen silversaint. she believed just as much as chloe did over fate and faith and belief, a certain end to this perpetual night to be discovered in fragile pages scribed in ink so old it could smudge away with one touch, but god's always liked the cruel kind of irony by sending a disbeliever instead. it’s just him and dior now.
❝ thought you liked it when i look rugged. ❞ gabriel quips, a slight purse of his lips, fully aware of the unkempt mess of a beard on his face he's not had the chance to shave since keeping a sixteen year old alive. dior loves making shit jokes about it every chance she gets. ❝ i remember you used to get all sad and pissy whenever i shaved it off. ❞
gabriel's breath hitches over her touch, close and warm and intimate, and his brain short circuits for a second. months on the road and spending half of it near bleeding out or half his bones broken or both simultaneously while frozen to the core makes hers a stark contrast to his body. the hunger of the beast within agrees with intrigue for another reason. even after the reprieve of a pitiful load of sanctus scrambled into a pipe with shaky fingers and inhaled so hard he almost coughs all the intestines he'd managed to stuff inside himself back out to narrowly escape the inquisition's clutches and a twin sister's vengeful fury, he's far from sated. gabriel blames it on the death chill from outside that still clings to him like a spectre of death. and the lack of a good meal and actual sleep.
❝ i need you ... ❞ gaze flicks for a second to her lips, to smooth skin marked in gold, before returning to eyes framed by long, dark lashes. his mouth feels dry and his fangs ache, but a smirk still ghosts. ❝ to shift slightly to the left. ❞ it's not what she's insinuating, they both know it, but he's always been an insufferable bastard. firm but gentle, gabriel maneuvers her a bit with his leg before sliding it underneath with his thigh now between her legs, letting her rest there. ❝ still healing. ❞
saviour, unsatiated by the substance to which tall tale prolonged the suffering of her friend. for gabriel de león of all people to believe chloe, it had to be true wouldn't it? dior while also severely wounded by the inquisition had proved her blood just as other worldly as she had been told. being drip fed myth and fact only confused the silversaint further. how could it be? (why did you have to show up here? —haven't we danced enough? aren't you tired?) of course he was, it was etched into his features. handsome face made weary by the world both of them had experienced. night creatures, and worse.
wet muscle moves over her lower tier, moistening it as the air was horribly dry. ❝ mhm.. ❞ thoughtful even as he spoke, attentive while half-heartedly taking his distractions as his way of dealing with not being able to deal with the vampires after them on his own. he was never good at asking her for anything. and yet, lucretia never really made him ask when they were growing up. she acted—— moved when he couldn't. spoke when he was mute. let the prose she read in various literature create a center of gravity for them both when there was nothing but terror.
an acien? lucretia finds herself sighing in disbelief. (that was no simple task. it likely had a weighty cost to follow.) long digits raise, stopping him from continuing his description of his situation. ❝ hold on. you can't be serious? a answer to daysdeath? gabriel, you've never been a man of myths and fables. how can this be? ❞ she says his name with judgement, as if the man she had come to know had fell for some scheme someone was selling him. religion and superstition had the capability to put a veil of hope over even the most stringent students raised at its altar. it wasn't like gabriel had the utmost faith in god either. the holy had failed him, as she hoped she never would. silver etched palms itched as they remain splayed against his chest. a scoff, gold darts away from him now. to the door, then back to that smug face of his. ❝ please, there is a difference between enjoying the sight of a well-groomed beard and this old hag you've become. and I did not get pissy, you must be misremembering. ❞ in truth, lucretia was quite fond of the rugged look he had when he returned from a long hunt. she couldn't be blamed either; missing him came with various costs.
it takes a few moments for her to realize it. his hunger was ever so palpable, their proximity and how he had taken a moment to observe her rather then whip foul mouthed quips her way. at first he is almost a reflection of his former self, romantic in his own way. her breath is hitched in her throat and she just wants to shake him. for all the times they've knelt before their god instead of embracing each other. for the times she'd spent at his side while he took to the silver needle. silent. an oath was an oath, even if the order they once followed was in shambles. a ghost of what it could be since he left them. however, his vocalization concludes what might have been intimate and affectionate. er, the time was not correct but her hopes might have raised higher than she'd ever admit. the tips of pointed ears flush, as do speckled cheek bones. ivories gripping her lower lip to taunt him in spite, letting divine-touched ichor spill over plush lower tier. backing up now, palms removed from him.
❝ a little to the left you said? alright. ❞ finger moves to wipe her mouth, holding his steady gaze.
ANXIETY
SILENCE HANGS HEAVILY BETWEEN THE TWO, a suffocating sort that screamed “ wrong, wrong, wrong! his posture is stiff, shoulders straight; spine taut. lips forming a foul grimace, & his palms forming tight fists. well-kept nails had already engraved furious sanguine crescents into sensitive dermis. (now none of this was james' fault. but currently there was no one else to lash out at.) no one that could handle his anger quite like james could. @compunctions finally says: ❝ are you really okay? ❞ inquiry searing through what seemed like a half an hour of silence. aleksander had not vocalized any mention of his upset for fear of being unable to rein himself back in. after all, it took mere seconds to unravel what years of practiced facade had created.
through grit teeth, ❝ i am fine, james. ❞ i have to be. but he dares not look at him now, averting his gaze to something in the distance. a tree maybe? no something else, but it was less in focus. made blurry by his heart rate, and the lack of calm in his breathing. aleksander forces himself to take a long inhalation in, slowly exhaling to hopefully calm his ample frustration.
would he be seen as weak for letting something like this affect him so? being told that clubs, and social situations were useless attachments by his mother? maybe he took it too personally, but a good future leader needed to be well liked she'd say. not personable, not knowable. resigning to that gaze he feels bearing into him. ❝ it's my mother again. she doesn't like you much. nor anyone i get close to really. ❞
THEY'VE TENDED TO CATASROPHIC DISSONANCE, the daunted dither of a tail. being followed by their former captors. (to be unlawfully caged. experimented on and deprived of your most precious instincts. made primal, a killer. a weapon.) by those that would call themselves CREATORS. she's wrapping a bandage taut around his left arm, sharp ivories gritting as golden optics darted both from her patient to their surroundings. watching for any movement, any sign that they had been made. feeling his gaze on her, she looks to @vibrarm's countenance now. (troubled, was it?) ❝ you don’t have to worry about me. ❞ his intonation was meant to soothe. at least, that was her assumption. the sniper had plenty of time to adapt to his deadpan snark, at first it was hard. jest mistaken for seriousness. eventually, though amélie managed to figure out that bucky used humour as a means to cope with their combined situation. one could argue she had the same deadpan demeanor, but she'd argue otherwise.
❝ has anyone ever told you, that your humour is ill-timed? if not. I am telling you now, so you know for the next time a tenuous situation like this happens, that the hilarity of it is lost on me. ❞ she tightens the bandage once more, emphasizing her words as she leaned in to fasten it. deadly spider had ensured that the gash was cleaned as well as it could be, given their circumstance her motions precise, but careful. tender almost. but she remains there, kneeling between his legs. puzzled by the way she felt in the moment. that despite all of the months of conditioning, the serums and routine lack of humanity talon's scientists brought.. she felt worried. truly and honestly fearful of what could happen if the two of them were caught again. would she lose all that she had become in the absence of her captors? would he be returned to the horrific tedium of being the muzzle of hydra's gun? these thoughts came rapidly, immediately alerting her to the heightened palpations of the organ caught between her ribs. the weeks they had spent together had become some of the most meaningful. while there was some awkwardness, some hesitance and mistrust. as they were not two individuals that trusted easily. they had come from places where they were not seen as people, but instead extensions of an organization that saw them as objects, utensils to be loaded the same way one would load a weapon of their choosing.
❝ it's stupid you know.. how much I do find myself worrying about you. ❞ palms settle on the tops of his knees; expression taking on a distinct vulnerability.
