✦ ━━━━ 𝐇𝐎𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐃𝐎 , a private and selective ( multimuse ) blog. indefinite semi hiatus and slow replies. 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥. anti wotc and racial alignment. developed within original lore: inspired by korean folklore & dungeons and dragons. spells casted by 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐇, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲/𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝟐𝟓. previously divinesworn and repcntant. traveling the abyss with ... baroviana
⭑.ᐟ blog status: please do not follow this blog unless we are mutuals on my main blog ( this has been a standing rule and will continue as such for all my blogs! )
𝘰𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 , 𝐀𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; becoming desperate for the kiss of death. staring into a mirror can reveal two things: the truth or the perverse. this agony makes you sick! a time loops begins: you know the end (it's tragedy) but maybe this time, maybe this time you can change it. the end is nearing and looming and distorted. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. family means who you spill blood for, not who you share blood with. do you devote out of fear? out of disgust? out of faith? you're always in that house, you're always in that room, you're always stuck there. 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 ━ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃.
⭑.ᐟ note: please check out extended muse list for important character information such as pronouns, age, etc. links here lead to individual character profiles. everything regarding muse info is posted on my sideblog ( doekaebi ). private muses are only labeled as such because i'm uncomfortable writing them all the time, but they are still open to mutuals and friends alike!
✦ , ━━━━━━━ [ CANON / PRIMARY ]
cassandra cain "batgirl" , detective comics
jason todd "red hood" , detective comics
minhkhoa khan "ghostmaker" , detective comics
onomatopoeia "marcus platt" , detective comics
leon kennedy , resident evil
ramattra , overwatch
strahd von zarovich , curse of strahd
sauron "halbrand" , rings of power
ifan ben mezd , divinity original sin 2
astarion ancunin , baldur's gate 3
enver gortash , baldur's gate 3
alistair theirin , dragon age: origins
usopp , one piece live action
zuko , avatar the last airbender
✦ , ━━━━━━━ [ PRIVATE / TERTIARY ]
simon j. paladino "gazerbeam" , the incredibles
adrian chase "vigilante" , peacemaker
park jae-yong "abby" , kpop demon hunters
alex(ie) yoon "pomni" , the amazing digital circus
A MAN ON A MISSION. now employed as a federal agent by the division of security operations, a counterterrorism agency under direct presidential command. leon is a known survivor of the 1998 racoon city destruction incident, when he was a police officer. following his escape, he was forcefully recruited into a top-secret anti-umbrella team under usstratcom devoted to anti-bio organic weapons combat, serving in repeated operations all around the world.
name. leon scott kennedy
alias. rookie, condor one, mr. kennedy
status. alive, barely
date of birth &. age. july 31st 1977, 22 in re4 / 25 in re4 / 50 in re0
place of birth. carroll gardens, brooklyn new york
current residence. extended stay in an aparthotel (serviced apartments) somewhere in washington d.c (after re2). later moved into an apartment somewhere in the philadelphia area (during his leave of absence)
occupation. u.s federal agent
language. english, spanish (intermediate), russian (intermediate), mandarin (elementary)
education. criminal justice associate's degree at delaware county community college. spent two years earning his associate's here right out of highschool before going into the police academy to avoid military service. basic law enforcement academy in pennsylvania, then, tactical and government agent training after the initial events of racoon city.
religion. agnostic theist. he grew up roman catholic and still holds onto traditional religious tenants and traditions. later in life he dropped any sort of outward religious view, and believes in the existence of a god or higher power but acknowledges that he doesn't know and/or cannot prove such a deity exists.
identity. apagender (demi)
pronouns. he/they
sexuality. demisexual (demiromantic)
species. human. contracted the t-virus during the 1998 raccoon city incident, it remained dormant in his system for decades before activating.
ethnicity / nationality. italian american (white)
height. 6'2
eye color. faded gray-blue
hair style & color. ranging from short to longer mullet style brown hair, fuller length bangs that usually cover his forehead and frame his face. when he was younger his hair was a brighter and lighter dirty blonde, but with age, it deepened into a darker brown.
distinguishing marks. a multitude of scars from a life of fighting all across his body. later beginning to show signs of infection from the t-virus starting at his hands.
faceclaim. jensen ackles
*** i write and interpret leon through the perspective and experience of the remakes. i have not played the original games, watched the movies, or any other media, and do not intend to. my version of leon comes mainly from re4 remake and re9, as i enjoy writing a more hardened, older version of him. i don't care for the originals, ship wars, or fighting the "over-sexualization" of leon kennedy. in fact, make those naked mods and link them to me. ***
the raccoon city incident ━━ resident evil 2 , 1998. leon just got dumped by his (now) ex-girlfriend, gets kicked out of their one bedroom apartment, sleeps in a motel and drinks until he passes out. he wakes up hungover, and extremely late to his first day at his new job as a police officer in racoon city. turns out most of the city is overrun by zombies, and the police station had already fallen, due to a secret umbrella lab dedicated to g-virus research that had gotten out and spread. he is a stand up, naive, selfish, kind, and doe-eyed young american man trying to save the day. he quickly realizes reality is not at all what he dreamed it to be. leon is overall too trusting of people, but specifically people of authority━ he thinks things will naturally work out because the people in power are good and want to help / make changes for the better.
the south american incident ━━ time in between , 2002. after escaping racoon city with sherry and claire, leon is headhunted by the u.s military to join a 'top secret special operation task force'. he trains directly under krauser for operation javier, which on face value, was a task force sent into the the amazon rainforest intended to take down several drug cartels. in truth, they were sent to investigate a south american drug lord that purchased the t-veronica virus from umbrella to save his infected daughter. the entire village of course becomes infected, leon and krauser kill everyone and "rescues" the daughter while everyone else fucking dies. the operation of course is covered up, including leon's involvement.
leon is manipulated and abused by krauser who later gets injured during operation javier, becomes crazy disillusioned and vies for power from the damn t-virus anyways. bro loses his only (shitty) mentor, and was beaten to shit the entire time anyways. these are extremely formative years of leon turning into the hardened man he's seen as in re4. when he is not on operation javier (which took years to form anyways), he is literally undergoing extreme physical training. these are his developmental training years.
the los illuminados incident ━━ resident evil 4 , 2004. the daughter of the u.s president, ashley graham, gets kidnapped and leon is sent (on his own lmao) to save her from a remote village in spain. the village is a part of a cult that were all implanted with a parasite called las plagas, which ensures absolute obedience. plans for ashley included infecting her with this parasite and sending her back to the u.s as a sleeper agent, though they both were successfully able to remove their infected parasites. where in re2 he is too trusting, in re4 is far too distrusting, quick to be suspicious of anyone that comes his way, and completely negates other people's help because he fears/thinks that they are out to get him as soon as possible. in fact, he comes into any sort of space thinking people are already there to fuck him over.
the return to racoon city ━━ resident evil 9 , 2026. after his leave of absence and the t-virus he was infected with all the way back in his first visit to racoon city became activated, he is sent out on an investigation by the dso. 28 years following the outbreak, there has been a mysterious case of an unidentifiable deadly illness affecting any of the survivors that escaped the initial incident, with survivors dying to this illness all across the united states. they later find elpis, an antiviral agent made to naturalize all virus based infection. leon takes the antiviral and brings one for sherry, now better than ever.
notes on my personal interpretation of leon's backstory and childhood,
the common misconception of leon's parents being killed because of their criminal ties (italian mafia) and then him growing up in an orphanage is lame and i don't like it. it's weird, and completely negates actual italian-american struggles in the 70s that i have personal ties with (immigrant italian ancestors that grew up in little italies in the east coast). i don't want that to be the highlight of leon's backstory. instead, i like the idea of leon's parents still fully being alive, and he actively chooses to let them not only believe he's dead, but that he will never go see them and reconnect.
leon's parents believe that he died in the initial racoon city incident in 1998, along with the rest of his fellow officers. he died a hero in their eyes and he fully expects to keep it that way. hardly anyone in his life know that his parents are still alive, or that he still has family anywhere in the states. he probably has visited his own grave once, just looking from the window of his car across the street, and decides to continue living in that guilt.
i do like the idea of his father being former police, probably retired early but gave leon the initial idea and hope in becoming an officer as soon as he could. coming from true middle class fashion, his family immigrated to the states through ellis island during "the great arrival" sometime in the 1910s. in the 70s when leon was born, there was a huge surge of ethnic pride in italian communities specifically in new york, fighting back against the stereotype of italians equating to criminals.
in fact, leon probably comes from a line of officers, father, grand father, great grandfather, etc. because of the continual prominence of things like the columbia association, "the italian squad", and the importance of italians on the force to bridge the cultural gap with irish-american dominance already prevalent. italian families began moving up in status during the 50s, and leon's family could have easily been one of them.
to leave it short: leon's parents are still alive. they were extremely influential in his decision in becoming law enforcement, and he hardly ever talks about the cultural/historical significance of his choice because he needs to stay disconnected from it now. he had an okay relationship with his father, more about structure and integrity, but he hardly ever saw the man. he had an even worse relationship with his mother, because he was her only son, her pride and jewel and he could never live up to the standards that were set. what a way to set up a fuckass complex in the guy from both of them. somewhere deep down, he's glad they think he's dead.
✦ : ━━━━━━ 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐇𝐃 𝐕𝐎𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐇 , THE FIRST VAMPIRE!
THE DARK LORD OF THE VALLEY OF BAROVIA. this valley, one of the domains of dread located in a remote corner of the shadowfell, now conquered by strahd; once a prince that thrashed across faerun. beginning to feel the weight of age and time, strahd forged a pact with the dark powers of the shadowfell in order to achieve immortality. the pact involved the murder of his brother, sergei von zarovich, so that strahd could take his wife, tatyana, as his own. the pact sealed, strahd chased tatyana through his gardens, eventually driving her to fling herself off a cliff to avoid him and causing her death. strahd tried to end it all but remained alive, undead, and a vampire. the entire valley was swept into the shadowfell and turned into a prison from which he could never escape.
name. count strahd von zarovich
alias. the first vampire, the devil strahd, the devil, the count, i am the ancient i am the land
status. alive, undead
date of birth &. age. unknown, 400+ (around 45 human years)
place of birth. somewhere near the greycloak hills
current residence. barovia, castle ravenloft
language. abyssal, common, draconic, elvish, giant, infernal, supernal (celestial)
religion. forged a pact with the dark powers, an unknown mystical force that had the ability to pull complete regions into the shadowfell as well as corrupt many individuals. while nobody knew who or what the dark powers might have been, it was certain that once one got trapped within the mists, it was impossible to get out unless the dark powers allowed it.
identity. apagender
pronouns. he/it, they when referred to the land of barovia
sexuality. graysexual
species. vampire
ethnicity. korean
height. 6'8
eye color. blood red
hair style & color. long slicked back black hair, length ranges anywhere from his shoulders to his waist. oftentimes it is clipped back, with some hair pieces framing his face, though whenever he is freely traveling at night, it is fully loose.
distinguishing features and marks. visceral pale skin. long jet black hair. prominent brow and widows peak. noble face. gaunt and sunken, but handsome features. dark red eyes. always dressed in exquisite finery with long robes, many layers. when wearing his silver armor, it is draped in his fur cape. always wearing his ruby-and-gold necklace and gold signet ring. lean and muscular physique, often noted for his height. stone statue while looking distinctly human.
faceclaim. kim young kwang
*** all written with the help of curse of strahd: reloaded, and fleshing out curse of strahd. please check these amazing resources out, and be wary of spoilers for curse of strahd below !! ***
[ strahd is cold and calculating, skilled in social manipulation and deception. over time spent in barovia, his attitude towards those visiting shifts significantly and slowly, ranging from engaging in a cat-and-mouse game, to inviting them to his own home as he is always looking for the newer, shinier consort. though strahd never conceals his nature or identity, he is shrouded in mystery, horror, and the macabre. ]
the gentleman, for those first entering barovia the count is polished and poised. the inevitable and invariable madman. welcoming, well-mannered, and insatiably curious. his goal is to learn the ins and outs of the visitors' minds, including their goals, strengths, and weaknesses. he flatters them with his interest and curiosity, offends them with his arrogance and condescension, and disgusts them with his disregard for human freedom. strahd feels the most curious at the beginning, ranging into amused, nostalgic, and disappointed. he avoids clashing with first timers as much as he can, taking any rudeness or defiance in stride. if pushed, he retreats, sending his flock of bats or even a spawnling to stop any physical attacks as a last resort.
the tyrant, if visitors begin to take stake in barovia naturally with the reignition of the beacon of argynvostholt, strahd becomes harsh, stern, and somewhat cruel. he keeps his cool and aloof demeanor, but treats them less like guests, and more like disappointing proteges. his goal: to push them to their limits, testing their resilience and assessing their competence. strahd takes every moment to offend and scare. however he never strikes first, but dares the defiant to back any insults against him with action. should anyone back down, strahd mocks their resolve and capabilities. anyone who does attack him though, are met with a swift and ruthless response, though never a lethal one.
the monster, though this switch can happen at any unsuspecting time, it will come after the restoration of the blade of the sunsword. strahd abandons all pretense and becomes distant, cold, and unfeeling. his goal: to achieve his ambitions no matter the cost. he generally has a complete indifference to life and death, and has an inability to feel happiness or love. it frustrates many though, to note his refusal to lose his cool. he feels indifferent, curious, satisfied, though mainly determined. he crushes any resistance ruthlessly and efficiently. though he can't seem to be provoked, he is too proud to ever flee from a fight.
[ strahd's primary goal is simple: to free himself and barovia from the mists (the dark powers). as a conqueror and former prince, he craves new lands, the freedom, and power to claim them. he seeks to restore his long-lost empire with castle ravenloft and the valley of barovia as its seat of power. to this end, he needs three things: a pacified kingdom, a host of loyal servants, and most importantly, an escape plan. to fully defeat the count, someone would need to defeat his servants and halt their schemes, defend ireena kolyana and resist his temptations, and to halt his final scheme, would be to destroy the vampire himself. ]
strahd has a complex web of relationships with the denizens of barovia,
death house &. yester hill, he views the cult and forest folk with respectful disdain. he finds their methods and obsessions distasteful, but appreciates their efforts to bring worthy consorts and adversaries from the lands beyond the mists. he finds the forest folk's maddening worship to be more grating than gratifying.
village of barovia, strahd believes that ireena kolyana's body is the host for tatyana's soul, and that tatyana's soul belongs to him. he is aware of ismark kolyanovich's position but finds him to be a lackluster leader and half-rate swordsman. he views donavich and doru with scorn, disdaining the convictions and pride in their faith.
tser pool encampment, he finds madam eva a fascinating enigma, but has come to an unspoken understanding with her. she will read his fortune whenever he requests it, and in return, he would not delve too deeply into her history or affairs.
argynvostholt, he views the revenants with disinterested contempt, but has long since determined that the knights pose no threat to him, and has largely ignored them as a result. he pays the rumors of argynvostholt's spirit haunting the manor no mind, and refuses to believe that the beacon could be relit even if told to his face.
amber temple, strahd respects the dedication to protecting the temple and finds neferon a worthy guardian of the treasures contained within. strahd has little interest in restoring exethanter's loss of memory.
castle ravenloft, he is more than amused by the efforts of his brides to placate and impress him. he views rahadin as his most loyal, trusted, and favored servant, but spares little mind to the other staff and occupants of the castle.
[ strahd is always hungry for new talent, and is on the lookout for new generals to serve his conquests and fresh consorts to keep him entertained. he focuses his attention on those who are especially charismatic, arrogant, intelligent, cunning, or attractive, seeking to determine whether any among his denizens are worthy of serving him in undeath. those under him are well aware of the risk of being replaced, a motivation that he hopes will fuel their efforts on his behalf. strahd believes fully in the "survival of the fittest" and expects to see the strongest rise to the top. ]
in combat, strahd is no ordinary foe. like several of the enemies encountered in barovia, he uses a multi-phase stat block in battle,
the mage, his first phase: lightning his focus (his cloak's ruby clasp) and stowing his longsword.
the soldier, his second phase: drawing his longsword and extinguishing his focus. eyes glow crimson red and his fingernails lengthen and harden.
the vampire, his third phase: stowing his longsword and extinguishing his focus. his fangs grow longer and sharper, and his nostrils become batlike slits.
once a phase is completed and reduced to 0 hit points, it can't be used against until he completes a long rest in his coffin. when all three phrases are reduced to 0 hit points, strahd transforms into a cloud of mist instead of falling unconscious, provided he isn't in running water or sunlight. if he can't transform, he is destroyed. when transformed to mist, he must reach his coffin within 2 hours or be destroyed. once in his coffin, he reverts to his vampire form and is then paralyzed for one hour.
undead nature, strahd doesn't require air.
forbiddance, strahd can't enter a residence without an invitation from one of the occupants.
chained to the grave, strahd cannot gain the benefits of a long rest except by resting in his coffin for eight consecutive hours between dawn and dusk.
children of the night, strahd can comprehend and verbally communicate with barovian bats, rats, and wolves, all which obey his commands.
stake to the heart, if a piercing weapon made of wood is driven into strahd's heart while he is incapacitated in his coffin, he is paralyzed until the stake is removed.
shapechange, if strahd isn't in running water or sunlight, he can polymorph into a bat, wolf, cloud of mist, and back into his true form.
dominion of the mountain, while strahd retains the power of the mountain fane, he is under the effect of a permanent nondetection spell.
dominion of the swamp, while strahd retains the power of the swamp fane, he can cast major image and move earth at will.
dominion of the forest, while strahd retains the power of the forest fane, he can cast beast sense and locate creature at will.
GOTHAM CITY: it never sleeps. here with the city as a painted backdrop atop a rooftop, it is easy to overlook the mural of his work. the work of The Bat that invariably has been graffitied over, defaced, time and time again. and they stand with bleached hands drying the blood out from its streets, attempting night after night to locate the corrupt and bring it to justice. the city is an ever wavering light awaiting to be snuffed out, and they, are protectors of all things ablaze, the spark that keeps this town aglow, alive. batgirl reaches the ledge after he does, an implode of exertion and tenacity. a scampering cat ready to pounce, skittish.
she reaches out to The Bat, a god before her, and her fingers swipe against the edge of his cape. lightly, as if she was never there. and she is starting to speak before he even turns to look at her, the soup of words melt her tongue, as she is all gnashing teeth. ❝ i ... help you. now. ❞ at her waist the palms of her hands face upwards, flat, and she claws at the open air towards herself. it is something oracle had taught her: want. she shifts in worn boots, and suddenly, she is dewey-dove-eyed awaiting for him to answer, for the beacon, their beacon, to shine once more against a fog covered sky. but all is quiet, and all is still, and she flattens her hands at her sides with shoulders that align with his, The Bat.
HEELSHIRE MANSION: my only home. « the creaking walls are not because of me. in fact, i know exactly where to step to ensure my steps are not heard from anyone, unless i wish for them to be. the walls are creaking, these yellowed walls that are growing smaller with my age and consuming time, because there is someone new that walks the halls. someone invited. someone claiming they are staying the night. i have heard she works many odd jobs. short lived, transitionary. she is here to see if she will be a good fit. my parents believe in her, i can tell in the way they look at the walls with fugitive hope. they want her to stay. i am starting to believe i do as well. »
she sits with the doll, the boy, on her lap, quiet amongst the creaking walls. she is brushing his hair, and she will put him to sleep soon, before returning to her room and deciding if she will stay the night or leave. that is how it normally is, a cursory decision. but tonight, he is waiting as much as he is watching. thus when she walks inside and shuts the door behind her, he knocks twice where their family portrait hangs. to say hello. she must know he is there, she must imagine what lies behind the peeling wallpaper. and tonight as she begins to understand, he will know if she can belong in his home, his only home.
ORZAMMAR: the great city of stone. he follows, dog-on-leash, in a marbled municipal where in the midst of this great plague they fight on the terrain, they are buried within the conduct of politics. with words and speeches long, and bows deeper still, with nothing but his sword on his back and the chiming clank of his armor. he is, uncomfortable, sitting in place on the heat of a pot threatening to boil over, crawling out of his skin and behind the hides of a thicker, stronger tongue. silvered, clever. because he sparkles as though he were made of glass, while she is made of something stronger: stone.
❝ you are ... good at speaking. great at it, even. ❞ the squint of his own eyes, lips peeling into tilted frown, as if he is confused by his own words. ( and he looks as such because he is ) ❝ your words. you weave through your words. hmm ... yes. how did you get so good at that? you speak in riddles that i think about for days. ━you are one of the tricky ones. ❞ he lifts a pointed finger, provides a singular wag of it with eyes dancing to the etched ceiling of this nation, the echo of weaponry clanging in the proving grounds in the near distance. he is wearing something akin of a smile, stretched and thin. ❝ however, i have grown to enjoy that about you. admire that. you have gotten us out of many sticky situations. ❞
despite the cacophony of emotions that threaten to overwhelm her, her reaction is instant. a prey animal forced to contend with its would-be attacker. she whips around, hand flying to the neckline of her night dress for the holy symbol that hasn't left her neck since it was pressed into her hands. it's all she can do not to rage at him; not to fall to her knees and demand an answer to the questions that haunt her. why her? why them? why leave her alive while they marched with the dead that tried?
in the mist that seems to ebb and flow like a living breathing thing, she can see it all again. the castle on the horizon, the moat open like a beast's gaping mouth. the overwhelming feeling that something is watching and waiting for them to slip further in. the warm glow of the spell being cast on her by her grandfather's hand on her head. the way that same hand felt cold to the touch when she reaches out for him later, the life drained from them both.
“ your fears mean nothing to me, ” she lashes out, the tremor in her voice unreadable. is it the cold that brings it out or the face of her nightmares come to greet her? she's dreamed of moments like this ... thought of ways to draw him out, to kill him. again and again, the image of driving a stake through his chest is what kept her alive. to be confronted by him, drawn out like a puppet on a string ― only enrages her.
it washes over her like molten gold. another trick of the mist or his own? she's in no state to question it. fingers wrap around the only weapon she can think of ( for what else would drive him back than the holy pendant at her neck? ) and she strikes out, hoping to connect with something solid. something that can answer for the screams that haunt her even now. / @hojakdo
there is an inching humanity. sometimes, when he thinks long and hard enough, he can imagine a life where the regret has not made him into this monster. where the death of a loved one has not produced such animosity and hatred, but the understanding of others, the acceptance of the ways of life. the ebbed flow, and how it does not bring the ravaging of isolation, loneliness. that he would have remained a man, and this creation of the monster that stalks in the night, the one hidden from the sun and found in the wisps of shadows, would have remained a fairytale. a nightmare to scare children.
he would not ache with such hunger. the kind that strikes him like when he had first saw horror flash through the eyes of the people living on this land. the people he has trapped, or was trapped with him. he knew he was not going to hunt this girl, that he would not run the risk of her attacking him. and so he had planned on what to do next, think about what his brother would have done. but there is hunger that consumes his thoughts, that clouds his vision. that is when the shadows that linger at the soles of their feet become thicker, and smell dense with iron. that is why he does not see the girl approach, despite him watching @baroviana. he was watching, but he could not see.
he is filled with ink. charcoal stolen from the village, opaque in moonlight. when she strikes, it connects with his stomach, where the hunger lies. through thick robes it does little damage, but the statement still remains, still stands: he is being. enough to touch. enough to bleed.
thus he laughs. croaking dark words with complete clarity. ❝ i fear that despite having thousands of lifetimes to wander such a plane, i will not get what i want. not truly. ❞ a brief, agonized squak from above. a raven falls dead at her feet. he does not move. ❝ you have a heroes heart. strong. harrowed. poetic. will you help me in my endeavors? will you save me from such fated fears? will you save me, as i, only survivor of my family, my clan, have found you, bounded to the same fate? ❞
CORUSCANT: the deeper you go, the slower it gets. time works differently down here and the people on a different agenda. the planet houses one - two trillion lifeforms, over five thousand levels, one hundred percent of its surface dressed in city. no oceans, no forests, no deserts, no farmland. an extreme vertical hierarchy that cements the wealthiest at its top, a low density center that can look up at the sky, see the stars twinkling at a distance in the night. though here, the underworld, the layer underneath the layer of the wealthy, houses the slums, the black markets. illegal trade and operations that are covered by the canopy of the resplendent, and yet, the turning key and cog of this damned floating rock.
a profitable industry booming of commodities, scrambled in retrofits and infills. the ad hoc levels below are nothing but a vertical trap: stratified by height, the lower you go the less access you have to light, heat, power, time. but down here, he has all the time in world. his steps are heavier, body denser, and the bounty hunter moves about this plane a shade moving through its bombarding streets, relaxed. ripped of all its flora and fauna, the metal of his armor reflects against the metal of the walls, and, its people. his fellow huntsmen, who strides close, and closer still, and stops until he stands besides him at the bar countertop. an industrial band strums behind him. ❝ what are you doing here. ❞ said more statement than question. more accusation than anything. ❝ looking to settle a score? ❞
✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁. ( a collection of violence & injury - based action prompts. adjust phrasing / reverse roles as desired. mature themes ahead. absolutely do not use these for non-con. )
[ 01. ] sender takes receiver down to the ground during a fight.
[ 02. ] sender leaves scratches / bruises on receiver's body.
[ 03. ] sender cruelly applies pressure to receiver's [ wound / bruise ].
[ 04. ] sender lightly trails a sharp knife across receiver's cheek.
[ 05. ] sender wraps a hand around receiver's neck & cuts off their oxygen.
[ 06. ] after a long - winded chase, sender finally corners receiver.
[ 07. ] sender holds a knife to receiver's throat, blade nicking their skin.
[ 08. ] sender pushes receiver into a wall & pins them there.
[ 09. ] sender has poisoned receiver's [ drink / food ].
[ 10. ] sender aims a loaded gun at receiver, cocking the hammer.
[ 11. ] sender suddenly throws a punch at receiver during a confrontation.
[ 12. ] sender hurls an item across the room at receiver's head.
[ 13. ] sender forcefully pushes receiver's head underwater.
[ 14. ] sender unexpectedly arrives at receiver's home covered in blood & bruises.
[ 15. ] sender pleads for receiver to help them with hiding a body.
[ 16. ] sender is knocked out during a fight, & wakes up in receiver's home.
[ 17. ] sender gently dabs the blood from receiver's face with a wet cloth.
[ 18. ] sender crafts a tourniquet from their own clothes to stop receiver's bleeding.
[ 19. ] after severely wounding receiver, sender approaches them menacingly.
[ 20. ] sender takes receiver by the throat & lifts them off the floor.
[ 21. ] sender licks receiver's blood from their fingers.
[ 22. ] sender viciously bites receiver during a struggle.
[ 23. ] sender draws receiver's blood for the first time.
[ 24 ] sender grabs receiver's hair, forcing their bloodied face up to look at them.
[ 25. ] sender straddles receiver to pin them to the floor.
[ 26. ] receiver wakes up tied to a chair, sender standing before them.
[ 27. ] sender threatens receiver with torture in order to extract information.
[ 28. ] sender is severely injured & receiver must dial an emergency number.
[ 29. ] sender, bleeding through their bandages, faints in front of receiver.
[ 30. ] sender goes to strike receiver with a [ blunt object ].
[ 31. ] finally in position, sender can't make themself kill receiver.
[ 32. ] sender intentionally breaks one of receiver's bones to demobilize them.
[ 33. ] sender deprives receiver of sustenance for an extended period of time.
[ 34. ] sender slaps receiver across the face in a moment of anger.
[ 35. ] through [ coercion / force ] sender makes receiver kneel before them.
[ 36. ] sender prepares to make the killing blow upon receiver.
[ 37. ] sender jumps in front of a strike meant for receiver.
[ 37. ] after a third party threatens receiver, sender takes revenge & attacks them.
[ 38. ] sender has taken a third party prisoner as an offering to receiver.
[ 39. ] sender, in a frenzy, hunts receiver through the vast dark wilderness.
[ 40. ] receiver is trapped in a maze-like structure with sender hunting them down.
[ 41. ] sender draws receiver a hot bath to soothe their wounds.
[ 42. ] sender begs receiver not to succumb to their injuries.
[ 43. ] sender harshly takes receiver by the chin, forcing eye contact.
[ 44. ] sender is in the hospital, severely injured, & receiver just got the news.
[ 45. ] sender is the first person receiver sees after returning to consciousness.
✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓, 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ( a collection of various location prompts categorized by certain environments. feel free to adjust phrasing as desired. this prompt is likely to be updated in the future. )
[ 1. ] — URBAN :
the graffiti - scarred underpass of an old railway bridge, echoing with distant trains.
the fire escape of a towering high - rise, overlooking a vast grid of sleeping lights.
a forgotten alleyway behind a row of storefronts, bathed in the glow of a neon sign.
the window booth of a greasy diner, blurred city lights reflected in the glass.
a sheltered bus stop tagged with old stickers & graffiti, drenched in midnight rain.
a food cart on a busy street corner, steam rising into the cool night air.
a 24 - hour laundromat, fluorescent lights humming above rows of idle machines.
amidst the initial trickle of commuters through a sprawling subway station.
a park at the city's center, made up of grassy knolls & playground equipment.
the shadowed corridor of a parking garage, footsteps echoing in concrete silence.
the elevated walkway over a busy intersection, offering a bird's - eye view.
a vibrant street art mural on the side of a decaying brick building, alive with color.
[ 2. ] — RURAL :
a cramped stall within an empty stable, moonlight shining through the rafters.
a neglected orchard where wind - blown fruit rots beneath gnarled trees.
a winding gravel path leading all the way to a secluded farmhouse.
a field of wildflowers buzzing with bees, bordered by split - rail fencing.
a street temporarily shut down on behalf of a bustling farmer's market.
the sleepy main street of an eerie town, a single streetlight casting a warm glow.
a dry creek bed winding through brittle grass & sun-bleached stones.
a rickety wooden bridge arching over a narrow stream, frogs croaking all around.
a quiet paddock under bright starlight, farm animals peacefully grazing.
the middle of a deep, vast corn field under a brilliantly shining moon.
a dusty, unpaved road stretching endlessly through a landscape of rolling hills.
a yard sale with patrons trickling through beneath the hot sun.
[ 3. ] — NATURE :
a moss - covered trail leading deeper into a dense, mist-shrouded forest.
a windswept cliff overlooking a turbulent gray ocean, gulls crying overhead.
a secret lagoon with crystal blue waters & flourishing flora on all sides.
the shifting golden dunes of a vast beach, meeting the endless blue of the sea.
the banks of a swift, rocky river cutting through a vibrant forest.
a lodge / cabin in the middle of the woods, seemingly unoccupied for years.
a cluttered camping site deep in the middle of a national forest.
the edge of a marsh, thick with reeds & the distant calls of unseen birds.
the tranquil, glassy surface of a mountain lake reflecting a clear blue sky.
a hidden clearing bathed in dappled light, exuding the scent of damp earth.
a fork in the hiking trail, each path offering different adventures.
a foggy moor where the land rolls endlessly beneath a grey, heavy sky.
the deck of a cozy cottage bathed in sunlight & blooming flowers.
a grove of ancient trees, their roots exposed & twisted like veins in the earth.
[ 4. ] — SHOPS & ENTERTAINMENT :
a warm, dimly lit antique shop overflowing with forgotten treasures.
the too - cheery gift shop near the front entrance of a hospital.
a comic book store sporting bright posters & dozens of tradable goods.
amid long aisles lined with thrifted goods at the local consignment store.
a cluttered, cozy bookstore smelling of old paper & freshly brewed tea.
the incense-heavy interior of a well maintained smoke shop.
the warmth of a small-town bakery, pastries piled high in the display case.
backstage, the space cluttered with costumes, props, & nervous energy.
a shop in an unfamiliar country, every label written in a foreign language.
the chilled interior of an ice cream parlor offering refuge on a hot day.
under the harsh yellow lights of the only liquor store that was open at 2am.
a tourist - trap shop full of cheesy knick-knacks catered to travelers.
an unassuming corner shop concealing the entrance to an exclusive club.
a vibrant flower market overflowing with fragrant blooms & vendors' chatter.
under the flashing lights of a dance club, bass thrumming through the floor.
the hushed, reverent interior of a grand theater just before the curtain rises.
a pop - up carnival at night, rides whirling & distant screams mixing with music.
a karaoke lounge drenched in LED's, lyrics scrolling across a bright screen.
the rewards counter of an arcade, stacked wall-to-wall with countless prizes.
a classy high - rise rooftop bar with countless city lights sprawling beneath.
a brightly lit arcade alive with the sounds of chimes, explosions & laughter.
the neon - drenched interior of a retro - themed diner with a jukebox playing old hits.
a casino floor buzzing with noise; slot machines chiming, cards shuffling.
the open air of a summer music festival, crowd gathered under the twilight.
a classic, dimly lit bowling alley- the crash of pins echoing down the lanes.
the back row of a mostly - empty movie theatre right as the lights go dark.
took a long ass look at the man in the mirror and finally updated my muse list !!! it's the shortest list i've ever had for a mumu but i have to keep making it even shorter in order to actually write .... but i think for now, my blogs will be condensed and i'll update my blogroll soon !! excited to be here <3 everything is cleaned up and i will be making my slow ass return <3<3
none of this was planned, not entirely. she was at the hotel for unrelated reasons, caught a glimpse of that familiar head of pink, and now found herself staring down at him as he flaunted around the pool. in broad daylight. granted, nobody else would see the problem with this — lounging about was no problem. and it didn't help that the staff had closed it off to the public for the day for obvious reasons of idol presence. the honmoon strung out in the near distance, humming, but it had weakened where he had situated himself. its power was weakest here. her fingers itched to summon her saingeom, eager to slay him where he was, but it felt too easy. and too public. the feeling of water hitting her skin was unpleasant, even more so as she watched it land over her boots, and began dripping down to where her socks would be. “ aren't you archaic ? ” brows knitted together as she kicked her foot in his direction, some poor attempt of scuffing the droplets back in his direction. “ if i'm a witch, you should be a little more concerned about me casting spells on you. ” she wished she could. her training had glossed over the basics of shamanism. “ could have you turned into a bug i can squash. not that i couldn't squash you right now. ”
his invitation was enticing. she wanted answers more than anything, and she had dared to think about the possibility of him knowing how to get rid of her patterns — not that she would believe a single word of his over celine's, but her curiosity and desperation had grown insatiable. it wasn't an impossible ask, either. her surf-suit had rendered her safe from any water tricks, but the last thing she wanted was to willingly put herself in his space. with those bubbles. she couldn't help the grimace washing over her features as she studied his physique and just now nauseatingly confident he was about it. the nickname nearly had her spiraling. no stranger to it, but very much so despising it from his mouth. “ bold request when you've just suggested i should drown. ” gaze narrowing, yet she found herself unzipping her boots, the sound slow and taunting as though she needed to convince herself she really was buying into such a stupid move. if he had anything planned, she would be there, anyways. better to have eyes on one of them than not at all. she should have told the girls to watch for the others. but there was a selfishness to her decision. “ where are your friends ? did they leave you out of a group hang ? ” bare feet now planted over hot cement, she took a step closer to the edge. “ you know, if this is a trap ... there's no way you'd be getting out of it, either. ”
he wants to laugh. she's almost twitching to hurt him. has she been waiting for a moment like this all along? he likes to think she has, an underlying degree of justice swims into her throat and hangs on the tips of her fingers, as if she really believes she's the penultimate death he'll face. as if she is something to be afraid of. but what more is she than this: a girl, a doll, playing dress up in glittery boots and glimmering jewelry, shimmering under the flash of thousands of cameras. a facade, fake and plastic. she looks at him, a demon zipped up in fictitious human flesh, someone here to cause their perfect plan to backfire, rip the bow right off the present that sits patiently in her lap, and he looks at her, a calling card for the hypocritical. she looks down at him, hates him, thinks he's here as an injustice to her 'save the world' plan. it's funny. or, it's supposed to be. ❝ seems like you have a type then. ❞ older, archaic. meetings with jinu aren't lost to the rest of them. he finally does laugh, the discordant ring echos through his chest, finds a place to string itself against the softest parts of the honmoon. it dances there, turns it black. ❝ casting spells to squash me? that's the best you could come up with? ❞
he watches her take off her boots, eyes follow the zipper down and then across her rigid form once more, his head tilted and resting against the muscles of his own arm. ❝ so long as you play along, act friendly, we'll get along just fine. let's just enjoy the bubbles for a little bit okay, 동생 ? ❞ flatside of his palm comes to nudge some of the water over the lip of the hot tub. it splashes against her feet and into her boots, causing the corners of his lips to tug into another grin. ❝ my friends? ❞ he's not sure he's ever thought about them that way, or it's just been a long time since he's thought about them at all. outside of their plan with gwi-ma, what else would be so important? ❝ heyyy, that's kinda mean. i'm right here and you're asking about them? what, my muscles not enough for you? i thought saints weren't supposed to be greedy. ❞ it makes him jealous, and it shows. and he doesn't care that it does, in fact, he wants to make sure she knows. he reaches back towards her as she moves closer, slips the loose fabric of her clothes between his two fingers as he gently tugs on it. the smile on his face never falters. ❝ hurry up and get in. ❞
khabib is the one that often times goes to meet people. while she leads her army and takes care of her people, he had always been at the forefront like a sort of glamour the two had decided to place. it was a plan very few actually understood. in the game of battle, there are always many weapons one will never train with or even see, some in odd shapes and sizes or sealed away with talismans to suppress whatever had been trapped inside of them. the system the two siblings have set up was one of those weapons. it surely made things easier for their father, she thinks to herself. in reality, the roles set for each of the azaris made little to no sense if one didn't truly take the time to understand it. the king was mainly the final authority, everything else was laid upon shams, khabib and the rest of the satraps. she tilts her head softly, something that is barely noticeable, as she takes in his expression.
she only hums at first when she hears the question. she knew when to hand in information on a silver platter and when to keep it to herself. the former would be in her favor. she was a master of planning and working things to her advantage, she rarely dived headfirst into something without mapping out a strategy. and perhaps this is her strategy. she clicks her tongue. `` khabib. i'm sure you'll meet. he's quite the people person. `` shams then keeps her silence as she stares at him with a look of secret calculation settling onto her face. when her mouth parts, she smiles. `` what, is the castle easy to get lost in? `` she pauses as her hand moves to the chess piece. `` would it bother you, if they were having a meeting at the moment? i'm sure they have plenty to discuss. ``
he believes: he enjoys the role he plays. he props an elbow up, places his chin delicately in the center of his palm. his continued actions is nothing short of royalty, the teetering king sitting low in his seat, always relaxed, ever satisfied. yet he feels the grooves of war within his hands, stains of blood from fallen enemies warming, pooling in its center, a different time of his life, something that feels so far and distant. he has always played a role. he had been born into one, and though his desires of becoming a grey warden came true, it was a truth of his that came at the highest cost. after that, it was best to stop hoping. best to leave daydreaming for children, for he is a weapon of war, carved into battle, readying for the world's next strike. he will play the lawful king, the wedded husband, a tool to be used. this way, he will be safe. no one will die because of him no more.
❝ i will meet him later tonight then. i heard there was to be a special dinner for our special guests. ❞ he gives her the same smile that is on her face, replicated, fabricated. ❝ the castle is very large. there are many things hidden within, though if you so wish, i would be honored to give such esteemed guest a private tour. ❞ outstretched hand reaches to the chess pieces, fiddles with the ones closest to him, the king, the queen, the bishops, tilting them on the painted lines. then━━ a laugh. it sounds genuine because it is, with her words being, something of hilarity. he starts to take a liking because she speaks in a way that humors him. would it bother him? what a funny way to speak. ❝ it wouldn't bother me, no. queen anora has many meetings with many men. ❞ he laughs again, the sound so foreign to him. ❝ does it bother you? that you are not there, but rather, here. ❞
the sharp inhale from her tells him that what he says hits home. where is she meant to go? she took the job for the money, the chance at supplies that she didn't need to haggle for. it was a dipping in then dipping out situation like always ━ so why did he expect her to stick around? that wasn't the way her life worked and it wasn't the way his did either, as far as she knew. they didn't stick around long enough to ask questions, but somewhere along the way they got attached. or maybe it was all just her ━ she never was very good at letting things go.
almost against her will, her eyes find the hovering cradle. she doesn't have the benefit of hiding behind a mask like he does so everything's laid bare. the way her eyes well up, the brief hesitant tremor before she reaches a finger out to wrap around the cradle's edge. she's almost jealous of the burden he carries that peers up at her inquisitively. he's not alone at least. out of the both of them it's the one thing he's gotten better at.
“ i don't know, ” she confesses and almost deflates in the face of his innocent question. almost. shoulders slump ever so slightly before they stiffen again, glad for the cover of the scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. she feels like that lost girl the day she watched alderaan blow up, the day he left her years after. “ there's nowhere else left to go, but i know where i can't go. and i know where i don't belong. ” it's not a life of quiet he can offer her. all oriana's ever wanted was a moment where things could go quiet. where is she meant to go? she wishes she had a smartass response in return.
he doesn't wish often. wishing is nothing but a dream. and who is he to dream? what would it even be about? what would it entail? and it would always come down to why: why would he wish for something that would never come true, if not to hurt? to feel pain he already does, allow it to rise in this throat like bile bubbling through his chest, a disease that never settles. a virus that just sits on the surface and stews, never heals, scars over and over and over again, a wound continuously reopening. he doesn't need to wish. the mandalorian feels the pain, lives the pain. it is apart of him. stitched into the scars, gleaming over his armor, something he'll never take off. a wish is a dream, and he so rarely dreams.
when he does, it's a wish. a wish to take back something he said, something he did, a wrong enacted into the cosmos by his hands. hoping to twist it into what he knows afterwards was a wrong committed, and there are so many wrongs in this world already. when her shoulders bow inwards, when she looks away and finds the hovering cradle and reaches closer, this is when he hopes and dreams. a desire to turn back time and say the right thing. this is why it has gotten easier to say nothing at all.
his eyes flicker to the hidden child, their bounty, then to her. his arm flinches, static fluttering up his wrist and into his collarbone, a pain that wrenches free. he reaches towards her, the worn leather of his gloves wrap gently around her wrist, holds her there. there are times where his helmet is not enough, the waning of his chest so evident with the labor of his breath and: there is no hiding here. ❝ let's get back to my ship. ❞ for this moment, he doesn't let her go. ❝ the kid's tired. so are you. ❞
the image comes unbidden : his hands, slender and winter cold and so, so practiced with those blades, holding her in place while his mouth closes around the pulse in her throat. would he be able to stop, once that first drop of lifeblood hit his tongue? or would he drink at it until her world went dark at the edges and the song of skarith called her home? from the number of gored beast carcasses they’ve stumbled across thus far on their journey, she is far more inclined to believe the latter. ( there had been whispers before her abduction — blasphemy, to be certain — of gelfling gone missing within the skeksis’ domain, drained by the lords and their essence used for sustenance. were they true, seladon could imagine astarion’s consumption to feel the same : the very soul rent from your body ).
and that is to say nothing of his more . . . untoward insinuations. a place she will not allow her mind to wander, though her skin does smolder with the embarrassment of it all. she is hardly the prudish sort ( quite the opposite — her position to inherit the throne made her a desirable courtship prospect among the vapran gentry ), but her companions are bolder, more obscene and wanting in their desires of the flesh than she could ever dare to be. despite the voice imploring her not to feed into his goading, she looks over her shoulder and allows her vision to rake languidly down his form – before she contorts her features into a new expression of disgust. as though she has considered the offer and surmised him no more attractive than the tadpole writhing against her eye socket.
“ do you often proposition near - strangers when you clearly have so little to give them in return? ” she asks, mimicking the egotistical lilt of his head, her own brows raised with the question. maudraling would prefer the matter resolve itself here, but the universe has scarcely been so kind to her in her time since the nautiloid, and it only makes sense that astarion is the sort to deny anyone else the last word. at his final retort, she bristles. licks the sourness off her teeth and mellows her expression, nearly grinning through the fear that’s lanced her heart at the sight of his fangs gleaming in the sun. don’t let him get to you, seladon. “ and you seem to forget, ” she continues, “ even monsters need to sleep at night. i’d suggest doing it with one eye open from now on. ”
there is body, there is flesh. and then there is personhood. selfhood, identity, purpose. what does it mean to be human? what does it mean to be alive? what does it mean, in this body so broken, to have a sentience beyond these trees that surround them, the dirt underneath this boot? is this the flesh that is tender, the flesh that is non-fresh, dead beyonds it years, rotten to its core, that he must live within for the rest of his time? a curse placed, displacing him from life. it's covered by the perfumery of the living, something that hits him deep in his chest, striking in all the places that decomposition has halted. it's a smell that chokes him.
no one expects the caged cattle to speak. less expected is to fight back: even lesser, to engage in it's owners, and those that gaze into the gilded cage waiting for the animal to wave back. she is small and tender, and flesh and so very human: with the bite on her tongue that slithers to strike and the venom that forms right under her nails. she is human, or, what it means to be human: flared anger, a hangover of his earlier years. ❝ i proposition any and all that seem ... interested. and interesting. with that shimmering glint of hatred in your eyes? ❞ he laughs. he laughs something fake and high, somewhere tittering closer to the woolly clouds that grasp at the blue of the sky. ❝ oh, how could i resist. ❞ the spawn prances closer. he taunts and fleers, ever closer: like a predator hunting its prey, or a prey leading the predator's maw to its neck. he doesn't mind playing either part.
❝ besides, deary, we are no strangers. we are bonded. bounded. our little disgusting creature behind our eye socket ensures that. you couldn't run away from me even if you tried. i don't think you would even want to. the nights here can get sooooo very cold, and you are very far away from your home, aren't you? i can keep you warm. whatever you can dream up in your deepest sleep, i'll be even better. ❞ there is that chatter of his fangs once more. the flaunt of litheness, sweeping through the forest. he stays close to allow his voice to ring in the space that engulfs them, far enough from her direct reach. he likes it this way. ❝ are you saying you will find me in my sleep? in my tent, laying on my bedroll, all alone? will you join me then? hold a knife to my throat and make me regret it? are those your fantasies, love? you could've just said so. or asked. anything to make your desires come true. ❞
