𝐵𝐼𝑇𝐸⠀𝕸ARKS ﹗

noxus is where the strong gather.

[lordkills]

consider this blog archived. i'm packing up and i'm moving along to @stelegy with a slightly revamped (and hopefully more focused) roster. i'm going to start from a blank slate for my threads (with a few exceptions), however my askbox will remain and i will use old asks from here to try and get back into a rhythm. i will to use the space to foster an environment where i can focus my writing on plotted dynamics and more story-driven threads, so please follow me only if you want to write with me. i'm really going to be highly selective going into this space. we will have a thread, that's as much a promise as is it a threat.

lamb will be getting his own dashboard as well over on @farcountrys if you wish to write with him as well. i am continuing all threads and asks on for lamb. see you!

[lordkills]

consider this blog archived. i'm packing up and i'm moving along to @stelegy with a slightly revamped (and hopefully more focused) roster. i'm going to start from a blank slate for my threads (with a few exceptions), however my askbox will remain and i will use old asks from here to try and get back into a rhythm. i will to use the space to foster an environment where i can focus my writing on plotted dynamics and more story-driven threads, so please follow me only if you want to write with me. i'm really going to be highly selective going into this space. we will have a thread, that's as much a promise as is it a threat.

lamb will be getting his own dashboard as well over on @farcountrys if you wish to write with him as well. i am continuing all threads and asks on for lamb. see you!

[lordkills]

uh, activity notice and moving announcement? maybe? mostly a sad rant.

not gonna lie gang, i'm not feeling very well when it comes to this blog. i've been trying to ameliorate this by reading, trying to write in my spare time, trying to bring myself to be enthusiastic about my original characters and plotting again, but it's no use. i no longer feel that same enthusiasm i used to, nor that want to try and write and develop storylines again. it might be my fatigue or just the plain and simple truth of just falling out of love with rp.

i'm prone to blame this on how cluttered and disorganised this blog is. i've had this space for two years and i've attempted over those two years to painstakingly curate the illusion of a new space time and time again, but i think that same ol' strategy has run its course. if i'm to do this right with another attempt, i'm most likely going to archive and give myself a new blog, and i will also give lamb his own separate space since i do well with smaller dashes.

i've also been unenthusiastic about plotting lately, which i apologise for. i feel my want to write waning, and my instinct is to blame it on others for being uninterested or not bringing the same level of enthusiasm i see them with other mutuals to me. which is fair, people have their friends and their preferences, god knows i do, but the isolation and lack of interest i feel cannot be merely my imagination at some point (though in honesty it's more like 90% my delusions and 10% actual reality). however, now i realise blaming people is the coward's way out, and in the long run, it's much easier for me to admit that it might be just because i'm not a good writer nor a good communicator of ideas. i feel i am not a good plotter with which people can enthusiastically bring ideas to, i am not warm or receptive the way other writers are, i am not a person to be excited over. which is fine, and fair, i know some of my talents lie in other places (yes, the rumours are true, i have been told i have talent) but where those other places are remains a mystery to me. i'll let you know if i find any.

all this to say, i'll probably think of moving over the next few days. a good, clean space that i'll feel nice about, where i'll foster a dash that i don't feel pressured on. hopefully i'll see you there. and if not well, i pray you take care.

[lanada]

Zatoichi meets Yojimbo | Kihachi Okamoto 1970

[lordkills]

feeling much better now, much to the disappointment of my following (loud booing from the audience) and i'll try to get back into plotting and writing again. if you want me to owe you something, feel free to have a look through my prompt tag and add your name there to a list of other people i'm going to disappoint. yay

[lordkills]

cleaned up my pinterest a bit. (with increasing prey nervousness) whatever.........

[lordkills]

another short angry tangent because i have to get this out of my system. the infernal devices has supremely clear allusions to the tale of two cities by charles dickens and the triangle of sydney - lucie - darnay is mirrored in will - tessa - jem (a pair of them gets engaged and the other mopes about it because of his unrequited affection for the girl, the very close relationship that the two men in the triangle have up to and including the fact they are willing to undertake great risks for each other, etc). cassadra clare's two cities reimagining clearly wants sydney to come out alive and get his happy ending (because, let's be honest, we all wanted him to), but the problem with that is sydney as a character is so affecting because he does not get that happy ending. i can't stress this enough ; sydney is so ruinously effective because he is tragic.

sydney's self-awareness makes him compelling, sydney's sacrifice makes him poignant and heroic. the fact he has to sit there and watch his best friend and the girl of his dreams get married is, in part, a self-fulfilling prophecy. there's this implication in the novel that while sydney is brilliant and shrewd and smart, it's his defeatism and self-loathing that prevents him from truly recognising the happiness he can make out of his life. that is his will herondale curse.

(there's an argument to be made here that will's curse of those who love him dying being Fake All Along is analogous to sydney's life being worthless because he perceives it as worthless, and that both characters undergo the same thing because their life outlooks are both self-inflicted. i would argue that is still complete and utter bullshit, because what makes sydney so relatable and compelling is that he is very much aware of his tragedy being self-inflicted. in reinterpreting will's tragedy as an external force — here a demon which are long-lasting and effective metaphors for mental illnesses — and then pulling the rug out from under us and telling us It Was Fake All Along, will is basically absolved of any and all blame he might have accrued when he was an asshole for pushing people away. which is what happened anyway! what the fuck!)

like, okay. let's compare and contrast the scene where sydney admits to lucie that he loves her only for her to reject him (because she's engaged to darnay), with the scene where will admits to tessa that he loves her only for her to reject him (because she's engaged to jem).

(in complete fairness, there's a bit of a disadvantage in comparing the two scenes. for one, the one in clockwork prince is from tessa's point of view, and in two cities, we see it from sydney's. and that will affect what they choose to narrate, but the dialogue and framing still stands to be scrutinised.)

will compels tessa from the beginning with some optimism, believing that if he can just convince her that the curse Was Fucking Fake, they can be together, and when she rejects him at the end of this conversation, he's left despondent and even moves on a backfoot to try and convince himself and tessa that breaking off her engagement is the best plan, and he is later swayed by tessa that it is not. this is in contrast to sydney, who already starts from the fucking get-go knowing he has no chance (notice how he refers to his feelings in the past tense, 'returned the love of' 'would have been'), and that confessing to lucie his affections was done more in service to the narrative, to continuously establish sydney as tragic and to later set up the sacrifice he will make for lucie, which he promises in this same scene.

also notice that in will's plea, he appeals not to tessa directly but how he had affected tessa. this is an important distinction because sydney, in contrast, appeals to how he will affect lucie instead. where sydney is more concerned about lucie's happiness if they are together, will instead points out tessa's perception of him as what affects their being together. (god, will's self-centred nature in the narrative is way more evident if i actually point it out like that.)

again, compare and contrast (and this time, i don't think i need to say anything here) :

like, the whole thesis of sydney's character revolves around lucie. he considers himself a delinquent, good-for-nothing and good for no one, who deserves no goodness, but he says in this same conversation (where she rejects him, mind) that lucie genuinely inspires him to become a better person. and by the end of two cities he does end up becoming a better person by paying the ultimate sacrifice. which is necessary to, you know, keep that setup-payoff.

also, just completely removing the fucking sacrifice that sydney would make and giving it to darnay (jem) instead and going 'good luck, buddy, thanks for giving me your happiness!' is absolutely taking the piss and disrespecting The Whole Fucking Point of sydney and i'll probably explore it in-depth in some meta where i actually examine the trilogy against dickens. fucking hell.

[lordkills]

※ canon divergencies and other portrayal notes : will herondale.

i am not the biggest fan of the manner in which cassandra clare writes will herondale, not simply in the infernal devices but to the shadowhunter canon at large (since a lot of the shadowhunter canon at large basically ripples from the events of the infernal devices) . one can even call me, generously, a hater. i want to portray will in the way that i believe should have been done to keep with the integrity of his character concept, and with respect to the other characters in the story (jem and tessa especially, cough cough) . the canon divergencies and other clarifications under the cut will make clear my intentions of this.

keep in mind that i am always plot-oriented and i am more than willing to discuss these divergencies with other shadowhunter muses, if you'll forgive the amount of disappointment and less-than-generous ramblings about the infernal devices.

i want to put front and centre the tonal and emotional dissonance that forms the core of will's character. his flippant, hedonist and carefree attitude is meant as both a self-destructive coping mechanism and also to discourage anybody from forming meaningful relationships with him (on account of his curse, which i talk about in the next point) . it also works to hide his true personality, which is that of a sensitive and emotional young man afraid of his own loneliness. will, by cassandra clare's own admission, is heavily based off the character of sydney carton and i want to take sydney's selfsame dual nature and make more prominent the juxtaposition that defines will.

the curse set on by marbas is real. it is not 'fake,' it is not a lie that marbas told to set will into self-destructive tendencies. and on that note, it is reversed ; instead of anybody will loves meeting any tragic end, anybody who loves will is going to instead suffer a tragic end. this isn't simply semantics ; it's meant to remove will as overwhelmingly self-centred in the narrative about his own damn curse. instead of will torturing himself over the affection and suffering others feel for him (and thus the narrative being solely about his own suffering) , this is meant to let other characters close to will evaluate their own relationships with him and come to their own conclusions about their dynamics with him.

continuing on the subject of marbas : i will make marbas is the demon father of john shade, axel mortmain's adoptive father, making the demon who cursed will a much more involved character in tessa's narrative. this gives both will and tessa a common touching point for both their respective grievances (will with his curse and tessa with her warlock nature and her relationship to mortmain) , and makes will more personally involved in any dynamic he might share with the villain of the goddamn series, which i believed failed to appear in the original narrative.

[sdyd]

𝑀. the secrets of life ... sentence starters from valentine wolfe's 2018 album, the haunting of mary shelley. feel free to change tense / pronouns !

you'll see me soon, or nevermore.

how slowly time passes here.

I am as fixed as fate.

I can't stop, or turn back now.

I've left too much unsaid.

I am your voice in the dark.

I have no friend.

they will try to cut you up.

they will put you back together wrong. so very, very wrong.

a vessel can have many purposes.

decoration lends a purpose

hold on to my voice at night.

you can be remade.

revel in the decadence as they wallow in their ignorance.

you will have all the knowledge they foolishly squandered away.

you won't ever be alone again.

you can hear her anguished cries.

your compassion makes you perfect, so perfect.

I know what you seek.

I know why you cry.

I know your breaking heart.

I know how you'll die.

[ name ] was as a daughter.

we thought that your compassion made you perfect.

the shadowed window pane offers a ghostly glimpse into your paradise of domestic bliss.

where is my place in this ?

I am an endless wanderer upon this land, a maker's thoughtless touch.

why am I so alone ?

you never stooped so low.

chase away my fears.

my tears must burn with rage.

lashing out in anger, my soul is fractured fragments.

this haunted world is littered with the ghosts of the past.

everywhere I turn there’s a part of me in all of them.

there’s so much of you in all of me.

but I don’t fit.

then sorrow shall follow behind me as my bridal train.

It’s a mystery I never understood.

it's not your story to tell.

she never knew her mother.

her voice was always there.

If only the good doctor had taken better care to imbue their new creation with a mother’s love.

what horrors might have been averted !

this author knew her subject well.

all men hate the wretched, how then must I be hated.

your actions have wronged me, I must have revenge.

I am miserable beyond all living things.

make me happy, I shall again be virtuous.

what flows out must pour back in.

I will be with you on your wedding night.

I will glut myself on your shrieks.

I will revel in your misery.

I bear a hell within me, I will loose it all upon you

you will learn to dread misfortune, you will learn the agony.

I will work at your destruction, I will desolate your heart.

the death knell shall be rung, each toll a stake into your heart.

in the halls of silence, electric genius cursed me.

I remember when I wondered : what if no one had to die ?

no more farewells.

you will never have to die.

it was not what I'd intended.

I was only ever meant to live alone until the end.

death is now a welcome guest.

the pages turn, the book never ends.

the story grows cold inside my head.

I only ever wanted to help.

the echo of you will never be enough, as long as the black veil separates us.

even stretched on your grave, I’m not close enough.

the reaper is a friend.

death's kiss is a gift.

you took from me, my agency.

now I'm just a whisper in a shadow.

I am leaving this world behind.

do not search for me in heaven.

they were atypical in their custom and belief.

yet, I am bound to them.

they would slander and decry that which they don’t understand.

ignorance will lead to fear, especially if it runs unchecked.

the only way to fight the dark is by lighting up the truth.

never once back away from what lies beyond.

your lies can't hurt me now.

[lordkills]

muse addition to roster will include :

edelgard von hresvelg, fire emblem : three houses

muse movement to private will include :

khada jhin, league of legends

will herondale, the infernal devices and heavily headcanon based

muse addition to testing will include :

yasuo, league of legends

[vivrez]

ANGER IS A TERRIBLE BEAST TO TAME, its terrible, monstorous maw sharp enough to crush any hope or serenity that still remained. She can feel its jaws sinking into her skin, crushing her ribs as it threatens to swallow her whole. In the count, she sees her own reflection: distorted and jumbled, its shape indiscernible, like pieces of broken glass shattered at her feet. The miasma of rot and death is nauseating, and her stomach curdles as the blurry vision finally comes into focus: blood splattered across her face, eyes narrowed like a predator locked onto its prey, and a shimmer of silver twinkling in the darkness as she grips the scythe firmly in her hands. She stifles the urge to shrink back, horrified and repulsed all at once.

❛❛ Is it truly justice if this is the price? ❜❜ suddenly vehement, her gaze narrows on the Count, the slight quiver in her lip betraying her fear despite her indignation. ❛❛ I wanted him disgraced, not dead, and I certainly wouldn't have wished for his family to follow him to the grave. ❜❜ He and Chauvelin are one in the same, she thinks, not controlled by the frivolous, petty constraints of modern morality. The ends justify the means, so she had heard so often, yet could still not stomach, even after all of this time. ❛❛ ... I will have that family's blood on my hands for as long as I live. How am I supposed to live with that? ❜❜

[lordkills]

as much as he wants to forget,   he remembers cell number thirty - four.    the walls would have grown just as intellectual with the lessons they had heard.    brick and mortar were the boy edmond’s fellow students,   abbé faria’s socratism their teacher.    it is the oldest dynamic in the world  ;  it is the oldest form of inheritance.

see that here     ——     she is frightened,   having bitten into the fruit. she has tasted first its bitter skin and abhorring its sweetness.    it is worth more than gold  ;  she stared into the lustre and rejected it.        ❛❛  and have his family retaliate in kind for your hand in the matter ?    no,   not even his family was innocent  ;  and if you believe they are,   they will set to prove eventually they are not,   then you will learn to regret the day you showed them any mercy.  ❜❜        and this time the smile is kind,   betraying the quick,   sharp stab of the words  —        ❛❛  what of your brother ?    what would have happened to him,   had you not acted ?    or would you rather it was him to stand on the gallows ?  ❜❜        danglars,   morcerf,   villefort  :  he will find a way to bend reality itself if he was to be the executioner pulling the lever.    the name marguerite st. just is a permanence on the crime like a carving on stone.        ❛❛  the blood is nothing to be afraid of.    you shall see.  ❜❜        the thin veneer of his composure breaks and a wound bleeds through,   his gloved hands closing over hers far too gently for the venom he hisses.        ❛❛  ah,   if only i could be as brave as you,   mademoiselle.  ❜❜

[lordkills]

i could wax poetic and describe swain however well i believe i possibly could, it will still never compare to his character introduction in his colour story by david slagle

[rattledrake-deactivated20260221]

perhaps now he does intend on questioning Swain's judgement, even his sanity, because like all men that have altered the course of history by playing with fire, he's grown used to the flames eating at his hand and surviving them regardless. YOUR NAME IS HIS WEAPON. Pain blooms in his stomach after its second utterance, and by the third Tristan is ready to lunge, because maybe MAYBE WE'LL KILL ONE MORE TODAY He's crazy. It's crazy but here is Swain, giving the chain one hard yank after the other, testing and probing and waiting for something to happen.

but Tristan hasn't lost his mind entirely just yet. It was clear who would walk home victorious from the moment the general's guards had left the room. Tristan's fingers twitch almost violently. “ What I wish doesn't matter, not to anyone. ” He can't and won't wallow in self - pity: this is as factual as things get down in the arenas. Swain doesn't forget easily, he says, but neither does the populace that can't go one fight without invoking his name to stoke his bloodlust at least once.

IT'D BE EASY. That's the hunger talking. No, there's something else at play here, something as terrible as the being inside Tristan's weapon, and it's hiding in Swain's shadow.

“ Do what you came here to do, say what you're here to say. ” he releases a slow breath, careful not to let it lengthen into a sigh: he is neither defeated nor relaxed, and he wouldn't want Swain to think otherwise. “ Your plans have to involve more than wanting a rise out of me; that behavior is meant for the stands, and you aren't as shallow as all that. ”

[lordkills]

we are looking for a name,   says the susurrus in tongues spoken backward,   then forward,   then backward again,   more familiar.    old shuriman  ;  what it is,   no longer is.    what manner of presence ?    trapped,   and always trapped   …   are promises.    see,   there ?    the anger behind his eyes flickers for a moment with momentum that is not merely his own.    borrowed.    a warrior’s readiness sees his hands clench around the instinctual feel of a weapon  ( or the oldest weapon of all,   one’s own hands )  ,   but a military deference yanks the beast back.    hear the gnashing of teeth,   behind teeth.

such vigilance,   to temper his rage  ;  mere hours ago,   he saw it tear a man’s head off,   roll the thing like a stone across the bloody sand.    he exhales safely into ease,   leaning back into the chair not with the sybaritic languidness of an emperor,   but a commander who is confident that the chamber doors are guarded.    after all,   noxian flattery knows only the blade bite.        ❛❛  and you know me so well,   boy ?    ha !  ❜❜        a barked laugh is not unkind.    he discards the name not as an act of mercy but as one might offer an outstretched hand.        ❛❛  fine,   then.    i will not waste our time with pleasantries and mockery.    you did well in the arena today.    so well,   in fact,   that your performance has attracted attention     ——     unwanted or otherwise     ——     from some of the noble families in attendance. but none of that attention is more dangerous than mine.  ❜❜

his eyes look not at the reckoner,   but through him,   into the thing - with - teeth that,   too,   he knows is listening.        ❛❛  today marks the end of your service to noxus as a reckoner.    from this day forth,   you are pronounced a trifarian legionnaire answering directly to my regiment and the regiment of commander general darius.  ❜❜        he stands from his seat and makes the dangerous decision to pat him on the side of his shoulder with his right hand,   lowering his voice enough for the soldier alone to hear.        ❛❛  and from this day forth,   i will never again hear you devalue your wishes.    not to anyone,   not to me.    do i make myself clear,   tristan ?  ❜❜

[lordkills]

to say a knight is injured is to say winds change.    not inevitable but the promise of it.    poetics for them are useless because they will have lovers sew it onto scarves and sleeves they keep hidden under their cuirasses and gambesons.    they do not need metaphor because they think in superlatives.    at the very edges of humanity’s moral limits,   there is knighthood and there is magic.    she could say she understands,   but her brother  ( he was a child before he was king,   and before he was a child he was her brother )  is a wedge that splits any choice in two.    regretful ambivalence is stronger than blood feuds,   worse than apathy.

she lights a fire as the rains hush to unnatural still the wilderness brocéliande,   both of them hunched under the humble respite of a small cave.   his armour is in tatters,   his face severe with grief.    for himself,   perhaps,   or his fate.    the sight should not be strange,   though @atlastatlast ( as jason of the blood )  is different.    devotion  ( again,   superlatives )  it is made to raze and not to ruin ; they do not know the difference.    i’m just   …   not that man anymore.    such a hound’s sorrow !    ( she hears another voice behind his own,   intangible but like a shadow outlined with teeth. )    i was to be the ruin of your king’s house,   she wants to say back.    history does not make well on what is promised and what is delivered.

camelot’s fires have not even been put out and she cannot muster tears for either of them.    she refuses pity and instead reaches for the familiarity of anger.        ❛❛  did you come here expecting my sympathies, knight ?  ❜❜        even as she says it,   she is taken aback by just how sharp the vehemence in her voice is and when she draws back she finds that she is cut by it.    she looks away,   not ashamed before him but of herself,   subduing slowly.        ❛❛  i know you did not.    i know you are not.    but if you have come here believing any favour from mine to undo your curse,   ser jason,   you are mistaken.    and even if it was within my power,   it will kill you. and you are not as brave as that.  ❜❜        she pushes back the hood of her cloak to look at him and the thing within him.        ❛❛  whatever you were before,   you cannot be that man ever again.    both of you cannot go back things were.  ❜❜

[lordkills]

kind of at a loss for what to read and i'm trying to be strategic with my library queues … give me something to read for november!

[lordkills]

night,   koyehn.    again,   this.    stories become stale in the retelling  ;  ionians and their stories,   rehearsing them and rehearsing them and rehearsing,   rehearsing as if it’s all to do with keeping it alive.    they mistrust themselves,   they are so insecure in fear of forgetting it.    they keep fables and myths for their loveliness.    terror,   they abhor,   but cannot forget.

shall we give them something tonight ?    tomorrow ?    evening is only right when the sky is so black,   black one could dip their hand into it and write their name on paper.    it will make the flames stand out.    from where the shape of the staircase obscures him in shadow,   @hauntics  ( as hwei )  basks in the monastery lamplight.    there’s an indecency in this that feels unfair.    life,   however,   is unfairness in spades,   shades.    i’ve done nothing  ;  but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

such colour,   his eyes.    not one,   but several,   opalite,   incandescent,   fluctuating.    the antithesis of stillness and it is infectious.    beautiful,   is that a word for this moment of tension and lurking envy ?    anything could be beautiful with the right tools and time.    he shakes his head.        ❛❛  it is because you’ve done nothing that i condemn you.  ❜❜        he reverses his movement,   takes a step down towards him but refuses the light ; or,   more precisely,   the light refuses him.    monochrome,   and dull.        ❛❛  you are hiding something from me,   hwei.    from yourself.    can you live with that,   even after i am gone ?  ❜❜

[lordkills]

darkling,   listen.    not with ears,   no,   but listen   …   the forest does not know any alphabet but knows language.    the very genesis of communication,   without syllables or teeth to mar a thought’s meaning from one branch to the next.    the limbic system of a human body crawls not unlike the twigs of a tree.    it recognises her.

her,   with her melancholy and passing.    the land knows her,   cradles her footsteps in the loam soil with care,   tucks her hair from her face with the gentlest of breezes like invisible hands.    what better love does autumn have for the things that repeat themselves,   that know the slow alterations of dying,   the precise art ?    its lord baulks at the emotion but understands it all the same from seedling sprouts.   @hen2-437 steps forward into the waiting arms of november cold.    i will come back.    soon,   before the winter is over.

she will remember.    he emerges,   not as himself but as a thing reflecting himself.    regardless,   something to speak and for her to speak to.        ❛❛  careful,   little fox.    you should not make such promises to us so easily.  ❜❜        so easily,   so easily.    in the soft white hours of queen meadhbh’s time,   she swears to him.    sincerity wafts sick - sweet through the air but he surprises himself in finding it welcoming,   permits it to push through his tongue.        ❛❛  but the woods will miss you.    as will i.  ❜❜        a bow,   the bare bones of the forest follow.        ❛❛  the wind carry you safely.  ❜❜