𝐏 𝐘 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀 𝐒 : multi-muse & multi-fandom roleplay blog written by nessie ( 25 + est + she/they ). a study in woman/girlhood, resilience, and abandonment. affiliated with @librarywent. aesthetic/musing side blog @pyrinaes.
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@pyrinas
𝐏 𝐘 𝐑 𝐈 𝐍 𝐀 𝐒 : multi-muse & multi-fandom roleplay blog written by nessie ( 25 + est + she/they ). a study in woman/girlhood, resilience, and abandonment. affiliated with @librarywent. aesthetic/musing side blog @pyrinaes.
i am going to attempt to be more active on here again !! i apologize for the absence. life got a little crazy for a second !! i moved again, and then there was a wedding in scotland ( not mine lol )
"You're not so sly, you know." Rhys said with a scoff, trying to stifle the smirk that tugged each corners of her reddening cheeks. She examined the necklace carefully. "So where'd you manage to steal this from, huh?"
@pyrinas
"I didn't steal it," she insisted (as always), her own playful smile twitching on her features as she stared down at Rhys' fingers examining the necklace. "You know how rich people are... sometimes they just throw things away, y'know?"
Clearly, he was in the wrong place. This bitch didn't seem interested in pointing him in the right direction, and he clearly wasn't wanted here. If there was nothing for him, then he'd just leave. Why stay? He turned to leave, but then she suggested that he could talk to "Baldy" if he "wanted something to do tomorrow". Hah. She thought he didn't have anything better to do than to hang around this shitty place? But - a small fortune? He liked the sound of that.
Not that he really needed money, he earned plenty. Not from bets though. That wasn't how the club he worked at operated. Others could place bets on him, and yeah, his salary was reflected in that, but not necessarily directly impacted.
❝ How much we talkin'? I already earn plenty at my normal gig. Ya got any good fighters here? 'N how badly can I beat 'em up before someone steps in? ❞ And, what kind of contract would he have to sign? A one-time thing? He would hate to get financially liable for someone's brain damage, should one of his punches land critical damage.
She frowned, irritation tightening across her brow as his presence lingered longer than she had hoped. For a brief moment, he had given her the impression that he was finally leaving the makeshift locker room, only to remain standing there. She thought her earlier words made it obvious enough that the bald man she mentioned would have the answers he was looking for. Then again, perhaps he was just simply too dense to understand that. Stupid men were unfortunately abundant in this line of work.
"I don't know. Depends on the night," she answered with a quiet huff, hands resting on her hips as she looked over at him. "A couple thousand, sometimes." And anyone smart enough to bet on her usually walked away with about the same profit. It would take an outright moron to wager otherwise. "You can nearly kill them. We all know what we are getting into here."
For a chick, she was really tall. A turn off for Nnoitra, who preferred his women cute. This one was probably a lesbian. Either that, or --- Could she actually be a man? No adam's apple, but didn't they have surgeries for that shit now? Mah, whatever. He wasn't here to pick up chicks ( or dudes for that matter ). It was just that he couldn't help but wish to make women uncomfortable when he found them in spaces where they didn't belong. Like this one.
What do you want, she asked, aggressively ( again, very unattractive in a woman ). Mah, he couldn't exactly blame her for not being nice to him, when he was the one being an asshole in the first place. Which was just his personality!! She proceeded to begin to wrap her hands, while saying that he could "fight tomorrow", because there weren't enough people. Oh, so not enough people, but SHE was going to fight? So this place was a fucking joke then.
❝ Mah, don't worry, I ain't here 'ta fight. I was just gonna watch. 'S that allowed, or do I still need 'ta talk 'ta the bald guy? ❞ Nnoitra had been here to see if he could have a good little brawl ( not that he needed, his own workplace provided plenty ), but if there was no space for him, then he wasn't going to push it. His manager probably would've been pretty mad if he found out he was fighting in other arenas anyway, and he certainly wasn't going to come back tomorrow just because some woman told him to.
It had been a while since he had watched a fight. He would sometimes watch Ikkaku fight, but he really did prefer to be the one in the cage. And - people preferred to watch him. There was a reason why his fights drew the biggest crowds. "The Mantis" was very popular, and had been for years. Nnoitra was proud of that.
"If you're lonely," she replied flatly, shrugging lazily as she finished wrapping her hands. She still did not turn around, not exactly keen on giving him anymore attention. If he wanted to watch tonight, why was he back here bugging her? There was nothing interesting in this dingy, makeshift locker room for him to see. Just some random dead bugs and crusty towels thrown about haphazardly. Cigarette butts also littered the floor. "He's annoying, though." Another slow shrug before she began rolling her shoulders, taut muscle shifting beneath her skin in preparation.
"Just figured you were wanting in," she mumbled, a finger coming to scratch at the shaved side of her head. "Dunno why you'd wander back here." Lempira turned around, finally deciding to face him again, taking better note of his appearance. He was tall, probably the tallest person she had ever seen, truthfully. He'd probably heard that a thousand times, so she found no point in repeating it. She heard similar words constantly as a tall woman herself. He was on the lankier side, though. It was not a common physique she had seen pass through the ring over the years. Still, the height alone would make him an interesting spectacle. "Well, if you decide you want something to do tomorrow, go talk to Baldy. You'd make a little fortune from the bets, I guess."
@despairforme sent: "Ya sure this is a safe space 'fer a chick?" [modern.]
She said nothing at first, wondering if her appearance would answer the query. She thought her roughness was obvious, that she was clearly accustomed to her surroundings. It was not her first time in these spaces. Why would a woman like her fear men when she towered over so many? Why would she fear men when she had crushed so many? Why would she fear men when they, too, were made of squishy flesh and brittle bone like herself? Then again, this man was down an eye. Perhaps that was why he asked such a stupid question, and she should be benevolent and grant him grace.
"What do you want?" Lempira asked, snatching up a spool of hand wraps from the rusty folding table as if he might try to steal it. Her voice remained even, but her posture betrayed her and showed off her irritation. Thin brows furrowed, and her jaw clenched as she shoved herself back from the table to stand. Metal screamed out as the chair scraped against dirty concrete.
She turned her back on him, her tight braid swinging like a pendulum at her hips with the motion. "You can fight tomorrow," she grumbled, assuming that was why this tall man was there. Rarely was she shorter than someone. She began loosening the wraps as she began winding the fabric around her hands and wrists. The movement was automatic from countless nights of repetition. She could do it in her sleep if she wanted to badly enough, Lempira bet. "Not enough people tonight. Go talk to the bald guy by the door."
She lingered just inside the threshold, refusing to cross fully into the next room. Orchid eyes bore into the shoes and floorboard, noting every knot and scuff, as her spindly fingertips gripped the doorframe as if it were an anchor. Another thing she refused to do: look at him, despite the soft candlelight inviting her in and bathing the room in gold.
She was overwhelmed. Her senses now felt more aware than ever. There were too many smells and too many noises. Chatter from the port city's nightlife pounded in her skull, and the smell of a stew eaten in the room a few days ago lingered in her nostrils. She wanted it all gone. She liked it better out in the countryside, near where he took her. It had been quieter, more peaceful, especially before he had appeared.
"Outside?" she asked, practically flinching as soon as it left her lips. Esmae remembered how only hours ago, he had gotten angry at her for her one-word sentences. She would have to try again. "Can I... go outside?" A pause. "Please." She hoped that made him more agreeable. She wanted to get away from the city, maybe even from him, though she doubted that was a possible outcome for the night.
She was not hungry, though he would surely make sure she ate. A lesson he would most likely call it. The guilt from previous nights kept her stomach full, though. Petyr had forced her to stalk a drunk down an alleyway, but she, of course, hesitated. Though drunk, the man still had his wits about him to swing his bottle at Esmae's head and holler. If not for Petyr, she would have been discovered due to the commotion. He would not let her forget that as glass was picked out of her temple later that evening, blood still crusted on her lips. Despite it all, the possibility of the drunk having a family she took him from still gnawed at her.
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@pyrinas
He meets her halfway, joining her in a lingering kiss. One filled with words as yet unspoken, with promises that she would be safe with him.
It feels like a lifetime when he does eventually draw back, hand remaining where it had found itself on the side of her neck, thumb delicately stroking her cheek.
“We can leave tomorrow, if you wish,” he murmurs. “I have everything important to me here already…everything else in my apartment is just there for show.”
He kisses her again, just briefly this time.
“Though a fair warning…Charles in number one in this relationship,” he smirks, gesturing to the battered plush lion laying haphazardly on the chair in the corner of the room. “He gets priority space in our bed.”
She leaned into his touch, eyes closing as he claimed another kiss and stayed shut afterwards, happily savoring the affection. As much as she wanted to continue, she found herself drifting between the realms of awake and asleep. They had, after all, had a rather active evening.
"Ah," she mused, the evidence of her exhaustion becoming obvious as her speech slowed and as her eyes fluttered. She curled closer, almost desperate for more of their skin to touch. "Well, I appreciate being invited into your bed and that he did not mind."
@pyrinas
His response is to draw her closer, trying to offer her some semblance of comfort. Pressing a gentle kiss to her brow in the process.
“You did nothing wrong,” he murmurs, hearing the words in his own head in the voice of his therapist, something she told him time and time again. “I…sometimes the world deals us a terrible hand. It does not mean we deserve it.”
He falls silent for just a moment before continuing to speak.
“I blamed myself for what Cersei did to me for years,” he admits. “Still do, sometimes. But she made those choices, worked away for years to get me to the point I’d bend to her will. I didn’t do anything to make her that way, other than be convenient for her warped view of maintaining the Lannister line. But she lost…and a part of me is hopeful that seeing us together at the awards has made her lose what is left of her sanity.”
He can see it now, his sister paralytic drunk in her apartment. Trying desperately to call him, to hurl her vitriol at him. Only to find he has blocked her on all platforms.
It is then that an idea strikes him. One likely born from the alcohol that still floods his mind, but he also knows he has never been quite so serious in his life.
“Run away with me,” he says, shifting just enough to meet her gaze. “Somewhere in Essos…where the cunts who plague us cannot find us. We could settle down…just you and I and…”
The words leave him before he can stop them.
“Marry me, Iren. Let us start a new life together. The life we deserve.”
She went still in his arms, breath catching painfully in her chest as his words reached her ears and settled. For a long moment, she found herself unable to look at him. Not out of hesitation or aversion, but because she feared that if their eyes met too soon, his offer might entirely disappear. Instead, her fingers slipped into his hair, gently curling into golden locks so she could cling to his warmth and ground herself in knowing what he offered was true.
"I would like that, very much," she finally whispered, shifting closer until their foreheads met. Something between a laugh and sob escaped her lips. For the first time in her life, the future did not feel uncertain or a threat.
Her nose brushed against his as she drew in a breath, bronzite colored eyes meeting emeralds. "Very much," she repeated, her conviction stronger now. Her heart pounded against her chest, now from excitement rather than the usual anxiousness. "I'll go with you. I'll marry you." She leaned in more, yearning for another kiss from him.
The dinner was worse than the service. At least the service had the decency to be brief, she thought bitterly, her lips curling into a deep frown. This was painfully drawn out because no one dared to be the first to leave. Silverware clinked awkwardly against perfect china as people continued the sham of pretending to pick at their meals. She could hear hushed whispers of Leland --- how tragic to die so young, so unfortunate for his parents, and how mysterious it was that his body was never recovered.
Before Lenora was an untouched plate of food that had gone cold a long time ago, as her fingers curled tightly around the glass of wine before her. She resented Leland because she would never be able to taste wine again. Still, she drank out of habit. There was something still comforting about the motion of the glass to her lips, despite everything she swallowed tasting like ash.
Her body shifted when Jonah sneezed next to her, unfortunately spraying the table due to his refusal to cover his nose. Her frown deepened as the distant cousins and aunts began an echo of bless you. Disgusting. Instead of picking on her, Leland should have focused his attention on his brother.
Bored, her eyes began to wander, taking in the faces of relatives she could never remember the names of, and family friends clustered around her parents. They spoke low and fondly of Leland, acting as if they had known him well. They knew the face he wanted him to. He had always been good at wearing masks. Lenora would grant him that single compliment. He could play the golden boy and a dutiful friend easily, despite neither being close to his true self. He had fooled them all, even their parents.
Her gaze continued to wander, skimming over unfamiliar faces until it landed on two figures lingering near the edge of the room. She vaguely recognized the older one. He was clearly important, most likely a friend of her father's, though his name slipped away like the others. She watched him lean in close, murmuring something sharp and low into the ear of the younger man beside him. His son, Lenora guessed. She could see a faint resemblance, especially with the blueness of their eyes.
She attempted to listen, curiosity prickling, but she found herself unable to focus hard enough. Leland had been stingy with showing her how to use her abilities. Whatever the younger man said seemed to be dismissive or annoyed as he pulled away, pushing through the room with an air of irritation. Lenora carefully watched him go, and without fully meaning to, she found herself slipping away from the table. Jonah said something to her, but like always, it was ignored, along with all the condolences people offered her as she too pushed herself through.
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@librarywent sent: tell me what you can. from the beginning.
She exhaled slowly, her breath trembling as it left her. She sat quietly, wrestling between honesty and self-preservation for what felt like the millionth time in her life. Telling too much would risk her appearing crazy, but too little would sound evasive and rehearsed. She studied his face, measuring Lucius' patience as she figured out what would be considered middleground. That would be enough to be believed, maybe understood, but not insane.
"From the beginning?" she echoed, the words hanging heavy in the air before she continued on. "When I was little, touching things would show me ... images. I didn't understand what they were at first, but I eventually realized they were memories." She folded in on herself in the chair, shoulders drawn tight, as though she were trying to disappear into the blue and white upholstery. "I told my parents because I wanted reassurance, like any girl would, to be told I was normal... They didn't."
Her jaw clenched as a dull pulsing thrum echoed in her ears, like drums muffled beneath water. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, letting the sound wash over her before banishing them with a small shake of her head. Her lips parted, daring to speak about the gut, but closed with hesitation. That was too much to share, at least for now.
"I learned to keep it to myself after," she whispered to Lucius. "It's safer that way."
PROMPT.
@librarywent sent: i cannot resist you, my love. <333
Lenora's gaze lingered on him, sharp and calculated. The candlelight made her eyes look amber, fiery with life even, as she felt her chest tighten with a peculiar mix of pride and hunger. Even though they had yet to stand before the weirwood tree in the godswood, she could feel invisible threads tying them together.
Her fingers twitched with restlessness and the stubborn need to prove herself. Deliberately, she let one of her hands drift over the thick furs he wore, despite the roaring fire in the room. Her touch was teasing as she silently trailed her fingers over his chest in deliberate sweeps, gauging every subtle twitch. She noted that she was slightly taller than he, and a small, satisfied smile crept onto her face, and mischief lit up her eyes.
Finally, she pulled him closer, letting the warmth of his body press against her, heat radiating through the fur and clothing. Her kiss began feather-light, as her fingers slipped into the dark curls at the nape of his neck. With a soft tug, she drew him closer, deepening the kiss. She felt his nose pressing up against her cheek and his body's warmth enveloping her.
"Say it again," she commanded, once she had pulled from him. Her breath was hot and uneven as it mingled with his own, her chest heaving against the bodice of her gown.
PROMPT.
@librarywent sent: kiss me. from rams to wifey <3
"No," she grumbled, head lolling to the side to avoid any sneaky attempts at capturing a kiss. "You pissed me off." Her words were slurred, the scent of sweet wine heavy on her breath.
Her knees buckled slightly, and her grip tightened on his upper arms, steadying herself and holding him near. She had no intent of shoving him away from her despite her anger. Even in her wine-fueled rage, her fingers refused to free him. Her grip was not affectionate, but rather possessive, a silent statement that he was staying put until she decided otherwise.
"You made me look stupid," she hissed, her tone accusatory as her voice rose, quavering somewhere between and hurt. "You were ignoring me, acting like I wasn't even there...." Her words trailed off, the wine fogging her train of thought as the same feeling of humiliation from earlier that night returned. "You made me look pathetic." Her eyebrows furrowed tightly together as her frown deepened. "You don't get to ignore me."
She fell silent, cutting herself off completely and letting none of his words reach her, regardless of whether he meant to soothe her wounded pride or further insult it. Her lips pressed into a tight, thin line that quivered faintly, and her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond him, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. Yet, despite it all, her hands clung to his arms, his body heat a quiet reminder against her palms.
PROMPT.
@librarywent sent: i have felt you like a serpent crawling in my body. from rams to nora vamp verse <3
Lenora stirred ever so slightly beneath the silk sheets, moonlight from the night sky above spilling onto straw-yellow hair. Her lashes fluttered, her dream long abandoned and forgotten, as she turned slightly towards the voice. With a breathy sigh, her eyes opened, taking a few moments to adjust and seek out Ramsay's silhouette in the darkness.
"I have cursed you," she whispered, her voice raspy and hoarse with sleep. Her lips twitched with amusement from her jest as she perched herself up on her forearm, the sheets pooling around her waist. The moon's glow traced the curve of her shoulder, highlighting two ruby red reminders of his previous visits.
Her gaze lifted, playful, despite the looming beast in the chambers. Her eyes found the edge of his darkness, urging him to come closer --- daring him to. "Do you like it, my serpent hunter?" she murmured, her voice gentle, yet laced with a dangerous concoction of defiance and affection. "Feeling me inside you?"
PROMPT.
"You're with a very, very bad man." Lee broke her silence, staring at the blonde, unblinking, through a midnight fringe. "But you knew that."
𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄. / @pyrinas
"Obviously." Lenora could not help but roll her eyes at the comment. She was not oblivious to the evil she allowed into her bed at night. If anything, she invited it eagerly. To call what the two of them shared love would be a lie, but to call it hate would also be wrong.
"How do you know him?" she hissed, an insult dancing on her tongue and threatening to jump out. Her jaw tightened and her lips twitched, bitterness burning her throat as she suppressed the desire to bite.
Her apartment felt more like a shoe box than a home that night. The rain hammered against the window glass as she sat on the pristine white carpet of her living room with a tarnished gold locket resting in her palm. Erin had imagined it as a gift for her mother, a place for a photo of herself and her father.
The moment her fingers brushed the chain, she felt her world shatter. The flashes that erupted through her mind felt more violent than she was used to. She saw a young girl running through a sunlit field, laughter turning to terror; the same girl, now a woman, gowned and veiled on her wedding day with the gold locket glinting against her skin; then, a darkened room where Erin could hear soft cries echoing. Each scene pulsed with a heartbreak, fear, and rage that was foreign to her. It made her chest ache, her hands tremble, and her knees unsteady. She nearly collapsed in the market from the weight.
The shadows along her pale blue walls shifted, unnaturally stretching and crawling as if they were alive. The locket was hot in her palm, nearly feeling like it was going to seer the shape of the pendant into her skin as a low, guttural voice whispered in Korean directly her ear. You are mine. I have found you again. I knew you wouldn't resist. It made her freeze, memories of the gut ritual as a teenager flashing into her mind. She could feel the drums and the yelling deep into her bones again.
The shadows crawling along her walls inched closer, the foreign voice hissing through her mind. She had no control over her body; something twisted and contorted her as though a sick puppet master had taken control of her. Her fingers twitched and curled unnaturally and her elbows bent at impossible angles. Unable to fully speak aloud, she could only mouth words through trembling lips, desperately clinging on to what little remnants of control over her being remained. Shut up. Go away. You have no power over me.
The soft rattle from the door knob made her eyes jerk, the sound cutting through the chaos. She felt the nausea and the weight be lifted from her, yet her body stayed twisted. "Help me," Erin croaked, her muscles frozen from being forced into a position that was all wrong. Tears trickled down her face while her chest heaved with shallow gasps. Even though she felt a brief reprieve, her wide eyes remained fixated upwards on a shadow coiling unnaturally in the corner of the ceiling near the front door, almost taunting her that what had just happened would surely happen again.
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The cell was damp and narrow, its air heavy with the rancid stench of mildew rising from the straw beneath her. Initially, the smell had mad her gag and her nose scrunch up in disgust, but days of confinement had dulled her senses. She no longer felt the smell clinging to her tongue with every breath. Like always, discomfort eventually became comfort for her.
Restless, she began plucking pieces of the straw around her, carefully sorting the soaked pieces from the more dry ones. Her hands began coaxing the pieces into a crude rectangle instinctively and without little thoughts. The straw would never yield fine work she made outside the cell, but the action itself gave her a sense of comfort and allowed her pretend nothing was amiss. If she concentrated enough, she could almost convince herself that she was creating something useful, like a mat, that could grant her a little bit of comfort in the filth.
A shuffling sound interrupted her rhythm and she felt herself stiffen, suddenly feeling like a doe in the sights of a crossbow. Her fingers paused mid-twist, partially damp straw dangling from her grasp. Cautiously, she turned her head towards the sound, a ratty silver braid slipping over her shoulder with the movement.
Her eyes lingered longer than she had intended, attempting to make out his face in the shadows before panic surged through her chest. Esmae's gaze wrenched away and she bent her head closer to the straw, pretending as though the straw demanded her complete focus. Inwardly, she prayed to whatever Gods may be listening that he had not seen her staring from the shadowy corner of her reeking cell. She grunted quietly to herself in frustration when her fingers fumbled before eventually getting back into her weaving motions again.
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