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@rotlaust
Reblog if you RP using Discord
☠ Drabble list-- You can send one anytime.
drabble list.
send any of these to me at your leisure. specify who does what, everything can be reversed/altered/changed according to your preferences.
Weiterlesen
Let me see. You have your father’s eyes. Unfortunately. (requested by @oldnorseisa)
@rotlaust said: “ i’m pregnant and it’s yours. ” // accepting
and here she thought she was being cautious. what sort of irresponsible woman was she becoming ? leaving whelps in her wake at every hold. this was his influence. she is intentional in her dramatic performance as he relays the news, draping herself over the nearest piece of furniture as if stunned, overwhelmed even. all for his entertainment, of course.
her theatrics don’t last long , however , and soon she breaks character, satisfied enough with her exaggerations to move closer to where he is sprawled, long limbs hanging off a bench in jorrvaskr’s training yard. a hand reaches out to pat his full stomach.
❝ i suppose it is good then that i have a great deal of experience with children, ❞ that she has mentored and raised so many, her tolerance well suited for the demands of motherhood. fictional or otherwise. lira was born to lead. ❝ perhaps next time you will reconsider eating farkas’ weight in sweet rolls. whelp or not, i am still in need of your assistance. on your feet. ❞
she tugs at his arm, willing him to stand, in spite of how he resists her. intentionally pretending to have oh so suddenly fallen into a deep slumber, but she knows better. he was trying to back out of their agreement, lazy thing that he was, she wasn’t going to let him. so she crouches beside him, leans in closer, and flicks the tip of his nose with her fingers. hovering close until an eye opens.
arms cross over his torso and she rests her chin atop them for a moment, curiosity growing, ❝ have you ever wanted a family ? ❞ this is a topic, she realizes, they’ve never discussed in earnest. like so many conversations of a serious nature, skeitan somehow always found a way to derail them entirely. jesting until they could no longer remember the initial discussion, but lira was resolute, she would not abandon her efforts to better understand him.
*comes over to your house* *eats all your food* *leaves*
@rotlaust
✥ If I may!
send me ✥ for a song that reminds me of our muses // accepting
tomorrow – daughter ( especially relevant when he leaves to join the stormcloaks )
trøllabundin – eivør
fated, faithful, fatal – marilyn manson
ancestors , the ancients – chelsea wolfe
floki appears to kill athelstan ( i’m pretty sure this track has an actual name on wardruna’s album but i can’t find it, so here’s the vikings ost )
and then of course, because it got stuck in my head the first time i saw your url :
rotlaust tre fell – wardruna
my thoughts below the cut because long tags are showing up weird on my blog.
Weiterlesen
15 ASSOCIATIONS !
repost & fill in the words you most associate with your character.
animal : snake.
color : dark, saturated forest green / pallid, yellowish maggot white.
month : evening star. ( homologous to: december. )
song : ihr wolltet spaß - tanzwut.
number : 33 ( the beggar king’s number. )
day or night : dawn ; the moment when night melts into day.
plant : namira’s rot.
smell : moist earth after rainfall ; the subtle, invigorating odor of leafs shaking off the nocturnal frost. simultaneously, the nauseating stench oozing from an animal corpse putrefying in water, the sickly sweet perfume of pestilence and disease that accompanies the moribund. sex and sweat.
season : no specific season, but the transient ephemera in-between: when winter turns into spring and summer into fall.
food : baccanal, meaty meals - anything, if in celebration of the gods.
astrological sign : the serpent.
element : earth.
drink : mead.
tagged by : @voidvoyeur ! @chewshides - thank you ! tagging : @voidvoyeur‘s new account ! @villrhjarta ! @mariiposas ! @fork-meet-socket ! @beborn ! @rotten-ash ! @explosivedarling ( alts ) ! @halrhjarta !
valin.
Stormcloaks. The bastards were everywhere nowadays, their camps sprouting up all over the mountains like fleas infesting an animal’s fur. Maybe they had hoped that being such remote locations, so far removed from the main roads as they were, would keep them and all their secrets well hidden—- from everyone but her. She always seemed to find them– even when she tried her best to stay far away. Always managed to stumble onto their mess of tents and table, then disappear again before any of them could ever have known the strange Nord had been nearby.
The last thing she needed was one of them trying to recruit her to their side of this ridiculous war with the city soldiers.
Even the wildest of animals can get desperate when their needs are great enough, however, and its not often that you find a man all alone with his own home in the woods. Far enough removed from the nearest cities to not be considered a part of it.
It was the first thing Valin noticed when she perched herself high up in a nearby tree. Light blue eyes flickering this way and that as she followed the stormcloak’s movements. Simply observing him as he went about his day, and quiet enough not to alert him to her presence there. The hollow ache in her empty stomach an ever present reminder that she would eventually have to come back down to scavenge something to eat. It wasn’t the first time she’d known this feeling however and was patient enough to push it from her mind and put that off just a little bit longer.
the day's last rays trickle through the thick underbrush, silent and missing any warmth. little droplets of light pouring through the canopy of leaves and thinning with every vine they run down, until when they reach the ground, they're but a faint promise, a dried river. here, where the earth is in perpetual frost, skeitan like all the other sly creatures that hibernate beneath the ice or in the bark of the trees hides from the sun.
it's a comfortable solitude, the forest something he revels in not having to share; everything he gives away here is for himself, witnessed only by the foxes and the deep, the ancient gods.
the nudity of his soles melts the recently fallen snow, and in return it burns his skin with a painful numbness, one that spreads from senseless toes to the arc of his bent, naked back. he is his favorite self: martyred and exposed, vile in his devoted masochism. spirituality has always been to suffer.
under the largest of the pines a small hearth lies, fire licking at the infested corpus of a hare, burning muscles off bones and melting sinews, fat and eyes into a wicked bile to boil in an iron kettle. to him, the stench is sweeter than doubt, perfume of a putrid liturgy rising to soak the treetops in its bloated humidity.
tonight he seeks council with the one he venerates. his body and health are hers when his fingers stir the brew and wet his earth-painted lips, trail down his throat to reach his tattooed chest. whereas the fumes fill him with instinctive revulsion, make him gag and choke, his worship of namira does not cease, never so.
lira.
❝ Did he ever get caught ? Did they punish him ? ❞ She’d almost completely abandoned the plate of food on her lap, enthralled by his grandiose tale of glory and adventure. It was only when Ares attempted to sneak a bit of Horker meat that she was once more aware of the world surrounding them, the arctic tundra beneath her feet.
❝ —-WELL ? How does the story end ? ❞
skeitan makes a face like someone trying not to make a face. his long, unclean nails languidly trace the curvatures of his own jaw, dreamy and intuitively swaying, curling when they reach the corners of his mouth. the fingers spread, like wings, intertwining to shield pale blue lips which twitch with subtle humor, drip with hierophantic wisdom that is only his to savor, nothing he would ever share.
it's a habit he won't lose, this coquettish urge to hide secrets that aren't ones. he will give them away, eventually, as rumors, as gossip, as little lies, for the price of an open ear and an attentive eye and a heart hopefully quenching with schadenfreude or revulsion.
although tonight disgust is not the reaction he's lusting after. for a young man there is more than glory and adventure; there is gore. sex. treachery. ‘ do not call it punishment. they rewarded herne to worship is a privilege. always! ‘
his freakish titter sounds hollow in the palms of his hands. a sharp, feline hiss follows and he's lunging forwards, pitiful attempt to beat ares in the race for lira's meat. ‘ after the first sign, the hounds, followed the second sign, the fire from the eye of glass. then the third sign came, the tide of woe, and secunda turned crimson from the blood of the hunter's prey. finally, the hunter's game had begun, and they hunted him like a dog, you see, hoisted his head on the hunter's spear in the middle of frozen fjalding. his eyes were gorged out, his nose carved hollow with a knife, and the white, sickly juice from his wounds seeped into the ice of the lake. his wife aida and her children wept at the bank. the stag-headed prince hircine did not yet return to his realm. only when his antlers pierced their chest, he proclaimed the end of the bloodmoon with a roar.
but do not worry... herne had three women before. an enviable last night. ‘
( @ulfhrafnx // cont. )
i am ill. i am an illness.
Lahraeb Munir, from concave in a convex heart
hide from the sun i’m falling for i’m deeply falling
The lure of an imaginary land. Traveling somewhere that doesn’t exist. Of course I’m coming.
Paradise lost, Joe Freeman
they’re smiling down on me
who is ?
My ancestors, imperial. Can you say the same?
muddy with twigs and branches
gods are frightening beings and yet i love them all.