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Send 🏆 If you like my character portrayal
@ncumenia @tidal-wanderer @wingedprotector @artistic-lament @ap-helios @moonaspect
YOU ALL SENT THIS IN AT THE SAME TIME SO I’M JUST PUTTING IT IN ONE POST
I’M GLAD YOU ALL LOVE MY PORTRAYAL
Swain, Jhin, and Vladimir
♦ [ Passion, Union or Death~ ♥ ] ♦
[ ♥ ] – “I would marry Jhin.” The Matron replies to this inquiry almost immediately when the three new names are given to her, but before any word is said from her guest, Emilia moves a hand quite gently to ask for a pause. Curling fingers in enchantment, hiding a charming smile as her golden eyes close, and taking a deep breath into all the fragrances of the room.
Perfumes of roses & good music playing, the sound of the wood being burnt in the fireplace, the lyrics that come with the music are almost theatrical, poetic, full of emotion. And so she opens her golden eyes with renewed attitude. “There’s something I love about Artists, dear. It’s the passion they bring into anything. The sentiments, the intensity, the minds that are so full with finesse & marvel… How could I say no to be the wife of such delight? Someone that could make my mind fall into an spiral full of the beauty of life & death.”
It was a lovely possibility. She wouldn’t doubt a second about at least sharing more passions than merely those of sex or chasing one another for murder –she didn’t doubt it would be a fun time too. But she didn’t want one of his favorite Artists dead... yet–;
“Now, my endearing Vladimir & my sweet Jericho in this situation… Who shall I choose?” She was having them both killed & both spending nights together. But she would go with the quickest out of both of those options. “Vladimir is one Ruby jewel I would never be able to fully replace, in more senses than the others & I don’t doubt he will outlive them both before I manage to kill him if I dared. So I toast for more & more impassionate night with him”
And finally, be it her confidence, or expecting him to be killed sooner or later, or being the deliciousness of this game of them, or how the chasing of the Bird & the Feline was too entertaining, too intoxicating: “I would kill Jericho, I would chase him north to south, east to west, in health & sickness, in sea or land, night & day, through heaven & hell… to make sure he dies solely by my hand~”
@artistic-lament
MUSE BODY LANGUAGE : BOLD / ITALICIZE WHAT YOU APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!!
**DEFENSIVENESS. arms crossed on chest / crossing legs / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / karate chops / stiffening of shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth.
**REFLECTIVE. hand to face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to the bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows.
**SUSPICION. arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows rising / lips pressing into a thin line / strict unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose.
**OPENNESS + COOPERATION. open hands / upper body in sprinters position / sitting on the edge of a chair / hand-to-face gestures / unbuttoned coat / tilted head / slacked shoulders / droopy posture / feet pointed outward / palms flat and facing outward.
**CONFIDENCE. hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steeped hands / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded on chest.
**INSECURITY + ANXIETY. chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “ whew ” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants or clothes / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with pointer / marker / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing fingers sporadically.
**FRUSTRATION. short breaths / “ tsk ” sounds / tightly clenched hands / fist-like gestures /
Stolen from : @artistic-lament
tagging : steal it from me and tag me in it !
[ Continued from here ]
@artistic-lament
Facing Khada Jhin like this felt like meeting the devil in human disguise. The aura he emitted - a strange amalgamation of sophistication, terror and admittedly allurement. No wonder he was also known as the Golden Demon, though Caitlyn refused to honor him with such a name. He was a murderer, and as a mortal he would have to face the consequences for his crimes just like anyone else. And she would gladly drag him to lie at the feet of Lady Justice.
“I have. It’s how I found you, after all.”
She stepped out of the shadows, her skillfully crafted rifle cradled in her arms. Her piercing blue eyes as cold and observing as always examined the artist thorougly. She would have to be careful to survive this game of his.
“You were so sure in your judgement about me that I doubt you ever wasted a thought about why I am so renowned in my city. But I have spent my time studying you, Jhin. Every performance of yours, every life you took was a bloody and cruel gift to me. Because it let me construct an idea of your inner workings.”
Looking back at the crime scenes he left behind formed a knot in her throat. He dared bringing chaos like this to her city, forcing her into the position of a helpless onlooker of his art. She wouldn’t let him get away just like that.
“Leaving now will not save you from me. I will find you anywhere, because I do understand. You have challenged me. And you will pay the price for it.”
🎶
“Come on, here we go again motherfucker, yeah yeah~”
He attempts to hide an obnoxious chortle. "Man of metal, do you truly think that there is some purpose to this work you pursue? Call me a hypocrite, as I also work with death, but I should let you know that there is little that can be done for our home. All we may do is accept what is, and draw the ceaseless, crippling beauty from every drop of it; wring it dry, if you will. Your legions of souls, they stand for nothing, I believe."
“First of all, you will adress me properly, little man.”, the Iron Tyrant sneered as he loomed over the masked human. “For you will get answers in ways you will not like, that i can promise you.” Very few realized that the fate of their eternity was in his hands. Whether they would spend it as a brick in the wall, ‘wood’ for a table, or enjoy all that on has the ability to enjoy, forever, was up to HIM, and HIM ALONE.
“Secondly, yes, you are indeed a hypocrite, but not because of your work. To claim it even touches the meaning of death is but laughable. It’s but the musings of a wild beast without a leash.” Another sneer, they had not started on a good foot with this one. Maybe he could be part of a road for one of the new towns.
“And finally, there is a good reason i take no advice from foolish mortal trash. For they spout nonsense of this kind. Who are you, to dare decide, what i, Mordekaiser, can accomplish, and what i can not, you filth??”
😩 Hardest thing about writing the muse?
// the hardest thing is to write is the core trait of the muse - which is her stance towards magic. the reason is because i don’t agree with whatever she believes and says so it’s extra difficult for me as a person, to get in this narrow mindset and write her words of hatred / dislike. i hope i am doing alright in portraying her at least -
@artistic-lament
Haunt me, Maven.
Drabble Prompts
Leave a “Haunt Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character watching over yours[as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]
Even days later the memories tingled down his long spine. The looks on their faces, the cacophony of wails… She fell so exquisitely into his arms, descending not like a clipped songbird, but like an angel coming into her lost lover’s embrace. Their screams were the common time by which he and the Maven danced arm-in-arm, hand-in-hand. Her hushing heartbeat could be felt between their pressed bodies, and with a final, dramatic dip the fourth shot would end their romance with a parting bouquet through her neck.
Forget-Me-Nots. One of her favorites. Even her blood shimmered like stars…
Khada Jhin could relive the memories a hundred times over and still the thrill remained. It was a perfect play. Surely his best work to date. And yet the man knew there still remained a greater opus waiting to be performed. When he wasn’t reminiscing, he was planning his next work.
It was late at night when the tapping woke him from his meditations. Something along the walls. Against the panel window. It tapped in the most peculiar way.
Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap…
He waited for the progression to reach quarter time. He waited and reached for a blade. He waited… and waited… and waited…
The tapping stopped. Silence returned. He had become so focused to the quiet noise he could suddenly hear his own heartbeat in his ears. Rising, slowing, easing…
Just his imagination, then. Another delusion like the others. Perhaps some herbal tonic to help him sleep. To lighten the creative vision for a time. Even genius needed rest…
Tap, tap, tap…
Again the tapping started once he’d closed his eyes. This time he raised his gun - bullets be damned, he could make another round later. Delusions didn’t often repeat themselves.
Tap, tap, tap…
A woodpecker, perhaps? Not so late at night. A knocking-beetle? It wouldn’t travel so quickly. A thief? A fan? Possible. Improbable. The tapping became louder. More insistent. Jhin sprung silently to his feet.
A different sound, then. A delicate one. A flowing one. Bouncing and harmonious and terribly, awfully ugly. A waltz. How dreadful. How common. But more than that, the sound was familiar… strings. A progression of steel strings sounding chords like no other instrument he knew. But it couldn’t be that. She was dead and buried with it. He’d seen it lowered with her wrapped corpse, too beautiful for common eyes to bare.
And after all the work he’d put into her. Cretins. But some beauty could be personally kept, he supposed…
The music became as insistent as the tapping. It was at the wooden window now, as if urging him to approach. With feet not his own he wandered to it. With hands disgusted by the rhythm that never brought him catharsis, he unlatched the window gates.
And there, in the windless night, the Etwahl sat unmoving in the air. As if hanging on a hook of moonbeams, ghostly and secure.
BANG! The shot rang out and clipped against the hammered brass surface. It was very much real. The instrument buckled from the force but remained otherwise unbothered. The waltz continued. BANG! The second shot ricocheted sharply into the night, and again the song didn’t so much as flinch. BANG! he shot as though there were an invisible musician, and his bullet pierced nothing but darkness. In the distance he could hear it explode into magic. Nothing there. One bullet remaining. But no target to be seen.
It was then his long, trembling arms felt something soft and cold crawling up them. Beautiful pale arms with long, painted fingernails. The smell of flowers was so close to his face. Something was breathing into his ear, onto his neck. Something small and velvet and delicate touched his cheek.
Tiny blue petals with golden edges fell down his chest. The Forget-Me-Nots. Jhin could barely bring his eyes down to see them. She had her hands around his hands. Had her hands around his gun. Had her fingers on his fingers on the trigger finger.
One bullet left. One quarter note.
