#dicyde

[guileheart]

@dicyde​. //

                              `   while i appreciate it, i don’t need your help, you know.   `

SMALL IN STATURE as she may be, a reigning warrior dictates within. it is her turn to scrub the dining hall’s floors, & what she deems as a simple task, she shall complete with utmost fortitude. if somebody else steps in to help, that is, she may not receive all the glory that comes with its pristine make-over. 

            `   i’ve done this countless times, & i’m sure that i can do it myself. perhaps you should help with something else. do the dishes need doing ?   `

[defacd-blog]

“I’m practicing here.” 

@dicyde​

[creatorblade]

            ` a house ... an important decision,’ he said with a hum, a thoughtful finger tapping against his chin. ` not one to make likely, it seems.’

truthfully, he did not have any sort of preference for any of the three, and his neutrality only made the inevitable choice even harder to make. it was not so simple to decide the course of one’s life for the next year, especially not when one’s life thus far had been that of an unpredictable mercenary’s.

            ` upon what merits would you choose your allegiance?’

@dicyde

[ultivinity-blog]

“Ehh ? You really think so?” How flattering, how superb. Grimnir never shies away from a compliment, especially when unprompted. He can’t help but grin smugly, another laugh escaping his lips which raises a few octaves from the last, sounding almost like a hiccup. It’s evident he’s enjoying himself with how much he’s laughed so far, indulging his time with Kamui, someone who managed to grab his attention almost immediately. Perhaps he is slacking ... but this is still productivity, right? He’s tucking himself into Kamui more in return, arms wrapping around their shoulders in an almost smothering embrace. Perhaps Grimnir is a little clingy, but what else can you expect from someone with such an isolating job. He seems to let himself loose completely in Kamui’s company, finding their own laugh and smile to be as equally contagious. He’s hoping Kamui doesn’t mind him asking for more kisses.

“Then here’s a little gift to you in return,” comes a sudden whisper, his breath also meeting Kamui’s skin, pressing his own little kisses into their neck, followed by a series of more chuckles and giggles. His chest does leaps when he hears Kamui’s laugh in unison with his own. “And here, and here ~” He’s mimicking Kamui’s patterns, tucking them closer to kiss along their jaw from the crook of their neck. Their skin is hot. “You sound even cuter, I must admit !” Grimnir says. “Adorable---for someone like yourself. Hehe ... I feel honored.” But he’s also deserving of this attention, of course! Consider it compensation. He threads both hands through Kamui’s hair, pushing back their bangs to get a better look at their face.

“I hope you can sing and smile for me some more, Kamui.”

@dicyde 

[umbrascelerata]

@dicyde || starter call. (accepting.)

    ❛ LORD Kamui ! Sorry for intruding like this but if you happen to see Joker, don’t tell him you saw me. So with that being said, do you mind if I hide out here for a bit ? He’s so scary when he’s mad ! ❜ There was probably sarcasm laced in her tone.

[100pwr]

continued from x

              ❛     no,     no,     don't worry   !     ❜       there's a smile,     warm    &    bright,     growing onto warm lips of hero at the prince's amiable behavior     d     as if speaking to an ally was all that's needed to bring forth the sliver of a smile,     the faintest of laughs.     it's serene jubilance in its most basic form,     its most enjoyed.       ❛     ya weren't in my way at all,     just thought ya looked a little out of it,     kamui.       ❜       laughter escapes him,     hand coming up to use his index finger to scratch his cheek just a smidge.     what a bad habit of his.       ❛     everything OK   ?     got your thoughts scrambled up   ?     ❜       /       @dicyde

[awokedeath]

*kiss* :)

   Do not feed the succubus your humble hearts, still-pumping muscles pulled from the torsos of their live owners, plopping down into the palms of her unholy hands, cardiac tissues oozing through the interstices of unhallowed fingers and warmed by profane panting, organs mawkish, murmuring sweet nothings to this man-eater, currying favor with this soul-sucker, debauched-devourer, carnage-starved witch gulping blood by the gallons, picking men from between knife-edged teeth with the points of claws lacquered with cyanide and French-tipped with arsenic, she’s a venus’ flytrap, a snaring rope, and yet the gentle caress of this mighty dragon almost heals her heavy soul. Corrin, her Corrin– the one she’s come to know and appreciate with all of her being, wishes to kiss a fanged torture chamber, a malefic mouthpiece who—upon contact—will drain him to the last drops, hips dipped in honey humming ❛watch me,❜ as she takes two meager steps back and flushes a bright, violent red at his sudden gesture. 

   She wants to scowl, to reel back in disgust and retch at this utter invasion of privacy, and yet she can’t bring herself to hurt him. Her blood boils, but not out of malice. Instead she’s staring, no, ogling him from head-to-toe as if this is the first time they’ve met. The book in her arms act as a shield, a coward’s way out of this unpredictable situation.

  “ You smell like dirt. Go take a bath. You can’t kiss a woman properly when you’re the physical manifestation of a horse’s stall.. ”

[bloomguard]

@dicyde.

      it  is  a  moment  wherein  you  are  staring  them  down,   &  surely  to  anyone  who  were  to  look,  it  is  poorly  hidden:   you’re  all  head  atilt  (  *   at  them  ),   lips  pursed  (  *   over  them  ),   &  your  arms  fold  near  subconsciously.      you  recall  having  thought  once  that  they  were  something  more  malicious  than  merely  lost,   but  ah        well.       they  must  be.  there’s  not  much  that  way  except  for  farmland,   if  you  were  to  walk  long  enough.        you’ve  made  your  way  out  there  before,   to  help  the  locals  with  the  heavy  work.  somehow,   it  doesn’t  strike  you  that  they  would  do  the  same.   do  they  even  know  that’s  where  they’re  headed?

      if  you  were  any  pettier,  you  would  let  them  cluelessly  carry  on,   or  if  you  were  any  more  sound,   you  would  let  them  go  on  confidently.   instead,   you  are  up  from  the  ground  and  forgotten  pile  of  sharpening  implements  in  a  beat,   and  over  to  them.     a  hand  goes  to  their  shoulder,   as  much  a  greeting  as  they’ll  get,       ‘      going  somewhere?      ’