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zzz

Send "Zzz" to hear my character mumble something about yours in their sleep.

Leonard grunts softly, his voice muffled by the pillow when he speaks. "No... Jan, no...'s good....pretty...pretty face pretty...lips 'n...stuff."

#ensiign #cmo's log

are you thinking what im thinking??? let's plot oneeeeee

#ensiign #ooc

Oɴ Rαveɴ Wιɴɢѕ | ensiign

He was lost in painful reminiscence.

The breeze was gentle, tugging at his dark clothing incessantly, as if trying to goad him into movement. It swirled around him, playing with his jacket, as if asking, Why do you not play with me? However, the man remained as a marble statue, arms crossed in that sort of posture that said welcomed no conversation. He seemed not unfriendly, only unwilling to speak, mute. It was apparent in the sharp downcurve of his lips, and the way his eyes were distant, as if walking down a boulevard of memories and empty dreams.

All he could remember was the fall, caused by the fault of his own ambition.

Ambition. That was the embodiment of his soul, of who he is was.

It lasted for a thousand years, and it lasted for a split second. In contrast to the breeze currently playing with his clothes, his hair, the winds of shame rushed by him at a million miles per hour, howling in his ears, ripping the breath from his lungs, tearing his wings asunder. It burned, it burned as if hot, molten rock was what flowed through his veins, rather than the golden ichor of angels, of gods. No more; no more did the healing, rejuvenating fluid run through his veins. In its place, there was nothing but blackness, nothing but ice and stone. He was aflame during the fall, bellowing his agony, and yet, it had been so very cold; he was left a mere empty shell of himself, alone, forgotten.

He lost his ambition, his will to live. He lost it all when he had been thrown from the peak of his glory.

Even the monsters that hide in the dark had not wanted him.

He became a wanderer, a wayfarer, a lost soul with nowhere to go. The winds of change bid him from place to place, and for millenia, he did just that. Move. Travel. Assume different identities, different names. He never stayed in one place for long though. Memories caught up with him too easily, and in his attempts to drown himself from the pain, he focused on movement, on busying his hands, his mind, his body. He focused on the road beneath his feet, not the crumbling path behind him.

He could never go back.

He was cursed to walk this empty earth forever, forlorn and lost, constantly seeking some sense of warmth in this life. He never did. Civilizations rose and fell beneath his watchful eyes, generations lived, and generations died. Nothing changed; it was all the same. He never spoke to anyone, only watched.

It came as no surprise when his cerulean eyes fixated upon the visage of a young woman, whose sprightly beauty he could not dispute.

What was surprising, however, was the sudden desire to speak to her.

The unnamed woman, seated some distance away, seemed to be scribbling away in a sketchbook. Every once in a while, she would glance up, at him, as if studying his unique visage before losing herself in the whiteness of paper once more. His own eyes watched her, curious, until finally he could not stand remaining still any longer. The man, clothed only in dark attire (which rightly matched his typically bitter manner), rose from his seat like a spectre rising from the ground, practically gliding towards her with graceful movements, almost... unearthly.

He stopped in front of her, at a time in which her focus was entirely on that sketch of hers; upon closer inspection, it appeared to be----

The book snapped shut.

Startled, the raven-haired onlooker quickly shifted his gaze to the woman's face, youthful, questioning.

Silent for a moment, as if trying to remember how to speak (what was the accursed language that humans of this region spoke?!), he finally greeted her in a smooth, shadowy tone:

"Hello."

#ic #on raven wings #ensiign #v; variable conditions (verse to come soon!)#//-squealing with excitement-#// Watch this turn into a shippy thing.#//I CAN FEEL IT.

ensiign replied to your post:Things I Currently Want to Plot

(angel!khan would be amazing oh my god)

// You have about three asks coming your way regarding this. <3

#ensiign #outofcryo

❤

Send me a ❤ and I'll randomly generate a scene for our muses to RP (NSFW Version)

6. My muse goes down on yours.

He presses kisses to her hips, moving down over the crease of her leg before finding her thighs. He turns instead to licking, dragging his tongue across her thigh until he reaches the very inside. He sucks a deep red mark into the skin, knowing fine well that he'll be the only other person to see it. It gives him a sort of satisfaction that he never even knew was possible. He's careful not to touch too sensitive skin, nipping softly at her inner thigh, casting his gaze up every so often to look at her.

#ensiign #cmo's log

Jim's bright blue eyes blinked open once - twice - three times before actually opening long enough to take in his surroundings. he's greeted with the sight of a young, red-haired woman - Janice - his brain helpfully supplies. she must have wanted him up earlier than usual. the blonde grins in response and stretches his arms over his head in an attempt to work out the kinks in his shoulders and back. perhaps, he had pulled something yesterday while they had been playing soccer in the back yard. Jim had won - of course - he almost always did anyways ---------

❝morning Janice!❞

he wasn't quite sure why he was so excited - maybe - no, he still didn't know. was it what Mr. Rand had given him last night? well - it didn't really matter all the much to Jim. he pulls himself to his feet and then precedes to push his bangs back from his face.

#ensiign #verse:i'm just like you #{ get ready for the feels }

LEMME EAT AND THEN i'LL INVADE ALL OF YOUR ASKBOXES.

#VERY EXCITED ABOUT THIS.#excitus #ensiign #auxiliumus #( ooc. )

robot jim who wants to be a real boy???