#iii.

[imminences]

THE RAVEN CYCLE: ADAM PARRISH

rags to riches isn't a story anyone wants to hear until after it's done

[thangkas]

You do realize that urn represents all that's left of the old Ajay. The "Pre-Kyrat" Ajay. Once you spread those ashes all the ties you have to that previous life are gone. And then what happens? Well, I suppose you could do what I did after Mohan killed Lakshmana. Oh, you didn't know that did you? Huh. Yes, your father killed your half sister, and then your mother killed him in return. I simply continued where she left off. I've killed so many people for them. But then I realized, I was only using Lakshmana's death as an excuse to do whatever I wanted to do. Just as you use those ashes as an excuse to do whatever you want to do.

[reformds]

at the first signs of winter coming to an end, victor finds himself on a weekly schedule with juno for the first time since early fall. the yard is still weeks away from perking up after the relentless snow, but there are always dead branches to set out at the curb and unruly bushes to trim. really, showing up biweekly would do the trick, but juno’s company is never a bad thing. standing in the wu kitchen with whatever takeout or leftovers are put in front of him is a form of stability, even if nothing about it is particularly memorable. he takes bites of his pizza, staring blankly out the windows and tracking nothing in particular. when juno’s request comes casually, he slowly faces her, unblinking. a month ago, he might’ve let out a gruff laugh before returning to the yard. but it’s another story since the for sale sign that went up in front of velvet moon and with fallon’s disposition he’s picked up during their smoke breaks.  victor takes the plate, balancing it with one hand as he heads for the door. he moves slowly as his eyes land on fallon from behind. he leaves enough space between them as he halts, stretching his arm out. “delivery.”

[zombpawcoins]

꩜ ‧ zombie id pack !

[ pt : zombie id pack ! end pt. ]

» names ;   grim , grave[s] , ghost , ash[er] , brain , rot , shade , skull , husk , necro , thorn[e] , zomb , bones , casper , bones , maggot , scar , decay

» prns ;  gore/gore/gores/gores/goreself rot/rot/rots/rots/rotself coffin/coffin/coffins/coffins/coffinself rib/rib/ribs/ribs/ribself gut/gut/guts/guts/gutself zomb/zomb/zombs/zombs/zombself bone/bone/bones/bones/boneself bite/bite/bites/bites/biteself death/death/deaths/deaths/deathself undead/undead/undeads/undeads/undeadself bleed/bleed/bleeds/bleeds/bleedself scar/scar/scars/scars/scarself slit/slit/slits/slits/slitself decay/decay/decays/decays/decayself

» genders ;  dollzombic , zombigender , zombiegender , zombin , corpsegender , bloodzombic , zombiething

[ pt :  names ;  pronouns ;  genders ;  end pt. ]

[polyhymniae]

things that are said about me.

(or: idle gossip within hogwarts' halls.)

꒰ ⸙ ꒱ the Seer enjoys her long spells of serenity undisturbed, but will smile and say hello if you venture a greeting. she is prone to late evenings spent meandering about the campus. commandeering the room of requirement for use as a musical playroom. impromptu chess tournaments with the students. and that almost eerily calm look of knowing.

she can feel a vision coming on like a headache and will preemptively excuse herself to someplace quiet. she's flighty and averse to the cold- in the winter she grows restless. don't expect to find her in her office then. she's likely flown east to chase the sun.

don't bother asking her inane questions about the future. she won't tell you who you will marry or how many children you will have. she will only encourage you to follow your passions and to beautify your imagination, and will just shrug when you tell her that's not what you want to hear.

she isn't entirely unflappable- and it's quite easy to make her laugh if you are willing to make yourself look the fool. sometimes she will take a trip to the ministry to "cross-reference her information." she carries her tea around in a green thermos. she's unwilling to choose a side when spectating quidditch games, and will wave flags for both teams. she stays up late to converse with the ghosts during full moons. and she might be responsible for those hymns emanating from the forbidden forest at night?

[deliverthem]

continued from here. @ownmyth.

this is not the first time you’ve been becalmed, though you wouldn’t mind if it were your last. hunger has a way of eating through a man’s sanity. minor grievances become misdeeds worth taking aim for, old resentments rise to the top of mind like pond-scum. these things can mostly ge avoided, if one is careful. pirates are no different to command than navy men: you rule with an iron fist, squeezed so tight you cannot remember the shape your hand makes when unfurled. your men- they can resent it, they can thrash in your grip. their hatred, their frustration, their ire, you shoulder it without complaint. that’s all well and fine, so long as you are dragging them forward, always forward.

momentum is a precious thing. fickle. your momentum cannot die with the wind. and, should you make it past this, should the sails ever fill again, you will have to keep momentum by reminding your men of the necessity of war. you will need your quartermaster’s silver-tongue poised to smooth over your harshest edges, ready to placate and inspire. civilization threatens to smother every one of you and you have to be ready to remind them to fight for air.

silver falters and you step forward, his ribcage landing in your palm. he looks up, scarlet-lined eyes full of hatred, and you don’t know who it is aimed at. you don’t know that you care. you look down, past his raw shame and between your bodies, trying to accurately assess all the points in which the two of you are tethered. you don't say anything. silver is doling out his own punishment, harsher than anything you deem necessary, self-immolating for reasons you couldn't care less about. does a dog understand why it is being scolded, or does it only learn not to bite in front of you again?

you grunt with exertion, slinging silver's arm over your shoulder, and start the exhaustive walk to your bed. he’s warm, disturbingly so, like he's spent the past hour baking under the sun instead of hovering beside your desk. the journey is loud, your rasping inhales, the huff of his exhales at your ear, but despite this, you find yourself thinking only of the crackly, anguished sound of him asking to stay. when you reach your cot, you sink beside him on the mattress, breathless. you rest your elbows on your thighs, clasping your hands together.

sun filters across the cabin, touching salt-warped furniture and woven rugs and silver’s legs, both the flesh and the metal. something stirs in you. you think it must be anger. when you stand, your knees croak and groan. your whole body feels rickety, like the ship in the earliest hours of the morning.

"rest." you command, speaking without turning around to look at silver. a step forward. you’re closing in on one of the many paper-lined tables in the cabin. "the men are looking to follow you down whatever path you deem fit. it would be wise to know which way a road leads before you head down it."

[flowingrooted]