#muse writing

[windy-trickster]

[SHERCO] -> Contact your neighbor

Sherco laid on his pile of beanbags on his stomach, swaying his legs back and forth slightly while opening up Discorpse, opening up a barely used chat between himself and one of his neighbors. -> [aerodynamicRecoil] has began messaging [doctrineTemplar] <- [AR]: 0)-> Cerrrrrrrrvinnnnn!!!! Are y0u busy? Can I talk t0 y0u? <-(0 [DT]: Somewh a t. Wh a t is it, Sherco? [AR]: 0)-> I've been meaning t0 message y0u ab0ut this scr0ll I f0und while 0ut 0n 0ne 0f my little adventures! I th0ught y0u'd like it. I have n0 idea what it says since I d0n't rec0gnize any 0f the w0rds, but I feel like s0me0ne smart like y0u c0uld translate it! <-(0 Cervin's eyebrow cocked up as he read the message. He knew about all of Sherco's adventures since he was one of the few neighbors that would actually take the time to indulge Sherco in telling his outrageous tales, even if he did find a lot of Sherco's ramblings to be annoying. It was annoying in an endearing way, like a child telling their lusus about some crazy dream they had. [DT]: So. You went somewhere a nd decided it would be a good ide a to T A KE something from th a t pl a ce? [AR]: 0)-> Well.... Yeah! Why w0uld I n0t? It's a s0uvenir basically! There's n0 sh0ps 0r anything in s0me aband0ned building I f0und while driving ar0und Alternia! <-(0 [DT]: Sherco. You went into a n a b a ndoned building, looked a round it a nd took a scroll of unknown origins B A CK to your hive. A nd you w a nt to now give it to me. Sherco took a second to process what Cervin was trying to get at, and once it hit, his cheeks heated up a little in embarrassment. Oh jeez. Had he done something wrong? [AR]: 0)-> Well it just l00ked c00l!! And I wanted t0 give it t0 y0u because y0u like stuff like that! I can thr0w it away if y0u d0n't want it. <-(0 [DT]: No. I do w a nt to see wh a t this scroll cont a ins. I just c a n't come a nd get it right now. So, keep it until I'm a v a il a ble. Just m a ke sure you keep th a t scroll somewhere secure in c a se it is something d a ngerous. I know your God's f a vorite idiot, Sherco. But this m a kes me worry a bout your s a fety since you don't know wh a t the scroll could do if a nything. [AR]: 0)-> 0kay! I'll put it back in my little treasure chest f0r when I can c0me and bring it d0wn t0 y0u! H0w are things g0ing 0n y0ur end, Cervin? I've heard y0u've been. Y'kn0w. Struggling. [DT]: I'm fine now, Sherco. Don't worry a bout me. I've h a d three different t a lking to's. [AR]: 0)-> I wasn't g0ing t0 try and give y0u a talking t0! Y0u're my friend, Cervin. I was just w0rried ab0ut y0u, that's all! <-(0 [DT]: You're my friend too, Cer a de. I need to go now. Don't do a nything too stupid. -> [doctrineTemplar] has ceased messaging [aerodynamicRecoil] <- Sherco felt a big dorky smile tug at the corners of his lips. Cervin? Of all trolls? Seeing HIM as a friend? He was right! Cervin was his friend after all!

[pandoranrabbit]

It's the same makeshift shack Rabbit wakes up in. Still, he jolts awake, and instantly his gun in his hands, steady though he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

He swallows, and lowers the gun. His hands are shaking. He closes his eyes but his nightmare still lingers. His throat feels raw. Was he screaming? He had been saying sorry in his dream, promise after promise he was good. He was dependable. He wouldn't ever leave his job again. He'd prove himself again, just let go please! Please, please, plesse!

He kicked and fought but the hands on him were iron tight. He could feel his own actions grow more desperate, feel the weak tears in his eyes, see the satisfied grin of his boss. And then, he'd woken up.

He licked his lips. He was up for the day. Not that it was day. He could still see stars. Who knew if he'd gotten any sleep. He put his mask back on, the weight of it brought some comfort, but sitting alone with his thoughts made him jumpy.

So, he moved outside to look at the sky. Taking deep breaths he tried to think of anything good. Anything to ease his mind. He was okay. He wasn't being hunted down. It was all just a dream. Just a dream.

[worldsinferno]

S22E07 Spoilers | I said I’d write Damien’s perspective after that episode so here I’ve got a quick draft of the start already in case anyone wants to see 

Damien hadn’t expected his day to go like this.

Hell, he hadn’t even expected his life to go like this.

He- he had it all planned out. He’d grow up and get stronger. He’d challenge his dad one day for the throne, when he was ready. His father would have plead with him one last time to just consider living a free life instead of this one. Damien would’ve had realised at that point that the pleading his father did throughout his life wasn’t to save his fathers life but because Satan just wanted the best for his child. He wanted his son to know he had a choice. Yet, he wouldn’t listen and fight him anyways. Because he had to. It was expected of him.

Even though his father wouldn’t want to hand him the throne that easily, he knew his dad would’ve been proud of him either way. He’d be proud his son was willing to give such an offering, to take up such a responsibility, as well.

It was when a few demons came to get him for some reason, ushering him to where his dad’s throne stood and he pieced together what the demons were rambling- trying to explain to him what was going on;

That was when he knew that plan would never happen.

[solumscorpius]

📚

Send a 📚 and I’ll write a drabble of my muses past

For context, please see this post in regards to my take on Tyrian’s backstory

A voice screamed through Tyrian’s thoughts, waking the boy almost instantly from his sleep. In the first, sharp breath in he nearly thought it had been something out of a nightmare, a banshee nearly come to steal him away within his thoughts. But after a second breath, and then a third, he quickly realized that the voice was not some disembodied dream-forged noise that pulled him from sleep–

It was his aunt. Her words rang clearly from downstairs, sharp and shrill and hurting the boy’s sensitive ears, as if every sound echoed around the room tenfold before it finally stopped.

He didn’t need to call back, didn’t even need to acknowledge that he heard; the screaming was only a pleasantry, a reminder of tasks that had become nothing but habit, an expected series of events that Tyrian had found as unmoving and unforgiving as the rising sun and setting moon.

He hopped out of bed and dressed himself as quickly as he could, hoping to get started on the first chore before the woman was out the door of the house if only so she could see him doing it and not accuse him otherwise later in the night.

He pulled on the loose top and his ragged, patched shorts and hurried down the steps to the first floor, catching sight of his aunt just as she was readying herself to leave the house.

“I expect it all to be done when I return this evening,” the woman said, not even looking down at the small child who had come to see her off. “We will be having company over tomorrow and I need this house as clean as can be.”

“Company?” Tyrian questioned, curiosity painting over his features. Other people? “Will they be here long? Will there be other kids?” 

The curiosity was slowly replaced with a budding excitement–someone to play with? Was his aunt going to surprise him with such a gift or, was it his birthday? It had been several years since he remembered last celebrating such a thing, so he didn’t know if that was even coming up.

His aunt turned to him as she pulled the hood of her cloak up and over her head.

And her expression was hard, almost disgusted. There was a sneer in her lips and a hate in her eyes as she stared coldly onto the child she had been given to care for years ago–her distant cousin foolish enough to think she wanted a child, nevertheless a faunus child and a damn one that had a stinger at that.

“No,” she finally said, wondering why the boy had gotten such a silly idea wrapped up in his thoughts. “They are merely clients from Vale who are looking for someone. You will stay in your room while they are here, I won’t hear a single peep from you. The last thing I need is for you to wave that thing of yours about willy-nilly and off one of my highest-paying jobs.”

She watched as Tyrian’s expression fell. He wasn’t surprised by the truth, but it still hurt. He missed playing with other kids, missed having someone to talk to.

But with that, the woman stepped out the front door, leaving Tyrian to sigh, reach a hand up and pull back the long, dark hair that brushed over his eyes. It had gotten so long and his aunt had said nothing about getting it cut–he was almost liking it, the way it could hide away his face and eyes when he got too scared to look into his aunt’s eyes (especially as the woman seemed to loathe direct eye contact).

Tyrian stood there for a while, making sure that the woman wasn’t about to come back in for some forgotten item. When it was obvious she was gone for the foreseeable future, the boy quickly pattered off down the hall and turned into the library. 

It wasn’t too difficult to find his small, almost nondescript hiding spot. A small corner of the room, hidden past several tall, long rows of bookshelves. It was little more than a chair, a blanket and a scattering of pillows, but it was a place of safety for Tyrian–it was a spot he could turn to, a spot his aunt never bothered him within, a spot he felt safe.

He crawled beneath the tented blanket and, just as quickly, he retrieved the book that had been left on one of the pillows, still open on the last page he had been reading from the night prior.

It was about a knight. Though unnamed through the entire story, the knight was a thing of wonder to Tyrian, a man unlike anything the boy could have ever experienced in the confines of his aunt’s small, lonely home. It was through this knight’s tales and stories that he could experience the world as an adventure, to feel the wind and see the rising sun from more than his little window.

He wanted the knight to be his best friend.

A dashing man, the book had described him, a scholar-turned-hero, his hair as red as fire, eyes as green as emeralds and his face covered in freckles. The book described him as once a poor boy, once a servant, once someone society hardly looked at. It was only after the gift of a goddess that he was able to wield a sacred blade and defeat all of those who had opposed him, who had hurt him, who had made him feel small.

The knight and his power, his freedom–Tyrian wanted it all, every ounce. He wanted to be just as free, if only a goddess could bless him with the same gift.

He knew it wouldn’t ever come true; knights, gods and goddesses? They didn’t exist, they never and will never exist. Tyrian was a boy, but he wasn’t a fool–he knew that his life would only ever be that of a servant in his own home, using nothing but books to try and make up for the freedom he didn’t, he couldn’t, he’d never have.

But Tyrian still read, still believed, still dreamed of the day that he too, like the knight, would meet a goddess who would free him from his prison.

[sungoddick-inme]

tag system for myself (will make pretty tmr)

#helios aesthetic

#bike writing (helios writing)

#apollo aesthetic

#muse writing (apollo writing)

#icarus aesthetic

#wood writing (icarus writing)

stages

#irritant arc

#breakup arc

#trust arc

#hermes tag

#ares tag

#untagged buff men

[friendshipstates]

Drunken Diplomacy

Drunken Diplomacy As Gentaro Kisaragi strode down the Promenade at Deep Space Nine, the voice of Quark reached him over the crowd. “Genta

(This is the moment. When Gentaro got so drunk that he accidentally ended a major Klingon feud. Enjoy!)

[whiskeycoloredhair]

“It is silent on the hill. That kind of silence that creeps upon skin in the witching hours. That kind of silence which make one think there might be something there in the shadows. Those who wander upon the hill rarely stay for long and tell about how cold it is. A sort of cold that exist in the basement.” Julian looked through the papers and furrowed his eyebrows.