#myrddins

[hisatonement]

📚

Send “📚” and I will flip to a random page in a book and use the first line of dialogue I see as a starter.

“To return once more to pleasant reminiscence: Europe is not just about looking at monuments and talking to monuments and licking monuments. It’s also about the people.”

[hisatonement]

@myrddins

It had been a rough but successful day on the job, and it just so happened he was nearby his favourite watering hole for seasoned hunters. No one ever questioned the fresh wounds or bizarre selection of weapons, it was peaceful, and a great place to pick up a good shag. Girls love the tough hunter look.

He sits at the bar, sipping a whiskey and stroking his bruised cheek. Across from him is a young woman, alone, lost maybe? He downs his drink and calls for her attention.

“Oi, love, big bastard Wendigo busted my lip, why don’tcha come over ‘ere and kiss it better?”

[ireofembers-blog]

Take Me to the Water

@myrddins

Some mornings it was hard to get out of bed. He would lie there thinking about how easy it would be to stay there but then the soft patter of his son’s steps called on him to rise. His eyes would close and he would savor one second more in whatever makeshift sleeping quarters he’d made the night before before he would push himself up with a tired, wide grin. But not this morning. Not today. He wanted to, but he couldn’t find the strength to even open his eyes as he felt Aiden curl under his arm. His son would be turning nine this year and yet under the fold of him he still felt as small as the day he was born. He’d cried, hadn’t he? Head bowed over the tiny, fussing form of his second son bundled in a blanket he had cried.  

Why couldn’t he wake up? Because his skin felt like fever and his throat like a desert. He remembered with a faint groan of pain as he tried to heave onto his side the bullet lodged in his rib cage. Despite the effort he’d gathered into sitting up his body did nothing more than twitch slightly but even that sent out fresh waves of aching pain. How long had he been sleeping? Rithisak didn’t know. His last coherent moment he remembered he had been digging into his own bloodied flesh with a pair of tweezers in an attempt to dislodge the bullet. Everything between that moment and this was a blur more sensations than memories. It was only struggling on those threads that he realized those moments were snapshots of his son taking care of him. 

The world wasn’t fair. He had never asked it to be, but it made his blood boil that it had forced his children to endure it. His son at only eight years old shouldn’t have been forced to learn all the practical skills necessary to take care of an adult but there it was. In the small hands that pressed gauze into his wound, in the water he remembered dripping on his forehead and down his throat there was his son capable of more than was fair to ask of him. Confusion nipped at the heels of his thoughts as he felt the sudden loss of warmth against his side. His blood thinned to ice when he heard his son speak the words, “Who are you? Go away!” He wanted to scream. His head turned and he cursed at himself to open his god damn eyes. 

It hurt. Each prick of pain tore into him like needles stabbing skin but he would flay open his own skin and pierce himself with a thousand more to protect his son. His eyes opened but only barely. Aiden stood holding his pistol. Sobs built in his father’s chest. Rithisak had only ever taught him the basics of firearms. He was far from experienced and it showed in the slight incline he held the gun at and the tremble of his hands but there he was. His son holding a gun. He wanted to scream at Aiden to run but a stuttered breath was all that left his mouth. At this angle he couldn’t see the person his son was talking to but he saw the hesitation that crept onto his face. He was wavering. “My Papa’s sick. Can you help him?” Trapped in his own helplessness Rithisak screamed. 

[hisatonement]

✌ for Zach and Jess

Send ✌ For A Gif Of How My Muse Wants To Fuck Yours 

He likes being rough but he’s also a romantic at heart

[aworldfullofmuses-archived-blog]

@myrddins Random muse starter call

“Don’t call the cops! Please!”

[clockworkapothecary]

☠

((Send me a ‘☠’ for my muse to find yours covered in blood in a random alleyway.))

“…What the hell…?”

It was admittedly not uncommon in this part of town to find figures slouched over in alleyways amid the graffiti and refuse of the city.  Usually reeking of cheep booze and sweat and muttering under their breath.  Not the sort of people you wanted to approach.  So Vaughn had been ready to walk right by when he saw the silhouette of someone crumpled against the wall, barely visible in the dim glow of the streetlamps.  He slowed, glancing down at her with only vague curiosity, ready to edge past her and continue on his way.  Then he stopped, and looked back.  And stared.  Something dark and wet glistened in the lamplight.  Blood?

He took a cautious step closer - was the woman even breathing? The last thing he needed was to be seen at the scene of a murder.  He glanced furtively back towards the street, wondering if he should call for help.  There was no one else in sight.

He couldn’t see how badly she was injured - or if she even was, as there was no telling just yet if the blood was even hers.  But there was a lot of it, smeared on skin and clothes, a scattering of droplets drying on the pavement.  Vaughn cringed sympathetically as he inched closer.

“…Hello?  Can you hear me? Are… are you even conscious?”  Hesitantly, he knelt down next to her and reached for her shoulder.