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@smokewrought | requested a song
❝ SO... ❞ SCANLAN BEGINS his attempt to dispel the uncomfortable tension thats tangled itself around his throat. of the seven people who’s shit lists he’s justifiably found himself on, he’s not sure that he’s safest standing there in begrudging silence with percy. and while a lot of things have changed, one constant remains the same—scanlan loathes silence. ❝ whitestone is really coming around, huh? ❞
(@smokewrought)
It was surprisingly easy to get the drop on whoever had been following her. Ripley had told her to keep on her guard about the city. She had said she had a feeling someone from her past would appear here, While their movements were calculated, she was able to sneak off and double around to face exactly who it had been. She stepped up behind the person in question and placed barrel of ‘Just Business’ against the throat of her follower.
“Give me one reason not to kill you.”
@smokewrought | pelor.
' MIND THE CHANGING OF SEASONS OF YOUR HOMELAND, PERCIVAL FREDRICKSTEIN VON MUSEL KLOSSOWSKI DE ROLO THE THIRD. ’ the man is asleep, blessedly, for the first time in far too long, but this fact amuses more than it annoys, whilst also acting as cause for concern within at least the surface thoughts of pelor’s mind. the city in it’s process of revival is a blessed thing, and beautiful, mirrored tragically by the deteriorating state of those who hold dominion over it.
‘ AND MIND TOO THE CHANGES IN THOSE WHICH SHARE YOUR BLOOD. YOU LATCH FREELY ONTO A PESSIMISM THAT WOULD SEEK TO POISON THE HOME YOU WOULD SEE REBUILT TO GLORY. THIS POISON ACTS AS A SPREADING ILLNESS, AND IS SPREAD AS NEEDLESSLY AS THE PESSIMISM ITSELF IS FELT. ’
the space around them is bright, shining; blinding, but not sterile and wiped clean of all faults. not a pure white space, but more of a space build around the sheer idea of how one feels when taking their first look at the early morning sun on an early spring day after a long, long sleep. it is this feeling given form; abstract and formless by design. ‘ BROKEN AS YOU MAY INDEED BE, PERCIVAL, YOUR MIND MISCONSTRUES THE WORDS OF THE GODS AND WARPS THEM GREEDILY. YOU ARE NOT QUITE SO LARGE A MONSTER AS YOUR EGO WOULD PROJECT. ’
“Percy, why is your workshop door locked? Do I need to pick it or are you going to let me in willingly?”
@smokewrought. sc.
‘ you... ’
there’s something about this stranger that steals his breath, sends a chill through his very bones. alexander doesn’t like it. it reminds him too much of... of those terrors.
‘ get out. ’ his voice trembles. it sounds more like a request-- no, a question-- than the order it’s meant to be.
(@smokewrought)
It’d been a while now that Vex had made the city of Whitestone her new home. While she had a home being built on her land, leaving plenty of room for the Raven Queen’s Temple on her property, she had been staying within the castle walls. Of course, she didn’t quite mind. It left her closer to Percival and that made her feel safe, knowing that they were both together.
However, Vex had been watching Percy working alongside of Cassandra lately. The stress of his days were getting to him and she could see how it was effecting him. It started first with the shaking in his hands, then it was the fact that he’d let his facial hair slowly grow to the mess it had become on his face. Vex would say nothing about it though, Percy had enough on his plate.
So when she saw him struggling a bit shaving she decided to speak with her actions instead. She pulled herself from the bed, buttoning one of Percy’s shirts onto her body as she walked over to him. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head as she gently took the blade from his hands.
“Let me help you darling.”
Instead of staying behind him she took a few steps around him so that she was face to face with him. She waited for a moment to assess if Percy would be okay with this before beginning.
@smokewrought (x)
“ibelieve, darling,” a glance cast towards the empty bottle labelled ‘courage’ occupying her nightstand. “that we have three more bottles to work through,” she thoughtfully thumbs the bottles she had collected into her lap on the bed. “well, two and a half.” the snow mead was nearly empty, and was still not fully dry from it’s trip to the bottom of the bathtub it had taken earlier that evening. neither was her hair. “shall we finish off the snow mead or try the others?”
@smokewrought
I came out to have a good time, and honestly I’m feeling so attacked right now.
