#ta1is

[saengjonja]

... I just realized their stupid fucking portmanteau is JAYJAE and I want to delete them from existence, thanks.

[drakyns]

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤCONTINUED THREADㅤ⨳ㅤ@ta1is.

ㅤ“eh, juuust a few toes when i inevitably step on your good ones.” hiccup’s shrug was theatrical, grin crooked; too wide and open for any proper hall. he tipped back the last of his mug: a final sip of courage as the ale burned his throat going down. he glanced back down at the open palm still extended to him and shook his head, the corners of his mouth tugging against the weight of his role. he wasn’t supposed to dance. during farmers’ festivities, chieftains only watched and nodded from the firelight’s edge. but tonight the sky was starry, the ale warm, and there was company.

ㅤhe gestured toward the fires, where the music hung in the air like incense to the lazy rising smoke. “but if you’re feeling brave…” he took the offering at last, and it felt smooth. there was no soot beneath the nails, only a few calluses along the knuckles: hands of a ‘scientist’—the chieftain remembered this was how jayce had introduced himself when he first came to berk. håkan still didn’t know what the word meant, but he recognised the vestiges left behind by brass gears on naked palms. his leg whined at the weight shift when he stood at last, but the hand in his own steadied him more than expected. “... well, can’t really deny you a taste of the berkian spirit, can i?”

ㅤthe music was already rising again, a fast tune plucked by younger bards too drunk to slow down. somewhere behind them, laughter broke out over a spilled barrel. a dragon yawned on a thatched roof,  stretching a lazy wing as if to stir the wind into dancing, too. they fell into the old steps, arms looping, turning in half-circles, a clumsy pair, going slower than the rhythm so their legs wouldn't ache. they looked like two grandpas, a kid said. still, the two nearly tripped. or, well, hiccup almost did: his leg clanked too close to jayce’s only good foot. håkan let out a snort, half laughter, half apology. luckily, it was just a scare. “so,” he called over the riot of drums during a mid-turn, breathless, flushed from ale, movement and laughter, “how’ve you been finding your stay?” the beats were getting chaotic, reverberating against their chests. “loud bunch, huh?”

[relentlessgrief]

@ta1is continued from here

Standing at a staggering height of seven feet, the veiled figure lingers at a respectable distance away from the man who looks as if he's just went to hell and back. Yet there's no show of hostility from the stranger.

"I could ask you the same thing. Yet, I feel as if I already have a sort of answer. I sense the arcane around you. It calls to me."

One out of the four skeletal hands extend outwards, but stops just short of making any kind of contact. There's hesitation in the creature's body language. The secondary set of arms extend outward, tattered rags tied to them looking akin to an angel's wings.

"You've been through a lot. I can tell. Your heart is heavy. It beats like a scared rabbit."

A beat of silence.

"I am something that exists in the space between realities. And I am something that rests within it, too. But I promise, I'm not malicious in nature."

[saengjonja]

The best way to solve shipping Canons and OCs when there are already multiple Canon ships happening in the source material:

[saengjonja]

[mxchineherald]

≻ how does your muse handle being ignored ? // (°◡°♡)/ thank you for the follow!!

[ask meme here.]

ooc :: hiiii! thanks for the follow-back! :3

Viktor is used to being ignored by most people. At parties, he's spoken over. At lectures, he's passed over for comment. So with acquaintances or strangers, he doesn't mind very much. It is water off a duck's back to him.

However, when ignored by someone he knows closely, it hurts him deeply, and he tends to over-analyze the reasons why he could have been so overlooked or dismissed. He will grow sullen, upset, or even angry, depending on the situation.

If continually ignored by someone he cares about, he might even confront them and ask what the reason behind this treatment is.

[circlefled]

@ta1is continued from here!

It's a newer voice that responds, a question for a question, and yet despite that firm -- no, sturdy tone, Max feels that well of shame deepen at at the mere thought that someone else was seeing this weakness in him after being told so many times that the idea of the Inquisition needed to be strong. Have people been asking you that?

Does the Inquisitor ever tire? Does the Inquisitor ever sleep? Rest? Eat? No. The Inquisitor is not a man. Holy. Savior. Martyr.

The breath he takes sounds near desperate, a quick inhale as he forces his back straight and his arms down by his sides. When had he even started holding his breath? Which of the words running around in his head were his own, and which were the echoes of others? Maxwell hates the position, shoulders back chin up, brown eyes open but staring unfocused at a point on the wall beyond --

-- Who?

Oh, Maxwell. You little fool. You know his name. Focus.

Or is that something you’ve been driving yourself crazy with?

" Sorry, I uh -- It's been a very long day. Week. Or... "