#thcrmr

[adureus]

Stares... and dumps Mythos in the rubbish bin. Where he belongs.

Ya well at least he's HOT GARBAGE!!!

[telmn]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

@thcrmr asked: ❛i always got the feeling you never liked me.❜ /but he's v smug about it 😂

"𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?" 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 && he's undeterred. Hardly compelled by the presence of a mad king && the tidings it brings. Separated by iron && hinges && locks, chains barring the way of aetheric influence; like a bound hound. Or the lax manner in which the once-outlaw perches against a crate with untouched rations sat atop it. Meals that have been forsaken, foregone in light of stubbornness && bitterness compartmentalized in the form of man. The same man that stares him down like a ravenous dog ready to bite. But it's in that same man that the former dominant of Ramuh once saw future && prosperity. "Maybe so. Once upon a time, I remember muddying my boots for you." The words are caught against the drag to greens held taut between his lips. One hand settled on crate's edge, the other gingerly supporting the bundle to his lips. A haphazard glance to Barnabas ensues not in any other suggestion than some sense of pity. An already broken man that was exploited by a being so foul, so wrought of self-preservation, that they saw this once prosperous king race toward his end. && it leaves so bitter a taste on the tip of tongue that allows for gravel in vocality to be set free yet again. "Things change, though. Don't they?"

[vindiikta]

@thcrmr inquired : ❝ the gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance. ❞ inbox prompt : baldur's gate three starters ( part one ). prompt status : accepting !

𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋  𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄  𝐈𝐒  𝐀  𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄    low  hum  as  she  contemplates  his  words . in  reality  ,  benedikta  had  never  really  believed  in  the  gods .  there  was  no  reason  for  her  to  in  her  eyes  ━  she'd  been  forsaken  by  any  such  god  from  the  moment  she  entered  the  world  and  her  only  salvation  had  been  garuda . the  freedom  she'd  felt  in  the  wings  given  to  her  ,  the  freedom  that  came  from  the  blood  that  stained  her  hands  was  something  she  didn't  know  she  could  ever  let  go  of .      ❝  their  sense  of  humor  does  tend  to  be  a  cruel  one . ❞  benedikta  eventually  spoke  up  in  response  ,  light  hazel  eyes  moving  over  to  him  where  he  sat  not  far  from  her . there  is  a  question  that  lingers  on  her  mind .  however  ,  it  is  one  she  is  hesitant  to  speak  into  the  space  around  them , if only to avoid upsetting or angering him . after  a  few  more  moments  of  silence  ,  she  finally  finds  it  in  herself  to  speak  again .

❝  is  this  something  you  speak  about  from  experience  ,  my  liege  ?  ❞

[devotionbled]

‘  some  people  are  born  with  a  piece  of  night  inside,  and  that  hollow  place  can  never  be  filled.  ’

THE LANGUAGE OF THORNS. || Accepting.

Beneath clavicles, bone meeting bone—there rages a tempest, all drenched in murder and salvation alike. Her hand curls tight around a hilt of a blade, steps light as she dances across uneven stone. Training grounds their stage, she listens carefully even when she scoffs. There is no twitch of the lips to be found, harsh crescent damned to a straight line. Dull eyes all narrow, she does not refuse his vocal song. 

Barnabas is old. 

Barnabas has seen much she has not the fortune to witness in her newborn existence: 24 years of winter, and she thinks it could not compare to the everlasting stretch of his existence. Barnabas’ existence, though nebulous, seems to be violently drowned in the finality of eternity. He has long existed before her—before Joshua.

All people are born the same. Naked and wailing, yearning for a mother’s breast. She thinks of the children she let bleed from her and denied before they could take hold in a belly—all in service for flames. She quietly wonders if they would have hollow hearts, night embracing a heart, for she could not love them if things were different.

If.

A slow tilt of Jote’s head--words seeping, and she clicks her tongue as she thinks carefully. 

“Are you speaking for yourself?” The irony of it is not lost on her; her steps heavy as she refuses to fall (the stance of war must make one steady, infallible to wind and weight yearning to push). 

“Are you confessing to a lowly servant of the heartless?”

The shrill screech of a blade meeting a blade—she is weak compared to his might, muscles rippling below flesh as she pushes, feet sliding. She tries and tries to exert, against what feels fluid as air, all nothingness.

“I must disagree. You must have had a heart once upon a time, Your Majesty,” a tongue slips past lips to taste the sweat beading—all birthed from her determination to push. It is salty and foul. “Allow me to dissect you to see how hollow you are, Odin. I want to see it."

[benydikta]

 [     ･     @thcrmr    :         bribed me with knick-knacks 💎

𝙱𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙺𝚃𝙰 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙸𝙽 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙱𝙰𝚂' 𝙳𝙾𝙾𝚁𝚆𝙰𝚈.       she's not supposed to linger:       she can present no hesitation to her exacting king,        his mind as unfathomable as ever     ━    a dark pit; the center of a black hole.        he's been quiet this past half a decade. barely speaks at all.        benedikta is loud and cackling and screaming and unapologetically high-strung,        but standing in front of her king she feels small again. smothered.        the butt of a cigarette.        it is garuda he favors;        what he looks for through her gaze,        a flutter of wings caught in his armored palm.        and oh, how she dangles.

        ‘‘  forgive me, my liege,        i can come at another time,  ’’      she says.        her heart lurches in her throat.        she wants to be far away. she wants to be sitting at his feet.        she is a tool and nothing less or more and she knows she will find no warmth in him     ━    they are a hearth never lit     ━    but she doesn't know how to be anything else but a willing supplicant to his impassive blade.         ‘‘  i did not intend to disturb you.  ’’      disturb you and all that grief.        she sucks in a breath:       ‘‘  but i can stay by your side if you require it of me.  ’’      

[firit]

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

@thcrmr asked: ' we don't live in a world that's fair. ' /he gonna beat dis boy's butt

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏, 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒--- uncertainty is a construct befitting humanity. Tasked with simply living in a realm that is just as the other says: unfair. But it is in this unfairness that the mettle is tested, wills are hardened. It can bring from humanity its best or its worst (but this, too, is a truth deserving of continuity). Breathing deep the sanctimony of sacrilege he has become, foregoing whatever fate another has in store for him; he is not this Mythos they claim. Of Rosaria, of his father's blood, of the fire that burns evermore within his being. He is flame && hardship && perseverance. He is comprised of all of these things that he holds fast to. But above all, he is the voice of the many that are unable to buffer the will of the god Waloed's king would impose. "It isn't meant to be fair, but we strive on in spite of it! We cast our lot and make do with what's received." A growl resonates within breast, his nose curls in defiance. If he is to be an untamable beast, it shall be so. If he must stand between the perpetrator && its victim, so be it. A totem to free will's mantle. An everlasting epitaph begetting individuality, not uniformity. "So to hells with your god."

[omniterror]

26, 28, 29, 32 for Isabelle~

is  your  muse  more  likely  to  be  loud  and  proud  about  being  in  a  relationship,  or  are  they  more  quiet  about  it  at  first  and  open  up  about  it  over  time?

being  a  courtesan  most  of  her  life,  isabel  has  never  had  a  normal  relationship  -  even  counting  non  romantic  ones.  she's  always  been  abused  in  some  capacity  and  many  only  for  show.  until  the  branded  she  came  to  know  and  love  (  still  need  a  name  or  him  jglfkj  ),  and  even  then  she  had  to  hide  it  as  best  she  could.  .  .  until  she  couldn't.  she  has  been  terribly  afraid  to  be  openly  proud  of  anything.

would  it  bother  your  muse  if  they  had  differing  interests  from  their  partner(s),  or  would  they  delight  in  it?

while  she  does  love  a  partner  with  the  same  motivations  and  kindness  as  her,  she  is  dazzled  by  contrast,  perhaps  sparked  by  the  reasons  for  them.  it  usually  urges  her  to  get  to  know  the  person  more.  unless  they're  just,  you  know.  .  .  .  pure  evil.

how  important  is  having  (a)  physically  attractive  partner(s)  to  your  muse?

while  isabel  is  usually  open  and  accepting  in  general,  the  person  does  have  to  be  attractive  enough  and  on-par  with  her  to  garner  interest.  call  it  shallow,  but  the  lady  has  standards,  ok.

does  your  muse  have  an  ideal  "type"?

coughcliverosfieldcough.  strong.  courageous.  fearless.  grounded.patient  and  helpful.  tall,  built,  and  ruggedly  handsome,  but  also  knows  how  to  clean  up  should  the  need  arise.

[omniterror]

@thcrmr ❛❛if you were smart, you’d turn back now.❜❜

❝  you  are  in  no  condition  to  be  making  such  threats.❞  a  brusque  response  with  the  softest  touch  of  fingertips  cleansing  the  sanguine  tousled  locks  covering  his  forehead.  wherever  the  injury,  or  if  there  were  more,  she  would  find  them  and  dress  them  as  quickly  as  she  could.

❝  it  is  good  that  you  are  speaking,  despite  the prevailing circumstances — the  state  in  which  you  were  found  was  .  .  .  troubling,  to  say  the  least.❞  the  proprietress  gently  pulls  the  thin  bedspread  just  below  his  naval,  exposing  the  various  cicatrices  scattering  his  bare  torso.  she  does  not  dare  touch,  though  viridescent  eyes  study  their  forms.  it  appeared  he  had  seen  numerous  battles,  perhaps  hundreds.  this man  was  no  ordinary  warrior,  that  was  evident.