#vaestr

[birdsinew-a]

if we couldn’t carry our dead inside us, we would be empty.

                                       𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃, 𝐈𝐈.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐒,   𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍.     for once the porcelain toy could be seen as correct     :     strength from the recognizant from events of long ago,   pictures and images of the deceased     ❪⠀𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴⠀❫     as fate determined there was nothing they were able to do.     ❛  i feel lighter imagining them with me.   ❜     a mind is quick to imagine their appearances before their inevitable demise.     𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.     mutual understanding as feigned ignorance of amewling worm continues on.     ❛  without them i would hardly be anything.     mayhaps it was fate's design to bring us together if not only to garner knowledge.     shall we bow our heads for once last hymn?     sing softly,   dear friend.  ❜

[prophemi]

@vaestr -- ;

Innsmouth, this place of long shadows and wary peoples. Fog rolled more heavily than conversation, the sun rarely more than some indistinct orb hung in the sky and rarely seen as much as some ailing maiden. The heaviness of the Great Ones was immense here, he knew it. People hardly seemed like people, gasping for breath in this place unseen. Through damp streets slick with fish oil and burned whale fat did it truly seem as though time had remained stationary for the past several decades, frozen in time. Its confluence spreading, hurriedly did he find way into an alleyway as suspicious of these xenophobic folk were of him and where he’d largely be unseen. Pale, radiant light flooded from the hidden Eye of Agamotto and away did the fog and bleakness banish.

“By the Vishanti, banish away these tenebrous influences I feel clutching at my very consciousness!”

Ignorant, wholly, of someone whom might catch sight of him.

[proditorious]

smooches his snout,

      He’s not expecting such a tender gesture, as one might predict wraiths dancing within evening gloam during summer nights. The dragon is distracted, in a rare moment of melancholy, indulged in the knowledge he stands in the presence of one who is similar, but not. It weighs as heavy as the golden clasps currently gilding his crown. Shackles of another kind. They are cruel things, or so the legends go, written down as incapable of gentled motions. Of acting them out.

      It registers like careful hands pulling something precious from beneath the waves. Breaking the surface with a perfect clarity, once the initial waves have yielded their bounty. Crests flare upon a thorned neck, his scaled features cannot describe surprise, but they as always, do in it’s stead. It ebbs, steady and slow, into something else. Not quite uncertainty, but neither is it curiosity in it’s purest form. A complexed mix of the two, dashed with something else.

      “ What was that for ———? ” It’s inelegant, but he is not an elegant thing in his fortress trappings, paired with sapphire gemstones that search and search.

[proditorious]

“I know where I’m going.”

Late Night Wanderings Sentence Starters // Accepting !

       “ Do you ? “ Overhead stars glitter and glint, finer than any diamonds set in silver and gold. Loyal subjects to the graceful moon, who sits upon her midnight throne. It’s quiet, save for their breathing, Valefor’s own slows to match the cadence set — accompanied by the rustle of spring wind over cold stone and slumbering grasses. It’s as close to peace as two discordant souls could ever find, if the Demon felt poetic. Instead he inhales, and exhales as soft as feather down. A lovers ghosting touch across porcelain skin. “ And where would that be ? “

      Vaguely, he registers it as cold — but cold is a concept he cannot quite grasp, save that he knows he too is cold in some places. In the parts of what makes him him, in personality and in body. He burns, and scalds with winter chill in turn, but never experiences. Still, he likes to humor such baser tendencies, wrapping up to stave off the sensation of what he knows to be a fan of knives { he read it once, a lifetime ago — in a book which sits unloved in ancient halls, gathering dust as bones in old crypts might }. The cloak he wears rivals the night in the depths of it’s crushed velvet, mirrors the moon in the fur trim. Yet it scarcely compares to the pale, near incandescent majesty of Streva’s own pale locks, strands luminous and unapologetic in slats of moonbeam. He’s unsurprised to find the stirrings of envy within his chest. White serpents opposed to the smouldering ones which often make their home in ivory bars.

      The moon favors her chosen few, as always. Blessing them with spun starlight where the sun presses ember-filled lips against locks of russet hues. Old blood and sword rust. A taloned hand curls around a satin edge, brushes padded fingers across soft textile for lack of anything better. To pretend to pull the fabric close around adorned shoulders.   

      Together they make quite the pair, sole survivors in this waning moment between dawn & dusk, witnessed only by wraiths and celestial bodies. Seconds pass, comfortably, slow and steady as grandfather clocks counting time. Unhurried in these ethereal hours where shadows dance and stars exhalt. “ Mind if I join ? “

[proditorious]

❝ There’s always something left to lose. ❞

vindictive suggestions // accepting !

      It’s not the first time he’s heard such words uttered. He’s heard them before, but the context was different. Crawling at him from memories long buried haphazardly beneath high ceilings and cold stone.

     It came from the ragged, ravenous, feasting jaws of his mother. Who had once stood, her frame draped in hellish fineries and glittering infernal gems, by a table carved in the likeness of their domain. One could see their own reflection in the dark polished stone, if they dared to let their gaze linger too long, blacker than obsidian and veined with gold.

     Pazuzu had favored humanoid shapes when she made play of being a philosophical sort, a politician rather than a barbarian. The illusion of taming her jagged teeth. Perhaps she was to some degree, yet it was marvelously outshined by her crown of blood, and her throne hewn of familial bones. The hour had grown late, late enough that the oxide skies had warped and changed to more sombre colors, a mock attempt at night. Valefor remembers being stood beside her, Dantalion to his right, crawling in his own skin with tension and something infinitely more insidious.  Mother enjoyed those little rituals, having her children loom beneath her shadow, both monstrous and refined. Supposed pawns in her little games across a hellish map. Her six eyes fanned outward in that unnerving way they often did, observing her six offspring like a reflections the facets of an abyssal diamond. One eye for each child to gaze upon and despair.

     ‘ There is always something left to lose, ‘ She had said, with all the sweetness of a fetid peach, all the threat of a knife slyly caressing the skin between ribs. Valefor had bitten his own tongue in lieu of a comment, until he tasted iron and pitch.

     But, that was lifetimes ago. Streva is not Pazuzu, and this is not some ancient hall in his blackened fortress. He comes to with a look as unreadable as demonic scriptures in mortal hands. Eyes travel, wisps in the gloam, to rest on the others frame. Considering. Assessing.

      ‘ There is if you let them find it. ‘ It’s muted, at odds with the usually sonorous voice he possesses. No bone fingers stroking against ancient harps, over silk. It’s riddled with a thousand different inflections and ghostly prints.

[pantheum]

          ❛ hey, do you need any help ? I can make things float ! ❜

@vaestr // sc.

[laufum]

❝ there is much about me i won’t have you know. ❞

MOROSE        &        SULKEN    ‘NEATH    VISAGE    ,        an    insolent    visard    of    unperturbed    ,        foreign    -    reaped    familiarness    .            a    shadow    -    cast    peculiarity    ,        a    mead    coquelicot    of    questioning    ,        a    cataract    to    basin    in    the    current    of    never    -    to    -    be    -    answered    .        it’s    all    too    common    to    him    ,        feeling    the    permanence    of    detached    ,        a    woven    wall    separating    in    the    premise    of    transparency    .            𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞    𝐢𝐬    𝐚    𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞    𝐨𝐟    𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞    ‘𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭    𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲    ,        war    -    letting    blain    swelling    ‘neath    the    skin    ,        it    meets    his    tongue    in    all    its    sharpness    .                    ❛                so    you’re    one    of    those    people    .                ❜                    note    the    manner    in    which    spoken    ,        how    saturate    with    disdain    ,        mere    ways    from    virulent    .            his    gaze    is    frostbitten    ‘neath    the    heavy    of    lash    ,        having    encountered    a    newfound    languor    .                    ❛                i’ll    spare    myself    from    asking    any    questions    ,        then    .                ❜

[demonslayvr]

i followed because yes and stayed because FUCK YES ?? your dante is. absolutely wonderful and (wrong blog but idc) it's honestly a pleasure to have you as a duplicate because wow. /wow/ what a portrayal. it's so great to have you on the dash every day tbh. keep on being amazing ❤

meme | accepting / why you followed me and what made you stay.

JACKPOT.   rye  , , ,  this is so sweet thank you so much.  i was initially super  h  at following you because i was super shy and you were a   hella good   dante and t’get a follow from you was like   . .  flooring.  it was super cool and aaaa  !!!!   i’m super happy we are duplicates and our lil joke thread about their heights was super fun.

you too,  stay chill  : >   !!