#visoren

[lightgiving-archive-blog]

visoren

░░☾ Something about colors; something crimson; something maroon ☆

[unforsworn-archive-blog]

visoren replied to your post “[ definitely did not start looking for riza hawkeye urls to start...”

[ do noT talk to me abt fma i have been resisting the urge to make a blog for approximately 500 years now ]

[ i jUST???? STARTED IT??? AND I’M WONDERING WHY I WAITED THIS FUCKING LONG????? like i just got to the northern wall of briggs and i’m iN LOVE ]

[queenscovx-blog]

visoren | ( liked ) 

If he asks himself how he's managed to wind up in the life  he has, he might cry. And that's blatantly unacceptable for  many reasons, not the least of which is that his resolve is  held together with pins and ties at this point. 

"I --..." 

        He's meant to be articulate -- or at the very least mouthy.          But there are limits and Neal trades words for questioning          gestures and some of his most spectacularly bemused          expressions.

"-- Why?" 

[madamiisms]

[ ohhhHHH my god I get so excited when I see you on my dash? Your portrayal is so spot on and it amazes me, Viv is probably one of the only people in this life who could put Visoren in his spot and yOU DID IT EFFORTLESSLY I LOVE U AND I LOVE UR VIVIENNE ]

here to put the fear of god -ahem- madame de fer in everyone. 

[queenscovx-blog]

visoren replied to your post:[ I got an unexpected day off from crisis —...

[ oH WAIT HOLY SHIT i liked that because of the relaxing thing i don’T NEED A MOODBOARD ]

[ ty for the liking anyway but i don't mind making one at all ??? ]

[thckid]

visoren

        The Kid's may have been neglecting his faith as of late,         but that doesn't mean he doesn't recognize a God when         he sees one. On long-formed instinct, the Kid almost          drops to his knees, but instead he holds his ground and         forces himself to speak.

        What does one even say to a God? -- "Hello."

[spiritflux]

Come Hell or Fire // Visoren & Fenris

It was just past second moonrise, and the wide-open sky was on fire with stars, ten thousand flickering white eyes staring down as though eager to see him get to work.                                 — Scott Lynch, The Republic of Thieves

There he was.

Even in the darkness of a city wreathed in night, Fenris could not miss his mark. It had been some time since it had been a necessity to take on mercenary work, but when he'd been approached, he'd found himself hard-pressed to turn down the brief that had been slipped into his hands. One man – no doubt a mage by the aura of magic about him – haunting the streets between the Tumblehome Inn and the Narrows. A handsome sum for his capture, an even finer fee for the delivery of his belongings also. Fenris had not been starving just yet, but the offer had still been more than enough to tempt him.

Fingers reaching for the blade on his back, he took in the sight of the man. There was no mistaking it; this was him. He had not seen any other man who could... exhale colour, as though simply by breathing the hues about him grew somehow richer and clearer, and he could not pretend that he was not curious to know more of this man. Another Tevinter experiment, like himself? Or just another power-hungry mage who had grasped for a force beyond humans should wield? Perhaps, even, something else entirely?

He swung himself over the edge of the wall, bare feet making no sound as they touched the ground. Any other man would have been more discerning about going barefoot in such a squalid, filth-covered street, but Fenris had won many a fight simply through the nimbleness that it afforded him, and he would not pass up such an advantage now.

Inhaling a steadying breath, he drew his blade with the faintest singing of steel on steel. "Turn about," he called. His slight frame belied the deep timbre of his voice, and it carried well on the cold night air. "Do not try to fight. You will not win."