#voidfractured

[lookingforroleplayers]

@voidfractured deserves some of the shoutout spotlight for being an awesome blog, with a talented mun who's got soooo many well written muses ! If I were a little less shy, I'd interact, but for now I'll just let everyone know how cool I think that they are !

[voxistem]

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The picture-perfect grin on Vox’s screen stutters, the resolution dipping for a fraction of a second, buffering. He straightens his suit jacket, trying to physically reassemble his composure. ❝ Now, now let's not be... hasty, Ares. Perhaps my initial statement was overly litigious. No need to bring this up in front of the stakeholders. You know, I don't even remember the dispute. What are we talking about? Mooooving on! ❞

[madefate]

‘ we could have been happy . i know that , and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know . ’ [ Philip to Hunter ] / @voidfractured

❝ - You don't think that's all I wanted ? ❞

Hunter's voice cracks clean through. He's choking on the slurry of terror and indignation and hatred and love that comes up every time he thinks of his uncle. No - Belos. Uncle, Emperor, Phillip Whittebane - they are all simply the human that took this realm into his iron fist. Who turned Hunter into a monster. Wearing the skin of a dead man, a breathing corpse with no right to live and a wake of destruction and hurt behind him with every step.

He has to remind himself, because every time he doesn't memories come back: a little hazy from time passed, but always warm, always golden - if not from the sun, then from light bouncing off the gold fixtures of the castle. They're memories of a kind voice, a warm hand, a gentle correction, a sternness without anger or cruelty. All of them stand in stark contrast to the agony, the long missions, the injuries, the roaring of his uncle's curse, the lessons burned into him without mercy.

The jobs and missions that ruined lives. The crestfallen expressions on his friends faces, before he knew what friends were.

The constant reminder of his every failure.

❝ What's hard - ❞ Hunter's voice strangles; he needs the strength he summoned ejecting Belos from his body and mind. He needs the anger. ❝ What's hard is devoting your life to someone you love. Who you thought loved you. Who told you that all the pain was for your own good. And then it turns out to be a lie. ❞

Fundamentally, Hunter is still terrified to his galderstone core speaking to the Emperor - Belos, Phillip, Uncle - with anything but deference. He's still waiting every second for the backlash, the dismissal, the pain.

But he's stronger now. He has to be. Even shaking, hands gripping his staff for support, Hunter refuses to look away.

❝ I loved you. ❞ His voice is wet but firm. ❝ That's the hardest thing I know. ❞

[infernal-feminae]

@voidfractured liked for a starter!

Okay, getting a midnight snack was a terrible idea on her part in hindsight. "FUCK--!" She nearly jumped out of her skin upon closing the fridge door and seeing a pair of eye glowing the dark.

"S-Sorry...didn't realize anyone else was down here..." She apologized, eyes darting around to find the nearest exist. Just in case. "Hope I um, didn't scare you..."

[miratenebrarum]

@voidfractured ♥'d for a starter!

"I'm fine."

His voice comes up as more frustrated than he first thought or hoped. One one hand, he was attmepting to be a little bit kinder to his little guide, especially after all they went through already. Especially since he wasn't to blame for his impatience.

On the other, admitting his frustration just made it get worse to handle. He didn't mind being stabbed, he didn't mind being hurt, he didn't mind tripping and falling for the seventh time in the same exact place: all lies he told himself that he rather desperately tried to believe in.

"I just need five minutes. I'm fine."

[zestials-archive]

random ( chaotic ) dialogue starters / always accepting.

@voidfractured sent ── ❛ thought you’d be lighter without all that blood. ❜ ( seraphim >w> )

it's a presence he doesn't recognize , odd considering the centuries he's walked this afterlife. the dried angel blood is what had piqued his interest , bringing him closer , a shadow so few would even be capable of detecting. but they were , evident with how the bident had found it's mark / zestial had turned just in time , taking the hit to the flesh of his bicep rather than the more vital organs within his chest. blood flows freely , soaking the dark fabrics of his clothes & puddling beneath his feet. & how interesting that is , the unknown facing into the depths of something , someone he can not entirely grasp.

the pain is an echo he'd long become familiar with , a sharp sting that draws a pained noise of amusement & surprise from his lips. prying himself off of the weapon comes next , a swift movement that has shadows lapping at the the fleshy webs attempting to form. one clawed hand wraps around to apply adequate pressure in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. his head cocks , eerie noises like the rubbing of scales accompanying the movement. his features twitch , the only sign apart from the sheer amount of blood to give anything away. " i had hoped thou wouldst be more inclined to a civil discourse ; perchance another time. "

zestial certainly wouldn't be seen like this for long & such an introduction required ample time to rectify. ( a plan of sorts , the encounter to be picked apart for any details he could piece together. ) trails of lime green & inky shadow wrap around him , like flames that lick at his limbs & melt him into another place , to safety.

[xluciifer]

@voidfractured ♡'d for a one liner/short starter!

⸺ ❝ Okaaay, and I'm not the King of Hell. Ha ha! Please, give me an actual honest answer. I don't like my time wasted. ❞

[stcries]

Written neatly on a post-it note attached to Robert's screen, reads the words: Are you perchance a queer fuck, Mr. Robertson?

( Robert wasn't spared. His icon got changed the moment he turned his back. Nerissa's on a horrific powertrip. Disrespected by the Robert House icon... )

"oh god damn it, really?..." he should've known better to sit there and poke fun, he really should have. the moment you space out in this place, you earn a kick me sign on your back, and suddenly, you're the butt of every single joke.

here he was, enjoying the way his team was being picked apart piece by piece, and yet, he didn't stop to think that maybe he'd be next on this mysterious prankster's hitlist. does he change it? well, no, even if he very much could. he'd be called out for it, called a coward and a wimp. so what does he do? robert's gonna keep it. so what if everyone laughs, he's gonna wear this badge with pride.