#yhrnm

[thaegeiro]

kyra !! your ability to capture the motivations of your characters is incredible, & i adore how much care you put into them. your interpretation of victor would make mary shelley proud & i hope that you wake up every morning knowing it !!!!!

beep beep how’s my portrayal ?

[mercysought]

❛ the defeated will be picked apart by crows. ❜ / to émilie from eileen !

THE WITCHER PROMPTS   ! ( ACCEPTING ) // @yhrnm ( EILEEN )

She tried to envision them. The wings. The wings on her back from being a crow and the crows around them; the way that the fluttering of their wings against the slow burning fire could be taken as an ill omen or as company that arrives to keep you from walking the road alone. Crows, wonderfully intelligent creatures. She tried but no wings were heard, no black feathers sprouted from the the blades on her back. No wings, no fluttering, nothing. Just her blades and the dripping of blood. Émilie looks at the mask with the beak, and the blank eyes and the laughter that always seems to close from pouring from her lips. Émilie’’s face shifts, shadow swallowing any and all remnants of what might seem human, not even the porcelain white remain behind. Only a white sheet that fell into a deep darkness where her eyes would have otherwise been. 

Émilie did not see the wings, did not see the crows. The saw the piles and piles of bones crunching and cracking with each step from the other. She saw pools, rivers of blood shinning and boiling as it approached the small fire. She saw tiny, brittle bones, crawling their way over her shoulder, holding her shoulders straight. She saw a smile, drawn from the edge of her finger all the way to her mouth with sharp teeth welcoming her into the darkness within. Émilie wondered how long it would take her to take the plunge? Émilie’s hands fold as she takes a step away; she knew one that could help her, help her achieve all that she had ever wanted if she was willing to pay a terrible price. But had she not paid it already? Maybe she would see herself the way that Émilie did.

She had no wooden spoons and from beneath her feet dark water slowly mixed with the boiling blood in a smell that she could no longer breathe in.

   “Are your hands not tired?…” her voice does not move from the invisible mouth, it radiates all around her, from her form, to the water dripping from her hands and black sleeves, to the way that her light blonde hair (silver, it had been silver once) to a wiry, black mass. Colours fade. Everything fades, and not only the defeated are picked apart by crows “Your mind not weary, hunter?” 

Silence, the creaking of doors in the distance; still no fluttering of wings “Approach the fire.”

[gldengod-a2]

friend, you are !!!! such an amazingly talented person & an absolute delight to chat with !!!!! i'm grateful to have met you & i hope that you'll receive lots of great news during this upcoming year !!!!!!!! 💕

2018 is almost over! - send me your credit card numbers !

ME OMW TO HIT YOU WITH MY LOVE, THANKS, AND APPRECIATION. God, I am so, so, so, sorry, for being an absolute jackass and forgetting to write you that starter from den in his bloodborne verse. I PROMISE I’M GONNA DO IT. YOU’RE SUCH AN INSPIRATION. <33333

[mercysought]

❛ i’m afraid to go to sleep. ❜ / from gascoigne !

The Dark Tower! (ACCEPTING) // @yhrnm​

Moments like those where they could find a place that they both considered to be safe were rare. Even after hours had gone by the priestess could still feel the taste of copper in the back of her tongue, in her throat. It had been hours and she still could hear her heart thumping away in her ears. 

She is leaning on herself, knees held against her chest, half covered by the robes from the Church as black eyes are fixated on the flame. If she was to think about it, she could see that they danced to the rhythm of her heartbeat. There was some new sort of terror that sprouted from the bottom her stomach and made her shiver despite their shelter not allowing for the wind that bit at their fingers and toes: even the growling and screams outside seemed to be part of the symphony. So she is silent and she listens. She listens despite her eyes burning, not from the flames so close but from the fatigue that eats away at her sanity, her jaw is locked and her teeth add to the symphony. The priestess knew that it would not be safe for her to sleep so she takes first shift (and the second, and third since she was more than happy to let him sleep if he could). 

The symphony stops and the coppery taste fades as she hears him talk. Even the voices seem to subside out, only to allow him to talk. The priestess’ black eyes move from the flames, blinking the searing pain away as they land on the other’s figure away from the fire. Her eyes remain on him for a good second with only the cracking from the flames and the wind to keep them company. She would have never thought to say it like that, but she was too. Words were becoming harder and harder to knit together. Before they were hard only a couple of hours after fighting, after holding her hands as weapons, now… Now even after hours having gone by, after frozen winds against her form… Even then words were as hard to find as they had been when her brain was adrenaline filled before.

   “Then don’t go to sleep.” she finally says, head beckoning him closer to the fire. Scarred palm brushes away the dust over the cold stone floor. The bandages around her palms, once completely white, were now of a dirty and old yellow and deep, dry red. Black eyes are still on him, her lips still hidden by the collar of her coat “Stay up with me.”

[rancidbeasts]

@yhrnm || for Valtr! || STARTER

    A diverse palette of nails, adorned with broken edges or yellowed layers, dug into a patch of flesh until blood welled up to the surface along the curves of the invading fingertips. It only encouraged the Beggar to dig in DEEPER, a new angle to his digits, until his fingers slid into the sweet pocket between skin and muscle. With a grunt, the skin was tugged at with inhumane determination until it tore like bark did from a tree. 

   “Ohhoh~ You really outdid yourself this time, chum,” the Beggar praised as his fingers still pried at the corpse. There was a tremble in his hand, a restless shuffle on his knees, a man about to be overcome with excitement with what he was about to get. “This is good eats. Really good. Try to do it like I am. See?” he said with another tug for emphasis, the strip growing longer. 

   “Fresh and warm like this, ohhhh- slides right down the throat, it does.”