the magpie

that boy is not a wolf, but he bites like one.

[thcmagpie]

closed to: @thespicn

Beneath the prattle of the day’s events, Rowan is but a phantom folded languid to velvet; silence is a snare to his jugular, he allows their lilts to be carried off by the wind, to be consumed by the shadows; let me forget. It’s habitual, how irises the hue of moss stall on the room’s sole source of light, mouth to flame, his gaze stills on Sebastien. For the swell of a moment he’s elsewhere, deaf to how those surrounding hum of their brush with death. To the back of lids, he paints scripture: the tug of dark curls until a scalp sears, the violet that blooms beneath the press of lithe digits, the scrape of incisors to the protrude of a collar bone. Heat stirs beneath a navel, and lechery dilates pupils to obsidian rimmed juniper, for a moment, he forgets.

He is across the room in but a few strides, languid gait pausing near a lissom silhouette, at such proximity, Rowan can see the details: the swell of a mouth, the glisten of a cheekbone carved high. Something heady unfurls satin between ribs, “I can no longer stand how they pick at their wounds, if I hear another word of death I will become its greatest accomplice,” features tilt, “join me in my cabin?”

[thcmagpie]

closed to: @ilvulcanico​ location: the hold

He would fault how his ribs shake algid to the tempest that had nearly swallowed him whole a short time earlier, but fear is metallic to a satin tongue, and Rowan’s molars collect to a clench at its unfamiliarity. He wishes to peel it from his skeletal, to tear sinew from bone and replace it with a substance that has not yet known terror. It’s left him restless, a prey’s pulse tucked beneath the cut of a jaw, thumb tapping against the fabric pulled taught to his thigh a tick intended to steady; he covets distraction, destruction— to shrug control to a frame like satin, for blood to stain the crescent of a mouth like wine.

Darkness fleshed broad draws a gaze, and anticipation is next to bloom against lungs; for the stretch of a moment, Rowan is certain God is a man of ash and terror. Digits are dextrous, rolling fabric from wrist to elbow, and what’s to come prods the seraph closer to a delirium that sets him ablaze; he’s grinning, then, nearly salivating at how his bones would soon sing a psalm of sufferance. His syllables are saccharine, naught but an octave above a breath, surely the cosmos jump a galaxy to savor how they taste on their tongue: “hit me, Teo.”

[thcmagpie]

As you accompany the others in carrying the corpse back to the boat, the snow storm strikes, materializing out of nowhere - a thing of malice. The party picks up into a sprint, and a patroller running beside you stumbles and falls, disappearing into the white flurry. Do you go back for them, or continue ahead?

A counterpart at your side is a shadowed blur until it’s gone, such abruptness removed from your periphery snares the tar-like substance of your attention— you’re left blinking after them, ivory nothingness consuming where they once stood. Beautiful boy, arrogant boy, do you wish to meet?— the syllables of death are sugar spun, a hymn to shake your skeletal.

You spin with an ire that consumes, you go back for them. 

They’re hunched to snow a few paces back, the wind’s breath nearly carrying them off. Your digits curl to their collar, grip ascending with an abrupt tug to pull them back to their feet, and your syllables are a hiss of fragmented glass, a threat intended to split flesh: “you’re out of lives, little cat.”  

And death grins at the duo scrambling behind, for perhaps it will know not one man’s flesh this day, but three.

[thcmagpie]

❝ i know who you are. what you are. ❞

Rowan’s dizzy, the bow of Orion and splay of Andromeda found in the room’s obsidian left untouched by lunar beans; is it the words themselves, or the mouth they trickle from that has constellations scorching his periphery? Can Malachy see their effect, how they thread to form a noose to the thick of a throat, how they leave raven features a blanch to rival Aurora?

He stills, pupils dilated to obsidian and rimmed juniper, the serpentine twist of ire between ribs is familiar, and it is then Rowan grins, as perhaps it reminds him so much of home. Features tilt, and the twist of his mouth is wolfish; can they feel it, how heaven shudders at the primal visage of two men more shadow than bone? “I beg you, Malachy, amuse me.” Digits split and bloodied thread to the neck of a bottle, crystalline brought to the crescent of his mouth, a moan nearly detaches from the ridges of a trachea at how the flames soothe, “I must admit, I am certain I have heard it all—“ a pause, “as foolish as he is arrogant, so unlike his brother, a true disappointment.” A brow lifts, meeting the man’s gaze, “tell me, and for you, I will do my best to feign surprise.”

[thcmagpie]

 🌙 — ALL ABOARD ! The HMS PROMETHEAN welcomes ( ROWAN BANKES ) as ( THE MAGPIE ). They are ( 27 & CISMALE ) and might be painted as ( XAVIER SERRANO ). They come here as a ( guest ). Their specific occupation is that of ( RARE GOODS MERCHANT ). When you strike up an acquaintance, address them as ( he/him ). Their deeds on land precede their arrival — people say they are known to be ( CAPTIVATING, HEDONISTIC, OBSERVANT  ) but ( SPITEFUL, LECHEROUS, VOLATILE ) when the tide turns. Their purpose aboard falls in line with ( angering his father, trading artifacts with China ).          

This is just going to be the tldr version of Rowan’s entire biography, which can be found here. 

Rowan is last born to a family previously complete, thus for years it’s as though he’s out of existence; the shadow that merely trails in the wake of the unsullied visage of the Bankes ménage.  

Likely destined through the ire wrought to the notches of a spine, in time Rowan learns that negative attention is sustenance nonetheless. Picture heirlooms thrown to walls at his hand, arriving to social gatherings inebriated, laughing as he spits blood following the reunion of his father’s fist to his jaw. He finds it all amusing: the act, the punishment, the pain.  

Raven boy, he has always been enamoured by that which gleams — and, how it blooms the lustre of awe and envy in others. It begins as merely a hobby, and he excels: he wins a brawl and earns cufflinks from the sleeves of a diplomat’s son, saccharine words murmured to the neck of an ambassador’s wife has her shrugging off fur of a previously unseen hue.

In time, it grows from hobby to career, and those with greed sugar-spun to their marrow know his name, speaking of him behind the shield of lifted palms, syllables thread dreamy: if you’re looking to obtain the extraordinary, speak to Rowan Bankes.  

The Promethean is steeped in opportunity, and it’d be foolish to miss the fastest path to trade with China, and to leave his father behind, surrounded by peers set ablaze with talk of his son’s success. 

It’s a week following their depart when Rowan’s skeletal begins to stir restless, when his digits twitch for destruction. It is there begins a newfound idea that is later only spoken of in the shadows: an evening of brawls, of violence. It takes little convincing on his behalf, though it has doubled in size since the start: they meet in the depths of the hold, as all transgressions are destined for, and volunteers thrash until the floor is slicked with plasma. It provides an out for the knots of ire, a way to find feeling. The sole rule: it must not be spoken of above, unless one wishes to have the captain’s fury unbridled.

Thus, aboard, Rowan is likely found with seraphic features marred with the split of a bottom lip, spread languid to a chaise, doing little to assist. He’s enthralling, yes, but wealth has bred an arrogance that frightens: how it must be, to be reckless without worry, to be thrilled by the consequence. 

[thcmagpie]

edenmemes​:

the witcher (show) starters

❝ victimhood is not your colour. ❞

❝ you can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. ❞

❝ your job is to control chaos, not to succumb to it. ❞

❝ you don’t deserve the air you breathe. ❞

❝ not a single person alive looks in the mirror and doesn’t see some form of deformity. ❞

❝ you lie, you keep secrets. you succumb to emotion and weakness. ❞

❝ not answering questions is part of your brooding pillar of charm. ❞

❝ you’re just mad because you lost your chance to be beautiful. ❞

❝ you smell of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak. ❞

❝ there’s no power in puppeting fools. ❞

❝ i’ll leave that for someone who gives a shit. ❞

❝ i need to get back to my horse. ❞

❝ your will to live is strong. ❞

❝ i’m still not enough. even for you. ❞

❝ need a hand? i’ve got two. ❞

❝ my men will kill you. ❞

❝ i’m here to drink alone. ❞

❝ go. on your own or at the end of a rope, your choice. ❞

❝ do you know how many people wouldn’t blink if you died? ❞

❝ you weren’t taking control. you were losing it. ❞

❝ people call you a monster too. ❞

❝ i’ve waited all these years for you to admit we’re made for each other. ❞

❝ if only you could tell between friend or threat. do you even know the difference anymore? ❞

❝ when you live as long as i do, all the names sound the same. ❞

❝ were you in love? ❞

❝ this place isn’t safe when you’re alone. ❞

❝ the only thing you do quickly is flee. ❞

❝ even if you were a beauty, still, no one would love you. ❞

❝ not a happily ever after after all. ❞

❝ hm, doesn’t rhyme. all good predictions rhyme. ❞

❝ you are making me uncomfortable. ❞

❝ unchecked kings and queens start massacres. ❞

❝ i just want some damn peace. ❞

❝ i dreamed of becoming important to someone someday. ❞

❝ the only thing special about you is the crown on your head. ❞

❝ what do you long for? fame? money? power? ❞

❝ what? no one mentioned the impending doom part. ❞

❝ true words are rare words. ❞

❝ i want more. i have to be more. ❞

❝ do other women find this coarseness charming? ❞

❝ love casts long shadows. ❞

❝ if she runs, kill her. ❞

❝ don’t give me that look, shitling. ❞

❝ today isn’t your day, is it? ❞

❝ how come when my life comes to shit you’re the one shoveling it? ❞

❝ i know who you are. what you are. ❞

❝ i envy you. to live, and to have no love. ❞

❝ you’d leave a man bound to die in such a dignity? ❞

❝ i loved your mother. ❞

❝ don’t you know who i am? ❞

❝ so that’s all life is to you? monsters and money? ❞

❝ there’s a vortex of fate around us. ❞

❝ is history a wheel doomed to repeat? ❞

❝ the sword of destiny has two edges. ❞

❝ i’ve considered your company and conversation payment enough. ❞

❝ this isn’t who you are. ❞

❝ will you be joining me? ❞

❝ no amount of power or beauty will make you feel worthy of either. ❞

❝ i don’t believe anyone has that power. ❞

❝ nobody smart plays fair. ❞

❝ i won’t listen to a man who pimps the world as some romantic adventure. ❞

❝ a true man would state his desires. ❞

❝ don’t turn this on me. ❞

❝ i want to be powerful. it’s what i’m owed. ❞

❝ that makes sense just as much as it doesn’t. ❞ 

❝ you’re smart, aren’t you? you know everything. ❞

❝ i feel something out there waits for you. ❞ 

❝ please don’t hurt me. i’m lost. ❞ 

❝ i won’t kill you…but you cant stay here. ❞ 

❝ there’s no ‘us’. there’s only me. ❞ 

❝ i’m asking for a teeny-weeny little favor. ❞ 

❝ yeah, you’re probably right. but what if you’re not? ❞

❝ i’m not your friend. ❞ 

❝ you and destiny can both fuck right off. ❞ 

❝ i love the way you just sit in the corner and brood. ❞

❝ i will not suffer tonight sober. ❞ 

❝ pretty ballads hide bastard truths. ❞

❝ i will not involve myself to petty men’s squabbles. ❞

❝ happy childhood makes for dull company. ❞

❝ it’s impossible to be prepared for every battle. keep your sword close, and keep moving. ❞

❝ i see a lot of myself in you. ❞

❝ you can’t change the world this way. ❞

❝ i don’t need anyone. & the last thing i want is someone needing me. ❞

❝ alright, stand close to me and pretend you’re mean. ❞

❝ why are you dressed like a sad silk trader? ❞ 

❝ only one of us will be alive to find out. ❞ 

❝ i stole rather than starve. i killed rather than be killed. ❞ 

❝ i have’t only done good in my life either. ❞ 

❝ it’s like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling. ❞ 

❝ when i cut my finger i bleed. that’s human, right? ❞ 

❝ they’re rough around the edges but they’re earthling like me. ❞ 

❝ royalty is best endured in small doses. ❞ 

❝ i thought the world needed me too. ❞ 

❝ sometimes, the best thing a flower can do for us is die. ❞ 

❝ handy with a blade. handy with women too. ❞

❝ are you trying to hurt my feelings? ❞

❝ you look like you’ve been through hell. ❞

❝ i can’t do this without you. ❞

❝ you know cautionary tales won’t work on me. ❞

❝ you talk nonsense while making wise and meaningful faces. ❞

❝ the apple never falls far from the tree. ❞

❝ when i go it will be far more dramatic than this. ❞

❝ try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn. ❞

❝ you have your mother’s blood. you’ll be alright. ❞

❝ a great ruler always chooses mercy. ❞

❝ it took two strikes to kill him. they weren’t clean. but they were spectacular. ❞

❝ if i have to choose between one evil and another, i’d rather not choose. ❞

❝ i would do anything to forget who i was. ❞

❝ i have no doubt blood will be spilled here tonight. ❞

❝ there’s a grain of truth in every fairy tale. ❞

❝ people look at you for who you are, not what you can give them. ❞

❝ do you believe in destiny now? ❞

❝ we can leave. we can find a way out. ❞

❝ lovers? fun for a bit, i’ll admit, but all eventually disappoint. ❞

❝ let’s face it, you’re a girl. we’re just vessels. and even when we’re told we’re special, we’re still just vessels…for them to take…and take…until we’re empty…and alone. ❞

❝ people like to invent monsters and monstrosities. then they seem less monstrous themselves. ❞

❝ every time i’m around you i say more in five minutes than i’ve said in weeks. ❞

❝ maybe someone out there will want you. ❞

❝ if you must kill me, i’m ready. ❞

❝ people linked by destiny always find each other. ❞

❝ thank the gods. i might live to see another day. ❞

❝ i was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. ❞

❝ you desperately need money for new clothes.  ❞

❝ more and more, i find monsters where i go. ❞

❝ life is too short. do what pleases you…while you can. ❞

❝ gods you’re pretty. ❞

❝ my lady, i would never degrade your honor in such a way. ❞

❝ my world is cruel. you enter, you survive, you die. ❞

❝ i feel i shall die a broken hearted man. ❞

❝ who slits a man’s throat while he’s relieving his bowels? ❞

❝ why help those who don’t listen? ❞

[terrorhqs]

[thcmagpie]

terrorhqs​:

                                                    THE MAGPIE.

— NAME: rowan bankes.

— AGE: 27.

— GENDER: cismale.

— ROLE: guest, rare goods merchant.

— FACE: xavier serrano.

You have housed a magpie fascination for that which gleams in a manner divine since adolescence: the obsidian of pupils stall on the glint of jewels noosed to the bend of your mother’s swan-neck, later the silhouettes of London’s finest are pressed to your grasp. You stall at the visage of oil to canvas, and perhaps in nearly equal measure to the pieces themselves, you are enamoured by the awe they unspool in others; how the features of men twist to a near snap to hear of the newest in cavalry, how envy contorts women at the sight of gems humming of a far away place. It begins as a hobby: your mouth is split bloodied though you pocket cuff-links from across the sea from a noble’s first born, the tune of your laughter in the ear of an ambassador’s wife has her shrugging off fur of a hue unseen prior. Word disperses of your success in trade, and you relish in how looks linger, how your father’s blood is scalding as those above him speak of your prestige. You excel, and what loss you face is cushioned by the disposable wealth tethered to your surname. The HMS Promethean provides opportunity galore: a promise to taste the saccharine of triumph through pioneering trade with China, and you’re set on a trajectory to far surpass the success of your gilded kin. Raven boy, you’re raised on scraps but oh, how you prosper.

                                               CONNECTIONS.

✹ THE SHADOW — Wealth flushes you pearlescent, each mar to your flesh is there on your own accord– knuckles split and don blood in search of amusement, violet rims aureate irises from nights of coital rapture. Though such talk would coax the serpentine of algid fury to uncoil from your ribs, you know little of hard work. In them, perhaps, is your polar: a grit you’ve never known. Thus, they have managed to snare your fascination; they draw your gaze with ease, and you cannot shake how your skeletal hums to know more: tell me, shadow, what is it like to suffer?

✹ THE VOLCANIC — Was there a time where your gaze is first drawn to the shadows? Abruptly, at the sight of darkness fleshed broad stepping aboard, you can no longer recall another instance. Is it how the wake of his presence elicits the shudder of frames, or how death had kissed the crescent of his mouth before bidding farewell? Those surrounding speak of him throw the shield of lifted palms, whispers of the man of ash, and you cannot stop how your features twist to listen; you have yet to speak, but you’re just as enthralled as the others on board. Surely your union would be cataclysmic, but what is brighter than an inferno?

✹ THE CAPTAIN — You have always housed a famish for the world to be poised in the supple of your palms, and the visage of the man who is so close to such glory has you swallowing thickly. A mouthful of inquiries that have gone unsaid have begun to tangle, you’re unsure if they’d even be coherent when uttered: does it blister, Polaris, to hold the fate of another in your grasp? Does the terror of failure drown you, do you stir from slumber with a choke? He’s wound tight, so tight. Is it the destruction sprawled leonine against your sternum, or perhaps a divinity you have not yet known, but oh, down to your marrow, you wish to grasp a stray thread, to undo him at the seam.   

                                    This original character is TAKEN by Gen.

[dailydeadlyclass]

#that jawline