both sacrifical lamb and executioner.

this is the price you pay for resurrection. [ isola affiliated ]

[trauerfeier]

                     i.  [ app ]  ii.  [ stats ]   iii.  [ rules ]  iv.  [ art ]  v.  [ credit ]                   ☆ plucked from the same universe as ethos and phiore ☆

Visit Original Link

[cudoredan]

hot, like their body temperature, heightened by the settling summer wind of druidcraft. the way he looks right now. pleased and brimming with endorphins, lust, inertia.

his servitude brings him to such places.

ethos can't help but lounge ahead when his arms are moved, spine taking a dip between his shoulder blades. the adjustment settles his hips onto himmel's thighs quite erotically.

which is why the look ethos gives him, through hoods of lashes and fairy rings, should be all too familiar to his pointed gaze; a destructive wave of dedication.

“ it is, yes. ” it's equal parts affirmation as it is an answer, voice equally humorous; if somewhat duplicitous.

that's when his palms twist inside himmel's grip — fingers digging into the nerves of the aasimar's thick wrists, loosening the hold. his hands wriggle out and launch the other pair, shoving them down onto each side of a winged head.

ethos trusts he'll stay.

so he lets his palms return to the rise of himmel's chest. to feel the softness of skin there, squeeze it. trail down further, in admiration.

“ just say it. my mouth- -- ”

lowering one hand down the paladin's soft belly, he finds the obvious tent of fabric, grasps at the girth beneath, feels it.

violet eyes widen not out of surprise, but the sudden jolt of adrenaline shooting up his veins. he can't tear his gaze away from the concealed gold watching him.

his antennae land, pointedly, onto the top of himmel's forehead. the feeling of skin buzzes through the sensitive appendage and disturbs the gritty blood flowing in the marrow.

chest still heaving from his orgasm, the intensity of his stare shakes his rapidly expanding pupils. “ anything, himmel. ” he brushes his teeth against the skin of himmel's chest, a gentle scratch.

“ i wish to award you. ”

[trauerfeier]

what's anything?

you're still thinking about ethos' mouth. the lines of his lips and the feel of his tongue against yours. how his chest molded to you as he drove it across your teeth. anything is too large a concept when he fills you so in the moment you're in.

how do you begin to imagine? ethos puts your hands far away from him and you want them on his skin. you look at him sprawled out on top of you like this, touching only your body and nothing else, and you think of your hands on his hips, testing the give of his flesh.

your breath

stutters.

' a-anything, ' you stutter and breathe through, ' is ... inadvisable. hands removed. ' the sheets feel cool against the back of them. your palms still warm from having held him, touched him.

you're almost certain you would spend in an instant, should you imagine anything else. with his wetness pressed to you, with his hand on your hardness with only one more layer of fabric between.

ethos eyes' pulse the way his flesh did against your mouth. something in your sternum clenches and releases as your cock twitches. feeling your jaw set as you recover from the feeling, you loosen it again in a soft breath.

it's the zap against your forehead that loosens you further. a tremble of your body with your eyes closing gives you a moment to relax. you flex the fingers of each hand. when you focus on ethos again and think about sitting up to chase his lips, it doesn't feel unbearable to remain on your back.

but it's a near thing.

your eyes track him, taking in every single touch he gives you. everything you can feel and know, rather than all this endless possibility. when you speak, knowing that he'll want an answer to an unspoken question, your voice is still unsure whether he asked it in the first place. but the want is there. it has been there for a while.

' you've had my mouth. let me have yours. '

[cudoredan]

ethos' grounded form is short lived, though he does manage to undo the top layer of himmel's skirt while there.

he's hoisted up once more and, for a moment, he entertains the thought of the skirt being there to personally spite him.

but himmel is not speaking, he is barely breathing — so ethos mellows out and lets himself be carried to the empty bed without a fuss. and how can he complain, when he gets seated atop the heavy weight of the desire there.

he sighs when the short breaths coming from himmel's nose tickle the skin of his neck. they exchange an asymmetrical gaze, then, after which ethos lowers to kiss his paladin.

his lips drag slowly, thrice, before his tongue comes to lick at the other's upper teeth. even his chest rises up and closer to himmel with the motion.

surely, it is answer enough.

the druid's fungal arm circles around in order to rest on the back of himmel's head, fingers lightly dipping into the base of a feather. he tussles the hair there, summoning a gust of warm wind which spreads in violet magical particles and dries them both.

with heavy eyelids, ethos parts enough to gasp against those full lips. he's still buzzing with sensation, still feverish, having just had a taste of himself. there's a smile he gives himmel, one which mirrors a sheepishness.

though he leans his full weight forward regardless, uses the grip he has on dark hair when its not enough, to lay himmel down on his back. sprawling atop him, ethos grinds his hips down once. hard.

“ very much. ” he does not have a tail to accompany the purr of his voice, pressing another quick kiss to himmel's lips.

“ tell me how you're feeling. ”

[trauerfeier]

your breath wheezes out of your lungs pathetically when you're laid upon your back and ethos' hips press into your own. for a body that is a machine, you have awfully little control over it now.

you try to regain some of it. moving your wings into a resting position, one of them splays out on the mattress underneath, the other loosely placed over your face. the golden gaze peeks out beneath black feathers. it's sharply pointed at ethos.

he knows how to move his body. how to move it to speak, to answer and to question. you're not envious of it— you seek to watch, like a birdwatcher who has found a rare breed on the horizon. one who wants to understand what each call means.

' hot, ' you answer earnestly after a beat of silence. your hands hang in suspension for a moment, as you're thinking about where to put them. ethos had pushed you, still holding onto your head and your shoulder. how do you say what you want to say?

you reach for both of his wrists and move them. without his support there, your body sinks further into the bed. his hands are placed onto the rise of your chest. not quite onto the scar, that'd be too bold too soon, but you give him a better angle for pressing you down like this.

you'll stay.

' and ... starved, ' comes slowly, obvious uncertainty in your choice of words. hunger didn't seem right. you don't care much for hunger, only pay attention to it when your body can't keep up with your decisions anymore. this is a necessity seated deeper.

easing the furrow of your brow that had placed itself there instinctively, one of your thumbs smoothes over the bone of his wrist. your expression softens. ' glad to have served well, ' you say lightly, meant humorously. your mouth still feels sticky, as well as a few of your fingers. unexpected marks of finally having tasted ethos, temporary as they may be.

you raise an eyebrow, peek at where your hips are meeting, don't move them at all. ' is this my thanks? ' the question is genuine— you don't know what ethos is trying to do, but you're amenable to entertaining him.

[cudoredan]

something in himmel's mind shuts down. without it, everything gets more intense. potent.

ethos feels it when, the next time he rolls his hips into the other's face, there isn't a moment of respite where a part of himmel is not inside. he doesn't think himself capable of being aware of anything else.

soap-slick legs are wrapped around the winged head tight, though it no longer feels like the wall against his back is close enough. which is why ethos' hands retreat from their paladin, open palms ensuring the cold tiles are there still.

and, stars, it is greed. himmel's tongue shows no lack of it. the way some of the strokes would open him up just so, to feel the building wind.

in the space of short, hot breaths — taken only when there's time — the druid would listen for a growl. but there wouldn't be one, because himmel is a mountain. so he simply pulls him back.

until the build up reaches its breaking point, under sheer sensation.

it sweeps through the aasimar like a cyclone, sparking with shocks and shaking with the current. his long lashes brush against his cheeks with how tightly his eyes are shut. in addition to equal sweat and water dripping down them, he feels a sting of tears.

it's an intolerable wave of pleasure. his shoulders rise as his body moves — just to make sure it can. his antennae twitch in rapid succession. but himmel's face is right there. his tongue is right there. no matter where he goes.

“ himmel… ” ethos calls, somewhere between awe and plea, like a satisfied groan.

he no longer wishes to stay suspended above something he desires. so he clings, throws his arms around himmel's shoulders, lets his body drop and demand it touch the ground again.

although not without the heart's gentle landing. moving his face so close, lips brushing against the other aasimar's temple. at the same time, his dangling calf shifts with purpose — brushes against the growing desire through heavy fabric.

“ you serve me well. ” he says, still catching his breath. “ allow me to thank you. ”

it works; he's on his feet in no time. it takes just a moment longer to adjust. before he sighs and his eyelashes flutter — looks — at nothing but himmel.

moving forward, then, he pushes into the other's broad chest until it, too, starts moving back. his hand casually shuts the tap before it joins the other on the waistband of the skirt.

only then does he think to ask: “ bedroom? ”

[trauerfeier]

for a moment all you know how to do is breathe. even that is a complex task with ethos wrapped around you, suffocatingly close.

the kiss to your temple is more potent than the leg pressed to your hardness. ethos thanks you for a service well done. you don't really know what that does to your mind, his words the root of a plant that festers in your steadfast determination. to serve another, and to have done it well, almost pleases you more than his sweet moans.

you still don't say anything. breathing takes up most of your focus, lowering the other aasimar and letting him push and pull you as he desires. only when he prompts you with a question does your blurry gaze focus.

you take your time, picking him up again. gently sliding your arm underneath his knees, you look to him for approval before lifting him up. walking to your empty bedroom with empty hands didn't feel fitting. like this, you cradle ethos in your hold until you slowly lower yourself onto the side of your mattress.

he sits in your lap. the dent in your skirt is much more noticeable this way— bashfully, you slide a hand up to ethos' face to distract yourself. you feel your face burning, your heart pounding. they are all sensations so strong, entirely unfamiliar to you. at least like this, in a quiet comfort rather than a raging battlefield.

your touch, half-golden by your scarred hand, tucks his hair behind his ear. you are soaked, the both of you. ethos has a few hairs stuck to his forehead, so you brush those aside as well. you look at him, you look, and then you lower your head to tuck it into the crook of his neck. your wings are pressed closely to your face so that you may fit, hiding yourself in the cocoon that you've turned ethos into.

it's not much easier to breathe there. but ethos smells of himself now. and of you, and your wet hair, and your skin. you stay. you're quiet.

when you speak you pull back so that he may see your face, a silver and golden eye blinking at him between strands of dark grey. with your cheek pressed to his shoulder, your voice is not hesitant when you ask, but it's very soft.

' you enjoyed yourself? '

[bombing]

girlfriend: why don’t you take off that battle armor and slip into something a bit more…..comfortable

me: i am most comfortable when i am impervious to most physical forms of attack

[cudoredan]

the whispering halo gets drenched by the noise of rushing water, sticks to the skin and turns steady, resonant, not unlike echoing droplets in a cave system.

a magnificent one at that, complex. with fleshy walls that constrict and release its explorer. drawing him deeper, further, to the depth at which most fossils form.

he'll immortalize the shape there, the hook of it as it rises, presses, makes him sing.

falls into place?

“ bold. ” it's a hissed sound, between the teeth. if it wasn't, it would've been a gasp. “ i'd wager you rather enjoy the sound of my voice. ”

evidently, it is far from the only source of enjoyment for the paladin. the sharp line of muscle beneath ethos' thighs goes lax — turns softer — makes for a much more comfortable seating.

enough for his legs to spread a little wider, for his back to slide a few inches down the shower wall. for ethos to decide to show a little mercy, perhaps.

because himmel is enjoying this, contagiously so.

and so he relaxes in tandem, stops talking as his nails press into the pin feather of the left wing, opening the keratin sheath which crumples and gets washed away in an instant.

whether the feeling it evokes causes the aasimar to lunge ahead and enter with his tongue is up for debate. what's for certain is that the inexperienced explorer had caused the cave to rattle with the sound, shake something loose, a river of slick that one could not empty in a single lifetime.

just like that, the pact of mercy shatters.

“ o-oh, sweet bird, ” he falls back, no longer in an arch above the paladin. the motion does jolt his hips up, however, clashes his risen clit into a sharp nose. wherever the statement was going, it is now gone. he can't exhale without a moan accompanying his breath.

so he holds tight, onto dark feathers, onto his dampened senses, chases the sensation again.

“ that's- that's it, like that. ”

[trauerfeier]

you enjoy a great many things about ethos.

it's a humbling matter of fact. you enjoy seeing him as he is, with his loose fabrics fluttering around the curves of his body. you enjoy seeing him in the grander outfits he indulges in every so often. you enjoy the flustered twitch in his expression when you say something that exasperates him. you enjoy seeing him laugh at something you've said, even if you hadn't meant it as a joke.

and you enjoy his voice. calling you sweet.

something in your mind shuts down. there's another tease he tries, but it doesn't reach you. the fingers wet with slick and water have retreated for your hands to wrap around both thighs again. you pull, sliding him further down the wall.

in your greed, stability is a far away priority. you know you can hold him up. you know you want him closer. you know you could catch him, should he fall. so you pull, slide your tongue further, grip tightening. let him ride your face as much as he can.

only following the insistence of greed, you draw senseless shapes with your tongue in between each push back inside. try to reach the same spots as you did with your fingers, only listening for his noises in the back of your mind. just to make sure he's enjoying himself.

but ethos has made it rather clear that something about you asserting yourself makes his thighs tremble, so you're mostly free to drown yourself in it. there's not much else to do, nose and mouth buried so deep inside the other aasimar.

when he breaks one of your feathers there's a soft hiccup in between, one that you don't hear with the noise of sliding wet and the bitter taste of him all around you. every now and then, you pull him down again— no escaping the insistent tension between the both of you, until it, too, has nothing else to do but burst.

[cudoredan]

ethos' lips part as if to repeat himmel's words, though their meaning catches up on time. saying nothing instead, he follows with light steps until he can witness the scene for himself.

his gaze softens almost immediately at the sight of her long body, spasming with steady contractions. it is painful, but not irregular.

“ hi mama... ” ethos lowers, voice gentle. kneeling in front of the borzoi, but not intruding. his presence is meant to evoke shelter.

he reaches out slowly, watches as she shifts her attention to him. the noises she's making are heart-wrenching, but she's being brave. he tells her as much.

“ she chose a good spot. smart girl. ” finally, she lets her guard down, whines, and bumps his outstretched hand with her snout.

that's encouragement enough.

“ mel, could you bring us some towels? ”

[trauerfeier]

ethos says your name and your body moves. it's a pushing of your arms, rolling your shoulders back, straightening your back, righting your feet. an instinctive stride into action before he even finishes his sentence.

your nod, to communicate that you will listen, only comes belatedly— you almost think you don't even need to tell him that.

so you dip into the kitchen and get the towels he asked for. you make a point not to pick the ones with patterns on them, the only thought that really slows you down in your task. ethos may not like them stained. when you enter the terrace again, you're holding a tower of fabric, as well as a bucket with warm water.

you put the bucket down and bend forward so that ethos can reach one of the towels. it's a bit awkward. you're still wearing your armour, since you took a trip to town. kneeling in the dirt could prove more difficult. and he hasn't told you to do that yet.

you're quiet for a moment before asking a question.

' does she need healing? '

[shiromemes]

Sparring and Training

Feel free to change pronouns/wordage and switch roles as necessary!

Things said:

"Come on, hit me harder."

"I know you can do better then that!"

"You wanna take a break?"

"Don't stop until you've pinned me, you hear?"

"Quit running away and hit me, coward!!"

"Don't underestimate me."

"I warn you- I don't really play nice."

"If this was a real fight, I'd have broken your arm twice by now."

"Ow!! Lucky shot..."

"Ha, you got me..."

"Ready for round 2?"

"Loser buys drinks/lunch/dinner."

"Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?"

"Come on, one more time, your forms getting better."

Things Done:

[PIN] Sender pins Receiver to the floor, ending a heated sparring session.

[SWAP] Sender and Receiver practice using the other persons signature weapon.

[OBSTACLE] Sender and Receiver run an obstacle course.

[RUN] Sender and Receiver run a few laps around a track.

[SLAM] Sender pins Receiver to the wall, hard.

[SHOT] Sender and Receiver go to a gun range to practice.

[TOSS] Sender throws Receiver during sparring.

[AID] Sender accidentally wounds Receiver during training and grabs the first-aid kit.

[MAGIC] Sender uses their powers during the sparring session to attack Receiver. (if applicable)

[REST] After intense training, Sender and Receiver take a much needed break.

[pollen]

Laura Villareal, from "Inside Yayoi Kusama’s 'You Who Are Getting Obliterated in the Dancing Swarm of Fireflies'"

[cudoredan]

the water stops running, quieting the washroom enough for himmel's call to come ringing from the other side of the apartment.

he's back from his outing, it seems, and for a moment ethos entertains the thought of the paladin needing his help unpacking.

his voice had certainly taken such a tone.

emerging in his robe, ethos sees himmel standing in the doorway, gloveless, unmoving — and the scene becomes all the more worrying for it.

his steps quicken, and he's in front of the other aasimar before the additional outside noise has the chance to properly register.

“ what-- ” his eyebrows furrow, taking the antennae down with them in a cautious arc. he isn't sure if he should step outside, though he does try looking past himmel's shoulder.

“ what's happening? ”

[trauerfeier]

you make space for ethos when he tries to look past you. he won't be able to see, since the dog is tucked around the corner of the pen, which is in view of the terrace door.

now that you're actually having to express it, you do look more troubled. you have no clear idea on where to begin. there is enough urgency for you to not think about it for too long.

' there's a whelping dog in our garden. '

turning and expecting ethos to follow, you don't think to warn him to be quiet or calm— ethos is a druid. he must know more about this than you do, skilled at interacting with animals.

you still stay a reasonable distance away. she's in the same spot. only now do you dwell on her appearance, grey coat dirtied by the ground, long nose going back in your direction. you speak at a low volume.

' i don't know how she got here. i don't think there's any pups yet. '

[withourtraces-deactivated202602]

Truthfully, no matter what he did to strip himself down, he looked out of place with the style of clothing he was wearing. This city was completely alien, a lot of the fashion fast and uniform. The selection of clothing, and the breadth of it were baffling, and there were fewer tailors than he'd expected for the sheer amount of people in the place.

It wasn't just people either. The Everyman Cults that popped up after its dissolution would have heart attacks with the amount of "monsters" walking the street. These weren't the creatures from the Void, but a variety of all types of people from all places. The sheer variety of it was shocking, at first, but then relieving. His own stigmatized strangeness was mundane.

Though, again, his clothing stuck out.

Thomas ended up in Archimedes, looking at clothing racks and watching what other people purchased for some kind of reference point on how to actually make purchases. To him, it made no sense.

Thomas didn't take off the heavy hood, obscuring his face save for the shred of his nose and his mouth. The rest of him was still dressed in hand-hemmed and sewn khakis, long boots, and a waterproof heavy coat.

He couldn't make total sense of the little box in his hand (which others called a phone), or the clothing, at all.

"Do you understand this?"

He said it to a nearby creature, wondering, sincerely, if the confusion was exclusively his own.

@trauerfeier

[trauerfeier]

you are waiting around at this particular clothing shop because they also do dry cleaning, and ethos had insisted on bringing the outfits you wore at the latest ball. you didn't really see the point for your own dress, the value of its fabric lost on you.

you did see the value in preserving the look of ethos in the clothes he wore, so you went to drop them off. and now you're picking them up.

arms crossed, leaning against the corner of the counter as far away from the store clerk as possible, a stranger starts talking to you. you'd seen him enter. a man that covers himself up demands your attention. most anything can be a disguised threat in your eyes.

he looks practical. simple. it gives him grace from your perspective, somebody just as overwhelmed as yourself at the prospect of having to dress yourself in anything other than your armour. while clues about people constantly pass you by, this one you think you understand.

' no, ' you say simply, shaking your head. there's a pause as you look at the sending stone in his hand. ' not that thing, either. '

your left wing flutters, contemplative. your gaze averts itself to the opposite side of the room. you feel as though there's a space in conversation that demands filling, though you don't really want to. you huff quietly to yourself. ' i have been here months. little of it makes any sense. you may be asking the wrong person. '

[giltdove]

❝ No, I've never been—though I suppose I've dreamt of moments like it. ❞ Riel laughs, somewhat bashful to admit it. They were dreams in the normal sense, which were rare for him. Weighed beneath their prophetic counterparts and the destiny they foretold, the chosen scarcely had the opportunity to entertain fancies of such carefree experiences. Especially not any that involved this level of extravagance. After all, he was but a simple vessel to Uorr's will and glory.

❝ Have you? I've always thought perhaps you were a knight. Is it wrong to think you look like you'd have a home in a scene just like this one? ❞ @trauerfeier

[trauerfeier]

you tilt your head a tad at the question.

' it is wrong, ' you say carefully, tone more inquisitive than offended, ' by virtue of my home's culture. we don't have anything like this. '

your people are solemn, like you. there is little extravagance, and this ball is an indulgence in just that. big rooms with big sounds and big colours all around. a lot of food with a lot more people. it's part of why you look so uncomfortable.

notedly, though, riel's presence has lessened the tension in you. he's a calming person to be around.

' and i am no knight. ' the line of your mouth softens, almost near enough to be a smile. ' i'm an undertaker. i tend to dead bodies. you seem much more ... ' you think about it for a moment. ' regal than i. '

[trauerfeier]

@cudoredan

zippe is a quiet animal. he is content, most of the time, with the care and attention given by the aasimars. you distinctly remember jeb telling you that you could take him if you managed to, and you did.

now he lives on the terrace outside the apartment. you've made him a pen with heating so that he may stay there even in the colder months. and he's quiet, except right now he clearly isn't. he's clucking and calling in a much more frantic manner than what you're used to— so once you put down the basket you were carrying, having returned to the house after running a few errands, you go outside.

whatever it is you're expecting, it isn't this: a whelping dog curled up next to the warm pen, tucked away under the safety of the roof.

you stare for a moment. she's clearly struggling, as one would think she would be, but you were unprepared to find her there. zippee is still upset, walking back and forth, the noise of rustling pine shavings in your ears. and her soft cries.

it's her crying that gets you to move. you take off your gloves as you crouch far enough away from her, not touching her, a hand slightly outstretched. are there already pups? you can't see any, you haven't been trained to deliver them. you could heal her, but—

you watch as she briefly turns her head towards you, wanting to check the new presence of a strange person. but she's busy, and in pain, so her head dips back down.

you get back up very slowly. walk back into the apartment with soft steps. call out once you can lean through the terrace door.

' ethos? come here. '

[trauerfeier]

relaxation: what does my muse do to relax? do they find it easy to carve out time to relax?

all about health

he hates relaxing. so. bad. it's a constant battle to get this man to relax ever.

this is especially pictured via him wearing his armour at all times and being uncomfortable once he's out of it. it's the clearest indicator of him never letting his guard down (literally). he doesn't even like to take it off when he sleeps.

it's easiest for himmel to relax when he's alone and in a place where he can reasonably assume nobody will be able to get to him, which is almost nowhere bc he's a big guy who takes up a lot of space. and because he's an aasimar. this is one of the biggest dislikes he has about living in a different society than what he's used to— back home, not khorvaire but where he originally lived, nobody spared him a second glance. he was able to blend into the background.

living in khorvaire and now spirale, everybody's looking at him and he hates it and it makes it impossible to relax.

i need more muses to try so i have more material of him in like. a sweater. pls god i need him to wear his comfy clothes more. even just like. chilling somewhere. sitting down. being chill. pls.

(alternatively u could also manipulate him to stay tense at all times, he's rlly good at that)

some small moments of relaxation are found in his routines. ironically, the most relaxing one is putting on or taking off his armour. it's a specific list of steps that always stays the same and always signifies the same thing. and his armour is a point of pride to him because his lieges gave it to him!

also sharpening his sword, same logic <3

[trauerfeier]

meals: how many meals does my muse eat a day? what do they generally consist of? 

all about health

himmel eats a raw egg each morning like a shot. he just cracks it into his open mouth. ideally it'd be three eggs. this is why he took zippee with the party in the first place. steady supply of raw egg. he has continued this trend in spirale.

i recently decided he'd like mushy oatmeal too. has his own oatmeal supply at the house and will occasionally pick the oatmeal out of ethos' müsli if he runs out. none of those nuts or raisins or whatever. he puts water in it.

he also really enjoys rare steak. the bloodier the better. nothing with it. no sauce or bread or anything.

mostly, himmel likes bland food that has a softer texture so that he barely notices he's eating. he has to eat a lot to fuel his body so that he stays as beefy as he is and so he has the energy to swing his big sword around, but it's more of an inconvenience of life to him. he's not really aware of that— he hasn't thought about his dislike. he has to eat so he does it thru the path of least resistance.

tldr:

[trauerfeier]

▷ playing: happy life, roland faunte.

the world is not simple. anyone will tell you. but have you ever washed a person's hair over a tin bucket, gently twisting the rope of it to wring the water out? at the end of everything, dancers just use air as their material. a voice keeps singing even without an instrument. you make your fingers into a comb.

— jenny george

art by celticbotan

[rpmemes-galore]

all about health

send one ( or more ) in to learn all about… 

scars:  how many scars does my muse have? where are they located on my muse’s body? how did they get them? what do they look like? 

sleep: how many hours a night does my muse sleep? do they take naps? how restful is their sleep? do they experience nightmare? if so, how often? 

meals: how many meals does my muse eat a day? what do they generally consist of? 

routine: does my muse have a consistent routine in their lives? do they find it difficult to stick to a routine? 

chronic: does my muse have any chronic health conditions / illnesses? how do these affect them from day-to-day? 

doctor: how often does my muse visit the doctor? do they tend to go routinely, or only when something is wrong? 

relaxation: what does my muse do to relax? do they find it easy to carve out time to relax? 

aches: does my muse have any frequent aches? ie, muscle aches, joint aches? how do these affect them from day-to-day? 

stress: does my muse handle stress well? what is a surefire sign for others to tell that they’ve become stressed? how does stress affect them mentally / physically? 

mind: does my muse have any mental conditions that affect their lives? what are they? how do they handle them? what coping methods do they use most?