دائم

Dayim  (  دائم  - translation: everlasting, perpetual, forever  )

Nour Darwish:  an independent, private, selective, historical immortal OC from The Old Guard spanning from the 1500s BC to the present day  (  & beyond!  ).  Revived by Nadia   (  she / her, GMT, 25+  ).  Crossover & OC friendly. Low activity & plot centric. Discord available to mutuals upon request. Est: 10 / 2021

Blog Links:  About  |  Guidelines  |  Memes  |  Plotting Call  |  Verses

Main blog: @pryceism​​  (  please note: Dayim is a sideblog  )​ Other blog: @cogitatis​  (  MCU / 616 multi  )

Soft fresh green

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just.. way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke

NEPTUNE • an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song

PLUTO • angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth

Hasina | @survivics​ - Continued from [ x ]

A short laugh leaves the goddess, the scented steam from the delicate cup before her stopping its upward diffusion for the briefest of moments. Her voice is rich and low as a lovers song.

"Have the years not been kind to you since we last met? Our kind is not all that different from mortals. We have our own patterns, as they do. All living things repeat themselves, making and unmaking over and over."

Some things change, but not much from year to year, century to century.

          A hum arises that borders on being marginally distracted, Nour’s curiously attentive line of vision preoccupied by the lid of a çaydanlık which doesn’t sit properly, a practical and exceedingly patient approach seeing the brunet’s fingertips gingerly inching around the rim of the pot in search of any protrusions that could be causing the issue.  “If I was in any way inclined to listen to the rising tide of naysayers, I’d say that kindness often has its caveats.”  The flicker of a cheerful smile edges across the immortal’s features, teeth grazing the curve of his lower lip as a content sigh of relief emerges, spotting a small clump of wet tealeaves which had gathered to hinder the placement between the interlocking parts. A spoon is used to lightly prod and dislodge it, an audible ripple echoing within the main chamber as the mound sinks into the hot water.

Like this post and I’ll shimmy into your IMs to plot something with you over the upcoming days

Mutuals only please ( ie. if I’m following you via my main )

For multi-muses, lemme know who you have in mind~

Bonus points if you have a specific chronological verse in mind too

Armandine peers up at the player in question beneath the shade of weathered fingers, squinting to make out the man’s features against the glare of sunlight penetrating the feathered crown of the trees. Speech seemed to have suddenly gone out of her, equal measures of shock and intrigue that revealed themselves along with his fine countenance. Perfect instance for the young lady to underline her pressing desire for a change of occupation, the spring to her step denoting as much. “See?” Problem solved. Valerie accepts the bat with restrained eagerness, feeling its surprisingly slight weight when her hands clasp around the warmed handle. “The wrist…” The reiteration under her breath served to will the brain into grasping the meaning of it, though one could tell by the absence of following reaction that it had explained exactly nothing. What’s in the wrist?

The urge to swing it around and study how it carried through the air was kept conveniently pocketed until the pair make it further away from the picnicking ladies, the first swishes done in moderation and mindful not to accidentally knock the gentleman immediately out of the equation. ( He was the cherished ticket-holder of her fleeting freedom, after all. ) “No…” Followed by a pause in which the girl attempts to compare it to anything she had partaken in remotely resembling the game. Blank. “No.” The more definitive confirmation comes with a small smile, turning to face her companion with no diminished amount of confidence. “Hence why I have seized you. You seemed to know perfectly well what you were doing; pinning it on luck is disingenuous.” Of course Valerie had watched and taken note of his coy act amongst a crowd of overwhelmingly pink-faced Englishmen. Do what you must to blend in, correct? Though she had rather incendiary opinions about the matter.

No doubt that a few heads would turn as the unlikely duo approaches the makeshift pitch, though the arrival is somewhat muffled by the ongoing game and encouraging commentary blended with unrequited strategy input shouted at the players. Keen blue-clad pupils track the frenzied zig-zag of the ball, a hint of childlike excitement bubbling at the pit of her stomach. Valerie had never been the most athletic child growing up. Confined to activities best kept indoors, she had been educated in the art of embroidery, painting and drawing, as well as how to play the piano and hold a conversation in Italian — none of those would unfortunately begin to tame the growing restlessness of adolescence and young adulthood. Well, other than horseback riding. “Apologies. I don’t believe I know your name, sir.” Holding the bat diagonally, she rests the flat of it against her shoulder while addressing her companion, a grin plastered across a freckled, jovial face. 

          “I gathered as much, but there is no shame in it.”  Flitting eyes plagued by an abundance of curiosity linger against the outline of the oddly paired duo as they stand side-by-side, the penetrating attention rivalling the warm rays that surround the summer heated vicinity, the distanced bodies eliciting the sight of a well-tailored back as Nour opts to shift his stance to effectively create a barrier between them and the girl. Hands neatly tucked into the small of his lower back as they plod further away across the soft tufts of grass, he’s unable to fully bite back a small smile as she perplexedly takes in the man’s words whilst eyeing the bat, slow motions to drive the blunt instrument forwards betraying her apparent inexperience. The brunet shan’t hold it against her but will enact a concerted degree of patience, a sober demeanour that frays at the edges with the bold means of playful confrontation, footsteps ceasing as brown eyes meet with those of a blue hue - a response isn’t initially forthcoming, a sly glance veered over the gentleman’s shoulder to see the ‘opponents’  bumbling about and busying themselves with idle minutiae that seem of import for the game, heated discussion arising when the wicket is struck to signify the imminent departure of a batsman.

                    “I assure you, I cannot fathom your character defiling accusation.”  The guests are unable to see the way in which the immortal beams down at the girl, amusement present in light of the sense of mutual discretion in which they share, nose wrinkling a touch as his gait commences once again to draw closer towards the designated area of play.  “Nour.”  He has to remember himself for a moment, varied customs shifting with time and locations often making it difficult for him to keep up with how one should comport oneself, quickly correcting himself.  “Nour Elkins. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”  A hand is proactively raised to flag the inevitable scrutiny of a mousey mustachioed man, a corpulent fellow with cheeks reddened from the amalgam of fervor for the sport and the rising temperature, a chap who had assigned himself as a form of umpire to oversee all participation - beady line of vision dropping to the brunette, scornful laughter is barked, a raucous upheaval that draws all concentration from their immediate proximity.

     “Hey he’s in as long as he can bring the red shoes for a click-click-click back to base.” Alfred rolls the joke off his tongue with effortless ease, a quirk inching into his smile as he recalls the famous imagery as though the scene were playing out on an old reel in his head in real time; there’s no place like home, in all its Technicolor glory. Even as he drifts here, billions of miles out from where they had first set off on their long journey, he can too easily transport himself to that time and place as if it just yesterday. The velvet plush of a cinema chair cushioning the length of his spine, his youthful gaze flicking over and across to the other members of the audience; watching the wonder come alive on their faces as images doused in rich color leapt forth onto the screen, ushering them into a new world filled with the boundless magic that lay dormant in their imagination. Did this story move them? Will they carry it beyond those doors, out into the world with them? Keep it safe in the sanctuary of their own memory? A gift to refer back to, or a once cherished emotion to call forth on a rainy day; when times are hard, or they find themselves alone somewhere. Something to turn to, a little dose of wonder. Or hope. 

          Those faces were long gone now, but like those old Technicolor reels his memory of each and every one remains - just one humble thread of legacy left in their wake. Like when after a star goes supernova, and what’s left is all stardust. A whole nebula of it, a scattered curtain of lights from which new stars will be born some day. Or maybe not, but it’ll be there all the same. And there it will remain, for the rest of time. Until the end of time. And so on, and so forth until they’re all up there. Like the Greeks used to say, hung in the stars for all eternity. A tired comfort settles in his features, and he heaves a whole gentle sigh to himself. Just in time to hear Nour go off on some related tangent, trying to make him feel young again. A snort of humor resounds briefly in his chest in response to the moniker given to him, long outdated as it ends up feeling when put his way. He lets him have it though, wasn’t like the rest of what he was saying was wrong, really. Not when he’d just gone and thrown himself into a bunch of that sentiment just now. For all his eagerness to see the future unfold, he’d never lost sight of his own roots; how could he? Having shaped him so completely as they had. Sometimes he thinks he sees that very same face of his, staring back at him from the mirror.

                                                                   Wondering just where it all went wrong.

      “Alright come on, come on.” Alfred defends amid a light pepper of laughter thrown into the regulated atmosphere between them, using the uneven surface of the ceiling as leverage to turn himself back over so that he was facing the other immortal once again. His mood was tending brighter with the direction of the conversation, finding ready fervor to push back against a brave claim like he didn’t know how to have fun any more. Just who did Nour think he was? Coming at him with a line like that. This entire expedition out here had all been (partly) his idea to begin with, also he took issue with the idea that that whole period had been, you know. Entirely a bad idea at the time. A feeling he’s soon to put across in words. “Let’s be fair and admit it’s good that they did that, otherwise I would’ve ended up like You Know Who.” He points out with a trailing chuckle, one that ends with a wistful note of sentiment lingering in his features. It was getting easier, with every passing generation. Mentioning or making reference to him.

                  Good.      That’s good.

          “I keep changing my mind. I’m not so sure if red’s my colour...”  There’s a series of short, dull thuds as Nour’s upwardly floating heels drift towards one another, light taps carried out merely to prove a comedic point amidst a lopsided yet amused grin, the gentle knocks minorly shifting his position in a manner that’s ultimately clumsy - he’s had the prerequisite training for this entire excursion but it doesn’t quite correspond with real life experience, simulations and temporary chambers paling in comparison---  But that doesn’t stop the man from momentarily forgetting each and every lesson he’d sat  (  or floated  )  through, exuberantly overwhelmed in the efforts to right his stance which don’t exactly balance out, a small determined grunt exerted with an outstretched palm grappling against a smooth panelled wall. It’s times like these where a regular person would envisage the eerie scenario of being suddenly caught adrift, cast out into the inky abyss without a comforting means of anchorage  (  back to those old movies again  ).  And therein lies a problem that the immortal encountered with the passage of time, an irreverent complacency that had grown with each passing century, the notion of a final grain of sand definitively sifting downwards increasingly seeming less likely - it’s enough to make a person stumble into silly decisions  (  like space travel...  ).

                    “Ok, you got me. I’ll eat humble pie and admit you’re still Ferris.”  Raised hands offer a playfully facetious show of surrender, the motion extending into a little bow gradually retracting as the brunet opts to finally tie his hair back, dark spiralling tendrils of tresses unruly in the diverse directions in which they linger. Features twisting slightly in concentration, Nour almost misses the shift in the blond’s demeanour, warm   (  & now concerned  )  line of vision  darting across as the hint of his own smile diminishes with a semblance of recognition  (  ah---  ).  Considering the fraught circumstance revolving around how the two friends had first met, it was safe to say that Nour had several lifetimes’ worth of reservations about the other’s father, never quite able to see eye-to-eye with Arthur due to ongoing observation and persistent judgment - he’s all for change but the immortal has his limits, injustices and atrocities adjoined to greed, arrogance and ambition souring any form of long term reconciliation. It’s incredibly difficult to accept the gradual humbling of a person when experiencing the ramifications of a burdensome legacy firsthand...

“Ah, and a keen eye you have, friend. And yet–”

The corners of his lips, already curved to a bend, tick further upwards at the ambiguous address. Eyes as similarly amber as loosely curled locks track the tumbling athletes with equal parts intrigue and amusement, their spirited contest of strength gradually shifting the improvised arena with each heft and heave along the baths’ perfectly tiled walkway, forcing the onlookers to step accordingly to order to leave berth; A harmonious dance, hardly noticed amongst chant and cheer, but very much integral to the show for all it keeps the stage in motion.

“–I fear you speak too hastily. Though the battle may seem decided, one must never underestimate the element of chance.”

As if on cue, the older of the scantily clad contenders, whose present advantage and solid hold on his equally near-bare opponent did indeed seem indisputable, readjusts his footing in a bid for stability that sees him rather discover the properties of a wet floor; He slips, and the youth in turn quickly seizes the (un)fortunate opportunity to thrust the man backwards enough to send him tipping ungracefully into the waters.

Around them, the crowd erupts into a split of laughter and moans of disgruntlement, interjected only by scattered applause and the telltale clink of coin being dutifully passed through the circle.

Like so, a sizable purse passes in front of the late-arrived brunet and into his own hand, prompting a chuckle as he weighs it in his palm experimentally, then followed by a note of evident satisfaction at the findings. He need not open it to know that the sum contained within is precisely what is owed, and all well that is, seeing as its former owner has already made himself quite scarce.

“Hope you didn’t have too much hinging on that one.”

          “Chance has its place---!”  The brunet’s voice elevates to compensate with the rabble’s chanting as it waxes and wanes in tandem with the men clinging to one another, an escalating uproar that goadingly chimes in with each grunt and curse muttered under strained breath. Nour’s attention is somewhat distracted and drifting, unable to maintain complete focus with the chaos of it all, darting glances flitting between the jeering folk, the grapplers and his present company  (  the atmosphere so easily drawn into  ).  If there’s anything particularly untoward taking place---  it goes undetected for the time-being in this miasma of disarray, a smile evident from the other’s tone alone as opposed to witnessing a visible manifestation.  “But I daren’t consider it during such settings where a cogent view could be more favourable...”  The man’s voice trails off as the mishap swiftly unravels before him, warm eyes narrowing in confusion as the certainty of his prediction crumbles away entirely, lips questioningly parting as they form an unspoken plosive  (  quam..?  ).

                    Feet shift with the impact that the elder athlete makes with the shimmering pool of water, a hefty amount dousing Nour’s dusty tanned leather calcei - peering down with a grimace, he hisses through his teeth as concealed toes wriggle within, a small hole he had intended to fix from prolonged wear-and-tear allowing for a healthy  (  & unwanted  )  volume of the droplets to filter through.  “Per deos...”  It’s at this point that a meandering gaze clocks onto his company’s... interesting footwear, line of vision finally lifting to take in the other’s visage along with the weighty coinage passed in his direction  (  what are the odds?  ).  He hadn’t been provided with a description of the figure’s appearance barring the shoes, entertaining anecdotes having been swapped regarding the trickster, the man informed that it would ‘feel right’  when chancing upon him...  (  & there’s that word again: chance  ).