GOD COMPLEX.

disclaimer: on this blog there will be themes of violence, gore, character death, cult behavior, repeat abuse (verbal/physical/sexual), bigotry (as inflicted on my characters), experimentation, and body horror. all of these things are tagged appropriately. loreskept is a multimuse roleplay blog written by montana that encompasses both canons and ocs from original and canon-inspired lore. 

@starsarray​  —   “ because who the fuck would choose this? ”   //   MELINOE & MOROS.

‘ i would. ’   she says it with such sincerity, such authority - she holds claim to both olympus and to the house of hades, and she demands him look at her with the reverence he would offer his prince. i would, she says, but her eyes whisper i always have. for as long as she has known him, she has loved him, the only man who has ever seen her horrors and her curses and demanded that they take to the surface and shriek together, in tandem. and she is angry, in the here and now, that the chthonic king has not only insulted her but her lover. if she were any stronger, she would crush hades underneath her heel, demand his apologies, but instead the wrath inside of her is quelled, and she reaches out for him. they are without their veils here, in the light of violent death’s chambers, and the skin of her hands meets the skin of his face.

‘ i would, ’ she whispers, and she brings him down so that their faces are level, so that her eyes gaze into his with the firmest of looks. the softest of touches.  ‘ i would. and i will. ’  she would choose him over everything else. she would choose him to take her string if they must, for she does not know under what circumstances one may want to kill a goddess, but the goddess of curses is not afraid of violent death incarnate. she is not afraid of him. and she never will be. 

@00110000exe​  —  ‘ isn’t it lonely? ’   //  [ REDACTED ] & THE LOREKEEPER. 

‘ more than you know, little light, ’   she smiles, and her pale skin is tainted with the black tendrils of the null, of the world eater himself. the chains wrap around her limbs, unpenetrable and unbreakable to even cosmic giants like herself and the entity before her. it is lonely : they will not even let her see her beloved ashwarden here. it is a miracle the nameless one found her here, but she is not surprised :  i know you would find me anywhere, little one.  i know you would follow my words even all the way to the archonic palace. 

how does she describe her loneliness? the ringing in her ears, the drowning and the feeling of ink in her throat, in her stomach? the parasitic infection that the null had latched onto her is still here, and she is dying, the last of the archons with the power to write life into the world. she is hurting, else she is dying, so she endures. pale eyes look up at her little one, not her child - a variant in their own right - but someone who genuinely understands this divine and entropic force of being EVERYWHERE and NOWHERE all at once. instead, she looks up at them, and she smiles. she knows they will understand exactly what this loneliness is, for it is the same loneliness they feel when they are everywhere and nowhere all at once.

@starsarray​  —   “  i don’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. i just need you. all of you.  ”   //   CHARIS & NICODEMUS.

@rotnight​  —   ❛  can  i  take  this  off ?  ❜   //   WHITNEY & VICTOR.

‘ if you don’t, i’m gonna die, ’  he pants, his whispers interrupted only by the brushing of their lips. victor needs no further instruction, pulling off whitney’s shirt to reveal a broad chest, touched with a layer of brown, curly chest hair and littered, most importantly, with scars. each of these scars had a story, whitney had said once, though the stories are no more important than the music they were about to make on victor’s apartment’s couch. victor’s fingers trail across each of those scars, whitney’s hands reaching for victor to untuck the shirt from his pants, his own hands taking an alternate method of exploring his body.

this felt like safety, whitney thought, hands pulling open each button until broad fingers more appropriately used for firing assault rifles began to grow frustrated with the sheer amount of buttons on victor’s shirt. he grunts - though it’s more of a growl due to his lycanthropic physiology, a subvocalization from a part of his throat that he couldn’t identify, one that reads i’m angry, i’m angry. thick hands grab the base of the dress shirt and RIP, popping button after button in a matter of a second until victor starts complaining. he deserved it, frankly, but he didn’t want to hear it, instead pressing their chests together as he places victor on his back, claiming his mouth with his own.

“ –there will be consequences for your slacking.   you won’t get a warning next time.  ”   the dread prince’s voice is harsh,  full with ire,  and his movements rough when he tosses the phone onto the desk.   elysias reaches for a cigarette and lights it up,   closing his eyes as he smokes.   it is aksana’s perfume that pulls him back to surface and turns his frown into a relaxed smile.   very few have this reaction upon seeing the deadly dancer and even less people get to reach out for her as elysias does now  –  gently,  inviting her into his lap,  yearning for her presence.    “  the new recruits are being massively unhelpful.   it appears that warnings aren’t working.   what would you do?  ”    /  @loreskept (elysias&aksana)

@ladaar​ — liked for a starter  //  NALLA AND VESPER  THE LOREKEEPER.

@00110000exe​  —   ❛ it’s memory that - it's a memory presses like a blade against my throat. ❜  //  [ REDACTED ] & THE LOREKEEPER.

they are unique in this way : perhaps, somewhere, in the world between worlds, the nameless one is a child of the archons, a starseed placed into a universe where they do not fit. perhaps, somewhere, the all-consuming black has given them a survivor, a little one who can see through worlds in the way that the lorekeeper creates them and the ashwarden destroys them. she reaches out for them, titanous form collapsing like a dying star until she stands before them in a mortal body.  she is over a foot shorter than them, standing at a brisk five feet even, but she reaches up for  them with ease, her long nails gently resting at their throat.