#mistcursed

"Happy   Valentine’s,   big   guy,"   she   purred,   stepping   forward   with   a   slow,   deliberate   sway   in   her   hips.   " I   know   you   like   lifting   heavy,   so   I   figured   I’d   be   your   workout   today. "   She   moved   before   he   could   even   ask,   wrapping   her   arms   around   his   shoulders,   legs   looping   effortlessly   around   his   waist,   pressing   against   the   heat   of   him.   "   Go   on   then,   champ."   A   teasing   smirk   played   on   her   lips   as   she   adjusted   her   hold,   her   wraith-light   body   barely   a   weight   at   all   against   him.   Her   breath   ghosted   over   his   ear   as   she   chuckled,   low   and   sultry.   " Though,   with   me   being,   y’know…   mostly   dead,   I   might   be   lighter   than   you   like. "    Her   fingers   traced   along   the   nape   of   his   neck,   nails   just   barely   grazing   skin.   "Guess   that   means   you’ll   just   have   to   hold   me   tighter."

his athletic limbs burned with strain whilst he powered through another set, veins bulging with a constant effort to work harder: every rep was a test, a battle against himself, naught but proof that he was still the strongest, still the beast they all feared. he knew that strength was not just about lifting heavy or cracking skulls, however ⸻ but it was about control, about knowing when to push, when to hold steady, when to take. and her arrival was exactly the sort of challenge that was capable of testing all of that in one go. her vocals were velvet, poured over him as though they were the finest silk ( smooth and teasing ), with a purr that sent a familiar heat flowing down his spine. he did not turn to know she was up to something but was instantly conscious that she was ready to cause trouble. and that was evident when he could barely grunt a response and instead had his hands moving on instinct: his palms found the curve of her thighs whilst digits pressed into the firm muscle, feeling the ghost of her presence against his tanned complexion. and in an uttered response, a scoff rumbled from deep in his chest.

     "  I've   heard   stories   about   you. They   can't   all   be   true.  "

     Natural curiosity evokes a strange discomfort,   to be recognised as what he is rather than the role he plays,   a solitary traveller,   lending his magic to aid the weak,   always departing before he could be remembered.   It's only in vague understanding that she looks upon him now,   peering behind the image of an ordinary man to assert the truth of her suspicions.   The existence of his people had long been buried with war,   it had been so long ago that he heard any stories of his kind,   altered in time into cautionary tales of beasts to discipline a troublesome child.   He remains the sole protector of a heritage now forgotten,   of a realm reduced into ashes.   There's no possible way for her to know of him,   yet it seems her own pursuit towards light had somehow guided her towards his own,   and within her he can see it dance with darkness,   an eternal clash that knows no rest.        ❛❛   Hm,   I hardly doubt any of them are.  ❜❜        the healer hums,   a touch of something bitter beneath outward nonchalance.   It's been decades since any of his kind had made contact with humans.   By their standards now he was nothing but a monster,   a wild thing that feasts upon wandering souls,   perceived with the same mixture of horror   &.   disgust displayed before what they deem unnatural,   hence why he tends to hide his true appearance from view,   gloves and a high collar used to conceal marbel-like engravings of white and gold,   the light etched into skin and glows so naturally now an aspect of shame than it is of pride.   Raphael ponders a moment,   head tilting slightly as he gives an examining look,   He heard of the sentinels of light only in passing,   what would they need of him ?        ❛❛   I assume you have questions,   yes ?   ❜❜

@mistcursed // is curious !

❝  𝙰𝙷,  𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙰,  ❞  Elise  mused,  her  voice  a  silken  whisper  that  chilled  the  air.    ❝  Still  chasing  shadows,  still  waging  war  against  the  Mist.    Such  a  noble  pursuit,  and  yet  [ . . . ]  so  futile.    Tell  me,  how  many  more  times  will  you  dance  with  death  before  it  finally  catches  you?  ❞

there was a smirk that tugged at the very corner of his tiers before he could stop it, momentarily amused by her request. he had just emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, the faint scent of cedar and spice lingering close, a scent of its own, but also his. droplets of water clung to his tanned complexion, tracing paths down the broad planes of his chest and shoulders, glinting like liquid gold under the light. his damp hair ( darker from the shower ) clung to his neck in loose, unruly strands and the towel that he had slung low on his hips, was naught but an afterthought.

❝ y' know i'm not exactly your stuffed animal. maybe... more like... your funeral. ❞ his aureate spheres held hers, glowing with a mischievous light [ ... ] and before she could fire back with one of her sharp quips, he approached her and swooped down to have one strong arm slipping under her knees whilst the other braced her back to lift her effortlessly into his embrace. one single limb sufficed.

@mistcursed

whatever twisted expression viego had wore a second ago, it grows colder. you could feel it in the room, the black despair seeping from his chest in an ever-increasing volume until the very room itself suffocated in his angst.

it was a tar-like melancholia, so thick and deep that once you were submerged you felt you might never escape. it nipped at senna's heels and wrapped around her legs, a desperate hunger to envelop all life in the room in its torrid desolation.

the ruined king stands in a silence that hung the very air, interrupted only when he steps toward her. his steps make no sound, immaterial against the aged stone floor. the blade he drags behind him, however, shrieks in trepidation as it parts the rock beneath the tip.

his violent, spiteful, jealous green eyes never turn away from her as he approaches, not even to blink. in his mind, splintered by a thousand years of sorrow and anger and deathless life, senna was a lot of things, and none of them her; she was his wife, Isolde given flesh again so that he may love her again, but she was also the defiant thief who stole her from him, wiped her soul from this world so that he may forever be cursed to walk it alone. neither perception could gain purchase over the other, coexisting in a painful confusion that drove the broken king to violence.

unprompted ask // always accepting !! I suppose being a day late for Valentines day is frowned upon. But for your entertainment - i can think of a few ways to make it up to you. ♡ ( @mistcursed )

“Uhhhh…about what, exactly?” He’s not nervous—but then why does he feel so nervous!? What did he do!?

unprompted ask // always accepting !! ❝ Hey , look at me . . .❞ ebony handy reached to grab callosed ones , her eyes glint with with sincerest affection; thumbs stroking at the nape of his hand. ❝ You're not alone in this . . . i've got you.❞ ( @mistcursed )

her presence was a soothing descant that cut through the dissonance of his inner turbulence whilst they both reposed in the comfort of their bed [ ... ] and he found himself with heavy-lidded spheres closing, savouring the moment given to him. the mind, loaded with sentiments and emotions alien to him, was ephemerally and finally resting, focusing only on the subtle zephyr of her respiration, and the soft canto of her heartbeat. but her dulcet ( and so saccharine, like honey and velvet, like everything that chants comfort and home ) vocals wove through the shadows cast by the moonlight and he was prompt to offer a barely-there beam whilst she took his calloused hands into hers.