Stares... and dumps Mythos in the rubbish bin. Where he belongs.
Ya well at least he's HOT GARBAGE!!!
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Stares... and dumps Mythos in the rubbish bin. Where he belongs.
Ya well at least he's HOT GARBAGE!!!

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@thcrmrĀ asked: āi always got the feeling you never liked me.ā /but he's v smug about it š
"šš šššš ššššš?" ššššš šššš && he's undeterred. Hardly compelled by the presence of a mad king && the tidings it brings. Separated by iron && hinges && locks, chains barring the way of aetheric influence; like a bound hound. Or the lax manner in which the once-outlaw perches against a crate with untouched rations sat atop it. Meals that have been forsaken, foregone in light of stubbornness && bitterness compartmentalized in the form of man. The same man that stares him down like a ravenous dog ready to bite. But it's in that same man that the former dominant of Ramuh once saw future && prosperity. "Maybe so. Once upon a time, I remember muddying my boots for you." The words are caught against the drag to greens held taut between his lips. One hand settled on crate's edge, the other gingerly supporting the bundle to his lips. A haphazard glance to Barnabas ensues not in any other suggestion than some sense of pity. An already broken man that was exploited by a being so foul, so wrought of self-preservation, that they saw this once prosperous king race toward his end. && it leaves so bitter a taste on the tip of tongue that allows for gravel in vocality to be set free yet again. "Things change, though. Don't they?"
@thcrmr inquired : ā the gods are nothing if not vindictive in their vengeance. ā inbox prompt : baldur's gate three starters ( part one ). prompt status : accepting !
ššš Ā ššššššš Ā šššššššš Ā šš Ā š Ā šššššš Ā Ā low Ā hum Ā as Ā she Ā contemplates Ā his Ā words . in Ā reality Ā , Ā benedikta Ā had Ā never Ā really Ā believed Ā in Ā the Ā gods .Ā there Ā was Ā no Ā reason Ā for Ā herĀ toĀ in Ā her Ā eyes Ā ā Ā she'd Ā been Ā forsaken Ā by Ā any Ā such Ā godĀ from Ā the Ā moment Ā she Ā entered Ā the Ā world Ā and Ā her Ā only Ā salvation Ā had Ā been Ā garuda . the Ā freedom Ā she'd Ā felt Ā in Ā the Ā wings Ā given Ā to Ā her Ā , Ā the Ā freedom Ā that Ā came Ā from Ā the Ā blood Ā that Ā stained Ā her Ā hands Ā was Ā something Ā she Ā didn't Ā know Ā she Ā could Ā ever Ā let Ā go Ā of . Ā Ā Ā ā Ā their Ā sense Ā of Ā humor Ā does Ā tend Ā to Ā be Ā a Ā cruel Ā one . ā Ā benedikta Ā eventually Ā spoke Ā up Ā in Ā response Ā , Ā light Ā hazel Ā eyes Ā moving Ā over Ā to Ā him Ā where Ā he Ā sat Ā not Ā far Ā from Ā her . there Ā is Ā a Ā question Ā that Ā lingers Ā on Ā her Ā mind . Ā however Ā , Ā it Ā is Ā one Ā she Ā is Ā hesitant Ā to Ā speak Ā into Ā the Ā space Ā around Ā them , if only to avoid upsetting or angering him . after Ā a Ā few Ā more Ā moments Ā of Ā silence Ā , Ā she Ā finally Ā finds Ā it Ā in Ā herself Ā to Ā speak Ā again .
ā Ā is Ā this Ā something Ā you Ā speak Ā about Ā from Ā experience Ā , Ā my Ā liege Ā ? Ā ā
āĀ someĀ peopleĀ areĀ bornĀ withĀ aĀ pieceĀ ofĀ nightĀ inside,Ā andĀ thatĀ hollowĀ placeĀ canĀ neverĀ beĀ filled.Ā ā
THE LANGUAGE OF THORNS. || Accepting.
Beneath clavicles, bone meeting boneāthere rages a tempest, all drenched in murder and salvation alike. Her hand curls tight around a hilt of a blade, steps light as she dances across uneven stone. Training grounds their stage, she listens carefully even when she scoffs. There is no twitch of the lips to be found, harsh crescent damned to a straight line. Dull eyes all narrow, she does not refuse his vocal song.Ā
Barnabas is old.Ā
Barnabas has seen much she has not the fortune to witness in her newborn existence: 24 years of winter, and she thinks it could not compare to the everlasting stretch of his existence. Barnabasā existence, though nebulous, seems to be violently drowned in the finality of eternity. He has long existed before herābefore Joshua.
All people areĀ bornĀ the same. Naked and wailing, yearning for a motherās breast. She thinks of the children she let bleed from her and denied before they could take hold in a bellyāall in service for flames. She quietly wonders if they would have hollow hearts, night embracing a heart, forĀ she could not love themĀ if things were different.
If.
A slow tilt of Joteās head--words seeping, and she clicks her tongue as she thinks carefully.Ā
āAre you speaking for yourself?ā The irony of it is not lost on her; her steps heavy as she refuses to fall (the stance of war must make one steady, infallible to wind and weight yearning to push).Ā
āAre you confessing to a lowly servant of the heartless?ā
The shrill screech of a blade meeting a bladeāshe is weak compared to his might, muscles rippling below flesh as she pushes, feet sliding. She tries and tries to exert, against what feels fluid as air, all nothingness.
āI must disagree. You must have had a heart once upon a time, Your Majesty,ā a tongue slips past lips to taste the sweat beadingāall birthed from her determination toĀ push. It is salty and foul. āAllow me to dissect you to see how hollow you are, Odin. I want to see it."
Ā [   d   @thcrmr Ā Ā :Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā bribed me with knick-knacks š
š±š“š½š“š³šøšŗšš° š»šøš½š¶š“šš šøš½ š±š°šš½š°š±š°š' š³š¾š¾ššš°š.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she's not supposed to linger:Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she can present no hesitation to her exacting king, Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā his mind as unfathomable as everĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā āĀ Ā Ā Ā a dark pit; the center of a black hole. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā he's been quiet this past half a decade. barely speaks at all. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā benedikta is loud and cackling and screaming and unapologetically high-strung, Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā but standing in front of her king she feels small again. smothered. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā the butt of a cigarette.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā it is garuda he favors; Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā what he looks for through her gaze, Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā a flutter of wings caught in his armored palm. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā and oh, how she dangles.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āāĀ Ā forgive me, my liege,Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā i can come at another time,Ā Ā āāĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she says.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā her heart lurches in her throat. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she wants to be far away. she wants to be sitting at his feet.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she is a tool and nothing less or more and she knows she will find no warmth in himĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā āĀ Ā Ā Ā they are a hearth never litĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā āĀ Ā Ā Ā but she doesn't know how to be anything else but a willing supplicant to his impassive blade. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āāĀ Ā i did not intend to disturb you.Ā Ā āāĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā disturb you and all that grief.Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she sucks in a breath:Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āāĀ Ā but i can stay by your side if you require it of me.Ā Ā āāĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā

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ššššššššš
@thcrmrĀ asked: ' we don't live in a world that's fair. ' /he gonna beat dis boy's butt
ššššš šššš ššššš ššššš, ššš šššš ššššš--- uncertainty is a construct befitting humanity. Tasked with simply living in a realm that is just as the other says: unfair. But it is in this unfairness that the mettle is tested, wills are hardened. It can bring from humanity its best or its worst (but this, too, is a truth deserving of continuity). Breathing deep the sanctimony of sacrilege he has become, foregoing whatever fate another has in store for him; he is not this Mythos they claim. Of Rosaria, of his father's blood, of the fire that burns evermore within his being. He is flame && hardship && perseverance. He is comprised of all of these things that he holds fast to. But above all, he is the voice of the many that are unable to buffer the will of the god Waloed's king would impose. "It isn't meant to be fair, but we strive on in spite of it! We cast our lot and make do with what's received." A growl resonates within breast, his nose curls in defiance. If he is to be an untamable beast, it shall be so. If he must stand between the perpetrator && its victim, so be it. A totem to free will's mantle. An everlasting epitaph begetting individuality, not uniformity. "So to hells with your god."
26, 28, 29, 32 for Isabelle~
isĀ yourĀ museĀ moreĀ likelyĀ toĀ beĀ loudĀ andĀ proudĀ aboutĀ beingĀ inĀ aĀ relationship,Ā orĀ areĀ theyĀ moreĀ quietĀ aboutĀ itĀ atĀ firstĀ andĀ openĀ upĀ aboutĀ itĀ overĀ time?
beingĀ aĀ courtesanĀ mostĀ ofĀ herĀ life,Ā isabelĀ hasĀ neverĀ hadĀ aĀ normalĀ relationshipĀ -Ā evenĀ countingĀ nonĀ romanticĀ ones.Ā she'sĀ alwaysĀ beenĀ abusedĀ inĀ someĀ capacityĀ andĀ manyĀ onlyĀ forĀ show.Ā untilĀ theĀ brandedĀ sheĀ cameĀ toĀ knowĀ andĀ loveĀ (Ā stillĀ needĀ aĀ nameĀ orĀ himĀ jglfkjĀ ),Ā andĀ evenĀ thenĀ sheĀ hadĀ toĀ hideĀ itĀ asĀ bestĀ sheĀ could.Ā .Ā .Ā untilĀ sheĀ couldn't.Ā sheĀ hasĀ beenĀ terriblyĀ afraidĀ toĀ beĀ openlyĀ proudĀ ofĀ anything.
wouldĀ itĀ botherĀ yourĀ museĀ ifĀ theyĀ hadĀ differingĀ interestsĀ fromĀ theirĀ partner(s),Ā orĀ wouldĀ theyĀ delightĀ inĀ it?
whileĀ sheĀ doesĀ loveĀ aĀ partnerĀ withĀ theĀ sameĀ motivationsĀ andĀ kindnessĀ asĀ her,Ā sheĀ isĀ dazzledĀ byĀ contrast,Ā perhapsĀ sparkedĀ byĀ theĀ reasonsĀ forĀ them.Ā itĀ usuallyĀ urgesĀ herĀ toĀ getĀ toĀ knowĀ theĀ personĀ more.Ā unlessĀ they'reĀ just,Ā youĀ know.Ā .Ā .Ā .Ā pureĀ evil.
howĀ importantĀ isĀ havingĀ (a)Ā physicallyĀ attractiveĀ partner(s)Ā toĀ yourĀ muse?
whileĀ isabelĀ isĀ usuallyĀ openĀ andĀ acceptingĀ inĀ general,Ā theĀ personĀ doesĀ haveĀ toĀ beĀ attractiveĀ enoughĀ andĀ on-parĀ withĀ herĀ toĀ garnerĀ interest.Ā callĀ itĀ shallow,Ā butĀ theĀ ladyĀ hasĀ standards,Ā ok.
doesĀ yourĀ museĀ haveĀ anĀ idealĀ "type"?
coughcliverosfieldcough.Ā strong.Ā courageous.Ā fearless.Ā grounded.patientĀ andĀ helpful.Ā tall,Ā built,Ā andĀ ruggedlyĀ handsome,Ā butĀ alsoĀ knowsĀ howĀ toĀ cleanĀ upĀ shouldĀ theĀ needĀ arise.
@thcrmr āāif you were smart, youād turn back now.āā
āĀ youĀ areĀ inĀ noĀ conditionĀ toĀ beĀ makingĀ suchĀ threats.āĀ aĀ brusqueĀ responseĀ withĀ theĀ softestĀ touchĀ ofĀ fingertipsĀ cleansingĀ theĀ sanguineĀ tousledĀ locksĀ coveringĀ hisĀ forehead.Ā whereverĀ theĀ injury,Ā orĀ ifĀ thereĀ wereĀ more,Ā sheĀ wouldĀ findĀ themĀ andĀ dressĀ themĀ asĀ quicklyĀ asĀ sheĀ could.
āĀ itĀ isĀ goodĀ thatĀ youĀ areĀ speaking,Ā despiteĀ theĀ prevailingĀ circumstances ā theĀ stateĀ inĀ whichĀ youĀ wereĀ foundĀ wasĀ .Ā .Ā .Ā troubling,Ā toĀ sayĀ theĀ least.āĀ theĀ proprietressĀ gentlyĀ pullsĀ theĀ thinĀ bedspreadĀ justĀ belowĀ hisĀ naval,Ā exposingĀ theĀ variousĀ cicatricesĀ scatteringĀ hisĀ bareĀ torso.Ā sheĀ doesĀ notĀ dareĀ touch,Ā thoughĀ viridescentĀ eyesĀ studyĀ theirĀ forms.Ā itĀ appearedĀ heĀ hadĀ seenĀ numerousĀ battles,Ā perhapsĀ hundreds.Ā this manĀ wasĀ noĀ ordinaryĀ warrior,Ā thatĀ wasĀ evident.