#xaelic-voidknight

Sometimes it’s just easier to sleep in the workshop between jobs.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚂 :: 𝚂𝙰𝙼

They had not parted - they had to be burned. Burned! And when they were, they screamed. By the Gods did they scream! A thousand voices, all screaming like some unholy choir  of the damned. Damned indeed - those that somehow found their way into the trees. Who found their end at the roots. His ears were ringing and he was certain that they were bleeding. The screaming and the roar of the flames was all he could hear, and he was now miles from the trees. Covered in soot and ash and blood and ... and gods knew what else.

Bruised knees met solid earth - harsh, frantic breathes leapt from burning lungs as he leaned back upon his calves, lifting his head to the canopy overhea-- no... there was no canopy. No thick enfolding of branches and leaves to blot out the sky. Greens glossy with tears blinked several times and goosebumps crawled across pale flesh as they widened, lips parted to reveal pearly whites and their fangs. There were... lights... there were lights overhead. Millions upon millions of little, tiny, twinkling lights that lit the sky ablaze. Gaseous forms that stretched eons upon eons across an inky black abyss where there was naught.

Naught but those tiny, winking lights. 

Hot tears rushed from the corners of those glowing greens and poured down over his cheeks. This had been behind the canopy...? This -- how long had it been hidden from Ravenbarrow...? From those accursed many that rotted within the forest’s swamps. Had anyone known...? Had they known what lie beyond the trees...? Did they hide this? Did they fear the young would seek freedom? Or had they never known... oh, would that they did... it was more beautiful than he might’ve ever imagined had someone described such a sight to him. 

A sob broke loose as he collapsed into soft, cool grass he felt no fear in resting upon. 

Soft OC Asks

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Yehn (settled on Yehn’li for his name) does keep detailed journals. He doesn’t maintain them much now but he has all of the medical records and experimentation records of every single one of his victims during his time with the Empire, along with all his research in journals, as well as special drives. He does reflect on these journals from time to time, and meditates on them to keep himself from returning to that life. 

Layr is a bit of a special case because their journal is their tattoos. Their tattoos are all of their magical research and spells in one, elaborate, enchanted place. They don’t know how to read or write normally, but they can create spell work and will add spells and sigils to their body as they craft and weave and learn them.

Send ♥ For A Drabble Of My Muse’s Thoughts As They Wake Up Beside Yours

When Samilen awakes, it’s to the dripping warmth of sunlight upon his skin. It’s to the warmth of arms around him, firm and unyielding and filling him with comfort. It’s to the blankets half-on his body, instead tangled around his legs and arms and nearly falling off the far edge of the soft mattress beneath him.

When he awakes, it’s beside the man he adores.

Or rather, he would be merely beside X’chai, if the other’s body wasn’t nearly curled around him like a child might clutch at a beloved toy. Their limbs are about as tangled together as the blanket wrapped between them; Samilen can feel the softness of the Seeker’s tail even wrapped around his own in a coiling of white and gold fur. 

Samilen’s eyes open to the sight of his partner in a slumber as rare as it is deep, dark circles sitting stubbornly beneath his sightless eyes. It is both comforting and worrisome to see the man in such a way; though Samilen is happy to see him in such a deep slumber, he knows well how it only comes about, when X’chai is worked hard as his own Free Company’s leader. Managing so many people, so many jobs, so many things--it’s beyond what Samilen thinks most people are capable even with the help of several others, and yet the Seeker takes so much of the responsibility upon himself with but a charming smile to wave away any worries for him and his health.

But at least he slumbers at last, clutched tight to his Keeper lover and getting the rest he’s sorely earned. 

Samilen feels a soft smile on his lips in the gentle warmth of the moment, staving off the feelings of responsibility to instead curl closer, tucking his face into the other man’s throat and mouthing silent, sweet words of love against X’chai’s skin.

Iris: If your character could send one person a message, who and what would it be?

 - 

Dear Ma:

It’s surely been a while, hasn’t it?

The problem with years is that the longer they stretch on, the less you find you have to say. How do you relate to someone who’s missed so much of what turned you into who you are? How do you share those triumphs and failures with someone who wasn’t there to see how hard you worked for them, and what they meant to you?

You can’t. I’m not sure I’d even recognize you on the street anymore.

You wouldn’t recognize me. I walk with a limp some days now, and I grew a beard, and now that beard’s gone gray in places. Prison put twenty ponze of muscle on me, which is frankly a bloody miracle seeing what the food was like. I want to ask you how you are, ask if Pop’s still alive, if the two of you ever gave me that brother I asked for. It’s been long enough, maybe I’ve met him in my travels.

Maybe I’ve gunned him down.

It’s all the same. You go long enough, there is no ‘you’ for people to remember anymore. The ‘me’ you recall had scarcely had his first growth spurt, nevermind his first gun or his first kiss. The ‘you’ I recall was thirty-five and broken, and never at the processions, and I should know. I looked.

Maybe I’m writing this to a ghost. If I am, then look over your shoulder. Your son’s grown old. If I’m not, then what am I doing it for? Where would I even address the bloody thing?

I hope you’re well. I think that’s the only thing a person can always say, regardless of how long it’s been.

All the best,

Haldric

-

Pale, soft pink lips had parted to explain, when he was very abruptly hushed!! Those minuscule ears shot then, upright and bright greens of which pierced the very night air itself darted to the xaela male. He stared for a half second then abruptly looked away, flushing faintly as a small chuckle escaped him instead. “What?” Long, dual tails shifted and curled lazily, “Who ever told you that??” What an odd little concept - one he’d never really heard of before. He laughed again, the sound soft. “I think someone’s teasing you,” 

Ask my muse some naughty questions

Á : Is your muse loud in bed?

Normally, Samilen is not very loud in bed, even in the verses where he’s quite verbal. He tends to focus so much on the pleasure of himself and his partner that there’s not a lot of mental room left for him to even unconsciously think about making noise. There might be the occasional growl here or there, maybe even a gentle rumble akin to a purr, but most of Samilen’s pleasure queues are quite physical; strained expression, gripping tight to bedsheets that they’re about to tear, his ears twitching and his tail thrashing out behind him.

That said, if you are able to push him to the point of making noise, then you are in for a fucking treat. Once pushed past the point of no return, when he’s utterly driven to the end of his wits, Samilen is all snarls and mewls and hissing. The details may much depend on whether he’s getting fucked or doing the fucking, but to hear the man make any noise at all is a very good sign, if perhaps less common with some lovers.

⚔ : Does your muse have any specific kinks?

Samilen absolutely loves getting his tail pulled. Whether it’s a lover using it to manhandle his ass back on a cock or someone just tugging on it as he’s fucking them, the reaction is always the same--he adores it. He likes to think it’s on the same path of thoughts as to why he likes to gently pull on his own hair to self-soothe; something about the sensation and action is calming and comforting and, during sex, so very erotic to him.

Ivory skin had become wan and his steps - while hardly able to be called elegant, were even more off-kilter than they usually were! He was dizzy, and lightheaded, and his stomach was starting to cramp to boot. Not to mention the headache that settled into his forehead, a rock solid core of pulsating agony. Sam groaned, frowning ( which didn’t help that headache ) and pinned back little ears whilst the ends of his tails flicked in his agitation. 

The last time he’d eaten...?

That was a pretty valid question... and Sam had to think for an... embarrassingly long time before peering over at the xaela male who stood nearby. “Uhm...” Mumbled the miqo’te in uncertainty. Was it surprising that he... lacked an answer? Probably not, because shame painted itself across those pallid cheeks and Sam found it difficult to even look the other man in the face. He sighed heavily and rubbed a bicep with the opposing hand, like some sort of child who just got caught red-handed. 

“I’m... I’m sorry,” Mumbled the timid miqo’te - his signature, go-to move when he knew he’d messed up, even if there was nothing to apologize for!