𖤝 sending your ass to #𝘆𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗻𝘂𝗺. independent and selective multi-muse colosseum run by havi. [ ft. characters predominantly from fantasy and urban fiction. ] twenty-seven, they/them. medium activity & duplicate friendly. affiliated with cautionarys and veilmotel. please read my guidelines before following. warnings ahead of mature content.
navigation : 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘥, 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴.
a narrative study in : the edgerunners of society, committed to being damned by love and danger, eldritch truth and the cost of insight, finding faith in oneself through madness, the tyranny of heaven, demons as the knights in spiked armour, dismantling shame, embracing the bitter and the dark.
this is a private space where i write characters i'm bananas about. i am busy with work throughout the week so patience is both expected and appreciated. reach out for plots and questions any time!
a few guidelines for newcomers :
duplicates are entirely welcome. duplicate anxiety however is not. open to feedback, won't tolerate rudeness. any bigotry, islamaphobia, sexism, anti-semitism, zionism, and use of ai art will result in block. i can take a few days to follow back, just because i like to make sure i properly read your rules / dossier! i’m also more likely to follow your other blogs if we have at least some writing or plotting going on the blog i currently follow to manage my space better.
please read, accessibility request :
i also request that colours, fancy letterings and double / triple spaces between words be avoided when writing with me. kindly soft-block when unfollowing and feel entirely free to re-follow whenever.
art by amy thompson. psd by hesperides.
primary :
▪ neil josten, all for the game.
▪ jem carstairs, infernal devices.
▪ alice liddell, madness returns.
▪ clive rosfield, final fantasy xvi.
▪ leon kennedy, resident evil.
▪ vinsmoke sanji, one piece netflix.
▪ galadriel, lord of the rings.
▪ jason todd, under the red hood.
secondary :
▪ lord severin, folk of the air.
▪ kassandra of sparta, ac: odyssey.
▪ lady maria, bloodborne.
▪ messmer, elden ring.
▪ pinokio, lies of p.
▪ stefan salvatore, vampire diaries.
▪ lucyna kushinada, cyberpunk edgerunners.
original characters :
▪ kazheir asghar, child of nox in the riordanverse.
▪ phira katsaros, child of aphrodite in the riordanverse.
▪ freydís sveinsdottir, skadi reborn in god of war.
▪ viziera khātun, janesyr from witcher inspired lore.
▪ farah hosseini, time-travelling vampiress.
private : the dragon, ha do-yeong, sephiroth, oliver marks, andrew minyard, achilles, dark sun gwyndolin [ *includes hiatus muses : the darkling, jude duarte, zagreus. ]
voice - testing : kaneki ken, needle knight leda, minthara baenre, astarion ancunín, radagon of the golden order, eleonora violet bloody finger.
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i am so invested in what liurnia in particular was like following radagon’s marriage to rennala. it’s clear he started influencing that region quite a lot with faith being wedded to intelligence (preceptor’s mask has his cross-cross pattern on them!). quite literally opposites melding together but it’s also clear he wasn’t trying to erase existing use of sorceries or that system away, but that he treasured this new way of learning and understanding the world. he thought perfection was keeping it harmoniously alongside faith, and that only with his wife’s teachings and the golden order’s would he be complete.
❛❛ it’s inadvisable to lie to me, ❜❜ the masked monster says, but he’s calm. rare to see the vigilante with his two feet planted on the ground. all sightings of him reduced to motion-reduced recordings of him skittering along his city’s walls or, swinging between buildings that scrape the sky on webs stronger than bridge suspension wires. it’s almost unnatural, the way he looks now, standing upright like a human. no one has ever seen his face that has publicly come forward, but surely there’s some creature of nightmares under his black and neon-red suit … no amount of tech installed in a person can give them the maneuverability and speed that he has.
even the bartender has inched away from this interaction, suspecting something grave. might as well be the boogeyman standing in their midst for how silent the single employee has gone— but the spider doesn’t make any moves, yet, that could come across as threatening. for now, he seems intent to just talk. off-putting, isn’t it? he speaks with a dialect that’s evidently linked to where he comes from : fluctuations in each syllable sounding just like a nueva yorker.
he stares at the netrunner behind his mask-lenses, and unbeknownst to anyone aside from himself, observes the heat-patterns of her body. running warm, like any other human, but he can always tell what cyber enhancements they have ( even not-so-obvious ones ) because of interruptions in the map of natural temperature.
❛❛ i don’t drink. ❜❜ doesn’t do anything to him. however, the man-shaped monster does sit beside lucy, hands folded politely in his lap despite how viciously sharp his fingertips are. worse than any knife. ❛❛ but, we can have a conversation. you don’t run, and i won’t chase you. how about some tit for tat? i’ll ask a question, and if you answer to my satisfaction, i’ll let you ask one that i’ll answer, too, so long as it doesn’t have anything to do with who i am beneath this outfit. first off : what’s got you rummaging around in zetasonic solutions’ old dumping ground? ❜❜
❛ oh, yessir. ❜ here it goes, her eye rolling with it; maybe she’d given him more credit than he deserved for looking the real coy type, but he was as flat as the next private investigator she’d speak to. she looks away from them as he speaks, nurses her drink and drinks it half way down. it eventually becomes unnecessary to need to look. her cybernetics do it for her in real time, the same way she assumes he must be sussing her down, she’s got the read on him with camera feeds tuned in. she wants to play nice, spare the bar and the nice guy behind it from having to do an unforgivable clean up, so she attempts words that aren’t already bordering on insult.
❛ wow. you rehearse that whole thing? ❜ she sounds bored because she is. everyone around here kept teetering too close to sounding like they’d get off from slapping wrists or finally tossing her in jail, as if she’d killed someone and chucked them out onto the street. setting her cheek in her palm, she swirls her drink a second time before looking over at him. gets the sense he’s threatening her but playing polite. ❛ if it’s old dumping grounds, how’s anyone’s trash-pickings your business? try again, different question. maybe you’ll meet my satisfaction. no, maybe not. ❜
lucy finishes her drink, swings her legs around like she’s ready to go, or finishing this conversation. there’s no urgency to her movements as if running or danger is the last thing on her mind tonight. she shrugs her fur jacket close, spears him a mild scowl, and sticks a cigarette between her lips.
❛ mysterious vigilante cosplayer, i need to get home. don’t you have murderers and politicians to throw off bridges instead? ❜
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high risk, high reward was what the entirely of night city's economy was built off of. as long as you were willing to put your body and soul on the line people would pay generously for that particular brand of recklessness. he isn't above it either, it's the only reason he doesn't veer into lecture territory with her as he has no grounds to stand on there. a masked vigilante, no matter how much good he managed to accomplish, wasn't exactly an upstanding citizen. he had a body count, they all did he just didn't want hers on his hands even if telling her 'no' isn't an option. instead he does the next best thing which is a slow killing through kindness and the servitude that made good on those neon knight whisperings.
❛ hey, hey, whoa it was a rhetorical question, deckhead. your system's way too fried to be doing quick lookups right now. " taking a corner of the towel and rubbing away at the blood above her lip. shaking his head in disbelief, bruce would admire her work ethic, that's for sure. except they both would be too thorny around one another to get anything done ( a deafening silence that terry would never let persist )
loosening the collar of his shirt, if only because he knew he was going to be here for a while. it might be time to start leaving a casual set of clothes in her closet so he didn't have to crash in a full suit at a moment's notice. ❛ never done, i have glowing endorsements in that department. ❜ pressing his forehead against her own, nudging her back gently which was as good as an accusation. he wasn't about to try anything but his tone implies that he had done so in this exact same spot in the past and gotten away with it, not only begrudgingly but with flying colors. ❛ we can talk about that later, you've already pushed it today. ❜ far from an outright refusal but he has only brought up the day's events to get her mind off whatever search had taken her out of commission
tossing his jacket away so he could make himself comfortable at her side, she's getting handy enough as is and he hated the dead weight anyways. ❛ even if you do that, I give it 2 hours tops before you join me down there. just admit you can't stay away. ❜ proof was in the very way she cradled him there and held him captive. both are guilty as he went without protest except for the said mouth he had on him. putting it to use he dips down and begs another kiss off her, keeping it tame given her recovery but the tilts of his head and the heat of his breath imply less-than chaste intentions. ❛ seriously, you wouldn't even give me the couch? i guess it makes sense, you what i can do on that couch. ❜ grinning right up against lips, he braces himself for the shove or whatever sort of rebellion she'd chose to inflict on him in retort.
it only belatedly occurs to her that his question hadn’t been serious, which puts a soft frown over her mouth. was she really that fried? it didn’t mode well for a runner who needed her senses keen and her heart bitter for the job. swinging wildly between that frustration and her sense of relief at his arrival, she settles on something in the middle. at least for the time being she’s more distracted by his well of wisdom and endless quips to think of anything but the fact that he was taking advantage of her currently slumped state, knowing any attempts to swing a slap at his head would go poorly. predictably, his grin only gets wider and her eyes roll somehow further down their sockets.
❛ four hours of circle-jerking it with the seniors and you’re still down to stroke your own dick? do it away from me. ❜ she pushes at him lightly, but it’s hardly all that she makes it out to be. his towel dubs the blood away, his head rests against her own, and in the span of those few seconds she closes her eyes and inhales steadily. relief was putting it lightly, so was gladness. if she could imprint something as mundane as the sound of his boots crossing the threshold, the plastic bags being set down, and his voice calling out to her—
here came the smack, right against his shoulder. ❛ for fuck’s sake, you never stop. ❜ did it anyways even knowing it was a quarter of the impact he actually deserved. ❛ asshole! ❜ between giving him a second one and his hands gently laying her back down after discarding his own jacket and suit, she feels his grin against her mouth. a kiss that turns her words into a muddle and a complaining groan. before long there’s a laugh somewhere in her stomach that she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing fully. her arms wrap around him and they reach a stalemate. each tease was only a confirmation of just how far she had let him crawl into her skin, and whose fault was that?
❛ mhm. floor’s too kind— ❜ interrupted, she returns the kiss, lets her fingertips card more carefully through his hair. he smells just right, cold rain and warm over her unclothed body. ❛ gonna’ move you outside my door. ❜ when they break, she presses her cold fingertips to his cheeks, and idly caresses back his hair from his temple. no part of her fidgets with him. no pain makes her want to retreat. she sighs again, body dissolving into the mattress, and begins to pull him down beside her. burrowed against him, he would hold her whether he wanted to or not. ❛ i missed you, idiot. you... had time to shop around too? ❜ there’s a scoff pressed against his neck, her voice warming with a smile. ❛ cute. ❜
⇢ son of marika, and infamous tyrant of the shadow realms. messmer commanded a crusade in his mother’s name and in her command to interrogate the land of shadows; their primary target and adversary were the people of the tower, the hornsent, who marika’s golden order deemed to be impure and vile. in secret, this crusade was a disguise for her desire to exact revenge on the hornsent for the treatment of her people, the shaman women.
the crusade was never-ending— as it passed its zenith, messmer and his soldiers were at last rewarded for all their sacrifices by their god’s total abandonment. the shadow realms were then sealed away, never to be seen.
following the canon of elden ring, shadow of the erdtree dlc, as well as inspirations from romanian folklore. my portrayal primarily takes into account the elden ring lore, but is also mixed with headcanons from my own development and timeline of him. just want to preface and say also that i will not impose my version of timeline events and interpretation on other writers, and am always willing to be flexible to accommodate. messmer is a villain, and while aspects of him will be explored with care and at times sympathy, he won't be watered down.
⟡ statistics.
⇢ name. messmer, the son of marika; the impaler; the serpent.
⇢ age. he is an extremely old demigod.
⇢ height. 20 feet.
⇢ hair. blood-red hair.
⇢ eyes. a single golden eye, that is not quite an eye at all, but rather a
soreseal gifted to him by his brother to oppress the serpent within.
his other eye is sealed shut.
⇢ body. he is tall and oddly proportioned, strong of body but lanky, with
scars over most of his body, broad shoulders and pointed nails.
⇢ weapon. spear of the impaler. it deals incredible damage by blunt force and
is powered by his own explosive flame.
⇢ sexuality. although he holds little experience or interest in romantic
inclinations, he generally leans towards dalliances with men.
⇢ family. where marika is his mother, radagon is his father;
he has many siblings and half siblings.
he and melina were conceived during the first age of the golden order, likely in secret, though knowledge of his parentage was a deeply kept secret. he was notable raised in the impaler’s catacombs in his early life, before being disgraced in a mutually hatched political play by him and his mother to begin his crusade in the shadow realms.
obviously, his sister is melina, though whether she remembers this is debatable. his other siblings include godwyn the golden, marika’s second or third child with her first husband, with mohg and morgott coming much later. while his father was married to queen renalla, his younger half-siblings included radahn, ranni, and rykard. when radagon then marries marika, he becomes older brother to miquella and malenia.
his constant companions are his two winged serpents, that are attached to his body in odd ways; the abyssal serpent, an malignant and vicious outer god and monster, is housed in his heart.
⟡ verses for plotting.
main. i'm inclined to base before the dlc events, because the chances of being talkative during his self imposed exile in the keep are close to nil unless you're a tarnished or the shard-bearers etc. it would be much more likely that he's able to interact with people while he's in leyndell or new arrival in shadow realm. nevertheless i’m happy to discuss this verse and plot things out where it works!
alternative. messmer will always meet his end at the hands of the tarnished, but in the event he does survive, i'll relate it back to lore: messmer, melina, miquella and malenia all have butterfly symbolism. malenia and miquella both show a propensity for retreating into cocoons, and it's difficult to ascertain if melina had something similar as she is already dead and a spirit. however, i want to say that in the absence of the abyssal serpent, messmer's body retreats into a butterfly cocoon and is engulfed by the now untainted kindling he possesses. this slowly regenerates him over time.
it's also said that fire knight wego believed messmer's flame had the power to bring corpses back to life, and experimented with it successfully; messmer is thus consumed in a contained flame inside the cocoon that slowly morphs him back to life. after this fact, he is able to leave the shadow keep and the seal meant to keep the abyssal serpent out of the lands between no longer applies to him, therefore allowing him to return home.
⟡ appearance and plotting.
messmer is slightly above ten feet tall, muscled but his limbs are longer and look lanky. his two winged serpents, cadu and keus, are a part of him the way limbs are. they go through his body in a way that was considered grotesque. he is extremely pale as well and draws visuals from dracula/vampirism: he has notable fangs and long beast-like nails. there are also scaly textures along his arms and he is mostly blind: one eye is a scarseal which hinders his vision, and the other is permanently closed. messmer's vision is limited to the eyes of his two serpents, as such he is seeing through four pairs of eyes at all times. he is more reliant on scent, much like snakes.
primary strength is in his flames and battle experience. he is an exceptionally agile fighter, ruthless to the core and wields a spear capable of impaling even golems. with his serpents in tow, he has the additional support of their senses and his blindness in fact makes him incredibly reflexive.
his forbidden powers allow him to transform into the abyssal serpent, at the cost of his physical body however.
his lesser known powers are that of necromancy: messmer can use his black-red flames to bring bodies back to life, powered by his fire the same way the furnace golem's are.
his skills include diplomacy and leadership, but he is also trained in medicine, seen by the way he had set up a jar clinic in an effort to tend to their condition.
⟡ lore notes and portrayal points.
⇢ in my interpretation, the abyssal serpent itself is not an outer god, but the manifestation of one unknown to the lands between, attempting to consume messmer from the inside out so he can host the outer god. there is virtually no connection to the god-devouring serpent; they are two different entities, who happen to share similar physical manifestations.
messmer was raised in isolation in what would come to be known as the impaler's catacombs in the weeping peninsula. there, marika would visit him and replace his rotting eye with her scarseal to prevent the abyssal serpent from devouring her young son. from his parents, messmer was gifted two winged serpents, cadu and keus, who would help him endure pain and keep him strong to resist the serpent writhing inside of him. he remained there while the erdtree grew, as there were palpable fears of what his fire could do to the erdtree, and this fear was more poignant because it is discovered during the battle that saw marika seal the fell god's flame.
i want to say that messmer was sheltered as a bastard child of marika and not many in the lands between knew of his connection to marika, but that this connection was revealed only to the shadow realm after messmer's flight and banishment from the erdtree. regardless, messmer was infinitely loyal to leyndell and was reared to the strength and training of a general in preparation for the next war: this would be the unholy crusade against the hornsent. with the golden order reigning in full swing, messmer left leyndell to carry out marika's orders in the shadow realm.
marika initially went with him: i think messer is unique in that he is the sole child of marika who may know her origins. he is given access to her pain and the village where she once grew up an ordinary shaman girl. he refers to marika not just as 'mother' but also by her name, which indicates he's been around long enough to not just be a son to her but a friend. because of this he has intense empathy for his mother, intense and blinding hatred for the hornsent, and will not turn against her, even at his own expense.
messmer's army is larger than leyndell's. this is because it does not possess only leyndell's knights, but leyndell's prisoners and criminals, carian sorcerors and knights, rellanna the twin moon and sister to rennalla herself, crucible fighters, and albinauric warriors. messmer's sheer capacity to inspire and influence people from so many walks of life is both terrifyingly effective and a very strong contrast to miquella's (his name is literally messmer, which makes me think he has had this effect on people from a very young age).
⇢ it is worth noting that rellanna abandoned her own royal status to chase messmer, who she was so compelled by that she follows him into war and stands by him even when his curse is discovered, even though she has virtually no qualm against the hornsent, and he is the son of her sister's former (?) enemy, marika.
his crusade was a direct victory: nobody stood a chance against his flames. the army so eroded from what they had done that some of their souls had rotted bad enough that they transformed into blackened souls and knights.
they seemed sure of their return to the lands between to be redeemed, until marika abandoned them. as the fear and confusion spread, some soldiers discovered the serpentine curse of their general and turned against him. some stayed true and continued to defend him, praying for marika's return and begging her to not forsake her son. messmer, although shattered by this, maintained hope that one day marika would return, and allowed no one to cast blame on her but himself instead.
⇢ exploration.
messmer is known both for his ruthless and his compassion amongst his soldiers. he is a just leader to them, and cares deeply for their well-being. in this regard he holds regret for the way their fates would come to play out, a fact that he is well aware he's playing a hand in but cannot and will not stop.
when his soldiers hound him to maintain the legacy items of the hornsent, he relents and fulfils that promise earnestly. he befriends gaius the albinauric, one of the most oppressed societies in the lands between by the golden order, and two crucible fighters, andres and huw, from another faith the order hates, and makes them all high ranking generals of his army. he even allows some hornsent scholars to remain at the shadow keep to continue their studies. descriptions remark that he saw his fellow soldiers frequently as brothers in arms and seemed an amicable personality amongst them.
that said, messmer is also reviled by the hornsent, and considered more a beast than a living thing. his crusade against the hornsent was so base and revolting that even leyndell would not speak of it in the coming years. he eradicated a majority of the population and brought ruin to any force that stood against him.
the peripheries were turned into the abyssal woods from his darkness and he claimed the shadow keep for his army, which stands in front of the shaman village like a protective shield. messmer is known for creating endless fields of impalements hence his moniker. the furnace golems are messmer's idea of mockery towards the fire giants and the hornsents the golem's now torment. they were initially creations of the fire giants, powered by the fell god of fire, but were overtaken by messmer's flame. this is why the golem's now have faces of fire giants melted into its knees, a degradation of messmer's making.
⇢ re : marika and radagon.
because of his sheltered upbringing and radagon being in liurnia, messmer did not grow up knowing his father much. he has met radagon in battle a couple dozen times but they were not prevalent in eachother's life. he has however met his half-siblings before he went away to the shadow realm, and even hosted his half-brother radahn in the shadow keep to mentor him with gaius. the twin prodigies were too young to really know him, but it seems miquella remembered the ordeal in the shadow realm enough to remember there is access to it.
it's marika that he has the strongest connection with. messmer is extremely attached to her, to the point where he fails to really grasp her cruelties or the excess to which she has raised him to. he exists merely to carry out her wish, and strains to protect the shaman village and the jar-folk in his keep's clinic as they are his mother's people. he loves her very sincerely, and his love comes from an extremely vulnerable empathy for what she suffered as a young woman. messmer's keep is adorned with the five petal flower that is the meaning of marika's name and his official standard symbol is a combination of his flames and marika's braid.
he welcomes the break. only by leda's generosity do his legs now rest, that does not mean the other bones do not ache. it is always something. a nod, a thank you, as she holds steady when he slides off the saddle. upon her offer, slender fingers unfasten the ever slumbering mask and with one fluid motion to follow, his long hair is also freed from the faux fur decorating his neck. the sip he takes is polite at best.
❛ i dreamt of trees . . . not the weeping ones here. they were green and lustrous and tall. ❜ whatever is happening to thiollier once he drifts, must be helping him. kindly miquella would not let it happen otherwise. he is sure of it. a clearer purpose, perhaps. a reason to enjoy the waking, if only to anticipate the next time his dreams show marvelous sights. ❛ a dreamless sleep seems awfully lonely, does it not, lady leda ? ❜ oh how he'd dread the simple oblivion of unexistence for a few hours. with a mind so far, it can no longer recall the sweetness of its history. thiollier remembers every dream. some of them, he has written down in a little book kept close to his chest. ❛ of course, i am well. every day we strive closer. though, the road does leave its marks upon me. ❜ as if made manifest, an ache shoots through his leftside knee and demands to be shaken out. cursed be a frail body on the long road.
❛ are you quite certain we will be able to pass ? it is not that i do not trust you or the others, do not misunderstand. i worry there will be blades. ❜ it is not that he is completely helpless would it come down to it but thiollier's methods are . . . cruel, as others have described them. they are not quick and not painless, so he stands back when metal clashes. he trusts leda, of course he does, but he cannot help fearing for the worst. one hand rests on the side of leda's steed's neck as he looks on.
a small and now secluded part of her still remembers dreams, the phantom brush of them creeping close; she has had her share of them before, an earth wrought in blood and a head stifled by the clang of swords, the flesh of her brain marred by the shouts of soldiers. her dreams have chased her in those colours all the way to the foot of the haligtree, where the crimson now rusts beneath her fingertips, staining her blade. she regards her companion with an expression that momentarily forgoes its compassion, and instead is— nearly empty, or something of the like. no, leda does not desire to dream again. with surety she knows, the blackness she visits in her sleep is nothing more than one more gift from kindly miquella.
❛ an envious dream, that. ❜ thiollier dismounts from her mane, though his small and tired body appears spent to her. ❛ how generous, that kindly miquella would bestow to you this reprieve— and worry not, i am content with my lot, for it suits my peace. ❜ perhaps it was due time to camp for the night and allow her companions rest. the hornsent, although restless, obliges this eventually. she cannot be moved to continue, however much her spirit desires it, when she is honour bound by creed to look after those beneath her wing, those that depend on her. this she will not fail to adhere.
❛ indeed, it has been a treacherous road. ❜ and treacherous more it is bound to become, though her thoughts, which feel an impulse to seethe at waiting foes, is brushed over by a sudden and uncharacteristic calm. thiollier, despite his fatigue and limits, has trusted and followed her without a shadow of a doubt since they had begun their marked journey. she has no reason to refute him or push. ❛ and it is likely the tower folk will not cooperate, yes. but they are not yet keen to what has been made apparent to us. poor wretches. ❜ leda smiles then, unfettered by this obstacle ahead of them, and once her companion has taken benefit of the water, she sets down her sword and helmet to begin the work of building their makeshift camp. ❛ iwill find the cross, nonetheless. for now, i wish only for you to recover. ❜
moore and ansbach would not be far, though leda has known little of their movements. she is less likely to wait for them, or to have thiollier endure any more suffering than was necessary. ❛ here, sit. have something to eat. ❜
if it weren't for the thermal balancers in his fingertips she would have been too hot to touch. in the literal sense of course, despite her nudity he can't be anything less than concerned given the state she's in. spent, barely on this side of cyberspace and he didn't have the means to jump in and pull her back from the brink. unable to fully acknowledge him until now, he is aware of her down to the bone which she is soaked to. trembling and on fire all at once, he keeps her steady while the metal sears into his skin. his eyes painted over in fluorescent crimson as his system kicks into high gear sensing the threat of her body and urging him to let go but he does no such thing.
not until she has been deposited gently onto the platform her bed nestled upon. already she is chasing him as he attempts to reel back. taking her hand into his own and placing his lips against the heel of her palm. ❛ gonna unhand me so i can grab you some water and something for your head or what, miss independent? ❜ the inevitable protest cannot cease his stride as he makes a quick detour into the kitchen while grabbing a towel from the freshly clean but unfolded laundry. ❛ they don't pay you enough eddies for this shit. ❜ returning to her side in record time with a glass of water in tow and a slew of pills.
❛ board meeting-- was supposed to be standard deets but i gotta hostile takeover on my hands now. name paxton powers anythin' to you? ❜ a nuclear bomb, that's what it really was. bruce had already been deposed and thus it left terry to face off against the disgraced powers dynasty. in derek's absence his eldest was now making a claim for a throne which left him with few options to sway the vote in his favor. ❛ he's makin' a play for the whole cake, thinks he's some sort of prodigal son. ❜ throwing the towel over her head he does a haphazard job of drying each strand if only stoke her ire. "but ain't that me? he just doesn't have the face for it. * ceasing only to show her all his teeth in the glory of all their perfect white lines. freeing her from his reckless drying which against all odds managed to do away with the majority of the damp.
there’s a noise of refusal in her throat just as his cheek slips from her palm, as if she’d meant to dissuade, tell him no. he’s gone before she can prevent it. groans low and turns her face away as her chest rises and falls with each dragging breath. there was plenty of eddies to be made from this, it just happened to be so tertiary to her penchant for risk and desperation. so far into the feed, that she often found far more than what she had gone in to look for. maybe that was a side effect of knowing, nothing in this city could ever be as bad as what blackwall had taught her about death.
his recount of the day proves a useful distraction from the headache. when he comes back with a glass of water and a towel, she tries to swat away his attempts to dry her hair with a successful stroke of ire. ❛ pax... ❜ dazedly, voice and names come to her, fingertips rubbing into the side of her temple. ❛ embezzlement, abuse of... ha. ❜
slowly, she attempts to sit up against the bed, the smudge of blood under her nose dried and metallic. he’s grinning now, another brush of the towel going down the side of her neck. slowly, her hand cards down his wrist and curls around it. she takes stock of his eyes, his suit, that he was well and safe. ❛ no, doesn’t have your irritating nerve for it either. well, if you’re both done dick-waving for today, i— ❜ he took his cue, pressing the glass of water incessantly to her lips, having her swallow the pill. feeling better than the heap of garbage she had been a moment before, she pulls up her knees and leans gingerly into his shoulder as the ache ebbs. ❛ let’s just... stay like this. there’s more— i can help with this, terry. ❜
she guessed then that he might try and say no. point to her state and insist she shouldn’t get involved. all of that could be well and true but first he would have to survive the immediate cut of her glare. lifting her head with a look of warning. wise boy that he was, he’d swallow those words of protest right back down. her fingers caught his chin gently, tilting that handsome face close. ❛ you’re getting too mouthy with me. i should have you sleep on the floor tonight. ❜
me and my perpetually inconsistent formatting on this blog .... if i jump back and forward with it just look the other way. anyways absolute batman animated series? can i scream at the top of my lungs
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"i want to say how sorry i am." (arty @ gwyn sorry for not being there when they needed him!
𖤝 for artorias : growing closer, accepting.
streak of charcoal mark the space between their fingers and wrist, from the lids of their eyes to the bottom of their cheek. wasting away in the idleness of ruin, the aftermath of a sickening upending. darkened, and desisting the warmth of cleanliness, their palms wage a futile battle against the ashen surface of their own marred skin. they cannot scrub and wade enough to be rid of it. they know this, an innate soreness that their pride has buckled beneath; they try and try as they ought to yet there is no mercy to the god-eater’s doing. their city persists, and they have been returned by the kind hand of their hand to its hearth and wealth of comfort.
it is only here, beneath its night-blue illumination, that reminds them so much of his valour, that they are able to relinquish their contempt. though their bath has long run cold, and their breath shivers against the bleakness of memory, gwyndolin feels— his hands, palms both scarred and gentle, against the knuckles of their spine. they recoil at his words, for how could they think to punish him for their own failure?
❛ speak no such words, thy heart bears no sin for which to repent. ❜ knees pulled close, they waver; half their serpents dead, and yet they have once more disgraced themselves, unable to conjure what they should have been able to with ease to alleviate their own suffering. yet was this more failure on their account. his hand, gentle still on their undeserving back, moves to the side of their neck. helpless to resist, they lean into his touch. ❛ thou'rt my knight, yet 'twas i who stood as thy keeper and lord. ❜ wretched, their lips grow blue, their eyes reddened with unshed tears. and their nails, dried beneath their own blood, have buried spiteful crescents along their legs. ❛ yet in this, it was i— i… alone who hath fallen. ❜
there was plenty that wasn’t real in this city. it was the same place where you could buy love, or at least a hollow copy of it, in a back ally. he had made the mistake of believing her to be a figment, a ghost rendered in polychrome but that was simply because she didn’t let anyone in close enough to show any signs of life. pair that with her constant shield of optical camo and she was simply more binary babble haunting the net and spilling out onto the streets. but he had touched her, and while she may be in fragments she was nothing short of real.
especially when she begins to fall to pieces again having the batsuit working overtime as he kicks the system into overdrive to catch her before a nasty corner did. ❛ what? you don’t sleep now when i’m not around… ❜ judging by all the dead weight in his warms as swept her off the floor into his arms that was the most likely story.
❛ thought you weren’t the clingy type, come on. ❜ he fights to keep real concern from drifting into his voice, a habit from being the eldest son; composure under duress. lowering her onto the bed under the rosy glow of her rotating displays. her hair is still damp from the ice bath but he isn’t ready to leave her side to fetch a towel just yet. ❛ you gotta quit it with these deep dives, luce. you keep going down for so long one day you’re not gonna come back. ❜ he was aware there was far more too her story than she was willing to divulge to him, no one who felt safe built defences as robust as hers. she may have loosened her ICE but it didn’t mean he was free to simply waltz his way in.
well, this wasn’t good. she has a vague that she’s being carried off to safety, knight in shining armour to do the labour of love. she coughs somewhere shortly in her throat, feels the headache burgeoning with hammers down the back of her skull. it’s overheating, she knows this; her spine is a patchwork mess of arasaka’s finest brand of competition. when she’s in his arms though, a soft echo of a whine escapes, makes her turn her head into him for reprieve. the effect of the ice bath leaves her in a state of shock, too, the bodily sort; to overheat and yet be so cold induced the kind of numbness that took a while to leave.
❛ t... terry— ❜ the digital wall shatters between them. he’s as real as the strain in her limbs when he touches her. the pixelated ceiling of her sphere disappears gradually, replaced by the dark of his eyes, the loveliness of his face coming into view. ashen, lucy reaches for him weakly. unaware or uncaring of the fact that she’s about as naked as the day she was unwillingly born, all with her temperature shot through the roof. ❛ head... hurts... ❜
shivering, and with him at her bed side, like a visitor to an ailing patient, she manages to grab a hold of his shoulder. pulls him close like a blanket, her quivering heart softening as she resets. feeling comes back in her spine first, augmented back to sense to start fending off errors and recalibrate input— code, fail safe, her forehead against his own. she sets a palm to his cheek, smiles just a little bit through it. he’s concerned, kicked puppy and all. ❛ hey baby. it was— it was work. i’m fine. you’re back. where were you? ❜
“i had the strangest dream last night. do you remember yours when you wake up?” thiollier to leda !
𖤝 for thiollier : growing closer, accepting.
her lightened mood could be credited to a recent miracle, as her feed thread to a stop, horse reigns in hand, by the light of a cross. joyous she was, grinning faintly behind her helm. her eyes feast upon its magnitude before they at last decide to recuperate with rest. thiollier has been offered to seat her mount, if only out of kindness to spare his tired legs. she assures him, diligently, that although the gates of the tower settlement are to be hostile to their kind, they are at ease here with moore’s company and ansbach’s keen eye. the sleeping companion then rouses.
❛ what did you dream of, my friend? ❜ she holds the steed still, and he dismounts from it. she likens him to a wilting flower, slinking off as if he desired very greatly to be not noticed at all. removing her helm, leda holds it beneath her arm and offers him a vial of her water. ❛ ah, i am not one to dream; they have never stuck to me, for a reason i cannot fathom. there is bliss in the dark of it, though— for i know i shall wake to light. are you well, soldier? ❜
eleonora 🤝 lady maria....... hot tall hunter who turns on the institution they have long served because they realise they have done nothing but wrong an otherwise mortal species deemed a lower gentry that was trying to survive and side with them to retaliate against their former masters
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terry and lucy 🙂↕️: “you look like you haven't slept.”
𖤝 for terry mcginnis : growing closer, accepting.
eyes dusted two shades too dark from bruises, she leers and leers at ghosts and glitches; stomach a vacant pit, hasn’t eaten for what feels like a few hundred days. heart palpitations make her see two versions of him, handsome and painted black. a figment of her mind that, really, would have been be so inciting, but not today. she thinks if she opens her mouth now, she’ll blurt out more deepweb code and binary digits rather than human words. ❛ where you been? fuck. ❜
shit— she’s been down under too long. he’s starting to catch on in real time, with the way he puts down the plastic bags full of groceries and moves towards her in a blur.
❛ 'm fine, jusst. just fine— ❜ there’s a flash of sparkling white beneath her eyelid. it reminds her of champagne, or system reboot. definitely the former. mid thought, the wind goes out of her and her knees buckle from the two stair way steps that lead to her bed. down she goes, synapses glitching, and he catches her before her skull has the exciting opportunity to egg-crack against her apartment floor.
