#(.ic)

[estarion]

　　　for all the disgusting, snivelling little worshippers out there, he has but a single message: “ learn how to be your own god. ”

[this-is-kremnos]

"Oh my, you're pretty toned for a guy. Maybe we could have a nice fight together"

"Ha! I'll gladly take the challenge. Just know, I don't go easy on anyone if they want a fight."

[matador-of-love]

"And a happy birthday to me!" Somehow, canons fired with roses onto Ainosuke with heart-shaped fireworks in the sky.

[extravagantmuse]

plotted starter for @mercysought ( asharen )

Fitful sleep is nothing new for her; neither a comfort nor a concern. She curls her body tight, her halla form well cared for with the clan she guides for the moment, and barely hears the murmur of one of the children tucked up against her. Her antlers were delicately carved, adorned with ribbons and beads, showered in adoration of the children she keeps under her momentary care. It will be time to shed those antlers soon and the children will tuck them away like a gift. Their golden halla will move on when it is time, but for now-- she attempts to sleep with a child pressed against her side. The child is not as beyond sensitive as their keeper, but still they lead her unwittingly into their dreams.

These dreams are lovely, colored honey warm with the child's nostalgia and their care. The hue casts away the wary chill of desaturation - of the edge of where the child dreams. They nudge the child deeper into their dream, straying where their memories begin to twist in curious and senseless shapes. They step into the beyond, tethered by beating hearts to the physical form they keep, but free for the moment all the same. There spirits that follow this clan babble to her, murmuring secrets and speculation, and scatter just as soon. The young spirits of this world were strange-- flightier than she likes. They gather like herd animals but scatter with no fight; a terrible target for the older hunters amongst their kin. It was not just the children she must watch over -- even if she was never a spirit to begin with.

Regardless, the spirits scatter quicker now, pulling bits of ambition and ideals in shiny ribbons behind them. She steps carefully, hooves picking a careful path among the dreams and the beyond, honing in on a light that the spirits whisper anxiously about. She presses forward, through the babbling brook of energy, and closer to the light. It is too surreal to be another spirit, at least one of this age, but not so horrific that she knows to flee and merely observe. She draws ever closer, the light shining on the golden hue of her hide, and had she not once bore her face completely to the Son of the Sun she may have been blinded. Instead, she reaches out with her presence to the traveler, her thoughts carrying words in the beyond. "Da'len." For this is no spirit, but one of the people-- yet also more. "Do you wish for a companion in your travels? To walk here alone is dangerous." Not for her age, not for her kind, merely that it was.

A danger that Elleana would rather take than leave to one of the people.

[blinclance]

♪  -  ❝ No need to be shy and quiet. I may lack sight, but I know it is you.

❝ Or... an impostor with similar grace? Who knows.❞ || @rottenmask

[meadowlarksabove]

For @tempesttragedy , continued from here.

It had been a long time since the frumentarius had prepared a meal for anyone, and he was pleased to learn that his skills in the craft hadn’t dimmed since his deployment from Arizona. In the days leading up to their meeting, he’d accompanied one of the hunting parties marching along the perimeter of the Fort and bagged from them the cuts of Bighorner meat Celia preferred. Though it was troublesome to keep the flesh marinated and fresh on the trek back to the Mojave, the look of pure contentment and satisfaction on her face made the whole ordeal entirely worth it. 

What he hadn’t accounted for, exactly, were his own emotions in the matter. He’d wanted to give her this night as a gift, a token of his affections which, for both their sakes, could never be spoken about outright. Of course, Gabban had hinted at them here and there, masking them beneath the same words he gave everyone else at the Strip. Just for the fun of it, the gamble. A dinner shouldn’t have been all that different of a risk, but her laughter and their closeness only raised his genuine fondness for her. 

Then, when their hands gently brushed together, his mind went completely silent. There were no more voices, no memories, or fears- not even the hounds. Gabban watched her get up from the table, as he was consumed by an unfathomable warmth in his chest, just as confounding as it must have been divine. 

He stood, tugged at Celia’s arm, and gently planted his lips against hers the moment she turned to face him. Something had snapped within him finally, and for a moment he reveled in the release of all his tension, as if a dozen knots had frayed and come undone- until he opened his eyes once more. 

“I’m sorry!” Gabban stumbled back, the first uncouth step he’d ever taken in her presence. “I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have surprised you like that!” 

Celia asked him for a reason and he struggled to say anything that made any sense, or that wouldn’t implicate him any more than he already had. IDIOT. “I…” He blanked once more, now growing pale against the light of the candles. 

“I’m attracted to you.”

[amberedcorpse]

@malefikant: „Kiss me“, it finally spilled. Almost too abruptly, carried by newfound wind for his wings, as though he was in a desperate hurry. As if he could no longer waste any time;chest and shoulders heaving lightly with each following breathing. Signs of the beginnings of lost control, of slipping composure. Of logic and reason finally leaving and making space for something new, something else. Pleading, he would go down onto his knees. For that bit of touch and bit of moment. „Kiss me—“ Would sell his all just to be wanted, by the same that was offered to him. Whether it was wise, whether it was fair, whether he was running headlong into what he thought was but was not. He could not kneel, could not break from this presence. Did not want to bring new distance when it was almost entirely gone. Quick his hands shot up only to land in Duke's shoulders, from where they slid further up to the nape of his neck. To guide and lull for the taller man to come closer while whatever broke through of him through those glacial eyes begged him. „Erase everything that is in my head and fill it with you—“ Even more eager through thoughts that urged him, through that quickly beating of his heart in its bone-cage, to take that step and leave behind what he should have shed long ago. Eager; he could not wait any longer and instead was the one moving in.

Their hands were at his nape, and their gaze had fallen over him like a heavy curtain, stealing all other sights from him. Because in that instance, Alexander was all he could see, and all he’d ever need to see again. There were no candles or shadows wavering in the corner of the room. No hills in the purview of the window, nor stars or moon– only the light of their skin in the darkness. The flush of their lips and the silver gleam of their eyes the only trace of color left in the entire world. Closer, closer, the gold coin spun in its socket and glimmered, mirroring the strange gallop in his chest. There were horses tumbling from his ribs, crying out in painful ecstasies as they rushed and pushed, spurring him to grab and pull the other to his chest. He’d restrained himself up to that point, he realized, not wanting to succumb to wickedness in the face of such virtuous and clean beauty. Duke knew himself to be a monster, but his heart was just big enough to be careful of someone so immaculate, and of not being like– 

The breath of urgency behind Alexander’s voice, the heave of their chest and shoulders, thrilled him beyond imagining. He’d thought of them gasping beneath his fingers before, had fantasized what it would be like to taste and claim them as his own. But this was greater than any vision, stronger than any pleasure half-felt in his dreams. They had closed in for his mouth, but Duke had been quicker, pressing their lips together with a burgeoning hunger. He wrapped his arms tightly around the other man, practically lifting them to deepen the kiss even further. 

Already he felt that his body was begging with the same frantic urgency, his flesh seething, the fire borne of his loins surging outwards and making him sweat. He broke away slightly, just enough to whisper against their teeth. 

“Say my name.” He placed further pressure at the small of their back, pressing their hips flush to each other, hinting, questioning, no longer sure of how to leash himself. “Say it, think it, tear it apart, do whatever you want– it’s yours as much as I ask you to be mine.” 

Another kiss, just as voracious as the last, as he thought of their bodies blended together, blurred in the pitch of nightfall. “Say that you’re mine. Even if you don’t feel it- just say it tonight.”

[estarion]

my birthday is in nine days. if you owe me a gift, i'll let you know in an addendum beneath this notice. shitty offerings will be set on fire and catapulted at your tent. thank you. — ASTARION.

[this-is-kremnos]

🎀(Althea) -

The priestess walked through the streets of Okhema, a place she rarely visited yet her name was known at every corner. Her name, that has circled Amphoreus since her ,,arrival". A priestess believed to be sent by the moon, giving faith to the people in troubling times. Barely anyone out there who hasn't heard the tales.

She stopped once she heard children's laughter. Walking over, she saw who she came to know as the youngest Chrysos Heir. She has heard all kinds of stories about him, stories that she can neither prove or debunk as she has never met him personally before. For now she can only observe.

((ooc: She's fairly new so she doesn't have info on my profile just yet so I'm just gonna give a very short summary. She is referred to as ,,Moon-Blessed Priestess" but really she is cursed with immortality and possessed by an entity. Amphoreus isnt the first planet she has been to, she just spreads faith and positivity amongst people.

Mydei never actually asked to be a parental figure to the kids of Okhma, nor did he try, but the little kids couldn't help but try to swing off his arms or ask for advice on being mighty warriors told of Castrum Kremnos' past.

Of course, he may not look happy, but a little smile cracks here and there when he puts one of the kids down who climbed atop his back to laugh. Besides, maybe these kids needed someone to entertain them when he recognized many as orphan refugees from the other cities wiped out by Nikador or Aquila.

"That's enough now, you should head back or else your parents and caretakers will get worried." Yet all the kids around him still asked for more stories of warriors, where he gave one a pat on the head with his armored hands. "Next time. They say Aquila doesn't like kids who stay out too long, and eats them." With that, the kids fled off, some laughing as they still tried to discuss which warrior from the past was the strongest on their way home.

That's when arms cross, glancing over to see the priestess he often hears in discussions at the bathhouse.

"If you wanted to talk, you just say something. Staring is rude."

[warrmonger]

his sigh is more akin to a huff than a breath, his lips twisted into a scowl. the cup of coffee at his lips is cold and his boots are wet with snow. considering it's barely ten, he's already been mistaken for an 'evil santa' twice this morning. oh how he loves the holidays.

"santa claus-" he muses, a grumble neath his breath "do i-" his thoughts almost run away from him, almost cause an 'outburst'. tongue held, he can only remain silent for so long before he finally snaps - words a growl and the coffee now in the trash. "do i look ANYTHING like that awful fairy tale-!? i-i-" he stutters, is in disbelief at the utter audacity of it "i have not ONE grey hair on my head - just for a start-!"

[courcgecus]

" My goodness, what a weather... the window is almost blocked with snow... "

[blinclance]

♪  -  ❝ Who is it now...? ❞ Usually, Ballora recognized anyone familiar by sound. But right now, she hasn't paid attention until hearing the entrance open. Dwelling in her own thoughts.

❝ ...can't you see, I am at the verge of a great artistic despair? ❞ || @itsshcwtime

[meadowlarksabove]

@caesaremvehis:

„So he wants to take you with us.“ A familiar voice. Even though the time it had been heard first it had sounded in lightheartedness and good-will, guiding conversations with unsavory comments and unbefitting jokes, in between the occasional laughter to feign and comity. Its tone was a little lower now but also more serious, in a strange way, as though there was more intent than just keeping their conversation quiet and away from possibly prying ears. In his own ambiguous way, Sostratus made it clear enough that he was questioning that very decision of his Legate. Having spent considerable time among people, he had absorbed the myriad stories and grim whispers that shaped the reputation of the Frumentarii – this one in particular. The Praetorian was not a man easily swayed; he was acutely aware that one should not take every claim at face value. Yet, he also recognized that rumors often came to be holding a kernel of truth. He was silent for a moment. Making no secret of eyeing the contents of the tent of the other man. He did not dare enter but stood before the entrace. „You think that is a good place for you to be? Yuma.“

The tent was practically empty, void of any personal effects, and stripped down to its barest essentials. Even of its shadows, as his candle caught almost every corner by the fanning of its wick. A small table and its matching chair were the only strips of color in the entire space. The rest were weapons, packs of supplies and whole sets of armor. Not his, but of the other frumentarii that frequently passed the Fort, and who made use of the tarp as their stop. Vulpes had given him ownership of the cot, but nothing more. The closet room in the dungeons should have been more than enough to satisfy a need for privacy, an assertion he’d accepted with the same indifference as his current charge.

Carefully, Gabban worked the needle and thread through the fur, tightening a seam along the underside of a snout. An ugly thing, this cowl, yet how revered by its owner and their followers. It had been in the hand of their master once, bestowed onto Vulpes as a sign of honor, and so finely cared for it barely ever needed fixing. Still, flesh and smoke had a way of wasting things in their presence, projecting their impermanence on well kept cloth. He raised the dog head in his hands slightly, taking a better look at the gaped maw which hugged the princep’s face when worn.

Though his eyes were focused, his hands skilled and swift in labor, he’d indeed listened to the praetorian. What a strange question. You think that is a good place for you to be? He understood the rivers flowing beneath the words, the wild currents of suspicion, the mistrust. His work had never inspired confidence in anyone. Yet the wording was interesting. As if he were ill and dying, the carrier of a plague looking for a new land to infest. Gabban wondered then what the other men said when he had left the table…

“I hear the days are especially bright but pleasant there, and since I mostly work underground, I’ve lacked sunlight all this time. It would be a nice change for myself.” He looked up briefly, meeting their eyes.

“You can come in if you like.”

[amberedcorpse]

@malefikant: It is a thing the man dressed in all black does, peel himself from the shadows whenever there are some. Now on his horse, just appearing and coming to a halt right beside where Duke and his Pasofino stood. He is quick to get off the saddle and even quicker in cupping Duke's face, pulling him in for a quick kiss, because the day has been long and he still has some arrangements to do before the deep night, but there is always time to take a moment and let this very man know how strongly his heart beats just for him.

Alexander had torn away the pall that’d briefly settled over his head with a mere kiss, erasing any and all of Duke’s thoughts for the bliss of a moment’s respite. He wrapped his arms tightly around their waist and pressed them fast to his chest, lifting them slightly as he deepened the lock. This angel hailed from out of the darkness, how easily their presence had swept him from his troubles, and even soothed the needle pricking of his memories which were quick to remind him of the face he carried by birthright. 

“My love.” He growled against their lips, casting a warm look over their long lashes and down the prettiness of their face. “My heart’s been cold without you.” 

As cool as the winter upon the valleys and the ice that gathers along the rivers. “How much longer do I have to wait until you come back and stay?”

[estarion]

　　　“ you’re a slut. a whore. a bitch. a bastard. i hate you. i will KILL YOU ! ” ( he’s screaming at a button that snapped off his doublet. )