apogexnarchive

[apogexnarchive]

I haven’t officially posted it on here, but I have essentially pretty much moved Vasilija over to @kingoftheravens alongside the other requestable muses available over there. I’m not discontinuing threads, merely moving them over. So if people are still interested in interacting with her you can find her over there now! Still welcome to send her memes and such there you just have to specify it’s for her!

[apogexnarchive]

I haven’t officially posted it on here, but I have essentially pretty much moved Vasilija over to @kingoftheravens alongside the other requestable muses available over there. I’m not discontinuing threads, merely moving them over. So if people are still interested in interacting with her you can find her over there now! Still welcome to send her memes and such there you just have to specify it’s for her!

[apogexnarchive]

"You are precious to me. Nothing will change that."

Vasilija's gaze swept over the familiarity of Crow's features, lingering on his beautiful eyes. Somewhere in her icy cold core was the fluttering sensation of a million butterflies frantically seeking an exit. It was enough to produce a friction of heat, something to melt a portion of her hardened shell. A hand reached up to tenderly trace a knuckle along Crow's cheekbone just as she stretched to kiss him.

"As you are to me," she murmured against his lips.

[apogexnarchive]

MAGNI // @runaljod​

NERVOUSNESS begins to dissipate the longer Magni stands within her presence ( though he knows the possibility of threat looms just on the outer edges of their conversation – he is no fool ). Though it pleases greatly, to see that she ACCEPTS the blade with much more than disgruntled acceptance ( as was his fear ). HONEYED-HUES watch the inspection of the weapon, rays of the sun glistening upon the blade to match the SPARKLE of her eye. A single brow quirks as CRIMSON wets the crevasses of her palm, and bottom lip is taken between his teeth ( he should have expected this, as it were – and surely there were plenty of deities who longed for the offering of blood. though he was not among them ). A clearing of throat rattles though his sternum, light SHRUG coming in response, ❝ – many places. The blade forged by a Celt I hold dear. The handle, whittled somewhere in IRELAND. I lose track of places, their names. I hope it will be USEFUL to you. ❞

“Ireland.” The words confirmed what eyes could see, pinpointing the finer details of the hilt that suggested Celtic influence. “I traded with them often when I was a captain. They have good alcohol. Good people, too. Some of my crew mates were Irish.” It was perhaps the most information she’d ever offered of herself to Magni. Granted, it was about a time long since passed. You thought she was scary now, Magni, be grateful you did not know Captain Vasilija.

The dagger was carefully tucked away, then, on her person. Locating an empty sheathe in her boot that fit the blade wonderfully. “Oh, it will certainly be useful,” she purred. “I regret that I have nothing to give you in return. What do you like?”

[apogexnarchive]

Vas about to fight. Hati following right behind her to back her up.

[apogexnarchive]

This tiktok cover/song is peak Vasilija vibes.

[apogexnarchive]

"There is only one person I want in my bed, Vasilija, and I ignored that desire out of concern I might find myself hurt the morning. Now that she's in front of me-.. The regret of never knowing the feeling of her skin under my lips would hurt far worse than any blade shoved into my ribs."

It was perhaps the most poetic thing anyone had ever said to her. Well, poetic and genuine. Gemina's open honesty could be easily taken advantage of, turned and twisted as if it were the brutal cutting edge of a knife. The siren had no interest in this. Stirred by a curiosity matched by an equal burning flame of desire, Vasilija's pretty mouth inched itself into a satisfied smirk.

"I'll believe it when you show me." It was at once a tease, a test, as it was an open invitation. She closed the distance that separated them, leaning her face in just inches from Mina's mouth where that peek of vicious fangs could be seen. "I would hate for you to suffer."

[apogexnarchive]

HÆTTA

By no fault of her own, Vas was hidden from the very real, exposed nerve that she had touched by the Giant turning from her. How could the siren have known - they were not the type inclined toward such sentimentality in their friendship. She knew what was relevant. What was honest. But above all, what was immediate to them. They did not ruminate or reminisce, as mortals were wont to do.

His scent exhaled in an unsteady breath across the stallion’s nose, the mountain taking it into his hands. Through touch he could read a great deal; his Seidr pulsing from his bloodstream gentle as a flow of energy, giving back even as it took. The stallion was stock still for he. Eye to eye, head lowered and tilted for inspection, creature to King. The creature’s curiosity was something else entirely, vastly different from the calming, unflappable nature of Kitten.

It reminded him. Mouth thinning, even as joy swelled over the undercurrent of aches, the empty hole that sat on his chest. His response, when it came, was a thick husk,

“You honour mineself.” silence. Only the stock-still Giant, allowing the overjoyed mount, thrilled with the communication it was recieving, to press up to his chest, lipping at him. This needed further explaination, undoubtedly. Felt rude even, though he rarely felt it necessary to justify himself, to be shadowed by his stetson, “Forgive the inarticulation. I am unused to …”

What could he say. There was no silver-tongued phrase to cover what felt as if it could leap from his breastbone at any given breath.

Vasilija was not sure what to expect and therefore was neither surprised nor disappointed by the reaction she received. Even her usual confusion in the face of raw emotions, hidden or not, was missing. In reality, the trouble she had gone through to acquire this horse meant that anything other than stoic calm or displeasure was an accepted reaction. Expected, even. She took Hætta’s silence---his loss of speech---with pride and immense pleasure rather than confusion or hostility. While he processed this information, Vasilija watched him interact with his new stallion, intrigued by the care and attention given and received. Hætta’s ability with animals, specifically his steeds, had never gone unnoticed. Now, the siren watched with a veiled awe as man and beast’s silent interaction took place.

Out of curiosity and maybe even partial concern did Vasilija begin to slowly lean forward with the intent to see her companion’s face. Her own countenance was considerably softened, a rare moment of tenderness---she had given Hætta this gift not merely because Kitten needed retirement or because Kitten was too small for the bulk of the Jötunn, but because she was grateful to him in more ways than words could properly express. Words she wouldn’t be able to vocalize should she even try. This was her silent way of thanking him, of paying him back for the countless times he’d saved her ass or endured her unbridled chaos. It was a gift well deserved. And conveniently a useful one, too.

“You’re fine,” she hummed. “You don’t have to say a damn thing.”

[apogexnarchive]

Sorry! Been giving @kingoftheravens more attention than Vasilija since I’ve gotten his muse back in full. Gonna tackle a few drafts and (hopefully) my asks rn though!

[apogexnarchive]

HÆTTA

Even when they had known zilch about each other, there was an understanding without insight; Hætta and Vas were kin in small ways. And that worked for them, Norns knew how. Much like her - were it not attached to a more meaningful purpose - he was not afeared for his existence. When his thread was Fated to end, he would greet it. The rest. To feel nothing. He had earned that peace. Not a personal sentiment the ancient had ever voiced, one did not need to validate his peoples desire to see him die - they would not appreciate that his hackles and distance were not cruelty, nor greed for a life to go on forever. A burning curiosity and duty fueled him, and when they were done, he wished for an end.

Crimsons peered into the new expression from his companion, perked into wakefulness by her scent rising, a touch of sea spray in his throat,

 “You who so adores accusing mineself of stuffiness. And paranoia. Did you assume that was for mineself?”

Yes, she had.

It was a careful assumption. One she settled on if only to sate whatever curiosity burned in her core. Rather than interrogate him, she had simply settled for the obvious: he was just Like That. Anything deeper she shoved aside, refusing to entertain. There was no sense in “what if”s, no proper answer, and she recoiled at the notion of extravagant assumptions. To merely believe his stuffiness was a personality trait was far safer than exploring the millions of other possibilities.

Now, faced with a clear-cut answer, she had no idea how to respond or how to react. Vasilija’s distaste toward people in power was well justified: those massive empires that sought her head during her reign as a pirate, who contributed to the sufferings of millions of innocent lives, who traded human lives as slaves, took money from the poor, treated their soldiers and sailors like scum. She had no love for kings, queens, or prime ministers. Captain Vasilija would have reacted coldly to this knowledge; her experiences with powerful leaders too fresh to entertain the possibility of someone like Hætta existing. But now? The situation was different. She was calmer, less threatened by reigning tyrants, and she knew her companion far better. He was a friend. A well-earned title.

Vasilija sat back into her chair with a quick huff. Her eyes had turned from the elder to stare up at the wooden beams holding the ceiling aloft. There, a few well placed slabs of wood could successfully hold such an immense weight. The workings of physics, of gravity, a delicate balance between forces trying to combat one another.

“I guess so,” she finally said. There was no malice in her voice, only a faint weariness overlapped by dry humor. “Don’t tell me you’re a fucking king.”

[apogexnarchive]

DELANCOURT

Delancourt watched as Vasilija took the dagger. The once and possible still queen was nervous letting the weapon get so far away from her–it had not left her side for at least a century now–but she knew the woman would take care of it. The way she handle it as if it were a young bird she was trying not to frighten was evidence enough to that.

A soft smile curled Delan’s lips as the two spoke about Vasilija’s dagger. “Well, I suppose we have this in common then.” One she had been sure they would never find. But there was always a way to make friends, even with those that seemed so entirely opposite to one’s self.

As the question was put to her, the smile fell slightly. “No. I got close, once, but the situation changed,” Delancourt explained, “I’m not much one for fighting and weapons. I’ve been meaning to learn, but I’m much to occupied with my studies and the stars.” After the attack of the Darkness, she’d vowed to ever be helpless like that again. But there’d never been a situation or apt teacher who could help her resolve that. Though now…

“I don’t suppose you could teach me what to do with that?” Delan mused, motioning to the dagger.

The answer did not surprise Vasilija. The blade itself, while simple, seemed no different than Delancourt herself: it had not seen extensive battle, had little to no experience with the ways in which blood could stain, or the myriad of ways a cutting edge could be lethal. And Delancourt, a mouse, who had no need for knives and swords, preferring the company of her books above all. It was an obvious weakness, one easily exploited by the wrong people. Loki was similar in his distaste for violence, but even he knew the necessity of knowing how to fight.

Vasilija leaned forward, returning the dagger back to Delancourt with hardly a bat of an eye. It was perhaps no surprise at all that she was given the position as a silent weapon for the Raven King. Though he had no use for an army, she was its reigning commander. A venomous snake coiled within the mass of feathers: a secret weapon. Who better to instruct Delancourt on how to use a simple little knife than she?

“I could,” she said. Her cold eyes flicked to Loki, content as he was to sit and listen. “I can teach more than how to use a dagger.” Swords, guns, hand-to-hand combat, defensive tactics--- her repertoire was extensive. “If you would prefer more detailed instruction.”

[apogexnarchive]

drengiir

A PLEASED expression seeps upon his features, a subtle smile tugging at one corner of full lips. Had the dagger not been crafted SPECIFICALLY for this purpose, he may have kept it for himself ( it was certainly the finest bone work he’d seen in some time … and to her liking, he hoped ). Bottom lip is tugged between pearly whites, as he observes her REACTION with as much PATIENCE as he could muster. Laughter trickles from him, as broad shoulders lift in a shrug, ❝ there’s nothing I seek in return ; I saw it upon my TRAVELS and thought it fitting for you. Is it SHARP enough ?? ❞

She considered, rather meanly, making a violent joke. Something along the lines of “shall we test it?” whilst giving the poor man a look that proved what she really meant (”on you”). It was a passing moment abandoned to the side. The consideration was only due in part to his reaction toward her and not out of a legitimate wish to do him harm---his discomfort fed her more than a full banquet did.

But Loki liked him and, therefore, Vasilija did, too. The gift helped, though. Lifting the dagger again, she used the pad of her left index finger to delicately prod at the blade’s perfectly edged sides. It would slice through flesh like butter, she thought as that finger reached the threatening point of the weapon. She prodded it and pulled her hand away to inspect the droplet of blood that now marred the pale flesh of her fingertip. For a long second, Vasilija inspected her own blood. Her fascination with it equal to a child’s interest in bugs. A sort of wonderment. A curiosity. Sated, she drew the finger toward her tongue and licked the blood off.

“I would say so,” she cooed. “Where did you get this?”

[apogexnarchive]

‘Is the sea not your home?’

Home? Vasilija's look of incredulity was, for once, raw and open. As clear on her pretty features as her impassivity usually was. The idea of "home" was a foreign concept to her. That stability required, the comfort, the permanency. This was true even when she did live beneath the waves---there had been nothing stable, comforting, or permanent about living with other sirens. No, it was violent, tense, and dangerous. Despite what memories flashed behind those cold, blue eyes, Vasilija never spoke of this portion of her past. Never vocalized how terrible her kind truly was.

The siren turned her gaze away, fixating on the textured bark of a tree some feet across from her. An American elm. She could tell by the studded trunk, the tapered point of the leaves. It was partially lit by the flickering flames of the fire they had built, a soothing white noise in the otherwise quiet outlands. Vasilija's knife was in her hands. Where before she had been fidgeting with it, studying the way the firelight danced across the shining blade, now she held it in a vice grip, stilled by thought.

"Hell no." There was a niggling feeling in the back of her mind, the dulling images of her ship, The Siren when it still rested proudly atop the waves. That was the closest thing to a home she had ever had. Perhaps, by proxy, that made the sea her abode. A distant home purposefully kept arm's length. It was a different existence living atop the sea rather than inside of it. "Even if it was, I can't go back. They'd rip me to shreds."

[apogexnarchive]

❝ My word, you truly are as strong as they say! ❞ ~heldrottning

RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE || ACCEPTING !!

The compliment crudely left aside, Vasilija arched a pretty red brow and asked, "Who's they?"

In her hand was her favored dagger, the sharpened blade reflecting the crisp, afternoon light. Her fidgeting was almost mechanical, turning the weapon this way and that between her lithe fingers or tossing it lightly in order to catch it mid-air. Vasilija's strengths did not lie in the physical. Yes, she could immobilize a full-grown man with her whole body, but it required precision, the correct movements in the proper order to successfully make her much smaller frame take down a considerably larger one. Even then, she could not do this to Loki. She'd tried. He was too strong. Like a fucking mountain. In the end, she looked like a goddamned monkey clambering onto some giant tree.

So, her capabilities were skill, not strength. She supposed where her true talents lied were mentally. A soul (if she even had one) incapable of breaking. Too stubborn to. The siren was fueled by spite and spite alone.

"Your father's the strong one."

[apogexnarchive]

Guillaume Zaracas

[apogexnarchive]

For my side/// @warprincess

❝ speaking of foolish questions, who — what are you? ❞  

RESIDENT EVIL VILLAGE || ACCEPTING !!

Oh, the answers she could provide. Your worst nightmare, a terror, a menace, a predator among prey. It prompted a laugh, at once genuine as it was edged with a thinly veiled malice. If a wolf could laugh, it would sound much the same.

"A siren," she hummed, the beginnings of a smile curving her pretty mouth upward. "As for who-- Vasilija."