astarab1aze

[astarab1aze]

tally is the son of the goddess of justice and she sort of uses him as a pawn in the war against mausza - this doesn't mean she doesn't love him, but it does drive a wedge between them, and he loathes that he ends up playing into the leighis' hands. ultimately, it doesn't matter too much as this leads him to becoming the very first of loux's - upon ascension - followers, devoted to sunfire's passion and ambition. he doesn't particularly like him, but he does see loux as a sort of necessary evil, a sword and shield against the horrors of worldeaters and sanguinarian necromancers. the fire to fight other fires and win - you really can't argue with results.

[astarab1aze]

i'm absolutely normal about certain doctor

[astarab1aze]

➵ 'Tally', voice of the sightless queen

⸻Profile Information. // Name, Age, etc.

Name. [ Redacted ] Tal'Izahri Maènne Alias. Tally, High Oracle, Oracle of the Sightless Eye, Voice of Justice, Lord Oracle, Master of Eyes, the Spider

Sex/Gender. Male / Male Age. [ Redacted ] Birth Date. August 1st ; Leo

Race. [ Redacted ] Marital Status. Single Orientation. Bisexual

Residence. He does not live in Altus, though he does visit frequently to monitor its modernization and adoption of Blind Path values in favor of Sanguinarian. He spends much of his time traveling and does not have roots anywhere outside of the Leighis' temple.

⸻Physical Information. // Body, Equipment, Family, etc.

Physical Description. He is about 5'10'' and stands with regal posture, well-built and toned. His skin tone is a warm medium brown, rich and smooth with rosy gold tinting. His hair is long, shaggy, and pulled into a low-and-loose choppy ponytail, thick, dark umber. His eyes are almond shaped and sharp, pupils ever narrowed to slits in creamy yellow irises flecked with burnished gold - seeing and knowing far more than let on. He appears gentle and friendly in demeanor though there is always something brewing under the surface. He has no blemishes or visible scarring, though he does have a stylized golden tattoo of words forming the shape of a lion-head dragon coiling around his right arm, which will grow to cover more of his body as his grimoire expands. Tally can be seen wearing a variety of highly stylized if fashionable clothes, though never the same outfit twice.

Equipment. [ Redacted ]

Occupation. Officially, the Chosen Oracle of the Leighis (Sightless Eye); [ Redacted ] Job Performance. Seen as a worthy successor to the previous Oracle, perhaps even better, as he spends more time among 'the people' than his priors.

Parents. [ Redacted ] Siblings. [ Redacted ]

⸻Personality Information. // Likes, Strengths, etc.

Likes. Pretty things, beaches, mosaics, the Mediterannean, kelpies, dancing, bloodwine, sunlight, liminal spaces, forgotten spirits & gods, birds of paradise, gold (as a color), basking, lions, necromancers, lion-head dragons, lemon cream soda, the old tales of Sunjatta, Turish breafast, magic, gossiping, etc. Dislikes. Violent criminals, Sanguinarians, non-funerary ecromancy, blasphemers, techno, computers, DRS interference in Blind Path affairs, Mausza, scarbuncle cheese, blacwyrms, ingratitude, Sanguinere, human holidays, money, disobedience, executions, sleeping, dogs, all mentions of his private life, etc.

Positive Traits. Friendly. Gracious. Honorable. Devoted. Calculating. Decisive. Fair. Just. Understanding. Polite. Kind. Philosophical. Nostalgic. Hopeful. Faithful. Principled. Negative Traits. Secretive. Guarded. Deceitful. Melancholic. Prideful. Distrusting. Judgmental. Self-abandoning. Punishing. Plotting. Retributive. Little bit of a hypocrite.

Goals. To pave the way for the Leighis' reclamation as the dominant Fate. Desires. [ Redacted ]

Alignment. Lawful Neutral

Personality. Homesick for a home he's never known, Tally focuses much of his energy on trying to make the world he lives in match his ideal of the fabled original home of all nightfolk. He's a good and virtuous man, devoted to the path the Sightless Eye so graciously set out before him. He is unquestioning yet knowing, seeing far into the future when the likes of him no longer walks the earth - a prophecy to be fulfilled, in which his faith is unshakeable. Nothing matters more to him than seeing Her prophecies come true, though there is a hollowness inside him. Virtue slowly sinking into despair and bitterness. He follows Blind Path tennets faithfully, but he is tired. So tired. Still he is good to others, offering second chances and blessings aplenty, help or discipline where either were needed, and he is secure and ardent in his values, however unclear they seem to be. He believes in justice above all, levying judgment in terms of fairness to all involved - what that means is entirely up to the Sightless Eye herself, though all things are generally taken in a case-by-case manner and investigated. In another life, Tally might've been a great detective. He is withdrawn and somewhat difficult to crack open, but he is otherwise generally soothing to be around.

⸻Sorcery Information. // Affinity, Talent, etc.

Affinity. Sound and Divination - he relies on his magic for quite a lot as his eyesight is steadily failing, having sacrificed both to the Sightless Eye in accordance with Blind Path tradition; He uses sonar and echolocation in the night, but has mastered the affinity in a number of its forms, song, command, simple manipulation, etc. Even if he prefers to keep his hands clean, he is formidable in a fight.

Shapeshifting. The only publicly known form Tally takes his that of a scorpion. The rest is-- [ Redacted ] Utility. [ Redacted ]

Specialization. Sound & Fury - or otherwise a combination of vocally psychic magic and the divine will of the Sightless Eye, goddess of justice and light ; This enables him to use psychic magic through mere vocal commands, which is a form of magic sometimes referred to as Hysteria or Command, laden with the unimpeachable Voice of Justice (this is technically redacted also).

Graduate School. [ Redacted ] Classification. Officially, the Oracle of the Sightless Eye :)

⸻Background Information. // History, etc.

just want this down to establish him; i got chores to do alas

[astarab1aze]

➵ What are you seeking?

acceptance

"i look in the mirror and don't recognize the face staring back." // oh, little songbird, when did you stop singing? why do you let yourself fade into the background, so sure you're not worth seeing? who convinced you that you are nothing but empty air? for as long as you can remember, you've screamed at the sky to be noticed, to be seen, but that never quite worked, did it? so you accepted your role. you learned to bite your tongue, to watch, to fade away. it's easier that way, isn't it? better quiet than ignored. at least this way, you have some control over the situation. but it stings, doesn't it? the more you quiet yourself, the more you force yourself to fade away, the harder it is to reach you. you're losing yourself...and that terrifies you, doesn't it? what you seek is acceptance, to be seen and loved and listened to. and, little ghost, you deserve it. you are worth knowing. i see you. now let others do the same. step into the sunlight and sing, little one. i believe in you.

tagged by: @gloryundimmed ♥ tagging: @kingsl1ayer / @soulcarved / @stanislawkowalski / @lured-into-wonderland / @vulpesse / @inseparableduo / and anyone else that would like!

BONUS

forgiveness

"what should i apologize for; what i am or what i'm not?" // oh, little hero, how close are you to crumbling under the weight on your shoulders? how heavy has that heart of yours gotten? how deeply has the guilt burrowed into your bones? how permanently has the grief been seared into your soul? you were so tender, and the world so cruel. loss after loss after loss, each another chip on your shoulder. because you deserved it, didn't you? if you could be better...faster...stronger...smarter...then maybe it wouldn't have happened. right? the blood stains your hands, and it won't wash out will it? but darling, it's never been your fault. you've learned to turn the rage and the regret, the guilt and the grief, inwards. if you're hurt, it's your own fault isn't it? because then there's a reason for it, because it gives you some semblance of control, doesn't it? what you seek is forgiveness, for your perceived wrongs. but oh, little skeleton, you do not need it. stop blaming yourself for what was beyond your control. let go of the past. grow. and learn to breathe with both of your lungs. stop choking on your own self hatred. the weight will ease, i promise. i love you.

[astarab1aze]

Send 🧠 to telepathically overhear one of my muse's thoughts!

[astarab1aze]

Money grubber 🫰🤑

Uncensored on my 🔞Patreon!🔞

[astarab1aze]

Sogami Urie (楚神 ウリエ) | Dance with Devils E10

[astarab1aze]

also: loux has jacob's ladder piercings, the ability to shapeshift into literally whoever including 15 different versions of himself, and, canonly, two dicks.

[astarab1aze]

a little romance / @seetsunaai

A haze dances about Faith's form beneath his fingertips, soft pink light highlighting the flecks of glitter on rapidly gyrating hips. His body twisted and swayed to the low hum of pretty but nondescript music and a crowd of chattering patrons, palms easing over sheer tulle and the floral lingerie peeking out from underneath - pretty as ever in red and black fabric chosen specially for him, as a gift he probably hadn't deserved. But it was his last night at the club, his check would arrive in the mail; What was the harm in celebrating and being a little spoiled, rub it in all their faces?

It's not like anyone else would touch him again. He belonged to someone now, wore the garments he picked as subtle declaration perhaps only Morgan would have the wit to notice; Leaving this place, this life behind was all he'd wanted for much longer than he ever planned to admit, and now he had an opportunity to be with a man who...maybe wouldn't let him live this way anymore. So he threw his weight into his hips, moving across the stage in elegant sweeps, accentuating every curve and blushing stretch of (minimally) bared skin with a fluttering sway of his tail.

Wherever he was in the crowd, Faith hoped Morgan was paying attention. He wanted him to see the subtle buc and grind of his hips, how his lips parted when he rolled his head, how the light illuminated the barest shape of what hid beneath his clothes. He wasn't dancing to seduce a horde of men but spending his last few minutes as a dancer to seduce his dominant, to show him that even in the bowels of city nightlife, Faith was his.

But, in time, his final dance had come to an end - it wasn't as profitable as it normally would've been, but he was fine with that. His ankles were sore and the soles of his feet strained as he walked, yet that hadn't deterred him either. No, he was too busy rushing, changing into the fresh set of clothes he'd brought in the locker room - something...suitable for a proper evening out; He wasn't going to find Morgan wearing anything less than the best: His signature skirt and crimson button-down, what he wore the night they met.

When he was ready, he poked his head out of the locker room, workbag tucked under his arm, and scanned the club floor for any signs of tall, handsome, and black & white. A sea of faces between them. He bounded forward on his feet, boots thudding softly on the thin carpeting, weaving betwixt figures and shapes that simply did not register as anything more than humanoid blurs - hard-focused on finding Morgan. He wanted to see him, hear every word he had to say, eat right out of his hands.

When at last he found him, Faith smiled wide.

[astarab1aze]

moan~ because do you know how CRAZY Kai would go if he caught Loux moaning his name like that???

Long fingers kneaded ecstatic flame into his thigh as he writhed in place, dark red searing into his skin under taut pressure and the slip of sweat other fist occupied with shoving enough fingers inside a wanting black hole to mimic even half the feeling Kai could milk from him. Lips and teeth both chapped and too sharp for him yet all he could envision sinking into his skin, fingernails clawing at the length of his spine while hips snapped into his own - desperate and needy but of a brutal kind he wasn't like to easily walk away from. Kai had a way with himself that hit every nerve, left Loux to writhe in his own bed with an indescribable want he couldn't fingerfuck himself out of if it killed him.

Nothing felt like him. Knobby knuckles brushed against a sensitive pad of nerves and he heaved, clenching his teeth to the point a tooth may well have cracked. Still, that didn't stop Loux from daydreaming, arching his spine and crying out in both frustration and misery that Kai wasn't the one filling him up. He thought of his fingers and how they felt buried down to the knuckle, how tightly they squeezed around his shaft and teased at his piercings, how that mouth suctioned right to him and made him quiver without relent - how no matter how hard he tried, Loux was helpless. Hopeless, utterly ruined, and crumbling at the thought. It almost didn't matter he was only afforded use of his fingers.

Taing a deep breath the hand at his thigh shifted and looped around his dick, hard and twitching unrepentantly. Maybe it was wrong to lie there and stroke and finger himself to a thought, but he was never going to cum if Kai wasnt involved somehow. Little satisfied Loux beyond his lovers inclusion in...just about every aspect of his life; It wasnt complete without him. It was boring. Pointless. Monotonous and tame. His only joy, the weight of Kai's body slotted between his thighs, knees parted and ankles set upon his shoulders-- His hips jerked sharply, chasing the relief his heated palm had to offer.

It wasn't enough. It was never enough. But fuck, if only, if only it were him. If only those molten eyes were burning into his skin, hands bruising his hips, pulling his hair until his nose stung, nipping, biting, claiming what so rightfully belonged to him-- He imagined he was, that the slick of his own sweat was merely Kai's drool leftover from myriad hickies and gnaws, or even paint-smears of cum, he didn't care. He fucked into his fist sloppily, rocking his hips between fingers and palm in rapid shaing bucks.

His head lolled back into his orange pillows, and he redoubled his efforts, chest tightening with every panting breath. An inconsollable flame burned within him, fraying at his nerves, cloying and sacharine as he scissored himself open and spread his fingers. He blushed then, lifting his head if only to peer down and watch himself struggle in the moment to take it.

But a familiar scent cut through the noise of his thoughts, a hazy storm lifting - safe harbor in a man waiting, trembling on the other side of a cracked door. Busy earlier, Loux hadn't wanted to get too in the way of Kai's work, turning to other things to keep himself...entertained; Maybe he'd finished. Maybe he was standing right there, watching, listening, palming himself through his jeans--

"Shit, Kai-"

A tight gasp and broken cry of Kai's name, the thought and scent combined sent him over a cliff, mindlessly dragging his fingers across his most sensitive of nerves and all but clenching his shaft. His balls tightened between his thighs. Stormy gray, half-lidded and rimmed with saline, hovered over the doorframe, fluttering in tandem with his thrumming pulse.

Cum dribbled between his fingers, so much coating his hand. An idea came to him, despite the frantic heave of his chest and muddling of his mind. He was surprised he could come up with anything at all, though to be more enticing to his mate... Maybe that was all he had the mind for, even if at the risk of looking stupid twice. What if he wasn't there? Didnt matter.

The faintest of grins pulled at worry-bitten lips as cum-laden fingers dared to push between them, tongue slowly, hotly lapping up the salty-sweet mess. After all, it was never enough - not without him - and how better to sweeten the pot than by cleaning himself off? Softly muttering Kai's name like a carnal mantra, a hushed prayer pleading for mercy.

"Even when 'm alone, i's still only you tha' can make me cum," he huffed, his pants tapering off. "Ain'tcha gonna do it again?"

[astarab1aze]

send "moan~" for my muse to call out your muse's name while pleasuring themselves.

Alternatively, send "moan for me~" to be the one making my muse moan your muse's name.

[astarab1aze]

super friendly reminder: just in case; loux is my most unhinged muse so any interaction with him is bound to be obnoxious, flirty, possibly violent, but potentially full of magic and vulnerable moments and also a complete idiot who's willing to humiliate himself publicly to make someone happy-- he is as good as he is evil, as messy and problematic as he is intensely protective and considerate. he's a walking contradiction and likes to be annoying. there are a lot of reasons he is this way, but bottom line, he is this way. terrible terrible person capable and guilty of murder - unfortunately also a fantastic lover and bestie if you let him.

[astarab1aze]

Lingering smoke billowed around the fox, drifting about his narrow frame as if aiming to shield him, curtain him with a warning. He allowed the stranger watching to speae, even allowed him to approach - if Loux respected anything, it was balls. And this taller, perhaps more shadowy figure seemed to have them in spades if he was willing, or rather, happy to set foot in an alley littered with flame-burst bodies and gore painting the walls. Maybe Loux just liked to be praised besides; It wasn't easy being who or what he was, an animal by all accounts yet more - bigger, scarier, inevitable and insatiable.

Curiosity bade him keep quiet and listen. Poetry seemed to be the stranger's way - art. Prayer, rather, his voice a softer call to reverence and something more, sinister and foul yet that which a cunning devil would already know well.

No surprise this man had been the boss of this gang of worthless rabble now reduced to puddles and masses of broken bones and loose organs if not burned to piles of ash, though unexpected. Where or who a boss was had never registered as important to Loux - only that he got his due respect from the lesser dregs while conducting his business, however wild and unpredictable dangerous it tended to be. He didn't care about the finer details until they actually mattered, and he cared even less about collateral or the toes he'd always end up stepping on. But his money, his reputation, his entertainment were ever at the forefront of his mind, unerring on his warpath through the tragedy of living.

A maelstrom brewed between fox and man, but a tempest roiled in Loux's gaze, dark and gray and stricken with the tenuous nature of a beast turned devil. His index cut a short line in the air as the smoke dissipated in full, erecting a barrier on each end of the alley, masking their presence with mirrors and redirective magic - a trap, set for cat and mouse alike. If mutual curiosities were to be satisfied, so be it, but Loux would retain some measure of control and allow the man in a suit his delusions.

He stepped over a charred series of bones, shoes sodden with blood. His hand found his chin, thoughtfully wiping away steadily drying flecs of crimson, a dull hum rumbling in his throat.

"Yer a weird fuckin' guy," he offers plainly at first, as blunt as the scarred surface of his fist. Glamours let down as to focus best on manipulating his affinity, fox revealed for the mangled creature he was. Reverence was nice but it wasn't real - not yet. Would it ever be? Destined for godhood, but too far behind on the path. Some day, perhaps. "Swingin' on through like I won't putcha down th' same. Ballsy or stupid, I ain't sure wha' ye are."

Lucky for this goofy human, after all, nightfolk loved drama.

"Buh I respect it."

A Cheshire grin peeled across Loux's face, toothy and wide, inching ever closer as feet trudged through grime, trash, and human remains. He snapped his fingers again and within a few bats of his lashes, the mess of blood and gore clinging to his clothes and bare skin caught flame, sparks dancing about his frame, all of it vanishing in an instant. Something different about his fingers however, now tipped with sharpened claws - a weapon, always armed.

He'd picked up a few tricks from Sortia. Maybe now would be a good time to try them out, if the man wanted to witness what death really looked like in its untamed form - let them see, Loux thought again.

"You are a pair of eyes," he said, answering the man's question about his senses, smoothing out his language in the process. "D'ya really need to hear the answer, or would watching be answer enough? Seeing is believing, after all, and there's more to glean 'an words'll ever 'ave to offer. If you want death, I can give it to you a thousand times over, a thousand different ways...and you won't 'ave so much as batted an eye, though I think I'd like you better if you were down on your knees."

He licked his lips fiendishly, pressing his thumb and index finger together, heat and magic building beneath each claw.

"Take responsibility for the weakness of your men."

A step closer.

"Because God doesn't have a damn thing to do with this."

Nastka stood still in the murky embrace of the alley, a figure carved from shadow and silence, watching Loux with the kind of quiet attention one might pay to a fire—fascination masked beneath the calm of an ancient, unspoken knowing. The violence around him, brutal and unforgiving, was not an affront to his senses; no, it was strangely beautiful, like the dark poetry of destruction. Loux moved through the carnage, his hands stained with the artistry of death, leaving behind a tapestry of blood and ruin that, in its own twisted way, demanded reverence.

The bodies, twisted and broken, lay sprawled in the dim glow of flickering streetlights, the earth beneath them now a canvas smeared with the hues of violence. Blood pooled, dark and rich, like wine spilled across an altar, while the scent of burning flesh hung thick in the air—a heady fragrance that clung to everything, like incense in a forgotten temple. Nastka breathed it in as if it were the breath of some lost, sacred place, neither repulsed nor disturbed, but strangely at peace with it.

His gaze flickered from Loux to the wreckage, a soft smile playing at the edges of his lips. There was no fury, no anger for the carnage. These men, these new faces, had never truly been his. They had been little more than passing shadows, eager but untested, loyal only in the way that those who did not know better could be. Their loyalty was fleeting, like the wind that blows through a cracked window—an illusion, easily broken. They were beneath his notice. But Loux—Loux was something different. Loux was an element, a force of nature, sharp-edged and unyielding. And that, more than anything, intrigued him. The man was an artist of ruin, and Nastka saw the wild joy in it—the kind of dangerous elation that only those who had long shed their fear of the world could understand.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until it felt as though the very air itself held its breath. Nastka moved then, one step forward, each movement deliberate, unhurried. His gaze never left Loux’s, steady and intense, as if drawing him into the center of some quiet storm that had begun to churn between them.

Nastka’s lips curled into a smile, the kind that spoke of something far older than this moment, far deeper than the blood-spattered chaos. "I do not mourn them," he said, his voice a velvet rasp that seemed to curl around the words as they left his lips. "The new ones, they come and go like whispers on the wind. A fleeting blip in the shadow of something far more enduring."

His step was slow, like a predator closing the distance between itself and prey, but there was no rush. No need. The space between them narrowed, and Nastka felt the weight of it settle into him, the charged silence thick as the blood that pooled around their feet. His eyes, dark and unblinking, never wavered from Loux’s as he closed the distance, his presence growing, expanding like a tide that could not be held back.

"No," he continued, his voice deeper now, the words slipping from him like smoke. "I do not care for their lives." His smile deepened, dark and knowing, curling at the edges of his mouth like a serpent’s promise. "What fascinates me, duchu, is you."

Nastka’s hand reached out then, his fingers trailing the air like the whisper of a thought, and brushed against the edge of Loux’s shirt. The touch was light, a mere graze, but it lingered—lingered as if to see if Loux would pull away, to see if the man would break the silence.

"You tread this world," Nastka murmured, voice like ash drifting through candlelight, "as though it bloomed for your ruin alone."

His words slipped into the night like threads of silk unraveling in slow motion, meant not to pierce, but to bind.

"As though the sky once made a pact with your spine—and still bends for you when no one’s watching."

He paused, his gaze steady, deep as drowned stars. The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It pulsed. Breathed. "Tell me," he asked, almost idly, "did you sense me at the edges of your violence? Or am I only the quiet hum after your blade sings, the shadow that clings without name?"

There was no grief coiled beneath his tongue. No wrath in his chest for the blood left cooling in Loux’s wake. They had been nothing more than ghosts given form—already fading. But Loux? Loux was poetry. Violence written in a hand Nastka did not yet know, and that made him… almost reverent.

He stepped closer—not to touch, not yet—but to be near, as one stands before a pyre, not to warm themselves… but to remember what burning feels like.

His voice softened, dropped to a thread spun of smoke and sin. "Then come," he breathed, "and carve your gospel across this silence. Show me what you do when even God refuses to watch."

It wasn't challenge. It wasn't surrender. It was a door, opened without promise of return.

[astarab1aze]

loux is not this pale - but! he is still cute

[astarab1aze]

garrett memes because they're priceless: x - x - x - x - x - x - x