featheredire

[featheredire]

if u think about it rasmus and don juan are just opposite ends of how people act in fandoms. rasmus is the one that unnecessarily posts all his character hate and don juan is the one who says their precious cinnamon rolls can do no wrong :3c and then there’s richard he’s the only normal one 

[featheredire]

hotline miaaammiiiii

rips shirt

i’m so glad for buying

[featheredire]

@synthmama what u gonna do when u walk in and there’s an owl headed man wanking in ur living room 

[featheredire]

ras is just angry all the time bc he has a painful boner and no gf bc he’s a dead man inside an owl

[featheredire]

SYNTHMAMA.

           “How quaint,” Quinn remarks – said in such a way that the word ‘quaint’ could easily be swapped with ‘pretentious.’ Her mouth curls, but it’s only when the intruder swivels his head fully around to look at her that she gives pause. Takes a measured step back, gaze unflinching. The silence prolongs, here; stretches out as she weighs her options.

          “…. Okay. Fine.” She relents. The posture slacks, slipping away. “Let me just drop off my purse. Then we can talk.”

          She doesn’t wait for a response. Quinn turns on her heel, heading back to the entry way where her keys and purse are normally set on the credenza. Walks clean past it, and straight for the front door. 

           A SIGH  ---   it passes distorted, yet human - like enough to be unsuitable for the beak he speaks from. or perhaps it’s more of a scoff ?  certainly, the latter, because rasmus harbors little to no patience for games. alas, seems to be she has chosen to do things the difficult way. he rests back in the chair, idle for the moment as her footstep draw her farther. and if she had been present, perhaps she could have seen the way in which he vanished.             ❝  LEAVING SO SOON, QUINCY ?  ❞  posture relaxed, an arm propped against the door frame to sufficiently block her once it opens. what lies within his eyes doesn’t match, however, narrowing and borrowing, as if reaching to pluck something from inside of her.  ❝  I TOLD YOU TO SIT. IF YOU DO NOT LISTEN WE WILL BE FORCED TO PLAY MY GAMES. YOU LIKE GAMES, DON’T YOU ?  YOUR DOLLS ARE VERY LIFE - LIKE. I DON’T THINK YOU’LL LIKE MY GAMES.  ❞

[featheredire]

SYNTHMAMA.

      The air feels just a little bit colder; prickling under the skin, leaving her palms itching. She thought she’d long since made peace, coming home to a dark house and empty rooms. No husband, no son – just silence. 

                                                Except this time, it’s different. 

     “Then you should’ve known better and made an appointment.” There’s no hitch in her voice or stall in her gait. Quinn remains the picture of unflappable: purse slung over the bend of her arm, keys gleaming in her palm. And yet, her pulse spikes. And yet, she feels her breaths drawing thin at the sight of the intruder. Her other hand sinks into the confines of her purse, fingers brushing against nickel plating.

     “My assistant’s off for the day, but I’m always happy to pencil you in. Say, next week, perhaps?”

             ❝  DON’T BOTHER WITH THAT.  ❞  he doesn’t have to look, to know :  the manner in which he sees extends far beyond the conceivable for most, but perhaps she will understand.  ❝  I AM BOTH LESS THAN YOU THINK, AND MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE.  ❞  physically, yes, but perhaps he’s referring to much more than that. is he ?  he’d like to think it stupid to disregard the notion.          head snaps to her, finally --- large, crimson - tinted eyes steadily trained on her. there’s a depth to them she cannot see, capabilities she will soon learn. after all :  there’s no hiding from rasmus, he sees all. and quinn ?  he’s certain she’ll soon face the dread and vulnerability that comes with exposure.  ❝  SIT. NOW. BEFORE YOU MAKE A BIGGER FOOL OF YOURSELF TRYING TO AVOID THE INEVITABLE.  ❞ 

[featheredire]

              SILENCE :  SOMETHING to cherish in these times, something one may not believe rasmus holds to such regard ‘pon acquainting with him. there are faint sounds, of course  ---  absolute silence is a fictional product, a lie told to keep ones thoughts distant. blunt fingernails scrape against the fabric of armrests he cannot feel, a restless tick that follows the subtle twitches and spasms of muscle. he’s waiting.         and patience pays :  click of a door, opening and closing. click of the lock, a faint jingle of keys, and heels against flooring. all the sounds of arrival, though he does not move. stills, for as much as his characteristic shake will allow, and he’s yet to move even as he speaks.  ❝  BUSY, ARE WE ? TIGHT SCHEDULE.  ❞    // @synthmama  

[featheredire]

richard doesn't speak to the others much - he is the ruler of the mind , the king on the center throne. only jacket pays attention to mostly him , the others outcast from the point of focus. but when the rooster-headed man does speak to them , there's never a nice word to put in ; but he never defends jacket. instead . . . he defends someone else. " you were wrong about the girl , rasmus , " a seemingly mocking voice. there might be a bit of a smirk upon animated beak , " nothing new. "

             RICHARD — POMPOUS COCK. rasmus holds no love for either of the other entities, though his tolerance for don juan was significantly greater. her weakness and insufferably calm demeanor was favorable to what richard brought to the table. and yet, there is a certain pecking order he must respect. the rooster was in charge, and neither he nor don juan cared to challenge that, accepting it as a necessary order to things. so when he speaks, they listen, and now in particular, richard is jostling him from his prior focus, sifting through records to replace the last.               respect, but no submission. feathers still become disrupted with a bitterness, snapping his gaze over.  ❝  WRONG ? HOW SO ? WHICH GIRL ? I WON’T SPEAK OF ANY GIRL !  ❞  back to the records, but his search becomes noticeably and increasingly irritated.  ❝  I STAND BY ALL I SAY. I HAVE GOOD REASON FOR ALL OF IT. THE TRAMPY ONE IS TROUBLE.  ❞  and he stops, slows, sets the box of records on the floor next to his legs and folds his hands in his lap.  ❝ TROUBLE. YOU MUST BE GOING SOFT. WEAK.  ❞

[featheredire]

touches feathers too because it’s the biggest Fuck You from jacket.

               TENSION RISES  —  it shows in the disruption of oft neatly - placed feathers, in the stillness of a form that near - always trembles with some restless vibration. disgusting, that he believes himself permitted to reach out and touch with those filthy, bloodstained hands, liable to poison everything those fingers come into contact with. ( it’s a wonder he hasn’t already caused that girl to whither and rot. )        he’s fast, always faster, a silent predator that sees all and catches all without fail. both hands around jacket’s arm in different places, clawing into the sleeve of his tacky, dirty letterman much as he does with the seat he resides on.  ❝  EVERYTHING YOU TOUCH IS SURE TO DIE. LOOK BACK AT YOUR HISTORY. HARM COMES TO ALL WHO FALL FOOLISH ENOUGH TO ALLOW YOU IN. YOU’RE FILTH, A MURDERER — DIRECT AND INDIRECT. IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE YOU KILL HER TOO.  ❞  a pause, head twitching into canted state.  ❝  LET ME HELP YOU SEE.  ❞   rasmus is up, then, but pulling forward. if jacket was so inclined to touch, so be it :   ras would make him feel just how life - like this owl’s visage was as his beak tore through his eyes.

[featheredire]

touches. his. feathers. what an asshole.

            SHARP SNAP of his head, twisting in a way most unnatural for the humanoid neck, body he possessed   —   head turns near the full one - eighty, eyes wide, boring. the movement is quick, and so is the hand that captures a much smaller wrist in a grip that borders on merciless.  ❝ YOUR ENTITLEMENT GRANTS YOU NOTHING.  ❞  that beak moves with each word, but it’s human - like, drawing away from expectation. human, thick with a russian touch, and distorted.       grip tightens, white - knuckled, and those eyes —  still wide, unblinking, never leaving the boy’s.  ❝  BOLDNESS SERVES NO PURPOSE WHEN YOU’RE BUILT FROM A CORE OF FEAR. OR IS IT INADEQUACY ? DISTANCE ? WHAT KIND OF MAN DO YOU HOPE TO BE, WITH ALL THIS FRAGILE CONFIDENCE ? ALWAYS SO FRAGILE … ❞  and he twists.

[featheredire]

rasmus would literally rather turn into an entirely solid entity and throw himself off six different bridges into traffic than let anyone touch his feathers

[featheredire]

eyeforsecrets said: Rasmus with a golf club?

YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!

[featheredire]

the way I see ras is that he has a very…….. meta perception. I translate “an eye for secrets” into his ability to see beyond what’s being presented to him – he can detect your secrets, your true thoughts and feelings. keep in mind, his existence isn’t always concrete. he isn’t always solid, he can appear and disappear at will. he’s a fragment of a mind, and he knows a lot more than any physical being would. he keeps as vague as the other two, most times, but he has a very clear tendency to implicate that he knows more than you want him to. overall, he’s very meta because he doesn’t need someone to tell him anything to know it. he reaches into their minds himself to claw at what they know and what they’ve done.

[featheredire]

rasmus, thru tears: my tail is big

[featheredire]

❝ I’ve lost too much. I’ve given up too much. I’m not even a person anymore. ❞

SCANDAL. accepting. // @lunarcries.

                 ❝  YOU’RE RIGHT.  ❞   were he feeling more jovial, perhaps he’d laugh. not with her, but rather, at her. at the melancholy she harbors, this pool of pity she’s drowning herself in as if waiting for someone to reach in and pull her out, too pathetic to do it on her own. instead, he settles with that same hard stare, snapping his cigarette with his beak until it flutters down to the floor, crushed under the heel of his shoe.          ❝  I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, THE SICKNESS ON YOUR HANDS. I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR EYES, WOMAN, YOU DISGUST ME. YOU’VE FORFEITED YOUR RIGHT TO BE ONE. YOUR LOSS MEANS NOTHING WITH THE LOSS YOU’VE CAUSED.  ❞

[featheredire]

❝ You keep secrets from me. You make me feel small. ❞

SCANDAL. accepting. // @hitline.

             ❝  YOU ARE SMALL.  ❞   if there’s anyone who could have him on edge like this, it’s him. even the rivalry he holds with the rooster - headed one bares nothing in comparison for his distaste for the rotten landscape of a mind they are born of. his feathers are bristling, mask seemingly twice its original size. he doesn’t take his stand often, only when sufficiently riled. rises to his full height, steps closer, nearly invasive with his approach, and there’s no effort in hiding the dangerous gleam in crimson - tinted eyes.         ❝  DOES HURTING PEOPLE MAKE YOU FEEL BIG ?  IS THAT WHY YOU DO IT ?  DO YOU FEEL BIG WHEN YOU’RE IN CONTROL, WITH YOUR HANDS AROUND SOMEONE’S NECK LIKE THE FILTHY KILLER YOU ARE ?  I BET IT DOES.  ❞  rasmus doesn’t tower, rather, he stands ever with jacket  –  give or take an inch or two given by adorning feathers. almost as if they are one in the same, despite his apparel. despite the form he holds :  if jacket wants to hate him, much like with richard, he will have to face the hatred of what they hold similar.  ❝  NOBODY IS KEEPING SECRETS. IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT IF YOU CANNOT FIGURE OUT THE TRUTH ON YOUR OWN. I WON’T HOLD YOUR HAND AND TALK YOU THROUGH IT.  ❞

[featheredire]

IF YOU THINK YOU’RE PUNK ENOUGH come follow this RUSSIAN OWL who can see EVERYTHING YOU DO and quite frankly, thinks you’re SICK. ( jacket need not come back. ) also this is a sideblog xoxox  – gossip rasmus