malfais-blog

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phantasmblessing:

Though he was loath to accept help with his task, he could not deny the quickly mounting throb in the top of his foot. At least being confined to his shoe would stifle the swelling, but at present he could not stop and examine it for anything broken. Something in the back of his mind urged him that there was, irritatingly.

This time, holding the coffin still with his knee once it was half-up on its counterpart, he slide the entire thing into place, and took a moment to double-check that the lid was secure.

Straightening, his mood dropped lower than the soil as he looked back on the remainder of his work. “Dara,” he corrected in a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “And, I would be most grateful for a second pair of hands, if you were so inclined, ma’am.” Under any other circumstances, he would have refused, but he had hardly shifted his weight and an electric bolt of pain shot up his leg. The easier he could finish moving the cadavers, the sooner he could get off his feet.

Ma’am? An eyebrow arched in a mix of amusement and surprise. The witch stood, dusted off her skirts, and carefully navigated to the bottom of the rocky hill, pale eyes trained on her new acquaintance. “Simply Anemone would suffice, dear - though I am partial to honorifics. They’re dreadfully hard to come by in these parts.”

She gestured to a crumbling wall overgrown with vines. Slender fingers curled  into a loose fist, and she drew her arm towards her chest. Leaves rustled as the vines snapped out of place, contorting and reaching towards the coffin like a withered hand, and moved the heavy object in place with ease.

Anemone clasped her hands before her, casual as one who had done something so ordinary as pour a cup of tea. Her magic was far from conventional. She assumed she had just made a terrible mistake in revealing it so casually - to a Mensis scholar, no less - though she didn’t feel particularly concerned.

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era aesthetics

BOLD all that apply!

MEDIEVAL: tired eyes. coffee stains on the table. listening to the bustle of the city. unmade beds. loose ponytails. sunlight seeping through the curtains. chapped lips. walking barefoot across the floorboards. dusty dictionaries. black and white reruns. huge sweaters. the ticking of the clock. hearing birds in the morning. fireplaces. falling asleep during class.

RENAISSANCE: freckles. the sun rising. watching the sea. taking shots of the city. historical museums. bright eyes. looking up at the clouds. walls covered in artworks. drawing in the middle of lessons. tracing your fingers on the sand. painting for hours. staying in uncrowded coffee-shops. worn paperbacks. messy braids. going to bed with your socks on.

BAROQUE: dark hair. a little sophisticated. always observing the world around you. intricate designs. high ceilings. extravagant musical pieces. dim lights. colorless photographs. fancy furniture. pale skin. hearing soft footfalls coming from outside the room. mischievous looks. bitten nails. candlelight dinners. dark shades of lipstick.

CLASSICAL: chandeliers. the clinking of a teacup. laced clothing. modern architecture. light hair. watching the view from the terrace. hidden birthmarks. drinking tea in the morning. wandering about in an empty building. botanical gardens. old films. ancient marble sculptures. expensive perfume. breakfasts in bed. reading about mythology.

ROMANTIC: compassion. short writings on scraps of paper. blushed cheeks. a bouquet of roses. reading collections of poetry late at night. loose hair. carpeted floors. attending operas. faint music playing in the background. staying under the covers until midday. the night sky. streetlights. picking flowers. dancing around in silk dresses. scented candles.

tagged by: @diemondsichel​ THANK tagging: do it

[malfais-blog]

phantasmblessing:

He had been half-way into a yawn before his gaze snapped in the direction of the voice, glasses still standing on end. The scholar squinted, unimpressed with the jest, crossed his arms over his chest, idly pushing his glasses back down onto the bridge of his nose. “Oh, yes,” he conceded to the stranger, voice heavy with irritation. “Much like the difference between a full cadaver, and an empty one.”

There wasn’t exactly the time to be mucking about with the locals. Exhaling a deep breath, he stooped again to lift one half of the coffin, prop it up on its partner, then rounded it to pick up the other end and slide it home.

At least, that had been the plan. The corpse inside listed to one side, so that when he tried to pick up the opposite side, he upended the entire thing’s balance, and it slipped out of his fingers, landing with crushing, dead weight on top of his left foot.

Standing bolt upright, he sucked in air through his teeth and swallowed the startled cry in his throat. Kos damned shite Choir fucker cunt-faced loons– Sighing out a wobbling breath, he bent down to carefully lift the coffin from the bottom again.

Undeterred by the man’s obvious annoyance, she allowed a light chuckle to roll from her throat. Everyone in Yharnam was cranky all hours of the day, it seemed. The scholars even more so. She could not escape it. Stoking the flames seemed a more interesting option than attempting to extinguish them. Anemone shifted, drawing her feet onto the hill and resting on an elbow in a partial recline.

“Indeed,” she said, picking at a twisting vine with a slim finger. “I presume the poor fools in those coffins are anything but empty.”

Crack. The coffin fell, landing in a rather unfortunate position atop the stranger’s foot. The look on his face nearly brought forth another laugh; she stifled it behind a tight-lipped smile. She observed the struggle for a brief moment more.

“Should you like some assistance, Sir Scholar, you need only ask. It may be a more pleasant option than a broken foot... Or not.”

[malfais-blog]

describe your muse as shittily as possible in the tags.

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Important character development question: would they lick someone’s hand if they tried to cover their mouth?

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— 8 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER !! ( repost, don’t reblog. )

ONE ( NAME / ALIAS ):  dae TWO ( BIRTHDAY ):  august 19 THREE ( ZODIAC SIGN ):  leo FOUR ( HEIGHT ):  5′3 FIVE ( HOBBIES ):  writing/rp, drawing, viddy games, documentaries and stupid reality tv, SHARKS!!!, annoying my cat by cuddling her when she’s trying to sleep SIX ( FAVOURITE COLOUR(S) ):  green, blue, pink SEVEN ( FAVOURITE BOOKS ):  the picture of dorian gray EIGHT ( LAST SONG LISTENED TO: ):  the eso menu theme hKJFJKF NINE ( LAST FILM WATCHED ):  annihilation TEN ( INSPIRATION FOR MUSE ):  UHHHH i honestly can’t remember but my love for evil magical ladies probably had something to do with it (also this pic) TWELVE ( MEANING BEHIND YOUR URL ):  short for malfaisant, which means malignant in french according to google translate. malfais apparently means evil so it works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TAGGED BY: @phantasmblessing​ thank u<3 TAGGING: do it

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don’t you see ?           how they writhe, writhe inside my head !

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I LIVE

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phantasmblessing:

With two people working, this task might have been completed in at least half the time– perhaps that was being generous: Dara’s arms quivered, reminding him that he in particular was not cut out for this sort of manual labor. How the people here in Hemwick did this day-in and day-out was beyond him. He was much more suited to everything that happened to the cadavers after this stage. Letting the box fall haplessly beside the one he planned to stack it on, he crouched to line up the lid again, using the side of his fist to pound it back into place.

Shaking his now sore hand, he straightened and stretched, then looked over his handiwork. Six coffins were stacked in three columns of two each, plus the latest was seven. “Kos damn it all.” He’d thought he was farther along than this. Left in the cart was another coffin, and two more cadavers wrapped in plain linen and gauze. Pushing his glasses up on end, he rubbed his eye sockets.

The sight unfolding before her was nothing short of amusing. Forbidden knowledge brought along a severe lack of physical prowess, it seemed. The witch often wondered why the scholars didn’t simply make their kidnappers partake in the more physically demanding aspects of their work; they were quite skilled at knocking poor, unsuspecting citizens about the heads, after all. Surely they could handle lifting a coffin or two.

She shifted upon her seat on a steep, moss-laden hill, legs crossed and pale hands placed daintily atop her knees. A flick of her wrist could relieve the stranger of his struggle quite easily. She would not, however, exert herself unprompted.

“’Tis quite different,” she quipped, “the weight of a coffin, and the weight of a Mensis scholar’s book, hmm?”

She knew better than to tease one of such a macabre profession... Not that hers was any better. Her words came casually, playfully - and yet she braced for a quick escape into the twisted wood, should one be necessary.

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Kitchen witch aesthetic~ 🌱

requested by anon

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tag dump