#stcrmskull

[sylencias]

“ we all have sins to pay p-penance for. ”

Miscellaneous Prompts

The fire cracked and popped. In the flames the logs shifted over the red coals. Grey ash fluttered upwards, rising with the pale smoke into a black night. The wind stirred in the trees, shaking the leaves with a chilling howl. Ripley’s tail smacked against her thigh in a mindless twitch. Curled behind her, he hovered on the boundary of sleep and waking. If she was bold, she’d follow him soon. Celia hooked her elbow around her knee. With a gentle breath she blew the wood shavings off her project. In the warm glow of the fire she surveyed her work. From the small block of wood she’d carve away everything that was ‘not rose’ and now she had something that was almost a rose. With careful strokes of her knife, working along the grain, she delineated petals, leaves, and thorns. Celia glanced-up at the minotaur across from her for a second. His white fur was stark in the dark. She sighed, shoulders heaving as her thumb smoothed over the coarse basswood.

“I know,” Celia said. She laid down her knife at her side. From a small kit she removed a different tool. Celia used it to scoop larger chunks of wood, deepening a notch. “I hate looking back and thinking of all the things I could do different, or change.”

Each stroke of the knife was permanent. Once Celia chipped or pulled away a splinter of wood, it could not be returned. She couldn’t go back three seconds before she made the erroneous move. Instead she had to live with her mistake. In the case of an askew thorn, she’d lop it off. Or a petal became thinner than before. The flower in its final form would tell a history of her slips and misjudgment. It would also tell of her skill and success. No matter how much she screwed-up, in the end it would still be a rose. There was no force that could change its nature now, not even if she threw it in the fire. It would merely become the ashes of a basswood rose. Even now, with her broken wrist and branded hand, Celia was still the same person. She just bore the marks of her mistakes. 

“Not that it ever does me any good,” She noted. With a flick of her wrist she brushed away the wood dust. “Regret is a sorry place to be stuck.”

[altuspavus]

@stcrmskull at 9'7 || okay goodbye dorian is going to jump into the nocen sea now || height meme

[airxn]

@stcrmskull​ inquired – His ear twitches. His head lifts. His gaze settles on the felicid, and his eyes narrow as he gives a snort of warning, "What. Do you have. In your m-mouth?"

        Claws sheathed he aimed to tread lightly around the minotaur. Don’t be suspicious– don’t be suspicious. The SNORT though… welp. Fur stood on end for a split moment. The Felicid FROZE in action. A paw hovering just before his next step.

        Straining his neck to look at the other. He tried to ignore the many strands of spaghetti hanging from his maw. All slathered in red sauce. From afar one could say he committed a crime.

               “ …Noodle. ”

[abracafockyou]

The Secret History | @stcrmskull​ said: ❛ Maker, it’s cold. ❜

“Is this the day I see another qunari huddle in a coat?” Rune teased, a grin pointed up towards the taller tal-vashoth. A clawed hand rose to rub against Areban’s biceps with light friction. “Shall I get you a blanket?”

[leocor]

Unknown

||@stcrmskull​||

The bubble of rolling and rushing river water drew Anara off the beaten path. She dismounted from Ruja’s back and took the reigns to guide the horse into a tree thicket. Branches crunched beneath hoof and boot as Anara picked her way over the roots. A creek embankment slopped down to a soft sand shore that sucked at Anara’s heels. The day sweltered in a deep noon heat and Ruja needed no encouragement to lower her head to drink. Anara knelt too, cupped her hands and drank her fill. She splashed water over her face to cool the warmth of her cheeks.

Ruja lifted her head, ears pricked forward. Without prompting she tugged free of Anara’s grip and forded the creek in broad strides. Anara gapped as she watched her horse clamber up a steep bank into a stand of trees. She hurried to follow. Anara crossed the creek, she jumped stone-to-stone, lost her balance, almost sprained her ankle in the water, and sloshed out with her pant’s legs soaked. 

“Daft mare! Where are yo--” The syllable cut off, choked back and bitten back. She crouched and reached for her bow and quiver. 

A massive beast, comparative to a lynel, snow white and laid in the shade. Ruja wandered through the trees, trailing her reign in the grass. At the beast’s side she lowered her head and sniffed at its neck. A hard head butt to the shoulder demanded attention. Anara drew the arrow but failed to nock it, too busy gaping. 

[brothersgrim]

uhhhh 14? for Kane

abstract prompts.

14: Just this once, the Universe responds.

When you were little, the world was your oyster. Anything was possible, especially for you and your family. Your mother showed you that what was normal and what made sense were as subjective as the laws of physics. Reality was like that play-dough you and your brother got stuck in the sitting room carpet that one time. You could squish it and shape it any way you wanted. (And, much like play-dough, you couldn’t eat it; Or, at the very least, you mustn’t try.)

But you don’t remember being little.

You can’t think back that far. The memories burned to ash in the fire along with everything else. Along with you. You don’t remember your mother, nor her lessons about the loose seams in the fabric of the world. You don’t remember the way your brother used to laugh as he challenged the storms. You don’t remember being powerful.

You remember the basement. You remember chains. You remember darkness and cold and hunger. You remember your father. You remember waiting. You remember being pulled out of the only sanctuary you’d ever known. You remember being afraid. You remember not wanting to leave. If you left your brother would find you, and you didn’t want him to find you. If you left you would die and you didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want to die you didn’t want to die you didn’t want to die you didn’t want… You didn’t want whatever this was. You didn’t understand it. Your father told you it wasn’t safe and you believed him. He said he’d have to keep you moving to avoid being found and you were grateful. You were so, so grateful. 

You were so, so stupid. 

You didn’t want out because you didn’t know what out was. And then you learned. You learned and you didn’t know what to think. (You still don’t know what to think.) There’s so much. Just- Just so much. But you had to face it. You were strong enough now. You had to be strong enough now. You’d waited, and you’d waited, and you’d waited, and you’d worked, and you’d worked, and you’d worked. You had to be strong enough. You had to. Because he was out there. He was out there, and he had taken everything from you, and he was out there while you had been locked away. Because of him. You would get revenge. You would tear it from the starving jaws of self-pity if you had to. And you would do so tonight. And tomorrow. And every night, until you had done so enough times to kill what had long since died. You were scared when you were small but now you’re not small and you’re not scared, you’re angry, you’re furious. It’s that fury that courses through you when you unleash the fire that’s been caged just as long as you have. It roars to the sky and deafens your ears to the crowd. Seeing it blaze feels much better than you’d thought it would. 

It feels like meeting yourself for the first time. 

You carry that feeling with you as you enter the ring. As you stand across from the man- No, the monster- who has hounded your every nightmare for two long, arduous decades. 

Your brother.

You expect to see the same anger in his eyes. The same hatred. The same hunger. … But you don’t. You don’t see any of that. Looking down at your brother’s eyes (And you are looking down; In another life, a better life you might have teased him about that) you see… Pain? That- … No. No, you don’t believe it. He’s a liar. A manipulator. Your father told you so. He would know. He’d raised you. He’d pulled you from the flames your brother had set. He’d been there. He knew. And you trusted him. 

But that trust waned. It was washed away by exchanged blows and spilled blood and words that beat against what you’d grown up believing. You don’t know who to talk to. You don’t know where the truth is. You’re not sure you want to. You had nothing else but your need for vengeance. You were nothing else. If it’s true what your brother says - if that revenge was misguided and built on lies - who are you, now? 

What are you?

You don’t know.

 You don’t want to think about it. 

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

You need something to get your mind off of it. You need someone to talk to. Someone who’s not a part of this. … Well, you won’t talk. You can’t. But just to have someone else… To be able to breathe for the first time in twenty years. Maybe it would help. You don’t remember your mother. You don’t remember her lessons. But it doesn’t take old ways or ancient teachings to wish for a friend. 

For the longest time, it seemed like the universe answered. You had a friend. A best friend, even. He introduces you to others. You’re… Not sure you fit in. They’re so different. From everything. They’re lively and chaotic and you don’t really understand, but they tell you that you could be one of them, too. You can be- The best word you can think of is ‘free’. They have no rules to govern them. Nobody telling them what to do. Nothing weighing them down. You’d like to be like that. You’d like to be like them. You just have to prove yourself first, but, that makes sense. And you have your friend to help you! Your best friend. He’s so different from anyone else you’ve ever met. That’s probably a good thing. He shows you what the world is like when the doors are unlocked. Shows you that maybe you’re stronger than you thought you were. That you don’t need to hide behind so many things. He shows you… He..

Is-… 

Is that what your voice sounds like? 

Is that what you sound like? 

… Huh. 

You don’t know what you were expecting. But you are sure you couldn’t have done this without him. Somewhere along the line, you even fall in love. And most amazing of all is that she loves you back! She does! She actually does! You hadn’t thought anyone could.  … Your father had told you that nobody could. If he was wrong about that, then… 

What else was a lie? 

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

You’re talking to your brother again. Well- Again, not talking. … Sometimes talking. You’re getting used to it. (You won’t admit it, but sometimes you startle yourself when you speak. It’s weird.) Your friends and your brother don’t get along. Your brother doesn’t get along with many people. (He’s a good person to be with when you want to be alone.) It’s not perfect, but it’s the best you’ve had in a long time. … You don’t remember ever feeling like this. 

Is this what ‘happy’ is?

… You think it might be.

Yeah, that sounds right. 

You’re happy.

It’s weird. 

Not bad, just weird. But you could get used to it. You’d like to get used to it. You think you could. You have your best friend, your girlfriend, your brother, and your freedom, and that’s all you could ever need. You would do anything for them. Die for them. Kill for them. Anything, so long as things can stay as they are. But your brother and your friends don’t get along and it’s getting worse. They attack each other. A lot. Once upon a time you might have been… Happy, to see your brother come to harm, but now - and at the hands of others! - you can’t stand it. You can’t. You can’t let it happen. And that means you have to pick sides. You don’t want to. You really don’t want to. But they won’t give you a choice. So you choose them. You don’t want to go back to how things were before. But you don’t think they believe you when you try to stand by them. They’re not even trying to. … Well, your brother is. ‘I won’t make you choose’, he says. ‘I would never ask you to choose.’ But your best friend is angry. He’s angry and he’s yelling at you and you want him to stop but he won’t. He won’t. You hesitate to leave in that moment because he reminds you of your father and you know, you know, you know what happens when you disappoint a person like that, but then you look at your brother and you decide to take the risk because the two of you together can take on the world. 

So you leave your best friend in the ring. 

And you hate yourself for it. 

Your brother talks to you. He tells you you did the right thing. That your best friend was terrible, and that you should stay away from the lot of them. That you belong together, at your brother’s side, because you’re blood. But he’s a manipulator and a liar. Your father told you that, and he’s blood, too, so what does that mean if not nothing? Your father hurt you. Your brother tried to kill you. They’re blood. Your best friend… 

Your… Your best friend, he…

He took her.

He took her he took her he took her and he’s going to hurt her isn’t he? You tried to save her and you couldn’t and now they’re going to hurt her. They’re going to hurt her or worse. She didn’t want to go. You didn’t want her to go. You love her. And in spite of everything that you are, in spite of what your father told you, she loved you. Nobody else did. Nobody else could. But she did. She did, and if she was hurt– And then you have her back and you never want to let her go. You’ll hold on to her until your arms fall off if only she’d let you. She’s okay. You have her back and she’s okay. She’s okay, she’s okay, she– … She’s okay? You’re relieved, yes, but it’s strange. … You don’t want to think about it.

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

She tells you about people who hurt her and you let yourself be lost in anger. It’s familiar. It’s easier to hate than to hurt and so you let yourself be deaf to their pleas for mercy and declarations of innocence. And when you’re done with them, she smiles at you and you love her. If you can be useful, she’ll keep loving you. You’re used to having to prove your worth. If it means she’ll love you, you’ll do anything. 

But she doesn’t love you.

She never did. 

She loves him. 

They leave you mangled and bleeding and bound and you wonder what you did wrong. You’d loved them. You don’t watch them leave. You’re not sure you could move enough to look but you don’t even try. You had loved them, your best friend, your girlfriend, your first friend and first love, and they had never loved you. You had thought that they’d welcomed you and you had been so, so grateful.

You were so, so stupid.

It hurts to breathe more than it normally does but you push the medics away. You would rather suffer alone. It’s familiar. Anger and humiliation and grief and shame and guilt and hate burn around you and char the walls and you choke on the knot in your throat long before the smoke ever reaches your lungs. 

You tear the door from its hinges and hurl it down the corridor.

You hate them. 

You’ll kill them. 

This is the sort of thing you were raised to do, after all. It comes easily to you. Beating them into the ground. Making them suffer. Making them bleed. Every crack of bone is viscerally satisfying, Every yelp of pain is a tonic to the agony they inflicted on you. Your best friend. His friend, your friend, reducing them both into cowering, half-conscious piles of filth is all you can think of. Hunter gets a pass. His wife is shielding him and you have no quarrel with her so you turn your attention to the true criminal. He hurt you. He took her. He hurt your brother. He lied to you. You want to kill him. You almost kill him. You’re about to, but she stops you and he escapes. She stops you because she loves him. She tells you that you still love her and you hesitate because she’s right. Hesitate long enough for people to intervene and they pay for their hubris and litter the ground at your feet and she’s still there. You hesitated because she was right and you punished her for the same reason. 

It doesn’t make you feel better, though.

It doesn’t make you ‘happy’.

You wonder if that’s really what it had been. 

You wonder if you’ll ever feel that way again.

You don’t think so.

You just feel empty. 

Even your father’s praise, which you had yearned for, does nothing. He tells you he’s proud of you. Tells you you did the right thing. That he knew they were wrong from the beginning. That you have more work to do. He can keep an eye on you if you stay near. He can make sure this never happens again. You want to go back to that. It’s simple. It’s safe. It’s numb. Letting him cal the shots while you hide away. You told yourself you would never go back to that but you have nobody else and it’s your fault. You lost your friend. You lost your love. You drove your brother away.

…

Your brother.

You walk away while your father’s distracted. It’s not difficult. Shove your way out of the building and lash out at anyone who tries to stop you. You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to think. If you think too much you’ll think yourself out of this. You’ll think yourself back to the basement. You don’t want that. You scribble an address down on a napkin you stole from catering and shove it towards the first cabbie to pull over, hunching down in the back seat and trying to look small enough that the weight on your shoulders might fall off. It doesn’t.

You knock on the door.

You feel so exposed in the empty hallway. 

It opens and he stares at you. You stare down at him. You still don’t feel much like teasing. You expect to see anger in his eyes. Betrayal. Hatred. But you don’t. He throws something at you and you catch it before you even know what’s happening. … It’s a bottle. He makes a comment about you needing it more than him and steps back into the room but leaves the door open. You stare at the alcohol in your hands. You stare at him. He looks up from where the television is showing some sports game for a team you don’t know - not surprising, you don’t know most teams - and raises an eyebrow and asks if you’re coming. You stare at the alcohol in your hands. You stare at him. You close the door behind you. You sit on the bed beside him, awkwardly fiddle with the bottle and wait to be reprimanded. Told you’re stupid. You should have known better. He told you so. You should have listened. What’s wrong with you? … He doesn’t say any of that. Just grabs another bottle off the floor and drinks. (You don’t ask him how many he’s had. You don’t ask how many he plans on having, either.) You open your bottle, hesitate only a second before tipping your mask up just enough and taking a sip. It burns a little, and it’s something cheap and strong and dark that tastes worse than the basement rats, but before you can voice your displeasure he grunts and says ‘if you’re going to complain, you can bring the drinks next time’ and something about his knowing what you were going to say just feels… Right. So you shrug and content yourself with the swill in your hands to let yourself forget, trying to make heads or tails of football as you send your sobriety out with a wave and a nod. You don’t remember your mother. You don’t remember her lessons. But it doesn’t take old ways and ancient teachings to ask for a friend.

And, sitting in that dingy hotel room at your brother’s side,

it seemed like the universe had answered.

[lightlorn]

He has heard it is 'kiss a ginger day'. He does not quite understand the purpose of this holiday, but that's okay, he will celebrate regardless, and lean up a little to press his warm nose and velvet furred lips to Nev's cheek-- and immediately slide his tongue out to lick up her face. Yes. Good. Perfect. Nailed it.

kiss a ginger day!!!

She has never been without admirers, and such a day is no exception to this rule. Princes, dukes, and kings have all paid dues as expected, lips pressed to knuckles or cheeks, with one daring knight even managing to touch her lips. It is a brilliant game, but quite played out by midday. When the minotaur approaches, she is all smiles, graceful and accepting as ever. As his snout noses against her skin, she braces for a kiss.

Then, she freezes.

With saliva still clinging to the side of her radiant face, she offered no words for a long moment. Then, as the reality sank in around her, she began to shake, her whole body jolted by the silvery laughter that poured from her mouth. Raising a hand to her lips, she continued to chortle for some time after, nearly breathless.

“Well played, Areban! I believe you have won the day with such boldness!”

[thedemonkingganon]

9'7" ;3c

No longer accepting

‘Oh shit...’ he thought to himself looking up, this was new.

[blackasteriia]

“We’re safe.”

|| @stcrmskull||

Xion slung her arms over her knees. She leaned against the base of an old pine tree, lopsided from old storms. She breathed haggard and rough. Hair in disarray, stray strands stuck at haphazard angles. Her heart still beat, wild and rhythmic against her rib cage. A percussion strike that echoes in her entire body, through every pulse point and capillary. The warm glow of the built fire did nothing to dull the shiver that racked her frame. Xion dragged her knuckles over her mouth, and tasted the salt of dried tears on her lips. 

He sat across from her. A massive creature of deceptively gentle nature. They both needed to make camp for the night and neither was hostile. The quiet company was always welcome in the vast wilderness. Then she woke them both screaming and was left to stew in her shame. Xion bowed her head against his reassurance. A deep sigh sagged her shoulders and she murmured something against her fist. It wasn’t an apology but it wasn’t a curse.

It was a promise that she’d keep watch for the rest of the night. 

[hraunwyf]

@stcrmskull

every step seems to affirm what loki has known her entire life: deep below the earth, the roots of all trees are somehow entangled. it does not surprise her when the forests of her home recognize her, by her blood or by her aura or whatever it may be, but it’s always a pleasant, startling thing when she is so far from home yet the depths of the woods greet her just the same.

the language of the breezes whispering among the canopy is different, but the sound is still music. the undergrowth gives way to her, welcoming her in, leading her to a deer trail easily followed. already there is a magic imprinted upon this place, begging her curiosity. she’s heard the rumors coming from the nearby small towns—she came to wonder and to see for herself.

the trail leads exactly where it needs to. loki in her bare feet upon loam, a pair of worn, stained jeans she works in, a linen blouse embroidered by her mother, stepping from a moment of dense, lush forest and suddenly into what she recognizes as berry thickets that border a large garden. she doesn’t mean to intrude—but she does not know who’s here, nor how to call them.

not a single thorn scratches the witch, but a small theft of a handful of elderberries comes with her as she finds herself on cleared land, a cottage set before her, old yet she knows the signs of life and of thriving. if not in the light from within, then from the smell of soil tilled. 

“hello?” her voice is raised, inquisitive, itself a presentation that she means no harm to whomever lives here, though she hopes the accent of her native tongue doesn’t detract from its good will. “is anybody home...?”

[sinnhelmingrmoved]

@stcrmskull is going iconless

When the door opens, it allows the shadow of the Minotaur to fall upon her desperate face. Staring up at Ban, she stood in pouting, teary eyed silence for a short eternity, little more than a child desperate for attention. Once she had it, however, she raised her hands to him pleadingly, exposing her offering in full.

The succulent in her hands had surely seen better days. Brown and brittle, it barely sprouts from its tiny pot, its failure the apparent source of its owner’s distress. Once he has a moment to take in the pitiful sight, she speaks, squeaking.

“Help him.”

[alitheiaforeas-blog]

@stcrmskull | continued from ask

Diana smirked as she lowered herself and started to charge, crossing the distance with intense speed. Her arms wrapped around Ban’s middle, and she moved to try to knock him to the ground.

She could do it easily, with her strength, but she held back-- she wanted this to be a challenge after all.

[andallsoend]

@stcrmskull | continued from the Fluster Ask

Ansem moved to where he could stand, walking closer, unashamed of the water lowering and revealing him. “I’m not using anything. Mostly just rinsing off. And swimming.” 

He shrugged and gestured to the bowl. “What’s in there?”

[abracafockyou]

Adventures of two toddlers and their nanny || @stcrmskull​ said: “So what we’re, not- not going to do… is that.”

It doesn’t occur to him how rude laughing at Areban’s situation until he failed to stop. The second he glimpsed the lizard dangling from Areban’s hand Rune lost himself in a fit of laughter.

“Aw, feeding time got you again, ‘Ban?” Despite his teasing Rune laid his tongs on the desk. Closing the cage to whatever animal that had his attention for the moment to aid his assistant. “At least this one has no venom,” he added all too cheery in tone. “But you may still feel some numbness.” Rune grabbed the lizard by the back of their jaws, easing open the gap to free the arm in their mouth. “You should clean up that wound.” He nodded to Areban, quickly guiding the reptile back into their enclosure. “I’d rather it not get infected and lose your help.”

[leocor]

9'7" :3c

Send your character’s height and I’ll compare it to mine.

Using this site

Except for the minotaur who was an outlier and should not have been counted. 

[brothersgrim]

★★☆(one ic fact for each, and one ooc fact from you)

send me a ★ for an ic fact or send me a ☆ for an ooc fact. || accepting

I’ve said before that the first time Kane slept in a real bed in 20 years was in a hotel before a match. I’ve also said that it was so comfortable that he couldn’t sleep, and just slept on the floor since it was more what he was used to. What I have not told anyone is that, once he got used to how living decently should feel, he buried himself under the blankets entirely and refused to come out for a good five minutes. Part of this was because Paul doesn’t give a shit about him and mostly left him to his own devices for the time, part of it was because the soft pressure/warmth helped with that day’s anxiety attack, and part of it was for fun. He was the Devil’s Favourite Lump.

He can braid his own hair, and often does so. He can do it without looking. You learn to do a lot by yourself when everyone else is gone. 

Once I had a bruise on my foot that looked exactly like a skull. It was rad.