two-thrones

[two-thrones]

ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜɴ

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

(CANON MUSES) - I'll only speak on my PoP muses here since this account was tagged. And honestly, from the moment I first played Sands of Time, I knew it would be a permanent and prominent fixture. I can't tell you why it resonated with me the way it did, but here we are: some 20 years, one PoP-themed tattoo, and a soon-to-be 4-year-old fan blog later. Zeke is such a solid balance of traits (both good and bad), Xenres is ridiculously fun to write for, and Malik's more lawful good nature intrigues me. (OCs) - In the early days (and only with one particular friend), I used to write for a lot more than I do now. I have a couple who've stuck with me over the years, and I'll occasionally use them for games with character creators, but I don't have blogs for any of them, even outside of the hub account. However, I have mad respect for OCs and adore getting to write opposite them.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

Frankly, there aren't many things I don't permit in fiction. Fiction ≠ condoning something IRL. That being said, though, I do have a negative interest in non-con and everything in that general neighborhood— PWP, sex pollen, omegaverse, and so on. Sex is fine, and fluff is okay, but I'd prefer it not to dominate the story.

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

Regarding genres, I enjoy grittier, darker stories the most, with a little room for levity on the side but a more serious tone overall. Fantasy elements, earlier periods, and post-apocalyptic settings in this vein are also great. In more vague terms, I love developing character dynamics and working on involved, plotted threads.

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

When it isn't pure divine intervention, it's often music and only sometimes media. I'm sure there's nothing revolutionary about this.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

I haven't been able to listen to music and write for years. The closest I come these days is if I can't escape outside commotion, I'll throw in some earbuds and crank up the brown noise.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

Due to time restraints, I plan whether I want to or not. If I can manage, I'll sit down and reply right after I read something, but I usually end up thinking about it at work during the week.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

Most certainly, but it has to happen naturally, and a slow burn is a must. Otherwise, I'm open to more one-sided relationships (on either end) if that's how things develop. Trying to force anything in writing is a big turn-off for me.

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

Giffie.

ᴀɢᴇ?

21+

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

January 16th.

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

Green, black, gray, white.

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

Most (but not all) things by either Rob Zombie or Powerman 5000. I don't care if that's a cop-out; I can't pick just one.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Either Spaceman (2024) or The Suicide Squad (2021), I can't remember which now.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

Bigtop Burger (first & second season) by Worthikids on YouTube. Do recommend.

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

Ainsi Bas La Vida by Indila (slowed + reverb)

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

Sushi, hands down. Generally, most things seafood. A close second (and considerably easier to obtain) might have to be a nice grilled cheese sandwich.

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

It used to be winter, and then I moved to a place where it's winter 8 months out of 12, so now it's autumn. Unfortunately, autumn doesn't really exist here, but it's always with me in spirit.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

Not to be a golden retriever on main, but I sincerely treasure each and every one of you here who takes the time to write and/or chat with me despite how painfully slow I can be. Like it or not, if we're mutuals, I consider us friends and care for you dearly. :)

Tagged by: @origami-assassin (thank you)! Tagging: anybody who wants to do it, I'd certainly be interested in reading.

[two-thrones]

( Some of the dialogue in the new Alone in the Dark game just sounds like Southern Zeke help. )

[two-thrones]

The sudden projectile, as much as Xenres had been expecting it, complicated matters if only a little. Right as that flash ignites, his natural inclination to always be on the move during such skirmishes carries him through a lateral hop. He moves half a step back against his right leg, leaving his left side frontward so that he can still lend focus to the Daggertail. It's sufficient to spare him from taking the full brunt of the attack straight to the chest despite being acutely aware of the string that comes from being grazed in several places along his right arm.

The pain is easily ignored, however, and in the seconds it takes for the Daggertail to wholly retract itself, when he's left gripping the now defunct weapon in his hand, the stranger has closed the distance between them with a little bit of surprise effect herself. The surprise isn't so much the presence of magic itself as its utilization.

In his thirty-two years of vicarious experience, he's come to always expect some form of magic to be involved.

Thanks to her momentum and strength, the woman initially gains the advantage, the barrel of the contraption curving up toward the Sand Creature's face. In response, Xenres quickly moves his head in case the thing isn't quite as spent as he assumes. But also, it's here where, if given any opportunity at all, and without warning, he'd attempt to meet this newfound closeness and maybe even daze the other, if only for a second, by striking his forehead against hers— a well-practiced headbutt.

She isn't the only one with increased speed and strength. The Sands of Time coursing throughout his body grant him similar gifts. This, in addition to his hardened, coarse skin. And as for that right wrist, if it's lucky at that moment, it might evade capture as it dips to wrap itself around her waist instead, aiming to briefly hold her close.

Of course, should all of this ultimately fail, then in retribution, upon turning to retrieve her cane, she'd find the Daggertail swiftly making another sweep, this time with the intent of catching her around the ankles to try and unbalance her. Curiously, however, if this is indeed the case, the blades would barely stretch the leather; the motion solely meant to ensnare.

Breaths slow and measured. Muscles weighted with just enough energy to act if he became aggressive suddenly. She would witness the motion feeling a sense of a predator arching its way around her. Pivoting her body to stay in alignment with him and never once relinquishing that weapon from its target. An attentive brow lifted slightly from behind mirrored sunglasses. His reflection captured in its ebony polish.

Everything on her part had fallen to silence. Dust stirring beneath boots; faded black and brown with powdery gold splashed against its leathery surface. Finger tentative against the curve of the trigger with the hammer drawn back at the ready. Itching to unleash the bullet packed into the barrel. Steeled in movement. Unflinching even as he began to slow draw of his sword.

What he does next however, was an undeniable sign of hostility. The moment he started to throw it - even before it would leave his hold - would a flash ignite the gunpowder within the pistol, sending a spray of packed lead fragments towards his person. The blade flying passed her as closely as he had intended without the slightest bit of effort to dodge.

With the daggertail unleashed, and wrapped about the barrel, fingers relinquish their hold on the now expended weapon, and she vanishes. A whisper of a cloud as fast as the motions of his whip drawing the gun back towards him. Quickening from her position with only a whisper of dust stirring upon very few, and very brief contact with the ground.

There he held her gun, and with momentum would she try to push it up to aim it towards his face. Her other hand reaching out to try to grapple the opposite wrist just as feet chased ahead of her body, trying to run up his form and strike as his chin to snap his head back.

Should she succeed, she would release her grip to land elegantly before him only to swiftly Quicken back to where her cane remained embedded in the sands less he intends to stop her.

[two-thrones]

Where he'd been more or less stoic up to this point, now, standing before her and noticing the glass briefly catching her attention seconds before her rather brazen response to the situation, Xenres can't help the traces of amusement that tug at the edges of his features, pulling the corners of his lips up into a smirk. Eyebrows raised over half-lidded, stark blue eyes.

Even he knows that this particular reaction is a mite uncalled for on his end, given his breaking and entering and the individual nights they've apparently already had thus far. And yet, he supposes there's no denying one's nature, and flippant disregard has always been his— clearly.

"Well, it may not be the Taj Mahal, but your place isn't that bad." He can't rightly account for which "piss hole" she might be referring to, whether Grayson does indeed recognize him and it's a dig toward their place of work or if it's a dig toward his own place of residence. Either way, his rejoiner serves as a bit of tit-for-tat, a wisecrack for a wisecrack.

At the same time, he relaxes his captive posture. Yes, Grayson still has a gun pointed in his direction, but if she were going to shoot him, then surely she would have done it already.

As one arm lowers back to his side, he uses the other to hold the aforementioned glass aloft. "I do hope you don't mind," he says (and never mind that, for obvious reasons, he can tell that she does). "I may have realized you were out and took the liberty of making myself at home while I waited. I'm not here to fight; rather, I'm here with an offer."

@two-thrones

continued from here

Caia paused for a response before deciding that her encroacher was just too shy to accept her invitation. Now she really did have to drag them out. Fine.

As much as she was averse to playing another game of hide-and-seek tonight, it was a thrill she couldn't deny. What were they thinking now that they knew she was on to them? Were they terrified? Frozen in place in bated breath? Regretful? Or.. Did they really believe that they had a chance? Sure, she was considerably injured, but that wouldn't slow her down all that much if it came down to it.

Methodically pacing, she continued to speculate as she progressed through the galley, stopping just short of the threshold that separated the kitchen from the living area. Deep and controlled breaths, Caia strained to listen again as the pad of her right pointer finger floated tentatively over the trigger, almost pleading for the opportunity to use it. An intrepid step forward and around the corner counter had the Agent suddenly staring down the capitulating individual. Instead of the impending firefight in the untimely reveal, a flash of amber-coloured Whisky in the glass interspersed her attention.

Was that her booze?? A considerable mix of confusion and anger as she adjusted to the abrupt shift in circumstance, but nonetheless, she kept her mental footing and her aim level.

"You have to be pretty fucking stupid to be breaking in here..Piss hole not good enough?"

[two-thrones]

what specifically named color do you embody?

feldgrau

hesitant, neutrality, italy's markets, intelligence, regretful. you have so many things that you'd like to apologize for. your world has lost a majority of its luster and color due to all the things you've done and regretted, all the things you want to take back or try again. the people you've lost have told you that you need to work on yourself, and you don't know where to start anymore - you're not sure you ever truly did. it's cold, in the world, and you don't know how to make it warm for everyone, which is where your mistake lies. the world is cold and cruel, and indifferent to those who walk the earth. but that doesn't mean you can't try. (you have to TRY.)

Tagged by: @origami-assassin. 💚 Tagging: @ghxstfrxquxncies and @nxchht!

[two-thrones]

Which of my favourite specific character archetypes are you?

the Lionheart.

The loyal one, the stubborn one, the one who fights for others. The guarder, the watcher, the brave, foolish, valiant person who is not the same person by the end of the story.

the King.

Bold, majestic, burdened, responsible, an impassive and neutral face that discloses no pain, only regality.

Life/Death/Life.

A person who represents the mysteries and inner workings of the world's forces; a person who has destiny at their back, a person wielding their understanding like a weapon. A person who cycles through rebirths and deaths, growing ever more clever.

Tagged by: stolen from @origami-assassin (hi again ily). Tagging: tell 'em I sent you. ;)

[two-thrones]

The lower that contraption of hers travels, the higher his eyebrows raise. The creature's ashen face remains largely impassive, except for the subtle hint of amusement that tugs on the edges of his features. Letting slip a quiet and universally understood "oooh," unfortunately for her, though luckily for him, he turns, taking a couple of calculated steps to the side while keeping his sights fully trained on the stranger before him.

"I believe she wants to see us naked. Perhaps this little detour won't be quite so uneventful after all." Despite addressing his unseen counterpart, he doesn't receive an answer— which, at this point, he fully expects. No matter how this curious exchange plays out, it's already infinitely more compelling than passing the time alone with the Prince.

A few more leisurely steps see him maintaining their distance, moving in something of a semi-circle nearer to the walls. Brows still lifted, head tilting slightly, he reaches down with his right hand and makes a show of wrapping his fingers around the sword's hilt at his side, drawing it in an equally deliberate manner. This is what she wanted, right?

Finally, Zeke breaks his silence, his tone inside the Sand Creature's head impressively unreadable. "You are enjoying this entirely too much."

Finally, it's Xenres' turn not to respond. Instead, he flips the weapon over in his hand and, in the same motion, throws it with enough force to embed its blade into a wooden post because that's what he aims for— a support beam some feet behind the woman. It's a distraction (and the only thing he's willing to discard voluntarily) since, simultaneously and using the other hand, the Daggertail lashes out, hoping to leverage the element of surprise. The razor-sharp whip is meant for her, or rather, its goal is to wrap itself around the barrel of the device in her grip and wrest it loose.

Turns out, it's plan A.

If successful, the Daggertail would retract, and the instrument would end up in his possession, wherein it would be trained on her, the creature having noted how she held it before. If this maneuver failed, however, he'd preemptively be ready to move, an attempt to avoid whatever repercussions might await him.

What a troublesome situation she had found herself in. Staring down a creature that may rival her own capabilities with only one momentary advantage by the gun held aimed upon him. And he doesn't speak her language. That's just icing on the cake, really.

So -- The gun lowers and aims rather obviously towards an area that would really suck to get shot off. The cane pushed down into the flooring to embed itself where it may remain stood upright for her before casually gripping the edge of one of her lapels. A light tug, then a wave of of the tip of her gun with eyes drifted down his form to rest on the clothes he's wearing.

She isn't asking just for him to disarm. She's demanding he strip. Remove all things problematic so she might keep him in a position she prefers. One that would give her some leverage over him until they can figure out some kind of agreement.

That doesn't involve her doing the same.

She could just use her origami for what she wants, but there's not a lot of fun in that. So, Jezebel will settle for this assuming he even complies. Guessing by that sweep of his gaze, that was seeming more unlikely.

"What shall we do?" Questioned the woman. A rook caws loudly from somewhere above. Agitated by the situation, and only responding when it thinks she's addressing it.

The woman had been here first and that meant she had likely taken precautions in case something like this would occur. Would he notice the origami spider creeping towards the back of his boot? Silent as could be. It's tiny body no bigger than half inch at best. Another moving down from the ceiling by an invisible thread, hung just behind where the head of the sand creature lingered.

If he doesn't comply -- she has a backup plan.

[two-thrones]

He'd been engaging in some real creep behavior tonight, and Xenres knew it— seated in a darkened corner of the woman's living room, waiting for the newly returned occupant to turn on the lights and notice him. He'd heard her let herself in, stumble down the hallway, and start the shower running, and then he had watched her head for the kitchen next.

Yet, even without this direct discovery, it's not all that hard to riddle out how she'd known he was there; on the way to her place, he'd been caught in a bit of a downpour. Why hadn't there been puddles leading from the main entrance, too? He hadn't used the front door, of course.

When addressed, however broadly, the shadow stands up, empty hands preemptively lifting in a display of peace before Xenres takes the necessary steps, slow and deliberate, into the light. Well, his hands are empty save for a small glass in the right one, containing a reasonable serving of a liquid that Grayson would likely recognize as some of her top-shelf liquor. At least it explained what he'd been doing in her kitchen.

She might know him from around their shared workplace if he's lucky— which recent experiences argue that he is not. Sure, the chances are slim (they've definitely never collaborated together before), but it isn't outside the realm of possibility. After all, it's partly why he's here right now, of all places.

He feels little to no sympathy as he glances her over, only the vague notion that maybe she'll be less inclined to offer him any trouble for his intrusion. And indeed, his face is chiefly impassive when he breaks the momentary silence and asks, "Rough night?"

Starter for @two-thrones

Grayson stumbled through the threshold of her apartment, limbs cumbersome with ache and betrayal. Stupid. She already knew full well that the call was anything but routine; even if she could handle a few of them, three more was too many. Strolling into a trap with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Salt in an already festering wound.

'You're losing your grip, Grayson.' Maybe she was, maybe that's what happens when you lose your focus and decide to care, if only for a second. Remove one established part in a grand scheme and everything comes tumbling down.

Pushing her weight up against the adjacent wall provided solid assurance and a cool comfort as she navigated the hall to the bathroom. A flick of the switch and a strobing florescent resulted in a cringe and temporary avoidance of it and the mirror. Gradually she worked up the nerve to face the consequences of tonight's events.

A bloodied nose, split lower lip, a bruised right cheek and eye. Most likely there were additional injuries waiting under her clothes. All the better outcome than a bullet to the brain, wasn't it?

A satirical chuckle as she moved from the mirror to pull back the plastic shower curtain, carefully positioning herself to grip the chilled faucet handle, the pipes squealing harshly and groaning objectively with force before finally giving way to an unsteady spillage of turbid water into an aged tub.

Grayson would need to wait for the hot water tank to catch up, so she would take advantage of her time and limp towards the kitchen in search of medicinal relief. Another flood of florescent washed over the contents of the galley, rather simple in its appearance, modest. It was perfect for a solitary living with just enough supplies to suggest it wasn't just for show.

Something shiny then caught the female's attention, something impossible to see otherwise until the light touched the matte tile. Puddles of water formed seemingly without reason and cause as to who, or what was responsible. The gasket to the pipe underneath the sink was fixed just a few days ago, and she wouldn't have neglected the spill if responsible. Someone else must have been in her apartment or was still present, and she was unbeknownst to all of it.

A surge of renewed adrenal encouragement prepared her for yet another conflict. As prepared as she was, Grayson hoped it would at least be an easy encounter given her sorry state.

"Don't make me come looking for you, Asshole. I'm really not up to it this time."

[two-thrones]

Merris' prompting is met with no resistance from Zeke, the man entirely willing to seek shelter behind the vehicle with her. Leaving the passenger door open as they move to supply at least a bit more cover for their retreat, he stays crouched to spare his hands and knees.

He never thought he'd find himself mentally cursing the amount of space left between the jeep's chassis and the asphalt, and yet. Fortunately, they've got the advantage there, with that initial shot ringing out from around the treeline at the top of a rather steep hill toward the end of the parking lot opposite them.

Kneeling beside her once the ground is clear of debris, he isn't sure what she's talking about for the briefest of seconds until the sensation of dampness registers in his mind— a few stray droplets of blood running down his cheek. "It's fine," he says, and he has to assume that it is since the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins means that Zeke doesn't feel anything. Not right now, anyway.

Despite this, potentially having a small portion of one side of his face riddled with tiny glass shards is the least of their concerns.

Glancing toward the forest they had only recently come from, his attention quickly returns to her again. "We might be able to lose them in the woods." They'd just have to hope that whoever the gunslinger was, they didn't have a partner— or worse, partners.

Merris suppressed a shiver and the urge to expedite the process. She was freezing, and Zeke was struggling; despite her impatience towards his speed of efforts to get warm, she understood the need for restraint as her assistance would further complicate things (and potentially make things awkward with her and the other man). With a tightening jaw, she would just have to bear the cold for a bit longer.

Instead, she focused on something else, entertaining the thought of what kinds of warmth the motel would provide. Would it have a fireplace? A heater? A decent bath or shower? Perhaps Merris was asking for too much, but she was open to any of them. Just imagining it brought a brief smile to her lips and a momentary encouragement of warmth to her skin.

The discharge hadn't quite registered in the female's ears and consciousness until the glass of the cab literally exploded in front of them.

In a short time, as long as it would take the shards to make contact with the ground, so did Merris' hands and knees before she turned her attention to Zeke. Reaching for him, she intended to assist in bringing him down to her level and eventually towards the back of the vehicle. It could have been a better cover, but it was adequate for now.

"Y'alrigh'!? Yer' bleedin'!"

[two-thrones]

Seemingly stupefied for a moment by the request, Lawson again stops walking, this time to turn and stare at Merris. As embarrassing as it is to acknowledge, he can't help but get the feeling that this is her way of giving him an out, having picked up on his admittedly thinly veiled anxiety. Equally embarrassing and even more cowardly is that he finds himself considering it.

Pro: He gets out of here. Con: Can he live with himself if the blogger is never heard from again after this? Especially knowing his stupid message brought her out here in the first place and then that he had ditched her given the first opportunity.

On the other hand, she knows what she's doing a lot better than he does. What if he turns out to be more of a liability than anything?

Hands balled into fists inside his pockets, chin pressing his lower lip against his upper lip in a clear display of hesitancy, the boy ultimately gives into his fear— even if he has painted it for himself as not wanting to be a distraction for the paranormal journalist. "Fuckin' hell, man. All right, fine. But promise me you'll text. Text if you run into trouble, text if you don't find anything— just keep me in the loop, okay?"

At least this way, if he doesn't hear from her, he can go to the cops with a bona fide disappearance in the woods instead of a ludicrous story about a cryptid sighting. Never mind being the last one to see the woman alive. That's a can of worms to agonize over later.

"I do not wanna read about some dog-walker stumblin' across your remains tomorrow mornin', got it?"

Taking a moment to observe the younger man, Merris could tell that whatever he saw had left an indelible mark. As was the nature of such supernatural entities on an otherwise earthly plane, whether in a benevolent sense or even malevolent. The rules never quite applied to them, nor did the implications of revealing something so prominently paradoxical. Nevertheless, Lawson didn't deserve to find out this way or to become an inadvertent target of something she wasn't even sure belonged to the paranormal to begin with. Ghosts just didn't kill people; it was a common fact, but the realm outside left a much greater expanse of risk and capability.

"N's'prisin'.. soundin' li'ke th'killin's wh'at's 'tractin' 'em an' yer' 'in'sect's sittin' ni'ce n' pr'etty waitin' on th'ne'xt vic'tim.."

Withdrawing her hand, she shook her head briefly with dismissal and a chuckle.

"Nah, but ain't nothin' mor'bid 'bout ver'fyin' thin's fer' yer'self 'in re'sonin'. 'Sides.. a'ppretiatin' m'uchly wit'h th'ole s'pport an' th'com'pany wh'ile. Ain't nothin' wr'ong bein' sc'ared 'neither.. s'longs y'don't b'makin' it ob'vious to th'thin' doin' th'scarin', righ'?"

Approaching the boundary of the forest, Merris could already sense something sinister permeating from around and within the endless expanse of trees, heavy and influential. Like the sensation of looking down from the edge of the abyss, undeniable in the desire to jump just to see how deep it went. Only she had the aid of her flashlight to guide her through, clicking it on before she turned back to Lawson.

"Onna' sec'ond th'ought.. migh' b'wise stayin' put aft'er all Law'son. T'be hon'est.. Th'is ain't jus' som' sp'irt. Som'else 'tirely. Don' wanna' be puttin' yall n' un'ness'ary dan'ger neither. If I a'int b'ack inna' bout' twen' min'utes, don' c'ome lookin' fer' me. Don' yall d'are. 'Stead' strai'ght h'ome an' fer'gettin' an' bus'ness 'bout comin' 'ere 'gain. Und'stand?"

[two-thrones]

what is your primary feeling in longing?

hope

In longing, you feel hope. You're on a long road, you know this. Your desire is strong, big in your chest but you don't feel weighed down. You've had your hardships, but you know what you truly seek is, or could be, not far from your grasp. Not to say you don't feel the burning in your heart for something more, but theres still a spark in you, a voice that says, "don't give up, what if?" You can be patient. You know you must be. Your yearning is felt like a campfire in rain, the circumstances say the flame should be out, but yet it burns, as long as god willing or sheer effort keeps it alive. You feel the pull in your gut that makes your throat tighten with the ache of your heart but you softly smile, it's just a reminder of your love. You aren't afraid of your feelings in the way that would make you push them away because you're familiar with them and you know the payoff would be well worth the grief. You're doing great my darling, you will find your love if you have not already.

frustration

In longing, you feel frustration. You feel that you've almost reached your desire one too many times and you don't understand why you keep getting denied. You feel the universe is taunting you, playing just beyond your reach and leaving you on the brink of breaking every time it dances away. When you let yourself feel your yearning, you bury your face in your hands and turn to look at the sky, not expecting an answer, but pleading for relief. There's a burn in your heart that you just can't explain in words but it's deep, you can feel it in your throat and just under your chest. You take a deep breath and exhale heavily. It settles you enough to continue on as you were. You see others living your desire and you don't feel jealous per se, but the burn raises in intensity and you just wish… something. You want change from your current situation, at this point, you don't really care what it is, just… something. Have courage my dear, you can brave the fires of this world if you so wish.

Tagged by: stolen from @origami-assassin (hi ily). Tagging: whoever wants to do it!

[two-thrones]

Well, it's something aimed at his face, anyway. And judging by the posturing of the other, it's meant to do him just as much harm as anything else. Furthermore, based solely on the direction the strange contraption dips, he has to assume there's a demand that he disarm, too. Of course, these are merely assumptions since he doesn't understand what the woman is saying outside of visual cues. He can't even begin to place the language.

Regardless, all the Sand Creature initially offers in response is a quirk of an eyebrow and a similar tilt of his head. Found at either hip is a blade, one belonging to a sword the Prince had lifted from the remains of a felled Scythian, the other, the Dagger of Time. For all Xenres cared, she could have the former; with the Daggertail permanently (and deceptively) embedded in his left arm, he had little need of weaponry. The latter, however, was far too valuable to simply hand over.

Even now, it doesn't escape his notice that the aforementioned Prince is finally silent. Obviously, this isn't one of his precious citizens. And if there exists a shred of mutual trust between them, it's in their shared drive for survival— despite that ultimately being at the detriment of one another. Thus leaving Xenres to deal with the situation as he sees fit.

And while perhaps his instinct is to utilize that whip, close the distance between them without having to move and attempt to wrench that thing out of her grip, he stays his hand. Best to size the interloper up first. And with an easily missed up-and-down glance, given the effulgence behind his eyes, that's precisely what he does.

"Well, well, aren't you the curious one." His words, even-keeled as her own, are spoken in his native Persian and serve two purposes: either the stranger understands them and can reciprocate, or it illustrates the fact that they can't understand each other.

Fearless would be foolish, but she wore no note of this feeling on her visage. No scent to its presence permeated from her being. She was small compared to the mighty sand creature, yet steeled in her resolve with the flintlock lifted and aimed. Head tilted ever so slightly to the side as mirror polished sunglasses; round, hiding her gaze, reflected his dark image and the highlights that accentuated it.

Most of her features were obscured; a scarf over her lower visage, the triangular hat frayed like feathers at the back corners with horns distinctively rested along the inner edges. Skin slightly tanned; light, and hinting at her foreign roots from this place. An arm outstretched with a walking cane rested in her other grip. Its base pressed to the sand kissed floor of the stables. Coat accentuating the curves of her form; layered slightly with fraying and the distinctive fade of sanguine where many had fallen to her blade. No matter how much she may clean it, they never quite fade.

The figure resided like a statue. The only movements are subtle signs of breaths at the base of her lungs. Steady. Prepared to unleash whatever may come from the mystery weapon aimed upon the charcoal skinned being.

It might have been easy to allow him to simply exist here. Ride out the storm. But that would be too easy. And where's the fun in letting some monster share a space with her, if she can't use him for something useful?

"It would be unwise for you to try something." The smooth British accent rolled along her words like silk. Would he know what she said, though? Being from a different world. A different country. Or would the sands grant them some understanding of one another. "Take it all off." A wave of the gun indicated towards his attire. Could she mean weapons? Perhaps that would be her only demand. Reasonable. But unlikely. She doesn't like to play fair when she needs an advantage.

[two-thrones]

"An annoying setback, this."

The words permeate throughout the Sand Creature's mind, waylaying his own thoughts just as effectively as if the other man who had given voice to them were flesh and blood, standing right next to him instead of the disembodied sentience that he currently was. Xenres would sigh, only he'd end up with sand in his mouth.

Glowing eyes squinting against the onslaught of dirt and debris, one structure stands out among the others, a vague shape in the worsening storm, yet still discernibly a large stable; the front of the building left wide open but deep enough to offer shelter from the elements to the animals presumably inside.

An easy entrance makes for an easy exit, and Xenres quickly ducks around the corner, getting off the streets and out of the path of the gale. It's precisely what one might expect; a series of stalls lined up along one wall, with miscellany to care for the horses scattered about. Only the stalls are empty. Idle steps carry him farther in, the Sand Creature offering a quiet response to the personality in his head, spoken aloud: "Yes, well. You, of all people, know you can't control a sandstorm."

A seemingly innocuous enough comment, judging by the moment of silence from the other, it's taken as anything but. "A shame that it isn't something harmless, then, like rain— oh, wait."

At that, it's Xenres' turn to stare, unamused, at the various tools on the wall in front of him, although before he can quip back, another presence is suddenly felt in the center of the room behind him. Body tensing, he wheels around, fully anticipating to find an arrow or sword aimed at his face.

@origami-assassin, a starter that's long overdue

[two-thrones]

Leaned half-in and half-out of the vehicle as he is, torso craned to one side to fit between the doorframe and the folded passenger seat, Zeke can catch enough of the words to get the gist— and sympathize with not only the hint of frustration that he thinks he might detect but also the undercurrent of anxiety running just beneath them.

The last place you want a flat tire is, well, anywhere, honestly, but you especially didn't want one in the middle of a secluded park nearing civil twilight, with seemingly one other soul around. And yet, here they are, with not one or two but eight flat tires. A fact that went well above and beyond being a mere coincidence. A healthy amount of concern wasn't simply reasonable; it was called for in this situation.

Stretching out his arm, fingertips graze the corner of the beige-colored blanket left right where he thought it would be. But before he can grab it (or think about how the cramped space was making it a little hard to breathe— this sensation existing wholly in his head), a single gunshot instantly makes the evening pivot from all-too-quiet to suddenly deafening.

The single, large caliber bullet shatters the open car door's window, spraying glass out onto the concrete entirely too close to Zeke for comfort and, perhaps, as she had already been in the process of moving closer, a little too close to Merris' person, as well.

There is no time to react in the moment apart from instinctively turning his face away.

@ghxstfrxquxncies, continued from here

[two-thrones]

Lawson's nervous rambling had given way to simply staring ahead, past the treeline and farther into the woods, the redhead anxiously chewing at his lower lip. He had fully intended to drop the blogger that message and never return to the forest again. In fact, he had rehearsed several times in his head how he might feasibly convince his parents to move.

What if the thing had somehow ID'ed him? Maybe he was wrong, and it had seen him, and now it knew his face or had his scent or some shit? What if it found his house one night or decided to tail him one of these times? What if—

Try as he might to hide it, when Merris places a hand on him, she can feel a slight start; the gesture pulling the teen out of his catastrophizing, the boy blinks (briefly wide-eyed) in her direction before tossing out an appreciative smile and moving, albeit a little reluctantly, to begin walking beside her.

"Um, yeah, I live, like, east of here? I don't see the appeal, but I've heard that wanna-be campers will sometimes set up shop. Even though civilization is, like, not even that far away. Usually, I don't think twice about this place, but, well, since some'uv those folks were recently killed…

"Like I said," he continues after a beat, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, "I just wanted to see if I could find the spot. Probably sounds pretty morbid when I say it out loud, huh?"

@ghxstfrxquxncies, continued from here

[two-thrones]

TWO THRONES. ask — submit

RP blog for the Prince, Dark Prince, and Malik from Prince of Persia

at a glance this blog is: semi-selective and multiverse. Crossovers encouraged, OC and female muse-friendly ✗ Canon compliant with strong headcanon influences ✗ 18+ only ✗ Slow or sporadic activity ✗ Beloved by Giffie (she/her, 21+, PDT) ✗ EST. 11/26/23

Uses Beta Editor + XKit Rewritten

Follows from @litteris

rules — the prince — dark prince — malik — verses — tags — tracker