lrdvyke

[lrdvyke]

Vyke 🔥

[lrdvyke]

Its frenzied flame friday ! May chaos take the world!

[lrdvyke]

Your deepest desires will return to stab you in the back

[lrdvyke]

The incantation takes, the wound heals, and Vyke's shoulders no longer straight, his breath no longer held. The tension, once so taut like a bowstring ready to snap, has finally released. It is something, at least. He tells himself so. Even though Darian is well and truly part of the dead, there is still a residual soul. Now ... it is time to find out how stable that soul is. Has the Death Blight taken more? What of his time here? Vyke does not wish him to remain ( for nothing good comes of this place of shadow ), even if going beyond the shadowy veils will mark Darian as those which he has once hunted so ardently. Vyke swallows, thick around a rock.

He stares then at the stained scale. It was hers, once. Vyke tears his gaze away from it, he gives a small shake of his head. He does not want it back. He cannot take it back. For all he has done, there is no honor in keeping hold of that scale, like he yearns for the memories that cling so tight upon it, marring it like the blighted blood does.

Yet the questions come again. Of course they do. Darian is not to be put off so easily. He is not a man who gives to distractions. He is better than that. So, Vyke does not take the scale from him, and instead drags one of his gauntlets over from the ground to slip it on over his hand. ❛ You know the answer to the first. Surely, ❜ Vyke says quietly, picking up the other gauntlet and pointedly avoiding the other's gaze. ❛ But no, I am not dead. Shame, that. The Frenzy took—I took in the Frenzy, all for a lie. She died anyway. ❜

Her body is still there, at the church. Vyke stills, but he shakes himself out of it. Questions need their answers—he forgets that Darian may not wish his company. ❛ I was forced into an evergaol atop the Giant's graveyard. That's where they caught up to me. That is also where he found me. ❜ He took up his sword, eyeing the blackened blood upon its shining blade, before taking out a cloth to wipe it off with. No easy feat, as it clung. ❛ Kindly Miquella. ❜

Discarding the cloth, knowing there is no use for it now once the blood has marked it. Vyke stands, sheathing his sword, before holding out his gauntleted hand towards Darian. ❛ That is why I am here. If anyone can give me a second chance, it is with the god who gave me my mind back. Or so I hope ... desperately. ❜

THE REALM OF SHADOW, with its heavy baldachin draped above, with the twisting tree—trees? darian isn't quite sure, having shuddered in horror at the sight and turned away. milky, grey eyes flicker back to vyke as he relays what he has learned of this place. a land of death, then. the thought seems to rattle the board upon which his observations rest, settling them into a pattern. a land of death, of shadow, outside of grace. but grace still exists, does it? has it only left him, though he prayed his lips bloody? he turns away, uncertain whether he feels shame in looking at vyke or only himself.

the other man's promise should have been comforting, perhaps. somehow darian isn't certain vyke holds this power. he has never felt this powerless.

he looks down. the seal fits perfectly into his palm as if it were made to be held by human hand. and it is warm, warmer than stone should ever be. in that moment, darian forgets all hesitancy to avail himself of draconic methods. it is but a tool to weave the incantation, and did not beasts once serve the dragons? none of it matters because its gold is not that of the erdtree, and thus it does not harm him.

darian has to close his eyes to muster the focus, to find in him the last echoes of faith and call forth the strength of beasts. it is untainted by his feelings of betrayal and uncertainty and, mercifully, it comes to him. when he murmurs the incantation and watches the sigil appear, the warmth that pools in his chest is so jarringly familiar. and it works, soothing the pain and slowly, slowly closing the wound. it will take a while to heal, but the relief is instantaneous and he releases a trembling breath he hadn't consciously held.

darkened blood now stains the scale, obscuring its gold. darian only notices when he means to hand it back and apologetically wipes it on his trousers. only then does the thought connect in his mind, bringing his gaze back up to vyke's eyes. "i died, i remember it. but you if death comes here, are you ..." all of his questions have gone unanswered, but he does not yet let up. "what happened, vyke? why are you here?" do you not at least owe me that answer?

[lrdvyke]

— Vladimir Nabokov, Letters to Vera

[lrdvyke]

[LIFT]: sender gently cups the receiver's face and lifts their chin so the receiver is looking up at them + from lance 🤧

Vyke lets out a slow breath as lithe fingertips find a path upon his flesh, dancing along the curve of his jawline. He does not shy away from the touch, no matter if his skin is dampened with sweat from being inside his helm all day. Instead, he leans into the touch that guides his face up, towards the sky where Lansseax's head is haloed by the sun sitting behind her. A hum of appreciation comes forth, a smile is paired with it that stretches far too easily, far too lazily across Vyke's features. It is a sight, the one of Lansseax, that he knows will never grow old to him. A sight he takes his fill of, like a parched man in the desert aching for something, anything, to quench his thirst. So he drinks greedily, all because it is permitted.

❛ Hello, my heart, ❜ he murmurs then into the embrace—his head moving only a little just so that he may kiss Lansseax's warm palm. A lingering sort of action, deftly pressing his lips to the curve and taking in the sudden peace that fills him. One that would be difficult to break, no matter what may come his way.

So he lets it fill him, all the way to the brim, until the exhaustion from the weeks before now is finally acknowledged in heavy limbs. He is a sorry sight, worn and bloody, but she touches him anyway. For that he is glad. ❛ I have missed you. ❜ It has been too long. Longer than all the times before, but the search of the second Great Rune took his time, forcing him away from the church, from her. Yet he looks back up at her now and knows he will not leave for so long again. He needs only her smile, that loving golden gaze, and the worries of what is to come, of what needs to happen, is brought down low. Covered, ignored, for there is peace. Peace and a swelling happiness.

❛ So much. ❜

@saovaene !

[lrdvyke]

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together + from @goldhunt

It is not the village underneath the Church of Inhibition. Nor is it near the tower with its constant yellow flame, brought forth by those on their last dregs of life. They give their all to the Frenzy, hoping for a higher chance, but it wastes them away. No. It is not that. Instead, this village is merely for the ailing. Once brought low by a nameless plague until the Frenzy came through, took over the rest and infected their already broken minds. Vyke swears he can handle this village, filled with people in yellow rags to denote their sickness. ( Where are his? ) They stare off into the flame, unaware of anyone nearby until you touch them first.

He can handle it. He has done so before. He can now.

Voices stop him. They whisper. Some croon. Others yell. Indecipherable. A jumble altogether, ceaseless. A melody too, hopeless and somber, ekes out in the distance. There is an echo to it, as if within a cave. Perhaps in the depths? Far, far below. The voices continue. He cannot tell from where, nor can he tell what they are saying. Still. It surrounds him. The Flame grows brighter and brighter, until it is swallows everything whole. A wriggle inside his mind, it reaches forth. Try to grasp. The voices only grow louder. A moan. ( Is it him? ) Only one thing is understandable: the plea for succor.

Ah, there you are.

His eye burst alight with blinding pain, as teeth grit and body contorts backwards. A loud roar fills his head, fills his entire being. Calm hands touch him then. A chill to them, but also a steady strength. Fingertips press into his burning flesh at the sides, but he wants to pull them away. He wants to get out of the grip. But they remain, pulling upon him instead and bringing him forward. His hands are ripped off of his eyes, feeling his face cradled. There is a gentleness that is at odds with the pain, and Vyke tries to focus on it. He tries. Even as his body finally crumples forward, no longer locked in place. He feels Darian close, holding him up so precariously.

❛ I'm here, ❜ Vyke whispers. Breathless. He keeps his eyes closed though, knowing that what his forehead rests upon is Darian's own—not willing to tempt the Frenzy out despite the craving deeply rooted inside of him. ❛ I'm here. ❜

@goldhunt !

[lrdvyke]

Francesco Pazzi + profile MEDICI THE MAGNIFICENT (2018)

[lrdvyke]

REASONS TO CUP A FACE. ( A PROMPT LIST. )

with the help of some very talented and amazing friends, i present to you an unexpected, very spontaneous meme list based on the beautiful art of cupping someone's face! there's a mix of romantic and platonic here, and even a few that defy the boundaries of normal relationship dynamics! i hope you enjoy! as always; DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST NOR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN!

[KISS]: sender cups the receivers face in their hands before drawing them closer for a kiss.

[CHECK]: after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.

[CLEAN]: sender affectionately wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of the receiver's mouth, cupping their face in the process.

[LIFT]: sender gently cups the receiver's face and lifts their chin so the receiver is looking up at them.

[COMFORT]: sender cups a distressed receiver's face in their hands and steadies them by resting their foreheads together.

[ATTENTION]: during an important conversation, the sender takes the receiver's face in their hands and firmly directs their focus on them.

[MAKE-UP]: while applying make-up on the receiver's face, the sender cups their face in order to keep them still.

[PRIDE]: after the receiver succeeds in a remarkable achievement, the sender cups their face and tilts their foreheads together to express how proud they are of them.

[WHISPER]: in order to have a private, hushed conversation with the receiver, the sender cups their face and draws them close to make sure they can be heard.

[HAIR]: in the process of pushing the receiver's hair back from their face, the sender lets their hand rest against the receiver's cheek a moment longer.

[GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again.

[WONDER]: unable to comprehend how incredible the receiver is, the sender decides to simply cup their face in their hands and marvel at them instead.

[LAST LOOK]: before going into a situation that may result in their death, the sender takes a moment to cup the unaware receiver's face in their hand, just to take a final look of admiration at them before they go.

[SACRIFICE]: the sender cups the receiver's face tenderly to distract them, right before shoving them out of the way (to safety) and facing an attack alone in order to buy the receiver enough time to escape.

[BELIEF]: in a moment where the receiver is lacking in self-confidence, the sender cups their face tenderly and professes their faith in the receiver's abilities.

[DISBELIEF]: after the receiver has done something completely unexpected (and reckless) the stunned sender cups their face in their hands while trying to get them to explain why the hell they did it.

[BETRAYAL]: trying to keep the receiver calm before the big reveal, the sender cups their face gently to keep them steady, and then reveals that they're the villain.

[WOUND]: after the receiver has been wounded, the sender tries to keep them calm and conscious by cupping their face in their hands and talking to them to keep them focused.

[INJURY]: after having been badly wounded themselves, the sender tries to reassure the frantic receiver by cupping their face and comforting them.

[RAMSAY]: after the receiver commits a culinary crime, the sender presses two slices of bread against either side of their face, cupping their face to hold the bread in place, and calls them an idiot sandwich.

[lrdvyke]

[lrdvyke]

Vyke's breath comes out in a huff behind his silver helm. Pale eyes narrow for a fraction of a second, assaulted by the quick flash of gold; that which marks the arrival of another. Unwanted. Dangerous. One that towers as steady as the trees ( perhaps just as old as they too ) and adds himself to the natural forming cage that once felt so open before. Vyke's grip around his warspear tightens—the point is aimed downwards, almost scraping the dewy ground, but no less loose to swing upwards should it be deemed necessary.

Tarnished hunter. He has heard of them, seen their kind patrol the Lands Between, but dared no closer than that. This one ... this one is different. No black shrouds him, but horns jut forth like that of the omenkind. Vyke reassess his position. He does not attack.

❛ Seems no different than what has taken up residence here, omen, ❜ Vyke says then, wary of the steps the other has taken across the ground. ❛ With such limitations you place, no one is allowed here. Including you, from what I gather. ❜

A quick motion to the side of him; his Maiden shifts and moves half from the tree, watching. Vyke does not act as if he noticed. Perhaps the other has not either. Tarnished hunters often turn into Maiden killers after all ...

❛ But I do not have reason to stay longer than is welcomed. Merely passing through, if you would allow—no harm will come to here, this I swear. ❜

⠀ ⠀-- {{ @lrdvyke }}

THE MIST HANGS THICK TO DAMP EARTH AND BLOOD IN CRACKED RIBCAGES.

⠀ ⠀Gilded rot clings to the ruined, a tarnished opulence, a whisper of ruin masquerading as splendor. A distant rattle of armour on the carcass of fractured splendor of polished ground. The forest hollows quiet splinters and festering weeping. It had taken over the once golden marble and stone.

⠀ ⠀The omen strides accustomed to ruin; a careful prowl of a hunter in the footsteps of a mark. His shadow is an old story-- half remembered and veiled. The cracked gold of his flesh caught in slivers of weak moonlight, fractured by the canopy above, casting reflections as jagged as the crown he did not wear. His tail curled, idly striking against the roots of an ancient tree, dislodging the hush with a whisper of movement. He is a king who has been unseated, a son who has inherited a kingdom of bones and ash. His fingers twitch beneath the hem of his robes, where his sword rests as the golden glow in the dark.

⠀ ⠀" Thy presence here is a mockery, Tarnished. Thee step onto the ground of the sacred nature with no regard. Even the roots recoil from thy stench. How typical of thy blighted kind... Thee warrant no rest. " Margit speaks in low threat-- an offering of mercy for the doubtful. There is no peace here. Not in the endless, spiraling green that seems to mock the very idea of tranquillity.

⠀ ⠀Another man who bore faith like a banner, like a curse. Another fool who sought a throne that would never be his. A warrior drowned in the flame of loyalty, a knight who should have been greater than fate allowed. Once a name spoken with reverence, now a warning carved in scorched ground.

[lrdvyke]

Festering Fingerprint Vyke doodle

指痕爛れのヴァイクの落書き

[lrdvyke]

Just follow me. Follow my voice.

[lrdvyke]

let it be known, vyke is a dingus pt 2 manga

tho it is funny not even the manga wants to go into his great runes bc who tf knows jus change the subject and carry on ghkshgjks

ALSO HE HAS HIS EYE IN A BAG IM FUCKGHDKJSGHJKSD

also anyway imma go throw up now and be sad

tho ngl i like how he acts in this manga, mix of being funny / humble ish / and utterly depressing = a good time ghjksghjkfs

[lrdvyke]

no i’m not lonely yes i tear up when i see random families and friend groups in public. i do it on purpose. i do it for fun. ok

[lrdvyke]

Vyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyke

[lrdvyke]

Gonna dance in fire as the pain goes numb In the final kingdom.