meadowlarksabove

[meadowlarksabove]

Their breathing changed, and he saw then, or thought he saw, a fire sparking in the pit of those eyes. As if a candle were lit at the other end of a long and shadowed hallway. It could have just as likely been the reflection of his own want wading back to him from the darkness, bouncing off of some reflective surface as to lure him to ruin– or maybe this was the sign he’d been waiting for. A revelation. Captivating him like the apparition of a saint. 

Whichever the case may be, Gabban was willing to take the risk. The hand on Jin’s face shifted its grasp, wrapping instead around their throat and pinning them further. Another shot of electricity ran up his spine as he held them there without so much as a struggle, or a chance to run away, as if he were actually laying claim to a mate. Perhaps he was, in his own way. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to their lips, struggling to leash his urges the longer he remained close, and tasted the cherry glaze from the martini still fresh on their tongue. That hint of sweetness made him complain slightly, a growl at the back of his throat, finding their perfection all the more confounding. It was unfair, really, how some people managed to live in God’s good graces. 

Gabban pulled away slightly, mouth ghosting to the side of their face and his fingers clenching. “I was thinking of going home, and fucking until I’ve left every ounce of myself inside you.” 

A laugh rasped out of him, a little surprised with the heat of his own confession, and a part of him wondered if he was being willed to speak by something else- by the fire of pentecost. “I know you asked for a hint, but I’m not here to mess around.” His expression sharpened and a new shadow was cast over his features. 

“Tell me. Do you want me tonight? Yes or no?”

It felt enthralling and all encompassing to be swept up in Gabban’s gaze. His desire was palpable, and it enveloped Jin like a rush of warm ocean water as the tide rolled over the shore. It was idyllic, a small oasis in a back alley of asphalt and old cement blocks. So what if the ocean was unpredictable? He would take his chances with the sharks if he got to bathe in the waters of emotional paradise.

The sudden thud of Gabban's boot against the wall made him flinch for a split second. The hair on the back of his neck raised. Animal instinct. The grip on his jaw made the muscles in his back tighten as his palms lay flat against the rough brick behind them. His extremities grew hot; first his fingers, then his toes, then another part of him that he hoped Gabban would not notice. It was subtle, at least for the moment, and as he drew his attention to the chill in the air he was able to force it to subside for a moment.

He studied his new paramour’s scars, each one a story he was sure. It made him wonder just how they got there, though he had a feeling that it wasn’t a series of unfortunate accidents. That train of though was quickly derailed as the brush of the tip of a thumb on his lip made Jin nearly whine aloud. His mind already races further ahead than it should have, and he was starting to succumb to his own urges. Already Gabban seemed so familiar with him, his body, with the way that he backed him into the wall and manoeuvred his head, caressed his lips and jaw.

A deep breath and a shiver from the night air made him pause. He still needed to show some restraint, even if he was overdue for the carnal touch of a stranger.

"Depends," he mumbled, "on what your plans are... Give me a hint?"

[meadowlarksabove]

Gabban had loomed closer in the seconds it took for them to respond, his expression still the mask of tenderness it’d always been, and the burgeoning weight of his spiritual revelations a mere whisper in his chest. But there was no mistaking the urgency of his affections nor the slow trail of his gaze. Searing hot, a flame catching along a line of gasoline.

“I do.” His boot thudded against the wall behind them, wedging itself firmly between both of their legs as he guided them flat against the bricks. One of his hands touched the side of Jin’s neck, ghosting over the jugular as it searched for the base of their jaw, then carefully raised their face. Moving them as he did, forcing them to look him squarely in the eyes, sent shivers up his spine. Warmth gathered at the pit of his stomach, and he knew it wouldn’t take long for something else to stir in the wake of all his excitement.  

Another grin creased the scars across his features, like cracks over an apollonian mask, or corrosion on a bas-relief. His appearance belonged to some other, more blessed world, but this one had left its marks all the same. Made him real and less than. Not like Jin and their perfectly smooth skin. With eyes that could have driven a siren mad. They remained a worthy creature, favored in the garden of delights, with all the endowments of a pure and godly beauty. Precious beyond belief. 

I need to worship you. 

 Carefully, he pressed a thumb to their bottom lip, black leather against flushed skin. He let it linger in silence, as if trying to catch himself before pouncing, staying the urges that welled up in his throat and in his hips. “Want to come with?” 

His grasp on their jaw tightened, but only slightly, a change small enough to be dismissed. But this was the point of no return for him, and the path ahead could only open with their approval. Just this once. Everything after that…

Something about the taller man was familiar, vaguely, as if he'd seen him in a dream or an oil painting in the halls of a world class museum. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he was missing, some memory that was supposed to click to explain why the other felt so magnetic and sparked a sense of déjà vu. Jin let the feeling linger as it intermixed with a sense of caution and unease that only seemed to make Gabban more alluring to him. Why he felt this way he didn't know, but embracing a little bit of risk hadn't hurt him — so far.

Gabban’s non-answer didn’t help much. Sure. Sure it was a joke, or sure it wasn't? It should have made him run, slip back into the bar, and call a cab home. Any reasonable person would see the red flags for what they were and heed their warning. Instead the red flags blurred pink in the haze of the man’s aura; with eyes the shined and a face with a curve so expertly sculpted he ought to be displayed in a museum Gabban was entrancing to the eye. He was fixated on his beauty, eager to hear more sweet nothings and words of validation pass from those marble carved lips.

Jin hesitated, stalled. He shrugged, unsure of exactly how much information he ought to divulge. His heart thumped in his chest. The squeak of leather permeated the sound of his blood rushing through his head.

"Not particularly," he said softly, eyes darting around to take in his surroundings. It was still quiet, save for the traffic nearby and the thrum of the bar on the other side of the wall behind them. The clear sections of the sky were beginning to fill with clouds. More rain would be coming.

Dark irises shifted as Jin watched the way Gabban's lips twitched. He could see the way the blond devoured him with his eyes, the way he hovered over him like a stallion mounting a mare. He knew in part what Gabban's intentions were and that they overlapped with his own. Coming home empty handed was his worst case scenario that night, and it seemed as though his chance encounter was frothing at the mouth to help him avoid that fate. The strange way Gabban made him feel was not enough to override how desired Jin felt when

"Do you?"

[meadowlarksabove]

Gabban stepped closer, lured by the touch of her fingers and the brief turn of her cheek. She placed a kiss on the hollow of his palm, like whispering revelations against his skin, traces of her divinity left behind in a red splotch. The gesture left him speechless for a moment, and all he heard were the jittering of limbs at their feet. Nerves fighting the slow onslaught of death. 

Then, never breaking from her gaze or walking away, he drew the blessed hand towards his mouth and licked the smear clean off. Clearly reveling– not in the taste, but in everything that was Celia. Whether the blood was hers or not, he would simply swallow anything she gave him. 

@meadowlarksabove sent Gabban to tenderly smudge blood off Celia's cheek.

Non-Sexual Acts of Dominance (open)

the contradictions of the blood splattered against her skin and the softness of the expression beneath were many, but none concerned Celia so much as the moment itself. as his hand closed the distance, wiping the droplets gently off her cheek, her own raised to capture it, no leave permitted as her gaze held his. after a long moment, she turned her head just a little, maneuvering their hands that she might place a kiss upon his palm.

the color of her lips lingered in small splotches, imprinted on Gabban's skin by the splattered blood staining them.

[meadowlarksabove]

His heart raced, desperate to make itself felt through the touch of his warm skin, as if to say– You’re not alone! Not here, not ever. But what right did it have in confessing such things? What did he know of her life except for the shadows in the corners of her lips? 

Silence hung over their heads for another moment, until he mustered up the strength and the flushed madness to break it.

“Do you picture it now?”

she leaned against him just a little bit more; the slightest pressure against his warm touch.

"that life was like living on another planet... unreal, in so many ways..." was it the Mojave that felt real, or was it just him? his presence, his touch - perhaps the desert was still more real than Big Mountain, but Gabban... he blew all of it out of the water.

"I never pictured... happiness."

[meadowlarksabove]

Jin was beautiful even in the grasp of darkness. The mere outline of their silhouette was enough to betray the heavenly curves of their figure, and the spark of their eyes (so self assured) was a hint of the bold, assertive spirit which gladdened his own heart. The shadows weren’t enough to shroud what had lured Gabban. This pure, ghost-light which had passed him by chance and struck him with the full force of an epiphany. A man with all the grace of a god, and whose lips were now seared into his vision like the glare of an after-image. It was almost painful to look at them directly in the face, as if he were in the presence of someone whose splendor burned with the intensity of a star, and left sun spots in his eyes. 

Good thing he’d taken his time to grow used to it or else he would have struggled to get this close tonight. 

He had actually seen them before– long, long before this conversation. Not in the warm and crowded bar, but out under the stars, the both of them having crossed the street in opposite directions. The other hadn't looked then, but he had, not a second later and he would have missed that perfect profile backlit by a street lamp. That had been enough to plague Gabban’s mind with all manner of visions, all of his joints pulled taut by strings which knotted themselves around their lithe fingers. He’d been possessed since that moment, waiting every other night to see if they would take the same road again, attempting to trace their daily commute to more personal locations. Until at last he spied where, he guessed, they must have worked, and everything else simply fell into place. 

Passion had a way of making him act, urging his limbs to move and his mouth to speak. Before he knew it, he’d sat next to them at the bar, content with a bit of silence at first, only to strike up a conversation then with the same ease as lighting a match. Yet once he’d lit the fire he knew the flames would spread, and there would be no stopping the blaze until they’d reached the mettle of his bones. 

Maybe that’s what he’d meant. That there was no stopping the course of his own desires. Something had shifted in his mind, locked itself firmly in place, and he knew his interests in Jin were more than certain. That it was already a kind of love come to nest in his ribs. Though– he could have just as easily meant something else as well. The fact he’d led them out into a back alley didn’t speak well of his intentions, in spite of his heart being (mostly) in the right place.

 Gabban looked down at the shorter man, noting with strange delight how it was possible, and likely comfortable, to hold them in place if he took the risk. The corners of his mouth twitched before he smiled, and his gloved hand flexed at their touch. Already, there was too much he wanted to do. 

“Sure.” His right boot inched closer, almost settling between their feet. Almost. “Did you have any plans after this?”

@meadowlarksabove sent :: "you know you can't actually stop me, right?"

The enigmatic stranger had captured his attention early on in the evening. What was a conversation at a crowded bar had become a private rendezvous in a back alley. Gabban, he said his name was, hovered over Jin; the brunet’s 5 feet 5 inch height was easily eclipsed by the 5 foot 10 inch blond. That was part of what drew him in, truth be told. Now, however, was worried he would regret it.

He tapped his foot against the rain soaked asphalt. One hand rested on the brick wall behind him, the other on his hip. Jin watched carefully as Gabban spoke. He was cryptic, that was for sure. Intense, passionate. He’d made his desires clear albeit without saying directly the words I want you. It was equally as alluring as it was concerning; the enormity of Gabban’s desire was clean, but his intentions were not. Things seemed to be moving awfully quick, though Jin had never been the type to take things slow even when every sign said STOP. So far he had ignored the red flags, walked right towards them. When Gabban wanted him alone he obliged. He went into the dark and rainy night with him, alone, and allowed the mysterious Casanova to nearly pin him to the wall. The way Gabban’s eyes gleamed distracted Jin from the way his lips twisted just long enough to catch him off guard.

Stop him? Stop him from doing what, exactly? The conversation had certainly been charged, and Jin had some idea of what the other might have meant. It made him gulp. He watched Gabban’s face carefully, hoping it was a joke or a metaphor.

“Why would I have to stop you?” he asked with a quiver underlying his voice that he tried his best to hide.

His eyes darted up and down Gabban’s face, pale and illuminated just barely by the dim streetlights in the distance. In the dark he could still see his eyes, the way they glistened, and how they fixated on him. His heart skipped a beat. His hands and feet began to tingle. Doubt crawled up his spine and wrapped around his hips, squeezing, slithering and sending bolts of electricity up and down his limbs. He felt something south of his navel twitch slightly, though he didn’t want to think about it.

Fear. Arousal. The difference was minuscule, though right now his fear presided. He hoped that Gabban noticed neither. He drifted his fingertips down Gabban’s arm in an attempt at distracting him from how his fingers had started to tremble with anticipation. What he was anticipating he did not yet know.

“I thought we were having a good time so far.”

[meadowlarksabove]

Very busy and stressed tonight, but I've started thinking of prince!Gabban again. A wicked, and gorgeous people-eating fae, prisoner in his own waterfront castle, looking out from his bedroom window. The sun, moon and sea his only constant companions. Hoping someone comes along who's kind enough, foolish enough, to free him.

[meadowlarksabove]

Call me crazy but Gabban´s lap is the ideal place to rest your weary head on 👀

[meadowlarksabove]

Random headcanon question! List up to ten (or more, why limit yourself?) words that Gabban likes and their definitions/the deeper or hidden meaning they hold for him?

Questions! ( Always Open )

(Ooo! Thank you for sending this in! I had a lot of fun figuring this out!)  Ademán - Movement or gesture of a part of the body that expresses feeling or intent. A word for body language, something he observes very closely.  Alba - The first signs of light just before the sun rises over the horizon. End of another grueling night, the hope that a new day comes and he isn’t damned to an eternal night.  Ambrosia - Food and drink of the gods, served to them by their trusted servants, including Ganymede.  Amor, fidus amor - Love, true love.  Apricus - “sunny��, “full of sunshine”, “warmed by the sun”, he thinks of his siblings as being filled with a light that makes them special/favored. Gabban thinks it’s exactly what he lacks.  Cupiditas - expresses an excessive amount of desire, sometimes related to greed/gluttony, but often used to describe one’s extreme lust or passion.  Ganymede - a name, but these words sometimes ring in Gabban’s head, making him unreasonably angry : “and godlike Ganymede that was born the fairest of mortal men; wherefore the gods caught him up on high to be cupbearer to Zeus by reason of his beauty, that he might dwell with the immortals.”  Limerence - Intense, involuntary attraction to another person that borders on a debilitating obsession. As if possessed. Roman literature didn’t speak much about love as a pleasant emotion, but of being filled with Venus, compelled, as if maddened by her power.  Mellifluus, Mellifluous - “Flowing with honey”, the sound (usually of a voice) that is smooth and full of sweetness. More of a personal association, I think his voice is lovely!!! Penumbra - Twilight, half shadow and half light, something ambiguous and complicated.  Sempiterno - Something with a clear beginning, yet will never end. Explicitly reminds him of falling in love, being able to recall the exact moment he melts and surrenders himself to another person, yet is unable to fathom the end of his ecstasy. Because for him there is no such thing as an end.  Spero - Present verb, to hope, to believe and to fear (if one thinks the worst is soon to come).

[meadowlarksabove]

Does Gabban ever feel invisible or ignored? How does he react to these feelings? How does he respond to silence? Does he take comfort in soundlessness, or does he seek to fill the void with noise?

Questions! ( Always Open )

All the time, and glad of it.  It’s better to be ignored, remain a quiet fixture at the table of his master, than to stand out and be called for something- anything. He’s sick of Caesar and his peers. Even Vulpes makes him desperate for the quiet, sometimes, with their intense and wicked fealty. If he can pass unnoticed then he’s safe for another day, free of demands that would otherwise soil his heart. He’s already given everything away, any more and he’ll simply break apart.  But the truth is, he fears that everyone at the table can see his shame and abject wretchedness, like a taint on his person. That everything, once said and done, has left marks across his flesh they can all understand, like cracks on a vase or tears on a fine canvas. That his inhumanity is clear. Gabban knows that he is less than, like an unworthy mongrel, but that’s his burden to bear. Which is why he serves so diligently and makes himself useful, to make up for all that he lacks. He’s not simply avoiding them because he’s repulsed–  he’s hiding from their repulsion of him.

[meadowlarksabove]

There came another bout of silence, and with it, a subtle shift in the air, the pressure of something lurking in the underbrush. Gabban wasn’t disturbed by the sharpness of their eyes, but wondered over their thoughts, inscrutable from a glance as their gaze formed an impenetrable wall, like a forest which cut through the middle of a traveler’s path. The frumentarius was certain he was being observed from behind the crimson treeline, and judged perhaps. He was often at odds with soldierly sensibilities, never able to make the right connections, or like their praetorian, bring up the topics everyone seemed to know by heart. Yet what he’d said held a truth that couldn’t be denied, and a reminder that Venus still beat in his chest with the power of a ritual drum. Forever with him, in spite of the horror of living. In spite of everything he knew himself to be. 

Unworthy, unworthy. 

The Legate broke the link of their stare, yet Gabban still searched their features for any gestures which might betray the course of their contemplation, the fire never waning but increasing in fervor. He faced the shadows, steadfast and unabashed, until at last they graced him with a response. Only a flock of birds rushing from under the reeds to the trees. Not at all what he’d expected, but he took their consideration and subtle praise in stride. It didn’t matter if their words had been made in jest, being called a lover of any kind was akin to acknowledging the intensity of his worship, torn hands upon the ankles of Her effigy, his prayers tinted with sorrow and joy. A soft chuckle broke through his smile and he seemed to fully swaddle himself in the warmth their talk of flowers had brought. 

“Cor aut mors.” How could a person live without being devoted to something– anything? Devotion, he felt, were the stairs which led him up to the surface, the light of the sun and moon which shone into the darkness of Caesar’s dungeon. Without it, he wouldn’t have made it to this table, or dragged himself from the violence underground. All Gabban had was the yearning and his loyalty to it. 

“You shouldn’t discount these dogs just yet. Their trouble isn’t that they lack devotion, but what they choose to love instead.” The men of the Fort weren’t bereft of loyalty, but common sense, wasting their lives on matters that rarely served them in the end. He was sure if the conversation were passed across the table, however, the mongrels would call his love of flowers pointless as well. Yet nature’s delights had never asked him to die on the fields or bathe them in the blood of the innocent. 

Gabban glanced at the tapestry behind the young Legate, considering the image of Mars and the splendor of the god’s viciousness. Then added in a whisper– “They might never understand your view of them, of Yuma or of loyalty. Not until they’ve found a flower of their own, and find that even the pain of its thorns is precious to them. Unfortunately, one is often alone among comrades here.”

His eyes did not betray what it was that he thought, what he felt, as he watched and listened to the young man crack himself open almost reverently, willing in a way that was not new to the brute but usually offered in different ways, with different meaning. Coming in the form of a body and soul offering themselves willing in their unquestioned unison, almost begging him with their eyes and glances to use him for this war, to send them and order them and make use rather than shelter. The eagerness in which especially the younger legionnaires wanted to prove themselves and their worth for a position within not even particularly higher rank but a trusted union within men that were strong and served Caesar's will so blindly it was the norm and looked down upon if you did not. A humbling willingness that he was left dealing with, deciding over, closing his eyes in front of whenever he knew that the sending of such willingness would not bear fruit and was instead impending doom. When a mission was successful if no one returned. When not coming back was accepted collateral damage. A fate that befell them all on the shorter and the longer run equally within the grand scheme of the very man that had brought Lupercus into being.

To see such eagerness, such willingness ignite a fire brightening keen eyes and warming features beautiful but cold enough to gift him a smile that he was truly all but deserving of, left the Legate speechless. A state of stunted he covered up by his unchanging demeanor, looking watchful and attentive and blinking occasionally, looking almost as though he was not listening and could yawn any moment now. In another truth he did not want to speak. Did not want to interrupt the speech, the voice. The handsome young man that bloomed before him as though he was one of those many flowers himself. His immeasurable thirst for water finally quenched by the revelation that he was not the last to remain after all, that out there, despite all odds, more flowers grew and bloomed, and Lupercus felt as though he was the foreboding force to pluck it clean from the ground. If he spoke. If he indulged. Killing something beautiful even if thought that its beauty was unfathomable. Another curse. To want something beautifully taken home. Thinking there was where it belonged. The desire to own it, to have all rights over it.

Caesar was doing just the same. Walking across a colorful field and plucking all the flowers he deemed the most beautiful, to take home and put them all into one of his many porcelain vases. Watching them die a little more each passing day. Killing them slowly and feeling no remorse over that fact. Disappointment even, once the day arrived and they were no longer colorful and pretty. Discarding them then – their worth lost.

            „I guess they can be useful“, he finally broke the silence and eased the felt tension by breaking his stare and sending his gaze wandering again. To be a lover to flowers. He hummed, in a way it could be considered thoughtful. Already hearing in his head Sostratus and his talk about women being just as fertile and just as beautiful.

            „So you are a devoted lover. That is something most of these dogs lack.“

[meadowlarksabove]

Gabban refused to believe, despite a life’s worth of evidence, its traces visible across his own flesh, that cruelty could be anyone’s first language. A child learned the word ‘hello’ before ever saying their first ‘goodbye’, and the same could be said of that liminal space between compassion and apathy. One could only follow the other, hand in hand, born as twins, or the aspects of the selfsame Goddess. Violence didn’t exist in a vacuum, or in the mere absence of peace, but as emotions coalesced to a rot, an infectious fever which corrupted all sides yet had sprung out from the eternal calm. A person must ‘want’ before they could think of ‘rejection’, ‘hunger’ before learning to gag and turn up their noses at something that’d seemingly spoiled. Hence his warmth, the natural unraveling of his heart, wasn’t a far cry from the darkness wedged in the nook of his ribs. It lived alongside it, belonged to him in ways that were just as viscerally terrifying and beautiful. Venus’ domain was grand and vastly complicated, rich with contradictions and experiences ritualized by their own cyclical nature. Not everyone understood the extremes and how they often grasped each other to form an endless chain. Which is why his light had an odd way of attracting vermin, who in the prettiness of his spark, believed he was something to selfishly suckle on– mistaking the softness of his confessions for a lack of teeth. 

They were very wrong. Beyond that still-yearning organ, he was just as grossly unworthy as the rest, or worse. A mongrel. 

But Paukka wasn’t a bloodsucking vermin, he was a flower with a perfume scent, a luring musk which drew him further and further. Had he, without thinking, recognized those pretty eyes as something fated? Confounding, precious, and godlike even. Here was a man whose inhibitions were muddled by Baccus, and had all the excuses in the world to recklessly mock him, to bite him. Instead, they had extended a welcoming hand, a petal gently grazing his cheek with all the tenderness of a beloved companion. That level of mercy and blessed affection came as a great shock, the flash of something spiritually significant and utterly sublime.

“Really!” A smile broke through his breathless awe, Juno’s light seen through the boughs of  a shady tree. Lovely and, for the first time in a string of miserable nights, incandescently happy. “Now you’re teasing me.” 

He reached over the table and gently pressed an open palm over the back of their hand (calloused skin beneath his pads yet his heart was set to race). Briefly, he squeezed and mouthed a soundless ‘thank you’, a whisper from the shadowed corner of his chest, a sign that in spite of everything, love still made its home there.”You have a sweetness of your own, you know.” 

After another pause, he let go, not wanting to break away from their touch, but careful to never overstay his welcome. The sight of their indirect ‘kiss’ went wholly unnoticed in all that exchange, distracted by the directness of their gaze, but their worded hints had been well received. “Now I’m curious, how does one rightly appreciate a clever mind and a sweet face? Or better yet- how do I appreciate when I’m in the presence of someone kind and handsome?”

            „Name-calling“, he repeated, as if he had trouble believing it. For another moment his eyes looked the other over, examined. Looked as though he was making sure that he and those mentioned truly had the same person before them.

To think that Gabban had been the way he was in front of others, had caught insult for it and still had the muse and naturalness to be the way he was after, validated the image Paukka had painted of him. There was a light within the other that he perhaps did not even know of. That stood in testament to a goodness that was not snuffed out. If his own mind would be just a little clearer, worry would rise, alongside of hope, that this very light would continue to flicker and shine and not be culled entirely through encounters and horrors faced the moment he would leave through the door he had come through. If his mind would not be such a haze and working properly Paukka would have acknowledged the hope he had, for only good to happen to the younger-looking man and the selfish want to see him again. Instead he sat there occupied with non-believing over how anyone could talk down to someone that was of a good heart. Got a little angry at the thought, even, perhaps. Alongside the warmth that continued to fill him, that trickled in and tickled senses and wants, desires deeply hidden away mixing with the simplicity of I want to do good for him. Make up for the bad others have caused. It came so naturally to him. The believe that Gabban deserved it. As though he knew this man for years, so assured he felt of his made decision. A dog raising hackles opposing those he felt he had to correct without ever having seen them in person. That warm want to reach out and pull Gabban into an embrace and shield him from the outside, keep him from stepping out again, from meeting more people that derogated his shine.

A long, pressed exhale left him. Forced through his nose like the huffing of a bull unhappy with the red piece of fabric swayed before both his eyes. Lowering his gaze he locked onto the third drink that was offered to him, halved but not less, because instinctively (he did not know why) his eyes landed on the same spot Gabban's lips had lingered as he has drank from it, and amidst slowly reaching and stretching for the glass to pull it into his own grasp, turned the glass, until that same spot now faced him. Paukka could feel how his own body felt increasingly heavy and how his reaction time was reduced, how time seemed to stretch with every movement that he made. Dulled and otherworldly, like he was trapped in some kind of parallel universe where time acted differently. A sign that he should stop there, too. That he had enough and should not drink anymore. Yet the lure was too strong, the want too great.

            „Many places and with them, many people have gone to hell“, the man began, the words starting to form a little more slowly than in the beginning, dragged-out, yet his speech still remained clear. Untouched by the intoxication that spread.

            „They would not recognize a clever mind or a sweet face, even if it were shoved right underneath their noses. They don’t know how to appreciate.“

Holding eye contact the entire time he spoke (hinted at something between the lines) Paukka slowly lifted Gabban's glass, gracing the spot Gabban's lips had touched only to then drink the rest of the contents in one go.

[meadowlarksabove]

The frumentarius opened his eyes, briefly caught in everything that was her presence, but still willing to release her from his grasp. Even if she were the only piece of driftwood keeping him afloat, his last chance for air, Gabban would rather drown than drag her to the bottom alonside himself.

 “Alright.” 

He smiled, stepped back with a sigh, and handed @shadowatmorning the jacket with a quirk of the brow. “Now– you should start looking for that button.”

the anticipation built steadily with his caution, and Celia could feel her heartbeat pick up as he drew her in, first physically, then through the depth of the kiss. her thoughts swam, and surfacing for air seemed an impossible concept; the moment their lips parted again, she softly sighed.

"I -" there was the slightest catch in her breath as she watched Gabban with a heavy-lidded gaze. "I think that was enough. for now." despite the slightest stutter and breathlessness, Celia's tone remained as casual as it usually was, her teasing an afterthought

[meadowlarksabove]

If you still take the outfit prompts, how would your characters dress for an official, big funeral/burying rite? :^)

Outfit prompts! ( Open )

Depends on the level of respect he had for the deceased. He WILL stunt on your funeral if he hates you. But this is more or less accurate to what he'd wear. If this were a funeral for a soldier/superior then he would have on a darker variation of his uniform. (Money, wine and grain are offerings for the dead.)

[meadowlarksabove]

How would Gabban dress if he was a priest of Venus? OR thinking about Gabban as the Pythia/the oracle of Delphi

Outfit prompts! (Open)

Tried mixing both concepts together! Here's three outfits for Gabban as an augur of Venus, worn in different contexts. (Left to right) First one would be every day activities, second would be for sacrificies, third would be officiating ritual sex/consummation of marriages.

[meadowlarksabove]

I can't find those posts that are like "send me an occasion/scenario and I'll show you how my character would dress for it", but I wanna do that so-- send me prompts

[meadowlarksabove]

the closer it gets to december the closer I am to resuming the dnd campaign where I'm using werewolf Gabban aaa