#* & wax wings and the salty sea — persephone aisa .

[tewwor]

i never liked kissing until you. ( litho! )

kissy kissy meme (accepting)

“It’s gross.” Litho states it simple, matter-of-fact, like he always does with most frivolous interactions. Yet there’s a current of continuous thought behind those dark honeyed eyes. As if he’s still in the process of studying something, hypothesizing. “You know how many germs are in the human mouth alone?” There comes a crude noise and scrunch of nose. “Too many to count, but I’ve always thought it gross.” A beat. “And pointless.” Another beat. “And.. stupid.” It’s becoming clear he’s losing steam in age old conviction.

Persephone’s looked at under the dawn of understanding. Of acceptance and applause for all those lovesick poets. Maybe they actually had a point — go figure. “But now, it’s better than I could’ve ever imagined. Even better than that, really. But… Oh, no… What’s this? I’m starting to forget.. Might need a reminder, stat.”

[tewwor-moving]

* & DOODLES .

heavy judgement from mine beloved seph — @huntershowl

[tewwor]

⛓️ also this is going to hurt me so bad but litho

send ⛓️ to find my muse bloody, bruised and restrained ( accepting )

𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈 . . . 𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 .

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙸𝚃. Foul, starving things that will stop at nothing to ease the ache in their belly. To kill the mundane they impersonate and gorge on their emotions, flesh, souls — their entire being.

And your end of the deal is to do everything in your power to stop them. You are to kill these ravenous beasts that plague the Earth.

𝙴𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 .

Light, pain, and smells pulse in waves. The shattered cage of ribs press into inflamed lung membrane time and time again. Each increment barely lifts the struggling organ, but it's enough to keep him awake. Horrendously alive and aware whenever his heavy head breaks past the oily film of wavering consciousness.

There's no fight left in him. Not anymore.

The superficial pain inflicted by means of gunfire, blades, surgical tools, and more... it hardly compares to the agony brought forth by the very thing that's kept him alive in this monster-filled world. His gift — 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚔 — gives as much as it takes. What had once stopped at the knob of each wrist, now surges near the jut of shoulders.

He's given them hell. Most of their numbers have dwindled; the majority of which absorbed into the belly of slithering acid, or staked to every conceivable surface around.

𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈 . . . 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . .

𝚈𝙾𝚄: What if I fail?

████ : Then you will die.

𝚈𝙾𝚄: What if I don't want to die?

████ : Then do not fail.

████ : Do you wish to proceed?

𝙴𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 .

They're still there, the dead. Every one of them having experienced a rapid end by being pinned through the skull. Though Litho doesn't experience that exact treatment, he's very much a part of the gruesome display. Each limb remains clamped to a panel of unforgiving steel. His own head takes residence within a burlap sack. As for the rest of his shivering body.. The lower half is still clothed, albeit heavily stained by gouts of blood, while the upper half is lain bare. Incisions have already been made. Careful and nearly artistic, the undoing of his dermis was already in progress.

He's meant to be studied. Taxidermized in full, unlike the other grunts he made lobotomized puppets of.

It's possible to push a little further. Survival still grips him by the heart, pumps every artery full of blood and fear and pain — more pain as something sharp is shallowly dragged further down. Somewhere, through the dense fog of his brain, he faintly recognizes the shape of cut. One shoulder at a time, down to the breast bone. Further, still, down until... A cotton mouthed moan lolls free when he feels the blade retrace the previous cut. A little deeper, now. Close enough to skim muscle.

𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈 . . . 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . . 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 . . .

████ : yes ☐    no ☐   you will say yes anyways ☑

𝚈𝙾𝚄: ...

𝚈𝙾𝚄: Yes.

𝙴𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚁 . . . 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝚄𝚃𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽 . . .

It’s quiet. Deathly so. The pain still lurks at the edge of his bruised conscience, but there’s no more prodding. No addition to the hurt solely to make him squirm. It doesn’t occur to him that the threat’s been neutralized. That he doesn’t have to try and brace for another slow cut or the beginnings of being flayed or experience having muscles pried apart to access organ matter.

He simply wonders, to best of his ability, if she’ll learn about this end to his story. If she will mourn in grief or destruction. Above all else, he thinks of Persephone in love and sadness and perhaps, peace.

[tewwor]

continued from something i totally didn't start — @huntershowl

Wrong, he wants to say. The feeling of fingers worming beneath his skin is still present. Like his muscles are still pinned back, his body kept open like a cadaver. They touched the lining of my liver, felt for the lungs, tried to pry apart bone and connective tissue for my beating heart.

"Like shit," Litho answers instead, because it's her. They're here, presumably safe, and saved from the horrors he'd been dragged from. His eyelids still feel heavy. Whatever numbing agent they had him under's fighting to be lifted. Yet he can't bring himself to close his eyes for too long, much less rest. "How long was I.. Out?" Feels like he's lifting a mountain with a twig just to inch his arm over, closer towards Persephone.

[tewwor]

❝ she never needed you to save her. ❞ their voice isn't all that different, not really, but it has something of a space-agnostic quality to it — as if it reaches litho's ears at the same quiet volume regardless of the amount of atmosphere between them. not that there's much. persephone, or the divine, impossible thing that was once persephone, brushes back a strand of litho's hair with the tips of her fingers. ❝ you would have doomed yourself. you still would, continuing down this path. but i won't allow it. i will protect you in this life, as they did in theirs. ❞

Everything's fallen apart.

As much as Litho never wanted to admit it ( out loud, to them or himself ), some part of him knew it still could have happened. No matter how hard he tried to keep them safe. How diligent and proactive and everything else needed to keep the only person he gave a damn about safe.. He's always known that their death could always, and would, happen far too soon.

It still hurt. Far more than he could've ever imagined. Hurt more than having his own body reconstructed time and time again — his own death even paled in comparison. If everyone thought he hit rock bottom before ( back when they disappeared for months at a time ), then he's hitting new depths now. No one knows what to do with it, either. They couldn't fire him. His powers are too valuable, and it wouldn't bode well to have a stray Marked in this world.

They'd rather kill him first.

And he'd let them.

"My life's over." He's sat by the same wall, just beneath the still opened window. Arms loop weakly around his drawn up knees, face rested sideways atop it all to stare at... Nothing. Most of him's withered away. The ink that had once bolstered his capabilities having taken over most of this body. It hurts, to live like this. The acidity of which he could once control's grown rampant. He's given up on maintaining balance. "Twice now. Pathetic, isn't it?"

[tewwor]

aaaand fight! ( accepting ) — @huntershowl

“Fuck, you’re ugly.” He can barely hear himself over the insane screech that’s triggered back. “Don’t yell at me about it! Fix your damn self, shit—” All the noise stops in an instant. The tip of his stygian glaive embeds itself into the crazy bat-mutant-thing’s long ass neck. Takes a bit of effort to free the blade by slicing away from the near transparent flesh, but he manages by putting a bit more weight to it.

“As much as I don’t want to be a wet blanket..” A sigh cuts his thought prematurely while he flicks the viscous blood off his weapon. “Think that was their siren. Fucker popped out of nowhere, too, dammit.”

[tewwor-moving]

threads her arms around litho’s shoulders from behind, presses her temple to his. “read me something.”

Upstairs is cast in a soft honey glow over wine-deep shadows. Worn, but well polished, wooden floors are kept clean. The warm toned furniture remain spotless, presentable to the select few allowed access. That basket of towels still sits near the window's ledge. The frame of which unlocked and panes cracked open. Nothing's changed much. Yet they've found comfort in it again.

How horribly domestic of them.

The slither of metallic arms around him reminds him of the time. It's late, as it almost always is whenever she visits. Doesn't mean he's slotted to sleep anytime soon, though. So he pulls a thoughtful face at the request. Tilts his head back until it's met with some part of the warmth from behind.

"So many days, oh so many days seeing you so tangible and so close, how do I pay, with what do I pay?

"The bloodthirsty spring has awakened in the woods. The foxes start from their earths, the serpents drink the dew, and I go with you in the leaves between the pines and the silence, asking myself how and when I will have to pay for my luck. "Of everything I have seen, it's you I want to go on seeing: of everything I've touched, it's your flesh I want to go on touching. I love your orange laughter. I am moved by the sight of you sleeping."

Litho clears his throat softly. Been a while since he's recited a poem out loud; has him feeling rusty with how it's been delivered. "Amor by Pablo Neruda. Only the first half, but it's been on my mind a lot lately." He pauses, momentarily smiles into the cover of dark hair. "I wonder why."

[tewwor-aaa]

⭐️ litho litho litho

For each “⭐️” I get, I’ll write a headcanon about our muses ( accepting ) .

hey, remember that apple? the one litho made as an experiment to see how long it’ll last at a far distance. would it disintegrate or melt away the moment he’s not focused on it or outside of a certain range?

turns out that the answer is no.

whatever he creates from ink and willingly transforms into something 3d will stay that way unless summoned back. and with that apple specifically? he requested it back after the next few encounters. no clear reason as to why besides wanting to study it more after making some snark comment that definitely doubles as gratitude for humoring him.

and i’m not saying seph might see the same apple inked on his body at any time.. but she just might see it 😌

[tewwor-aaa]

interaction call ( accepting ) | @huntershowl

The shift of cut crystal rings clear throughout the otherwise quiet haunt. Crystal decanters — highly appealing to the eye and practical in use if one ignores the potential lead poisoning the vintage were notorious for. But he’s taken the proper precautions to indulge in aesthetics for the night via meticulous cleaning and minimal storage.

Careful, Stygian stained fingers handle the unnecessary decor to pour liquid amber into a glass. Once, then twice to soothe away the horrendously long day behind them. “I’ve never quite understood the kinesthetics of my heart. How it hair-trigger sends bullets to the tips of my fingers and curls them into fists.” A rather funny way to break peace, he knows, but still his mouth decides to run; even without the excuse of loosening once the liquor fully soaks into his blood.

“Guilt and anger taste the same on my tongue. I can never remember which is meant to be virtuous.” Litho chooses to take a sip, grimaces as the whiskey passes the split lip nicked inner cheek. “I’ll take the shame to my grave like a whisper. Like a dandelion wish. Like an avalanche.” A partial glance slides to the distant pair of gloves he usually dons every waking moment. The same ones used to cover the unspeakable darkness that crawls further up the pillar of each arm. A testament to the battles thrown at the limits of this body. His body.

“In which case.. I am buried under seven tons of stone and soil. There are one hundred and forty-five broken bones in my body.” Only two this time around — fractured more than a clean break. “There are two punctured lungs.” Bruised, at most. “There is no time to suffocate.” He slipped from the wire just seconds prior. “But a body, my body,” he slows, now deliberate with genuine meaning, “would build itself again for you.”

[tewwor-aaa]

✧･ﾟ small starter call ( accepting ) | @huntershowl ･ﾟ✧        

He sifts through his memories and come up with one of Seojun’s warnings: rusalky aren’t creatures who begin in the water, but end there. Maidens murdered and those who take their own lives, all ill-fated in love. Some can’t pass on and remain in their watery grave, transmuted into something else, creatures with a malign will. Their only goal is to bring others to drown.

“Keep some distance, will you?” Litho says, all hush-like as he tries to do the same. But between the thick brambles and a slope covered in slippery grass, such a feat wouldn’t be easy to achieve. “And whatever you do— don’t listen to them. Don’t even try and eavesdrop.” For all it takes is a single note to entice one’s mind into joining the beautifully guised that perch upon the lake’s great flat rocks.  

[tewwor-aaa]

“...”

“You’re totally a Jacob fan, weren’t you?”