#arielshepard

[fatherentropy]

"get to know me" game

Tagged by @caliblorn thnx, it's been an age since I was tagged in anything ddoaiwe

tagging aaaaa?? feel free to ignore me @windup-dragoon, @kasayaw, @arielshepard, @whirlwyrm

LAST SONG: Anything You Need - Low Roar, probably the most boring one to end up with with all the things I've been listening to lately

LAST MOVIE: uh it was either Mobile Suit Gundam: Char's Counterattack or Friday the 13th (2009), I do not remember

CURRENTLY WATCHING: On my own I started watching Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans. Because my desk is set up in the living room we are watching Drag Race UK since mom ran out of American and Canadian ones. More excitingly on a personal level also Ahoska and Only Murders in the Building

CURRENTLY READING: Should be ffxiv moots ffxivwite prompts but Brain wired bad. Reading hard.

LAST THING SEARCHED FOR WRITING/ART PURPOSES: "Check" because that was yesterday/today's writing prompt but it's so broad I'm sitting here 2 1/2 hours from the deadline with no ideas

[realitv]

arielshepard replied to your post: me wondering if i should just write the nastiest...

{ takes out my opera glasses for this }

[synthmama]

Her gift to Quinn come sin the dead of night, at 3 AM when all of the dark matter in the universe swarms, churns, yawn, & sinks. A black box, heavy & made of metal, sits in the middle of her bed. Inside, earrings made of the same strange metal of the box & the faint, dim, compressed cores of dead stars. A low thrum emanates from them, a hum, & the very faint sound of screams captured for eternity.

(birthday asks).

Temperature is a difficult thing to gauge for Quinn. Neuropathy left nerves deadened and dulled; unresponsive to most tactile sensations. But she pauses outside the door to her quarters, feeling something cold. The universe bends into itself, devouring, before righting itself again. The pads of her fingers dig hard enough into the sides of her thighs that they’ll bruise. She counts, following the sequence of prime numbers, grounding herself against an odd bout of terror. Breathes. Then palms the entrance key to her quarters.

The box feels like a hole in the picture that is her room; void of light altogether. Her hands outstretch, and the coldness greets her like a lovers kiss across the knuckles. It falls apart beneath her palm, revealing the gift within. Something old. Something young. Something incomprehensible, and yet, tangible in her hands. The idea of it frightens her, and excites her all at once; adrenaline spiking and cybernetics fritzing. Whispers turn to shouts, and it’s only when someone knocks on her door that the screams blast through her like an unholy terror. She drops the earrings back in the box, turning to the Gen-Two synth that waits at the door.

It’s only when Quinn starts awake, hours later (4:17 AM), that her memory fills the gaps. The box that was all but shoved into the synth’s hands, as she shakily pointed away to some distant place. Her distant words feel like hot coals, like poison ivy against the skin.

“Take these. BURY THEM. As far beneath the earth as you can.”

[xenoglots]

“The beginning of winter. The dying of the light, when warmth turns to cold.”

blue noon. / @arielshepard

                  ❛     sounds pleasant.       ❜

                  louise holds her tea close to her mouth as she holds audience with the –––– being in front of her. it is woman and not woman, it is something earth has never encountered before. and you know. this is coming from the linguist that figured out how to talk to heptapods.

                  at the gala, a woman she doesn’t recognize is there and shakes her hand and the handshake is cold. in her classroom, a person much older than the other students sits in the back and leaves before everyone else can shut their books. later on, she asks the one in front of her about it. she knows the answer. she doesn’t consider it now. not yet, not in this moment.

                  ❛     they told me three–thousand years and                   they’d need our help. but –––– that’s not the                   only thing that’s in trouble, huh ? that’s not                   the only end to stop.       ❜

                  there is no end, none, and she watches hannah take her last breath and be born again. she sits at this table, alone with a tea, with wine, with water or tea again or wine and wine and wine and she is alone at this table. she takes another sip of the tea, noting it’s cooling off. it’s gotten easier to ignore the flips and trips, how her brain sometimes stumbles within a moment. but she holds herself in this one.

                  ❛     what’s coming ? what already has                   begun ?       ❜

[divinitatem]

Oh but Urian would also like people to be afraid of how much they love him, ofc!

[mrxdeath]

{When you admire that one rper from afar and desperately want your muses to interact with one another. But you’re afraid to bother them.}

[conquestforged]

arielshepard replied to your post: important headcanon: hela will pet any dog

{ will she even pet the hound of tindalos? important question }

of course she’ll pet the hound of tindalos... she even brought it a bag of treats (i.e. human tongues)

[bcwblade]

I am a demanding creature. I am selfish & cruel & extremely unreasonable.

deathless starters | accepting

The sound of her voice was enough to rattle the insides of his mind far more mercilessly than anything he had encountered in the nightmare. The remnants of Mother Kos had only briefly touched him, that alone was within the realm of comparison. Remarkably, he didn’t buckle over from the force of her voice, the effort to comprehend came… easier this time.

Simon clasped his head, nails biting into his scalp as his eyes squeezed shut. “N-not… too unreasonable, I’m sure-” He tried to flash teeth in an attempt of a smile, but it felt more distraught than anything.

It was terribly egotistical of him to even think that his quick tongue would garner any appreciation from her, that she’d have any interest in him outside of what she could take. But Simon’s outlook on several fronts were rather grim, losing his mind in an attempt to impress upon a Great One seemed to be one of the more favourable ones.

[viperhiss-blog]

It was in black holes where he knew life would perish, crumbling midst storms of some ravenous dark. Swallowing whole beloved suns and the ever aging galaxies, these very chasms knew naught of being sated; they consumed with a great hunger, gnashing all in its maws asunder. Yet, sharpened teeth laid elsewhere, didn’t it?, soldered onto the wings of humanity’s Vipers. Apollo, heart thudding, gazed out from his fighter’s cockpit. Yes, he knew in time all would end in violent space, but this fleet... Why, they, too, held the air of endless dark. Where had they suddenly warped from? "Actual, we've got a problem here-- Actual, do you copy!" his voice rose in sharp alarm, static gutting him from the comms. Dread told him at once it was their doing-- "What are you?" he murmured to any who’d listen.

@arielshepard: end of all things.

[mordreddeschain]

tbh whenever I see the tag that’s like “*ariel shepard voice* hi” I automatically see it as

[vamytas]

“It’s awful. I love it.”

IN THE LATE NIGHT, VAMPIRE FEATURE PICTURE SHOW … // accepting.

      “‘S… just a preliminary sketch… but‘m  flattered it’s already left an impression.” Especially since she herself was the subject matter; her silhouette shaded in charcoal yet the medium never looks dark enough, and while the dry, ash-like consistency conveys a lucid yet untouchable ambience, it’s all too thin. Too gradiated are the shadows which creep in on her frame, their darkest tone being the hardest pressing of the charcoal pen he could muster – until it was worn to dust itself in his fingers. The shedding of his effort is evident all over his hands, patches of grey swarming like a gradual infection, veining up his forearms, dabs on his cheeks and ears from tucking his hair back.

“Have to admit, I’m runnin’ out of material options ‘ere – feel like it needs somethin’ matte enough so the black doesn’t reflect, somethin’ viscous,” he half-laments, half-muses. If there is one thing he can credit himself for capturing (and, hopefully what she observed as a strength, too) it’s her expression; stoic, straight-lipped, two black holes for eyes, like two open mouths gaping at the viewer.

There are seconds of silence that pass while he stares at the piece, ‘preliminary’ as it is, his hand habitually worries over his beard in a thought process which exhausts itself. And, unknowingly, he slathers black across his mouth.

[theratinthewalls]

arielshepard replied to your post:

I swear to god real posts are coming in a minute...

{ Corey going to all the Outer Ones for candy & they all give her something Creepy. She only gets candy from Ariel. }

Corey just... “You are literally the only one who understands. I even tried the great old ones. Cthulhu didn’t even answer the door, Hastur passed off The King In Yellow, Dagon gave me this fish???? I will treasure this candy. I will treasure and devour it like those weaker than us. Delightful little morsels.”

[realitv]

arielshepard replied to your post: arielshepard replied to your post: ...

{ ariel shepard: takes out her 12 dimensional operal glasses for this }

media vc: OH HI MOM 

[charyka-a]

@arielshepard liked for an anglo-saxon riddle. | selectively accepting.

Should he speak in the old tongues, all fricatives and dentals and lost clicks? Should he whisper the words in the newer waterfalls, against the pit of unending language evolution?

He picks number nineteen for her. Nineteen as sacred as her rattle and her bones. His teeth bare in a blood-stained grin.

“Over the hillsides this air upholds bright little creatures, swarthy and dark-clad; bold of song, they fare in flocks and loudly chirp. They tread the headlands, sometimes men’s houses. They name themselves.”

[epivlavis-blog]

The stars above them have only passingly caught the eye of the serpent. A mystery in the darkness beyond that came to her thoughts in the late evening, when the first star stirs itself awake against the half-blackened sky, twinkling in fragments before illuminating. To the west is Mt. Targon - it is there that they believe in celestial beings. Noxus has no time for such beliefs. Her skyward philosophy lasted for a single evening, nursing wine.

Then, the sky opened itself. Men and machine. The harvest. Runeterra was not yet ready - Piltover was but an anomaly, the machines remarked. A flower budding in a growing garden. The machines will not take them. The Bastion, however, will do just nicely.

It is in the audience of an emperor that Cassiopeia allows her form to be revealed - the veils of shadow cannot hold her when there is a woman of black diamond to behold. Noxus has not had an emperor for several hundred years - the Grand General has made room for the galactic presence and her daughters. The word sits strange on her tongue, forked and curling, unfamiliar. Against the sky, the ship stands, visible from the balcony the women have collected themselves upon. The Emperor, her daughters taking watch, and the two women of House DuCouteau. Her sister has taken a momentary leave.

Cassiopeia believes she is speaking to the Hand about their company. Let them politicize among each other. Speak to one another about the concerns of ships and invasions. The stone that Noxus Prime stands upon will last. It is the words spoken between emperor and courtwoman that matter. Secrets are sharper than blades, after all.

‘Galaxy’ is a word the Machines brought. The Targonians call what lays beyond this planet apotero. But galaxy is a much more beautiful word.

“The audience you have gifted us -” she holds a stem glass made of azirite with champagne within. The red crystal colours the drink a dark colour. A similar glass rests next to the emperor, though it is empty, dry. “do you often grant it when arriving planetside?”

Planet is another word she is unfamiliar with. Cassiopeia lounges upon a half-back couch in order to sit at a comfortable height and match her company - her tail stretches away from her company, flicking slightly.

She drinks from her glass.

“It is an honour to be in your presence, nonetheless.”

@arielshepard

[synthmama]

{ ; ♗ pls & thank }

Send me a  ♗ and I’ll use my icon style to make an icon of your muse: accepting!