#dionidai

[forgaeven1]

even the litany of curses couldn't ease this pain.

mikkel is a hearty young lad. with a sick father and young siblings to feed, he'd boarded his first sail in hopes of bring some semblance of fortune as a deck crew. whilst, he'd imparted with the sort of excited naivety a boy age fourteen years of living would, i could go about to see the world, as well. killing two birds with one stone, hans had told him quietly right back that first night they'd spoken, while mikkel coyly nodded. again, he's a hearty lad. hardworking, good. every instructions hans laid out, the very few he could as they worked among other sailors, he'd followed well. smart, too.

it's unfortunate, is what it is, that through the throbbing of the pain from where the welts where his brother had laid his whips and tore at hans' skin, the boy has to bear witness to this as well. hans could hear him cry somewhere in the background, hurrying someone else inside their room. foolish, foolish boy ! he thinks vehemently, though he has no strength—nor attention—to genuinely scold. his back feels as though his prince brother alek had burned the flesh along with the whipping; it is searing. hans grunts, cries, and screams a guttural scream into the floors of the inn—if only, for a moment, he could direct the excruciating pain elsewhere.

mikkel is crouching besides hans now , tears stream down his face as he informs hans that he had brought in a healer. ❛⠀LEAVE ! ❜ hans screams. all— and he thinks so jaggedly, haphazardly, as though his own train of thoughts could not bear the pain long enough to have the words strung together. all he needs is some balm, he thinks with a lot of effort, some clean clothes to clean the blood, and any drinks that could let him sleep. that is all. that is all. ❛⠀i need not to be attended to. i need— i need rest. please—leave me. ❜

in the end, he begs.

for @dionidai ♡

[celestialheal-arch]

They haven't known each other for long but the druid had been nothing but helpful since they started journeying together. she knew she was perhaps more open minded than most giving all her travels, but she still found herself surprised when people had the tendency to move aside when they saw a drow dressed person passing by.

@dionidai ( asyrn's ) reaction had been almost pleased when it happened the first time and she couldn't help to wonder why, yet for her surprise, the answer was simple : ❛ 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝? ❜ he says as they walk by some clearly terrified humans and she can't exactly hide her frown as she turns to look at him.

❝ well, terrifying is not exactly the word i would use to describe you, you know? ❞ she adds, hoping he doesn't take it the wrong way; she's sure he's literally housing at least one or two bats somewhere between his clothes, for hells' sake ! ❝ at most, you're perhaps... slightly intimidating. ❞

[dreamxmaker]

@dionidai || Closed

An artist prays to the Muses. He offers vows of service and devotion... “Sweet Lady...” 

Oneiros, the Lord Shaper himself, uttered these words in a low, reverent murmur. He stood in the temperate Mediterranean breeze upon the banks of the Helicon river, clad in flowing black robes and barefoot to show his humility. And held in his pale hand was the humble offering of a single white anemone, the flower itself the generalised symbol of anticipation while the damask petals communicated his sincerity.

The Muse had ignited such a flame within him, but it went so much deeper than mere infatuation. For the first time since his younger years, Lord Morpheus could taste the addictive sweetness of true connection. And in that sweetness, he had rediscovered in himself the fresher feelings of youth.

And since this moment, he had rather neglected his duties, instead passing his days counting the hours until he could once again lay eyes upon her.

However, he first and foremost wished to communicate his respect for her before he made known his passion and thereby would gladly court her in a manner appropriate to her customs for however long she saw fit. And so, humbly dropping to his knees upon the sultry Grecian river bank, he bowed his head and held the anemone gently to his lips.

“...She of the Nine Daughters, most gracious one - I offer unto you my respect, my diligence, and my untempered affection. For I, the Lord Shaper, and your most humble and devoted servant, request the great honour of your company this day...”

His lips quivered as they curled in a moment uncontainable excitement.   “Will you come to me...Calliope?”

[damienstoker]

ㅤ𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭.ㅤ|ㅤ@dionidai

ㅤhis stoic expression broke, the well crafted mask he wears dropped for a split second. damien's eyes saddened.the idea of having control over his life was something he had lost hope for a long time ago. as quick as his mask dropped, it returned a moment later. the musician held his breath as he searched for the right words. he resisted the urge to stand and pace. discussing personal matters always made him feel uneasy. damien preferred to dump his feelings into his lengthy discography, not in conversation with someone who he had just met. "don't know. never thought about it."

ㅤhis eyes broke from calliope's, finding it odd she chose such a heavy topic to talk about. finally, damien released the breath he held in for so long. "i think my grave has been dug for me since i was kid. even if i could change the road i'm on-" he paused, suddenly changing the subject. "so wait, hold on. the fates? like greek mythology, fates?"

ㅤdamien taylor has had plenty of strange groupies. but, calliope takes the cake.

[vullcanica]

02.  the high priestess  :  how does your muse make decisions ? do they trust their instinct or would they rather trust their heart / their logic ? for our eldritch gal

muse headcanon questions // accepting

It depends on the time and information available to make that decision. Avita's primary drive is logic but she's hardly a slave to it. For example, you won't find her fearing the unknown or freezing in front of the sudden and unexpected. Whatever little of her human instincts are left aren't wasted on survival mechanisms she finds futile. Nor on taking her sweet time to overthink a decision she could've intuited already.

She's rather firmly rationally-minded. If she's decided on a course of action, she can even act in direct opposition to her feelings if necessary, especially when it comes to morality. In both altruistic and cruel ways. However, heart, when it does decide over mind, decides immovably. Her modus operandi is balance and reason.

But then reason as a whole can be terribly overkill when your very existence itself is illogical and you also deal with impossibilities in your line of interest. Avita, an irregularity in her own right, has gone on to be additionally responsible for propagating more irregularities. Risk is the bedrock of creation, progress and evolution - where she already has skin in the game and certain goals set. Suddenly everything looks like an opportunity, which, while she won't go into blindly, she would never cross off as an option until she's made considerable effort towards it and found herself at a loss. With enough drive and effort, and study of logistics, she rarely does.

In the same vein, she's notably good at circumventing the path well-trodden - either through inability/disability, superior practicality or curiosity. Why? Why not. If she operated based on the number of possibilities already proven (or proven to be easier), she'd have achieved very little by comparison. She's a mix between ambitious willfullness, rationale and white-knuckle hard work.

[celestialheal]

𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

SPICE. rosemary.

WEATHER. clear skies, warm nights.

PRIMARY COLOUR. yellow.

COLOUR OF THE SKY. midnight blue, sprinkled with so many stars.

MAGICAL POWER. healing others. duh.

SHOES. victorian style boots.

HOUSEPLANT. peace lily.

BLADE WEAPON. glaves, they are closer to quarterstaffs.

SCHOOL SUBJECT. history, strangely. bet she can't remember what day is today but she knows historical dates with accuracy.

SOCIAL MEDIA. well, in modern verses i would say instagram: she probably posts like a bunch of blurry pictures of things she finds pretty or interesting in her walks.

MAKEUP PRODUCT. lip balm, prevents her lips from chapping.

CANDY. marshmallows.

TANGIBLE FEAR. hook horrors, in a more abstract way, her biggest fear is the dead of a loved one.

ICE CUBE SHAPE. star shaped.

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL. by land, if possible. hitchhiking.

ART STYLE. romanticism or impressionism.

HISTORICAL PERIOD. late 18th century.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE. unicorns, because of her pact.

PIECE OF STATIONARY. posts its! she would love to leave nice little notes to everyone and to be able to leave reminders for herself? oh gods, she'd leave so many reminders.

THREE EMOJIS. 💖⚕🌠

CELESTIAL BODY. sirius a or canis majoris, brightest star in our skies.

Tagged by: the one and only @dionidai ! thanks dear <3 Tagging: @ravingard, @selunaris, @wildskissed & @oflolth . the rest of you, please steal it from me and tag me!!

[forgaeven1]

a familiar face in a crowd. at london. for a moment, vratis believes his eyes deceive him, just a trick when he looked away. but by instinct he looks back and indeed, it is a familiar face. the exact same one he had met decades, centuries in fact, ago. is that possible? well it is for him. could it be for another person? vratis stalks closer, stepping into the man's field of vision. his ears twitch with curiosity. he shouldn't have taken the risk. but for god's sake, what are the chances? this will fester in his mind if he doesn't try it. he shall pretend he's just confused this man for a manner. “sorry—ruben?” no sorry, you must be confusing me with someone else. that is the response he expects, so he may be on his way.

no, hob thinks — though not with the tone of grievance or fear which one would expect he harbours.

now normally, hob believes that'd be the appropriate reaction, see: the panic and the oh-shit moment and all. you never quite want any of your former colleagues or acquaintances from your past life to see you on the street, alive and well and... un-ageing, while they most probably would be in their later age. it'd create a litany of issues and questions, ones hob usually dusts away by saying he's the son or the nephew of the identity with which said colleague or acquaintance knew.

and one would think, yeah. what's so bad about it, gadling ? except paranoia's an ugly mate like that, my friends. and once you've been at the bottom of the thames for more than a week, dying from drowning again and again and again, you tend to be wary about being recognised. it's just—not a comfortable sensation, yeah ? trust him on that.

but this— this is different, aint it ?

because hob could've swore that the last time he saw that face, it definitely wasn't any time back in the last few decades. it must've been centuries ago. but for fuck's sake, what was his name ? vance ? vienna ? ( by the way, that's a good song, that one. gosh, he wishes he could've met billy joel when the man's alive. ) ❛⠀ my friend ! ❜ hob settles with instead, laughing aloud as he comes forward, drags the other into a mighty embrace. ❛⠀ oh, i've been dreaming of this day, you would not believe. you— you were a tailor, were you not, my friend ? ❜ back in the 1700s, but eh. who's quite keeping tabs ? point is, that's a long time ago, and he's still here: same as hob, untainted by time.

❛⠀ vratis, that's right. oh, my friend. come. let me have a look at you. it's been so long, has it not ? ❜

random asks.

[celestialheal-arch]

what kind of herb are you ?

oregano

you are home to so many people and yet you're not at home with yourself. everyone needs something from you and you desperately try to prove that you're enough but you're never enough, never good enough, never even you despite all of that. your hands shake but only when you're never looking at them and your smile is so ever-present you can't help but wonder if its fake, wonder how much of you is real. you're a caretaker, but are you even good at that, or are you faking yourself out into believing you're something that you wish you could, someone that someone else needed you to be when you were small and so full of need and hope and fragility? who are you underneath the need to be someone's home? who are you when you come home to yourself?

tagged by : i actually took it from an old account of mine tagging : @dionidai, @sageofthestrange, @wildskissed, @cambius, @scarbound, @faerunsings, @taleswritten, @recitedemise, @laventear, @kusatta & the rest of you !

[forgaeven1]

❛⠀ are you still angry you would not be able to come with me to the charity fund ?⠀ ❜

it is an important fund. she had been named as guest speaker, and melody realised, quite tremendously and immediately, what a great honour that would be. of course, she had spoken aplenty about the efforts of her family's work in conserving ocean life, but to be given such a platform by her dear friend, prince ben, is— it is a good opportunity, is all. how could she have anticipated that, with such a massively grand event, it comes with a strict restriction to the invitation list ? worst, that her request for odile to come along with has been denied ?

her chest twists as she wheels herself closer to the other woman, never quite knowing what to anticipate. if she could, she would like to soothe odile before she's to go. she would not want to part this way. ❛⠀ odile, please... would you look at me ?⠀ ❜

@dionidai — starter call

[forgaeven1]

it's bad news, you know. vratis has been avoiding business with the law—any kind of law, anywhere—ever since it started being a nuisance. a problem. it was easy to slip by in the 200s, the 500s, in the early 1000s even. but in the twenty first century, especially? oh, no. words could not describe how much he loathed cameras. he only hoped it was another, unrelated reason entirely, that brought this strange woman in front of him. “apologies,” he says, pretending to busy himself with something behind the counter. the official owners of the business had opened another shop overseas, you see. and vratis was responsible for it, at the moment. “but we've only just closed. perhaps you could come by tomorrow, miss.”

he's playing the clueless card. cute.

maria takes a sip of the coffee; she takes advantage of the sunglasses too. her eyes flickering behind the shades to once again sweep across the perimeter for extra cameras. then the exit route. one, she suspects, out the back. can she outrun him ? probably. though then again, all of SHIELD's information—the few she'd managed to save from the catastrophe in 2014 and eventual resealing by the military and department of defence—about this... immortal is limited.

case-en-point, she doesn't even know if this is true immortality. what is the healing rate ? to what extent can he be cut up or torn down or bogged down by bullets until his life's forfeited ? or is it the real deal ? the you-can-separate-my-two-decapitated-bodies-and-scattered-them-all-over-the-earth-and-i'll-still-be-back-alive type of deal ? and if it is, or if it isn't, does he have all the 3-in-1 package of being super strong and super speed alongside this extended longevity ?

questions, questions. maria hates that there are questions.

what can she say, she's the thorough kind of gal.

❛ then that's all the more convenient, isn't it, mr vratis ? ❜ there is an obvious smirk in her voice, though her expression doesn't quite translate the same. she wiggles her coffee cup. ❛ i'll buy you a drink. we can match. ❜

random asks.

[forgaeven1]

012, the roulette table in a casino. (hob & dream)

he is in a suit, and it is a very fine suit.

his hair is slicked back — gosh, how long has it been since he's properly styled it like this? ages, it feels — and the gel makes it feel heavy, almost a stone-like structure against his skull. though hob thinks it makes him look damn impressive nevertheless. an eye-catcher, if you will, though that's certainly a saying that unfortunately did not stuck regardless of how much hob had tried to make it a thing once. whatever it is, he looks good, and he's certainly earned the very flirtatious grin coming from the serving girl who intends to perhaps equally rob all of them all their money via snack and light beverage purchases alone if the casino tables aren't doing it.

still. a flirtatious grin is a flirtatious grin. hob'll take whatever he could get, alright ?

and gosh, being like this, it reminds him criminally of the 1920's, where he probably spent more time drunk than genuinely sober, hopping between america and france, as much as he hops between one exciting bar to the next, looking for the next fix, the next flapper girl to swing their dress just right, or that smoke that makes him feel warm, just a little, reminding him quite fondly of the time with which all anyone ever had was a well-lit fire to keep the winter cold away, while everyone around him giggles and trips over nothing. 'course, unlike how he was back then, hob isn't so embarrassingly sloshed. he's completely sober and aware, thank you very much, which makes everything all the more interesting when his eyes slide over, and he recognises a familiar— figure.

the man behind the table is saying something. he catches hob's eyes, as does everyone else who is impatiently waiting for him to make a bet, and hob's attention is split. his friend, morris, the one who'd brought all of the lads from the UK to here for a spontaneous trip over the semester break — c'mon robbie! i've never bet on anything before! it'll be gorgeous — is smiling nervously from behind his own beer. even the serving girl, with her brilliant red hair and equally brilliant red lips, is starting to look at him oddly. but hob's eyes stray, and he's correct, he can't be mistaken, he would know his dearest stranger anywhere, and—

❛⠀sorry, lads, i- i gotta— ❜ he points, but any protest the table may have had is drowned in the background because hob is already gone, pushing through the crowd, rushing. yes, he's seen his friend only a few months ago, but who said he can't try to still reach for him if he's just there in the street and—

a rush. he's breathing quick, but he's got him. a good grip, he means, hand curled around the bent of the other's elbow; not too hard, he hopes, that his hold will bruise - if it'll even bruise his friend at all, that is. still got no idea what he is, his dearest stranger, but— hob's smiling, eyes alight. ❛⠀it is you. ❜

@dionidai — set the scene.

[forgaeven1]

003, a photoshoot outdoors in the middle of winter. (daiyu & ginny (PLS IGNORE THAT IM ON THE WRONG ACCOUNT TAG ME ON DIONIDAI))

❛ you'd better have gotten a good picture of that one, fenn ! ❜ ginny rattles, not without laughter marring her tone, as she skips down from her broom and manoeuvres the ancient thing into her hands. really, it's ron's old one from his school days, which he hasn't touched in- well, in years, she supposes, since the war, and- and it's nice giving it a bit of a fly. the old thing would've been in the shed gathering dusts anyhow, as ginny had sworn not to touch it for her own short-lived career as gryffindor's seeker and chaser from a dispute she's long forgotten about but still held a vendetta over, and had instead taken charlie's older one as her own.

it's funny now seeing it in her hands — her pride clearly did not matter when ron wasn't around to witness her discarding it. more than that, perhaps it's... simply nostalgia, is all. he'd been so bloody busy nowadays with his auror things, running around with harry, trying to be important. and ginny gets it — she understands — it's for a good cause. dad had said it so, and mum had clearly relayed it over and over again over their kitchen table. perhaps it's naivety, but she'd hoped, after everything, that things would've gone on like it was before. that ron and harry and hermione and neville would be back to school, but they aren't. they wouldn't be.

they have big lives now, and ginny weasley is chasing shadows of their past in an old broom.

she snaps though, quick, looking at daiyu with her ever-charming smile. she'll admit - it's odd finding an acquaintance with someone not of your year, but ginny's beginning to believe that there is a certain affinity to ravenclaws in which she's found herself quite fond of. they're quite an odd bunch, the lot of them. maybe it's the never-ending curiosity. although maybe it works well with her own since she hadn't mind much entertaining whatever that's sprung into their thoughts. she'd always liked what they've got to say. daiyu, included. and this spontaneous photoshoot in the middle of december ? well. no one would ever dare say ginny isn't one up for challenges now, would they ?

the youngest weasley child grin again, brushing her red hair back, nudging at daiyu's side quite affectionately. ❛ c'mon then. will i see the picture, or what ? ❜

@dionidai — set the scene.

[vullcanica]

𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

SPICE. poppy seeds

WEATHER. the worst thunderstorm of the year

PRIMARY COLOUR. ink black

COLOUR OF THE SKY. starless midnight

MAGICAL POWER. resurrection

SHOES. none. barefoot

HOUSEPLANT. painted leaf begonia. clematis viticella. purple passion vine.

BLADE WEAPON. dagger / axe

SCHOOL SUBJECT. biology

SOCIAL MEDIA. myspace (later twitter). human verse nik had a social media alt phase. low-waisted jeans, piercings, tattoos, raccoon liner and mandatory mirror selfies with his canon mini camera. has a shitpost twitter account as an adult and very little other social media.

MAKEUP PRODUCT. eyeliner pencil

CANDY. those sour middle candies that killed your mouth as a kid. something difficult to stomach. select taste.

TANGIBLE FEAR. sea depths/drowning. the only actual phobia he has.

ICE CUBE SHAPE. that solid block that ice cubes sometimes fuse into where your only option is to slam it against the kitchen counter

METHOD OF LONG-DISTANCE TRAVEL. riding. prefers donkeys and mules for difficult terrain or hiking and horses for speed on the open road

ART STYLE. the height of baroque's chiaroscuro abuse

HISTORICAL PERIOD. classical antiquity

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE. anything sentient and undead. ghoul, perhaps...

PIECE OF STATIONARY. letter opener

THREE EMOJIS. 🫀🪓🪦

CELESTIAL BODY. magnetar

Tagged by: no one, i just found it in my notes

Tagging: @vilestblood @dionidai @cryptidsdad @s4ints @vulpesse @oakthcrn @obsidius @mvnces @maramcna @vhgr and whoever else wants to!

[vullcanica]

Eight questions for nine people

Tagged by : @mvnces 💗

1. Last Song I Listened to : Albert King - born under a bad sign

2. Favorite Color : consistently pink and black. currently also sunflower yellow and pthalo green :)

3. Last TV Show or Movie I Watched : movie - Killing of a Sacred Deer (couldn't care less about the characters because of directorial choices but there were some cool themes), TV show - Derry Girls rewatch (constantly find myself watching an ep or two to put myself at ease. i could probably recite this show atp)

4. Currently Watching : Derry Girls rewatch + The Twilight Zone 1959

5. Sweet, Savory, or Spicy? : sweet. the gene that makes my mom eager and willing to eat an actual hot pepper separately with every meal skipped me, but i still commit the cardinal sin of liking those sour center candies, so that has to count for something. anyway, giant sweet tooth.

6. Relationship Status : single

7. Current Obsession : wouldn't say it's an obsession but hand sewing?? not a hobby i'm good at (i used to be) but i'm chilling with a needle and thread way more often these days + find myself watching tutorials in my free time.

8. Last Thing I Googled : 'december 12th nameday' lmao my country celebrates a lot of saints and people who have similar names are also celebrated on those days. but it's a headache to keep up with them all because i think we have over 40

Tagging : @vilestblood @dionidai @4ger @madeofstxrs @lasraichean @oakthcrn @hangtenn @temeryte @monstriiss

[vullcanica]

𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀 '𝟐𝟑

   ― 𝕹𝖎𝖐 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖗 in andalusian silk and bone dust detailing

   ― 𝕬𝖛𝖎𝖙𝖆 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖆𝖑𝖛𝖆𝖗 in homegrown pearl and live begoniae

Tagged by: @4ger ♡

Tagging: @vilestblood @vhgr @dionidai @vulpesse @sortilegum @zealctry @demonstigma @maramcna and anyone who wants to!

[vullcanica]

WHAT KIND OF ART WOULD SOMEONE MAKE ABOUT YOU?

paintings

everything you do is a work of art. you are beautiful without even trying, simply lounging around looks like you’re posing and waiting for someone to sketch you. you come off as light and easy but you are often misunderstood. people don’t tend to see you for who you really are, and focus too much on how effortlessly you appear to navigate the world. there's some kind of darkness behind your eyes that only some can see under all the layers of paint.

Tagged by: @vilestblood kiss !!

Tagging: @dionidai (vratis), @vhgr (muse of choice), @s4ints (todd), @demonstigma