โ๐นโโ๐ญโโ๐ชโ โ๐ผโโ๐ดโโ๐ทโโ๐ฑโโ๐ฉโ, โ๐ฆโโ๐ซโโ๐นโโ๐ชโโ๐ทโ โ๐ฆโโ๐ฑโโ๐ฑ, ๐ผโโ๐ฆโโ๐ธโ โ๐ธโโ๐นโโ๐ฎโโ๐ฑโโ๐ฑโ โ๐ฆโ โ๐ตโโ๐ฑโโ๐ฆโโ๐จโโ๐ชโ โ๐ดโโ๐ซโ โ๐งโโ๐ดโโ๐นโโ๐นโโ๐ดโโ๐ฒโโ๐ฑโโ๐ชโโ๐ธโโ๐ธโ โ๐ญโโ๐ดโโ๐ทโโ๐ทโโ๐ดโโ๐ทโ.
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#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ ๏ฟฝ๏ฟฝสแด แดแดแดแดแดแด แดสแดษช๊ฑแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐#Spotify
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THEย SUN:ย Aย sunflowerย fieldย atย goldenย hour (Haru)
โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ย ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ป๐ด๐ฐ๐ถ๐๐ด ๐
๐ด๐๐๐ด
The glacial discs of Haruko's eyes drifted aimless across the endless field of sunflowers โ for a moment, they even mirrored the collective stare of the golden heads, all turned in silent reverence toward the fiery kiss of the setting sun. Then, sighing, he knelt down and trailed his fingers along the verdant grass blades before laying on the soil. "Vi-om tann va'h โฆ " He murmured, raspy, low, "Light blesses this place, it will be a simple, easy evening if we make camp here." The Vastayan peeked back to Sivir, rather dispassionately โ actually, "Which, given the amount of daylight left, would be wise."
Before any answer Haruko's ear swooped low to press into the dirt, clearly a bit more focused on their environment than Sivir's possible objections. Each soft tremor and subtle scratch transformed into a flurry of cotton tails racing behind his vision; he couldn't help the faint smile on his lips.
"A warren is just in that nearby grove."
Though, he was quick to rise unto his feet even before the echos of the earth could fade โ a sudden jolt of adrenaline prickled at his fingertips, and a familiar, welcome shadow began to bleed at the edges of his awareness. Damn. A scowl twisted his previous joy, and Sivir's very being completely thinned out until all that existed to the Vastayan was the flooding well of mania inside his mind, and the sizzling sensation burning up his veins. Whyyy do you always have to do this? The rabbits do not deserve our cruelty. Hold your gluttony until the next Noxian camp. The Vastayan's icy gaze burned down upon the sheathed blade in an unwavering reprimand that finally forced the weapon to submit, however grudgingly, to his will. Haru's hand rested casually on his hip, as if nothing untoward had occurred, and he continued,
"I'll prepare camp if you want to set up traps โ your choice, Fortune Hunter."
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด ๊ฐษชส๊ฑแด แดสส แด๊ฐ แด
แดแดกษด ใ#โโ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ ษชแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐โ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แด๊ฑแด แดแดแดแด ใ#nameaprice
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Whisper something in my muse's ear and see how they react!
NOTE: the setting is someplace public! It can be during an important meeting/moment, etc. Feel free to specify, or else receiver will choose when answering!
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Send ๐ค + what you/your muse think my muse secretly thinks/feels about your muse and and I/the muse will answer True or False.
Bonus: Send ๐ญ as well and I will also answer what their actual secret thoughts about your muse are.
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Send ๐ก to hold a blade to my muse's throat for their reaction!
Alternatively, send 'reverse + ๐ก' for my muse (receiver) to hold a blase to your muse's throat.
If you cannot see the emoji, send 'DAGGER'
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โ prtygal777
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ : ษช แด
สษชษดแด แดสแด แดแดษช๊ฑแดษด สษชษขสแด แดแดแด ๊ฐสแดแด สแดแดส สแดษดแด
๊ฑ.#mxlevolence#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
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Charles Courtney Curran - Metropolitan Operaโs opening night (detail)
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดษด-แดสแดแด
แดแดษขแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ
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I canโt keep pretending I donโt just wanna full force bite somebodyโs throat out of their neck
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด ๊ฐษชส๊ฑแด แดสส แด๊ฐ แด
แดแดกษด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ
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ย ย โโย โงโง ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ "๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐" ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐
๐๐ โงโง โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ท๐ถ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ท๐ถ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐.
Twisted Force - Borislav Slavov
Mein Teil - Rammstein
DNA. - Kendrick Lamar
Butterfly - Crazy Town
Dead Inside - Younger Hunger ( Hi Sierra (เธ เธทโฟ เธท)เธง )
VAMPIR - IC3PEAK, Oli Sykes & Bring Me The Horizon
The Devil ( Didn't Make Me Do It ) - Twin Temple
Rosemary - Deftones ( Hi Vicious (โเฒกฯเฒกโ) )
Satanized - Ghost
Misfit Toys- Mako & Pusha T
Tagged by: @alltimelines ( Thank you !! โฅ
Tagging: @hemoplagued, @mxlevolence, @agonizedembrace, @thegoldentigress, @essencefluxed, @deathfxnds, @steel-and-fire, @zaunrising, @manufactoredxbyxdesign, @aquatic-hybrid
#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ...ใ แด
แด๊ฑส ษขแดแดแด๊ฑ ใ#hi my music is#all over#:')
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๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ / ๐๐๐๐ : ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฐ๐๐๐๐ ๐ฑ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ย ย ย ย ย ย โ Triggering Content Ahead: Please Proceed with Caution โ
As the firstborn son to Bran and Palila Baudelaire, Robin was born on the fateful day of June 28th, 1788, amidst torrents that drenched Suffolk ( it was, after all, the wettest day ever recorded in the city). However he was not to stay here within the bustling world of man but in the quietude of a small, unnamed town in the open fields of Northumberland. The world was the same as it always was, and men like Bran rarely found the comforts of family; the Baudelaire household was an oddity to say the least. It was even more infrequent for men of Bran's occupation to ever settle and marry; Sin Eaters were the dredges of society after all โ vilifiedย but needed โ a necessary evil in the eyes of many within the Northern English countryside. Most would not want to marry a monster. Yet the boy's days were painted with the colors of nature and the woodland โ gardening beneath the watchful eye of his mother, hunting in the trees along his father's side, and nurturing a bond with his siblings, Wren and Linette. He did not understand, in his young age, why the world gazed upon them with such scorn.
Aย sin-eaterย is a person who consumes a ritual meal in order toย spirituallyย take on theย sinsย of a deceased person. The food was believed to absorb the sins of a recently dead person, thusย absolvingย theย soulย of the person. Many funerals were attended by a professed "sin-eater," hired to take upon him the sins of the deceased. By swallowing bread and beer, with a suitable ceremony before the corpse, he was supposed to free it from every penalty for past offences, appropriating the punishment to himself. Sin Eaters were not often the study of academia due to their shrouded and often reviled existence; Abhorred by the superstitious villagers as a thing unclean, the sin-eater cut himself off from all social intercourse with his fellow creatures by reason of the life he had chosen; he lived as a rule in a remote place by himself, and those who chanced to meet him avoided him as they would a leper. This unfortunate was held to be the associate of evil spirits, and given to witchcraft, incantations and unholy practices; only when a death took place did they seek him out, and when his purpose was accomplished they burned the wooden bowl and platter from which he had eaten the food handed across, or placed on the corpse for his consumption. ( Funeral Customsย by Bertram S. Puckle ; 1926 )
As was tradition, Robin Altus Baudelaire learned his destined profession at the tender age of innocence, when his eyes were still round with light and his cheeks like apples. Bran was a man of unwavering faith and often spoke of the virtues of piety and mercy, imparting the belief that to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others mirrored the divine compassion of Christ. Martyrdom became a beautiful thing to the boy, and while the townsfolk remained blind to their struggles, Robin's heart held firm to the conviction that when the world crumbled beneath time's weight, they would understand the grace that had granted them passage into Heavenโs hold. Perhaps then they would be able to look upon the family without such reckless hate. A lofty dream. Still, despite the leers and glowers, nestled on the fringes of a quaint village, their small home stood as a refuge against the wild forests just beyond the horizon of the ebbing grass sea, of their neighbors' contempt.
Life was peaceful, despite its hardships, and Robin's heart never emptied, even if some days his stomach would. However, a brutal winter in 1800 swept through, and with it came an unseen terror โ almost certainly the greatest calamity of his time โ riding upon the winter winds was Father Death cloaked in white. One night, Linette, Robin's beloved sister, coughed blood across her pillow. It was the beginning of the end. She would be the first to fall, and as the silver moon waxed and waned, the Baudelaire family succumbed one by one to the relentless grip of the disease, decaying from the inside out. All except their eldest son, who was now tasked with the perilous journey into the town they served โ a place buzzing with life and commerce, and worst of all, man. He was instructed by his father to venture forth to the apothecary to fetch cod liver oil and turpentine, remedies with the potential to stave off consumption. For as long as it could, anyway.
But aged only twelve and without the ability to read the delicate labels of the vials lining the shelves, Robin found himself at a loss when crossing through the apothecary's aislesย โ and in a moment of desperation, he asked the owner for help. But the moment he spoke, the atmosphere shifted and icy fingers crawled their way up Robin's spine. The Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, their hair shimmering like moonlight-woven thread, and as such horrible rumors clung to their presence and haunted their steps. Chatter coursed through the two other clerks quickly, suspicion twisting their gazes as they recognized the boyโs lineage. Unease simmered; for now the question was why the Robin had truly traveled into town. His kin oft came in the wake of death; so what foul omen was he? Fear was always eager to fester within men when confronted with the unknown, and upon hearing the medicines he requested,ย it ignited within the shop and spread like flame to dry grass. The apothecary provided the boy with the necessary ailments, as he'd very politely asked, but not without paying a heavy toll. For now the men within the village knew that Father Death loomed over the Baudelaire home, ready to ride their gasping moans further into the town and poised to claim what was rightfully His โฆ and such things could not be ignored.
Ultimately, their home was a mere transient stop on the Grim's remorseless journey โ a stepping stone marked by the stench of a lingering malevolence; they were diseased rats who had come to chew festering wounds along the shire's wintry and pale pastures.
During one cold December night, the young Baudelaire bairn awoke with a start โ but not due to the chill. No, no, something was wrong; he could tell that much, but the specifics were lost on him in the dark. However, a ghostly whisper tugged at his consciousness, urging him to listen closely and to keep quiet, and in his panic, he did.
Outside Robin could hear the hushed and hurried murmurs of men echoing through the thick veil of night, mingling with the soft rustling of hay. He couldn't make sense of it at the time, and being a polite young lad, he quietly went to greet these sudden strangers โ but panic seized him when he realized the door was barred. Something, or rather someone, had jammed it shut, but once again โฆ why? A tender chide of the same voice from earlier told him to flee, nevertheless cruel and ravenous flames began to snake around the doorframe, their flickering tongues illuminating the planes of Robin's young face as he recoiled in terror. Each crackling ember seemed as a thousand eyes to reflect the devil's wickedness, soon rolling together to transform the entrance into a gaping maw eager to consume everything within its reach.
Hastily he dashed to his family, trying to rouse them from their infected dreams, but they remained ensnared in a slumber far too deep to wake now. Only little Linny opened her eyes, and Robin practically threw himself at her to try and lift her out of her blankets. Yet, as he grasped her frail form, the weight nearly crushed him. He was not a strong boy โ and he struggled, weak and trembling โฆ what little strength he had waned as the choking smoke filled his lungs. With a final, desperate effort, he dragged her halfway from the bed, only to slip and fall to the floor, where the searing heat began to lap at his hands and ignite the fluttering edges of his nightshirt.
The bright orange beast roared to life, and Robin's will to live fought to bring him to his now calloused and bubbling feet; with one final glance towards his weeping sister, he left her screaming and reaching for him. Each step was walking on embers, and the sharp sting of her cries were glass shards in his ears, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and summoned every ounce of endurance he had to reach the rear of the house. His bloodied fingers clawed nothing short of a frenzy on the splintered window frame of the storage room, his nails breaking and his hands raw from the relentless struggle against the cruel timbers blocking freedom from this hell. Each jagged edge tore at him, but in his mindless adrenaline fueled high, he carved a path out, determined to escape the fiery grasp of doom lingering just behind. With each wooden creak Robin felt the delicate breath of winter kiss his scorching skin through the cracks, and with a final surge of will, he shattered the remaining glass and tumbled into a world blanketed in pearlescent shimmer. Each snowflake swirled like a thousand daggers against his burning skin, and the merciless cold gnawed at him and nearly stole his life away, but his body forced him to stand once more โ to finally flee from this wretched place. The towering trees looming ahead offered a haven from the hunting dogs and their whistling owners; there were far too many trees and dense underbrush to bother โฆ And so once everything fell silent, Robin went the only way he could: forward.
But for all of his determination, Robin had seen too few winters to withstand the savage bite of the icy chill and decided instead to quietly nestle within the dense thicket, content to surrender to the exhaustion that clawed at his aching limbs and burned in his weary eyes. As the frost crept insidiously into his flesh and bones, he felt a warmth beckoning him, a promise of rest that whispered sweet and soft. Teetering upon the brink of sleep, the familiar comfort of his motherโs arms enveloped him, lifting him up as she had done in his childhood and cradling him against the safety of her chest. The ground beneath him transformed into a soft bed of snow, each flake a delicate touch against his numbed skin, inviting him deeper into dreamless slumber. Yet, a gentle sound stirred the soupy lull of his brain, and the world blurred around him as Robin urged himself to peel open his heavy lids. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, he saw what he thought to be a cloaked man seated on a horse emerging from the swirling white. Fear and fatigue battled within him, but he could no longer run nor resist, and with nothing left, he closed his eyes.
Father Death had come โฆ He should have known better than to run.
He reached neither Heaven nor Hell that day, and by the following evening the boyโs fatigued body, once frozen stiff, began to thaw like the first light of dawn breaking through dense clouds. He awoke to the soothing purr of a small cat snuggled against his chest, and Robin's eyes fluttered open and stared into the glow of a crackling hearth โ relaxing as he saw its contained and crumbling state. For a fleeting moment, a fragile hope blossomed within him which momentarily banished the thoughts of despair threatening to stain his mind. Perhaps, he dared to dream; all of his trials were nothing more than a cruel fantasy โ a nightmare he was glad to be free from. But as reality seeped back in, it bore the weight of bittersweet truth: his fatherโs familiar silhouette did not grace the threshold of the room in greeting, and as his vision cleared, he was soon to find that he was not in his home. Still, Robin could not bear to lift his body from its resting place, and with a reluctant heart, he gave in to the gentle lull of his surroundings and let the veil of sleep wash over him again.
It was here, amidst flickering candlelight and aged parchment, that Robin's life would change; whether for better or worse, one could not yet say. The lost child was nursed back to health by that same figure who had found him in the woods that day. His name was Abel. He was a compassionate young priest with a gentle heart who had just come to town to bring a new dawn to the church. Upon his trek through the forest, he had miraculously spotted the boy collapsing into the nearby brush, and once he had bundled the bairn up in his extra jackets, he took him home. Robin learned that he was tasked with filling the shoes of their beloved but long-retired clergyman, and he also learned that Abel's wisdom and kindness knew no bounds. Many people warned the priest of his ward, of the cursed blood in his veins, but it mattered little to Robin's new guardian. He saw the Sin Eaters not as devils but as souls burdened by suffering, deserving of understanding and redemption.
To give oneself for another was Christly.
Under Abel's dark and watchful eyes, Robin found refuge and purpose over the long span of ten years, and he blossomed into a learned young man. He stood proudly beside Abel, acting as an acolyte and loyal aide, delivering assistance to the townsfolk who came seeking guidance from them. To hear their sins and forgive them, but he never once heard anyone over those ten years confess of that night. Regardless, those fickle villagers were touched by his dedication and began to see him not just as a cursed boy raised in the churchโs shadow; he was even invited to birthday celebrations!
For once in his life, he truly felt human. For one decade Robin dwelled in peace; he thrived under the azure skies and reveled in the patterns that led his daily duties. The laughter of children oft bounced through the town like a chirping bird, bountiful harvests painted the fields in hues of amber and crimson, and the caress of breezes stirred the vibrant blooms adorning every garden. It was perfect. It should have been perfect, but the Baudelaires were a family marked by grief, and one evening, when the setting sun drenched the sky in a shade of lavender, Robin had to wonder if his nightmares had crawled to life. Winter had come again and brought with it the worst thing to ever meet his ear. It was a soft interruption, something that would not usually stir such dread, but for the Baudelaire boy, it brought him back to being small and scared.
A cough.
With one simple sound, Robin's vibrant world began to fade into a haunting echo of its past glory. As the weeks dragged on, Abel's illness deepened, and the villagers were quick to recall that strange family that had vanished into the woods long ago. Gossip fluttered like moths around the village hearths, spreading tales that spoke of an insatiable White Death. Consumption had come again, and it seemed that even with Abel's blessings, Robin would never be able to escape the horrors festering in his own blood. This was his fault โฆ and he knew he would never reconcile what he had done; he had betrayed Abel to his death, and all those who had given him kindness were, surely, deceived. As that darkness seeped into him, Robin grappled with the agonizing truth: hope was a distant shore, and forever he would wade alone on an empty sea of sullen waters.
On the night of Abel's passing, Robin felt a piece of him die too โ and he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.
Mercifully, the church granted him one week to pack his things and go โ for another priest had come, and this one was eager to reignite the strict mortal ethics of the time. Abel's leniency had caught the eye of the papal, and now it was time to return to proper teachings. The heavy mahogany doors that once swung open to greet him now stood resolutely locked, leaving him in a world of shuttered windows and drawn curtains. Through the streets Robin went, and he spoke to no one; he ventured from the village's edge into the depths of the forest alone. No one even asked where he was going. The only willing company the tears in his eyes and the weight of Abel's rosary that hung around the pale column of his throat. His feet moved instinctively along a well-trodden path, winding through the underbrush until the ground under his soles felt familiar and his body carried him to its desired mark. The very place his mind had begged to not be forced into for the rest of his days; yet here he stood.
A soot-covered monstrosity whose wooden edges jutted out like the waiting claws of a great beast; its looming presence instantly lifted a warning in Robin's heart as he gawked in its great shadow. For ten long years he had avoided this forsaken place in both the realms of his dreams and God's blessed green earth. Nevertheless, he beheld its unwavering grim loyalty as if it were waiting for him to return all this time. It welcomed the Baudelaire heir inside peeling, rotting walls. Within this loneliness he stayed, allowing misery to fester and act as a poison to slow his heart; light drained from the world, and in the hues of each lonely dusk he could see the reflections of his old life. But hunger, in its stark apathy, stirred him from his sorrowful reverie to remind him of his mortality, and he knew there was only one path left to tread if he wanted to continue living. And so, Robin damned himself to don the mantle left behind by his late father, a heavy cloak of duty he was sure to suffocate under.
This was to be his fate: ever to dwell underneath the fading trees bound to his mourning, ever to rot.
But fate seemed uneager to arrive. Despite how swiftly his world had turned to sorrow and despair, Robin clung tenaciously to his duty โ his silent vow to survive, to continue on. And soon enough the heavy grief that had shrouded his existence so heavily began to lift, and shortly thereafter he found an unexpected vibrancy in the new world around him. Just as in the days of his childhood, Nature's indifference welcomed him; finally there was a place to rest from judgment.
Cool water greeted him in the sweltering grasp of summer, gentle breezes carried the sweet fragrance of wildflowers in spring, autumn draped itself in golden magnificence, and even dark and cold winter seemed to offer him a reluctant mercy. Status mattered not there, where the rabbits looked upon him no differently than they did the petunias in his garden. He was not without burden, however, for when the Death Knells summoned him to town, Robin shuddered and shook. It was a difficult thing to travel into that place and be amongst those people โฆ The world of men had become somewhat lost to him in his seclusion, and their murmurings in his presence brought little in the way of comfort. Robin ignored them, or tried to, in order to remain steadfast in his mission to the deceased. While not undimmed by bitterness or resentment that would otherwise cloud his purpose ( yet ), he did find a strange fear of those he served. Nonetheless, he knew that judgment was not his to wield; it belonged solely to their heavenly Father; and once his duty was fulfilled, he would retreat back into the forest โ now quite content with the lack of visitors.
So one could imagine Robin's jolt of shock when, without warning or letter, a stuttering knock hit his door. If it had been only once he would have assumed it to be a trick of the wind, but twice, thrice! Each one more insistent than the last! Curiosity piqued and caution tossed aside, Robin rose swiftly with a racing heart to open the door โ perhaps a foolish decision, but the earlier mead with his dinner evinced itself to be very talented in lowering his inhibitions. Now to deal with the fallout of such an action: for standing on his doorstep was a ragtag group of young men from the village. Maybe four or five in number, with movements unsteady and huffing breath like taxed horses. Anxiety skyrocketed, and without thinking, he began to take a step back. One of the boys, his words slurred and tangled, began to explain how they had lost their way, but Robinโs senses were overwhelmed by the cloud of whiskey-laden breath that had wafted toward him. It curled into his nostrils, sending a thousand shivers racing up his spine; he'd never liked the smell and now was not proving to be an exception. He had no idea what to say to remedy how awkward everything had become; and frankly, he was afraid he would gag if he tried to speak.
However the drunken lisps dwindled into a whisper before fading entirely, leaving behind a suffocating silence that summoned the Sin Eaterโs attention back. Surely they had not intended to trespass upon his land, nor had they come to him with benevolent hearts; those were reserved for their intended host, which he was most certainly not. As Robin's gaze swept over the group, he became acutely aware of the transformation that had overtaken them. Their eyes, once sparkling in their delirium, now widened in disbelief, reflecting a dawning horror as if they had gazed upon some grotesque abomination from the depths of a sickly nightmare. Mouths hung agape and faces drained of color, each man now a canvas painted with shades of ashen pallor. In that instant, Robin found himself no longer being looked at as a fellow human being, but a manifestation of their most profound fears โ a creature born from the dark recesses of Lilith's mind, a descendent of snakes and demons! Robin wished to reach out, he had once known each of them by name, to bridge the yawning chasm of misunderstanding that lay between them but ...
In their eyes, he caught the unmistakable reflection of their revulsion; a mirror to his own self-loathing, for in their horror at him he, too, found reason to recoil.
In the crisp dark night, he stood within the doorway of his weathered home, half bathed in the warm glow of flickering candlelight behind him that danced across his hair and skin. The golden firelight crackled a warning, transforming his moonlit-touched locks into a halo wreathed in a shriek of hellfire. But, o' his eyes, it was his eyes that truly unsettled. They glowed like sickly green lanterns, piercing through the darkness with an unnatural sheen that belied their hollow depths. It was now of little wonder to him why the townsfolk spoke of him in hushed murmurs and chided their children to stay close and avoid the woodland.
Everything was quiet between the accidental gathering, and Robin's soul yearned to escape this suffocating atmosphere; he wanted to leave, to break free from their unrelenting stares, but he found his feet rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do; he didn't even feel as though he could breathe! With a heavy heart and trembling fingers he silently reached for the door, the brass handle suddenly felt so cold and foreign in his grip. Robin turned the handle, the creaking of the door echoed like the mournful wail of a lost soul, and shut out the uninvited throng that had rendered him a husk. He did not sleep that night, nor would he likely ever rest comfortably again. The weight of the gazes that had followed him pressed down atop his weary shoulders, but he supposed he could not cast too much blame upon them. He now saw that he was too far removed from humanity to seek refuge in companionship.
The next few days offered him no solace from his maddening delusions. Each rustle of a branch, each flutter of a bird, felt like a portent of doom, little reminders of the unseen eyes lurking just beyond the tree line, ever watchful, ever patient. With every reluctant step away from the welcoming hearth of his abode, a frigid tendril of dread tightened about Robin's heart, constricting with a merciless grip that threatened to squeeze the very life from his lungs. Unable to ignore his heart's thrumming admonitions that cautioned him not venture too far; for to do so would invite the abyss, and he would never come home again. Every sun-drenched afternoon melded into endless loops of fevered paranoia. Visions of the men from the night prior loomed large in his mind, their faces twisted into malicious grins as he replayed the encounter in his head over and over again. Were they still out there, ensconced in the shadows, biding their time? Robin found himself checking the handle frequently; once at night and once in the morn, grateful for each time the door was not barricaded. His fingers held too many scars already.
Still, with winter fast approaching, it was becoming more and more difficult to maintain his isolation while the persistent rumble of hunger echoed in the cavern of his stomach; it was the only companion in his solitude. The passing weeks had turned into a monotonous cycle of silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of distant frost, but the sinking dread never left. All the same, that fateful morning had to arrive; an inexplicable urge stirred within him, something far beyond mere hunger, igniting a glint of determination that had long lain dormant. It was a call that resonated deep within, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones โ he could not hope to resist it. So, with that single stride, he left his home behind and stepped into the murky depths of a thousand towering trees.
And Robin Altus Baudelaire never returned.
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดษด-แดสแดแด
แดแดษขแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐#โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ - ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ - ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐! ...ใ แดสแดสแดแดแดแดส ๊ฑแดแดแด
ษชแด๊ฑ ใ#familial death tw#blood tw#horror tw#grief tw#parental death tw#implied murder tw#death tw#injury tw#fire tw#tw sui ideation#alcohol ment tw#angst tw#no happy ending#if I missed any please let me know!#I was reminded of this hahaha#pain
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"Well shoot baby, ain't nothing disappointing about you." Haru drawled like a smooth, sugary whiskey poured over gravel. He didn't even bother to disguise the lingering assessment that started at the soft lavender collar circling Loki's throat and drifted, for a shade too long, to the shadowed hollow beneath in a subtle appreciation which stopped just shy of being inappropriate. It wasn't lecherous, well, not quite. Playful, maybe a little suggestive, but nothing uninvited. Still, Loki's name was met with a crinkle eyed smile, and a hand reaching to shake his,
"Haru - from Golden Meadow down in pretty ol' Louisiana."
The rumble of the approaching subway vibrated through the platform, a gust of wind whipping strands of Haruko's dark, curly hair onto his face as he shifted his bag. He smoothed them back, "Washington? Heard that place is full of Subarus and hipster coffee snobs," Fuck if a cup of coffee wouldn't be a godsend right now The tattoo artist cut a nymphish glance at Loki, his eyes continued to cradle the appraising glint keeping his attention, "Although I can't clock you as one of them snooty city folk." He paused for a beat, "Okay, maybe the Subaru - but I can't blame you for that, they're good cars." Lord Above, what the hell was he even on about? Oh well, who really cared - the sun would still come up tomorrow and the world would still spin even if he couldn't keep his mind on track for more than five minutes. Runnin' on fumes was an understatement, how many hours did he even sleep last night? Heh - he'd kill for one of those fancy coffees he was just bitching about.
Haru flicked a peek at his watch, then squinted towards the stairs, where the golden light of the evening spilled hues of amber and rose across the grimy stairs. Maybe, just maybe, he had time to grab one after his stop - he could even invite - โฆ Hm, no, not yet. Tall, dark, and handsome here seemed normal, sure, but โฆ but but but! That nagging was back! Louder now, too. Ah, god dammit.
"So then, color me curious, Loki, how long are you on "business"? And just what brought you all the way down here from up North?"
His laugh was boisterous. A perfect match for the charming, lopsided grin illuminated by the passing light of a train. Adonis. Had he heard that before? It didn't matter. He rolled his broad shoulders, set his teeth against the cold that burrowed into his bones, and angled his head just so. His malachite gaze, with its sultry edge, leveled on @witchcraftandburialdirt, a pretty face in a city of mediocrity.
"I would never dream of interrupting such an evening," Loki drawled. "Although, I can be quite convincing."
A train screeched to a stop at the opposite platform. Two people deboarded, skulking off into the night with shoulders pressed to their ears. The subway announcer's voice was a distant echo, punctuated by the warning ding of eventual departure. It shrieked off into the dark, leaving them in comfortable silence.
Loki glanced to their surroundings in only a cursory manner. Keir was not here, for once, to provide aerial advantage. And the choice of public transportโwell. Certainly a choice. "I can give you a ride," Vasilija had said an hour prior, over the phone. Loki declined on principle: drivers in this city were horrifying, and Vasilija's impeccable weaving skills made it a nauseous nightmare. Besides, there was a charm to subways that couldn't be replicated at home.
"I'm sorry to disappoint, darlin', but I'm only here on business; I live in Washington," he answered. He wasn't wearing a suit, but the lavender button-downโthe top three buttons undone to reveal a peek of dark chest hairโmight have counted for business attire. Casual business, perhaps. "Name's Loki."
โโโโโ โ โ โ โ โ โ โ CONTINUED X
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดแดแดแด แดสแดษช๊ฑแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐? ... ใ ษชแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐#kingoftheravens
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good morning how do i kill the yearning before it kills me
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดษด-แดสแดแด
แดแดษขแด ใ#mxlevolence#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
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Shimmering light
marie_skoven
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดษด-แดสแดแด
แดแดษขแด ใ#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ
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psychologically fumbling with my sense of self-preservation as a vampire has her fangs mere inches from my neck
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ : แดแดษชษดแด แดแด แด สแดแดแด แดษด แด๊ฐ สแดแด แด แดกษชแดส สแดแดส แดสษชแด๊ฑแดษด แดแดแดแดส.#hemoplagued
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excerpt from the vampire armand by anne rice that made me cackle

#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ : แดแดษชษดแด แดแด แด สแดแดแด แดษด แด๊ฐ สแดแด แด แดกษชแดส สแดแดส แดสษชแด๊ฑแดษด แดแดแดแดส.#โโ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ แดแด๊ฑษชษดษข ใ#hemoplagued
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I'm sooo unwell over them- @borbinite // @hemoplagued surprised me with this lovely lovely gift and I just had to share it with you all!! Aaaaa! Borb's design of Vlad is so soooo fun and I might get it printed and framed idk yet lolol
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I'm sooo unwell over them- @borbinite // @hemoplagued surprised me with this lovely lovely gift and I just had to share it with you all!! Aaaaa! Borb's design of Vlad is so soooo fun and I might get it printed and framed idk yet lolol
#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ : แดแดษชษดแด แดแด แด สแดแดแด แดษด แด๊ฐ สแดแด แด แดกษชแดส สแดแดส แดสษชแด๊ฑแดษด แดแดแดแดส.#โโ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ โฆ ใ ๊ฑแดแด แด ใ#โง โโ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐. ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ... ใ แดสแด แดแดแดษด-แดสแดแด
แดแดษขแด ใ#borbinite#hemoplagued#โโ ๐๐๐๐'๐ ๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐! ... ใ แดแดแด ใ#im soo unwell#omg ogm#borbs style is soooooo#ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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