i'm slowly building my reading list so i can get muse inspo and i love books
did she sigh? maybe at his response ( or her own lack of clarity. ) sometimes, words were more dangerous than back alley thugs and supervillains. comparing them to her skills in combat — well, her litany of ways to express herself was deeply lacking. all too often, she knew, that she came off as vague or obtuse. it's better at home, though, better with people who speak in action over words: that really spoke cass. still, there's a problem, and batkids... are pretty good at coming up with a solution.
❛ very. ❜ she surmised — in the dark, the faintest smile plays on her lips. scaling the walls would've been easier, springing between the towering brick walls. could've done it in her sleep, too; it's her first instinct, actually. but, she freezes. civilian, right. thus, her plan changes. luckily, there's a fire escape nearby. better than nothing for getting them off the streets ( and away from the thugs that'd come looking for their buddies. ) it's gotham; nobody goes anywhere alone. jerking her chin towards the ladder, she reaches for it — rising on her tiptoes, although doomed to fall short. ❛ mind giving me a boost, er, ... ❜ right, she never asked his name.
Yusuke thought the Japanese underworld was ripe with dangers, the West really had arguments to share. While most crimes were organized in Japan, Gotham demonstrated exactly what chaos meant. However, lucky for him he’s even found himself a partner in crime on this night to aid him in the fighting. Ha, his mother would never believe him when he tells her he’s gotten into a little scrap and he wasn’t the one who caused it. Once she extended her hand he realized once again that this isn’t Japan and so Yusuke responds in kind by shaking her hand, holding her firmly.
━━ ❝ 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧. ❞ Not because he felt she has a good grip of her own, but just the way she moved..like she’s accustomed in taking down the local thugs and if that was the case he was beginning to feel sorry for them. “Up..” He then looks up, the only thing he’s able to see beyond the opposing walls that make this alley was the cold starless night. “Don’t exactly see an elevator t’ get up there.”
brad's traveled countless worlds, seen the edge of time, and bumped shoulders with gods and monsters alike. he did it all —— he did it too fast and too young. instead of savoring every moment, he hurried along to the next without ever stopping to wonder if these times would last forever. unfortunately, they did not. he knows how this story ends whether he likes it or not, making everything seem pointless. what's left for someone who can no longer experience newfound pleasures and experiences? boredom. a deep boredom.
he gallivants around as the machiavellian adventurer, putting his wants over the needs of others because that's what he's always done. if he stops moving and breaks for an instant, will those thoughts come back? will he be able to fend off that everything's tinged in grey and pointless? so, he never stops. going from one role to the next keeps him distracted from confronting the end.
the roles he picks are impromptu. whichever is the most interesting at the time. it could be the villain, the mentor, the naysayer, the optimist, anything and everything that lets him escape. if everyone's the protagonist of their story, then brad inserts himself in roles aligned with how it plays out. a chance to see something different — he hopes. it's these roles, however, that keep him from connecting with others. a clever guise painted across that ache inside. if someone threatens to peel them back, he runs. he's always running.
beneath the charm and spells is a lonely man. someone unable to grasp the pleasure of life again because he's seen too many things. he doesn't go out of his way to change things. he doesn't flex against the mold; he exists and continues on. he knows it's pointless. if he changes, it's small things to him. his morality, in some ways, is muddled. as a being deeply touched by magic, his emotions are fickle and wild. it's fluid and dangerous. one moment, things could be fine, and the next, chaos for the sake of chaos. for the sake of excitement.
he struggles to feel things but allows himself to live through others. to let them experience some, never all, of the wonders he's seen. it's a comfort to remember what joy looks like, what sadness and rage appear in another's face when genuine. to see himself, a fractured piece of infinity, sitting in another's gaze. he never has qualms about rushing into danger; he wants to draw out more of those feelings that he has lost. it's cruel to play with others' feelings; he knows and does it anyway. it's the only thing he feels he rests in the palm of his hand.
【 loni says | You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? | bg3 party banter , accepting. ( i think this is the right meme i check last night fjlajf )
droplets dart across concrete, puddles of stagnant water forming, small ripples forming with each step. air damp, the faint scent acrid scent of mildew and humidity lingers in the air. it's one long corridor—— well, sewer, honestly. it's one long sewer, a twisting tunnel of refuse / a maze of underground runway and whatever others nasties might dwell within. it's a mess of rubbish, spiderwebs and lost toys. each more sad to come across than the last—— lost treasure not meant to find itself back home again. ( and brad wouldn't change that. )
fingers crackle with magic, the tinny hum of sorcery, the twisting of unnatural forces. hand sits aloft, flames crackling in palm, light chases off shadows—— rats scurry from stomping feet. it's not his usual locale. give him an ancient tomb over some musty, funky sewer, but there's something here. something worth finding, something worth braving shards of broken glass and risk of infection. it helps when neither of those things bother him anymore; a twisted, unnatural body has benefits, far more benefits than cons. dulled sense of smell ... well, that works wonders here. ain't perfect, mind you. small air fresheners drift around them, cutting down on stomach-turning nausea. it gives more time to think, to scout, to consider riddles given. gaze never drifts far from map nor etching in grimy walls. at least, not until she speaks.
voice draws attention, plucking focus with ease. no small feat, mind you ! not many could've managed that much when he's lost in thought, drifting between countless possibilities; it's a moment of grounding. it brings him back to the same plane; it brings him back to her. a ship sent out to sea returning to harbor, again and again. ( always destined to depart. ) / never truly meant to stay.
❛ counter point ... don't fall down here because i literally don't know what you'll land in. ❜ lips pucker, brows knitted together in worry, regarding the trash around them far more consciously than before. head turns to watch her, eyes flickering in conjured flame, something dances in them. something circles in dark hues, a dancer wreathed in flame, a passionate trance only illuminated by fire. ❛ BUT and big but, not your butt, mind you, if that were to happen then i suppose i'll give it a college try. no promises. no refunds. no returns. ❜ a faint laugh echoes off tunnel walls, gentle yet ringing down a treacherous path. a pause, boots slowing to a stop with a firm thud. ❛ ... ❜ free hand reaches for her, fingers gesturing towards her. ❛ hold my hand. that make you feel any better? ❜
@packless
The funny part about this first encounter is Steph is left wondering "geez, what'd I do to piss her off?" and meanwhile Cass is walking away thinking "she seems nice. I am so good at giving helpful advice."
❝He was a mess of scars like the sky was a mess of stars.❞
Hafsah Faizal, We Hunt the Flame
i got this amazing commission from HeloiseArt_ and would highly recommend them!
threats are the dullest of blades to martin. each syllable, each note, no more unique than the last. some were clever——some were foolish but he sees more than such things. in the grand symphony of countless universes, he sees them as a single note. what could once dazzle &. amaze does nothing for him. the faintest hint of hunger taunts his sense of interest, but it doesn't rise. only the dull ... empty feeling lingers in its stead. what's a monster to a beast? what's living another day to dying tomorrow? striking her down now ... that's the best pity he'll be able to provide.
he peers at her with features slack in contemplation. dispatching her before returning to fillory——to his rightful kingdom——that's the right choice. it's logical. it's reasonable. turning this pitiful rock to a sea of molten ash and dust would've been no small part compassion. boring on the surface, yet monsters lurk, yet monsters hide. rather strange ... so much more different than other worlds. at first, it intrigues him. beast that don the skin of mere man but they're far too human. far too full of love, compassion, and hate to even be compared to a real monster ... a real beast. he sees it. he smells it. vulnerability clad it biting words. wit in place of sincerity.
hands fold themselves behind his back after straightening fitted suit. he steps closer——his gait light yet empty. it's a dance. a two step meant for one that brings him closer, closer to her. steps carry him towards the tangles of contradiction she holds, to the life she clings to yet resents. does she feel pain with every breath? does she feel pain from being alive? how cruel, the world can be. how wicked his smile must seem, polite yet cruel. through his gaze, he sees a terrarium. a world of glass, broken and shattered. the gods have long since abandoned it to rot and fade away. to vanish with a stifled scream.
"does it ... ever get tiring to pretend to be so strong?" a pause for a laugh, detached like a heavy note. "don't get me wrong, you've got it down pat, dear girl. fooling yourself, well, that's the real magic, isn't it?"
[ .⠀.⠀. ] ❛ I did warn you not to trust me. ❜ , @amcssing (martin chatwin) said.
His words stung, more than she liked to admit — each syllable was a spiked jab, directly aimed at the wall of solidarity and calculated distance she'd built around her very being, the very wall he had somehow, impossibly, already managed to breach.
Sayuri wasn't one to trust easily. Life had taught her that vulnerability was a liability, a weakness to be exploited, and her every interaction was usually marked with the safe distance she maintained. Martin, however, had managed to instill the slightest sliver of hope within her for a powerful alliance that defied the odds — a hope that was now being declared foolish, stupid, an utter embarrassment.
A wave of heat flared up within the ghoula, a mixture of shame, raw fury, and the creeping realization that slowly settled into her consciousness, heavy and consuming. For once, she had allowed herself a hint of belief, and he had taken that vulnerability and twisted it into a weapon. The intensity of her emotions was enough to make her clench her fists at her sides, her knuckles bone-white beneath taut skin — her expressions, however, masked her irritation with feigned amusement. A smirk, sharp and brittle, crept onto her lips that didn't quite reach her eyes, her pride forcing her to maintain composure, to not grant him the satisfaction of seeing the boiling turmoil his words had caused within. Fine. If this was how he wanted to play it, she would play along.
❛ Noted, ❜ she brought out, the sound somewhat strained as it passed through her gritted teeth. ❛ Now, ❜ she continued, her smirk hardening into a predatory curve, a dangerous glint finally flickering in her eyes, ❛ let’s see how much you enjoy having me as your enemy. ❜
random dialogue prompts , accepting !