thisonechickrighthere:

Too subtle? 

Dreadfully so. You would do well to speak out more often.

Missed me, did you?

You’ve come back to me.

Though, if I am truthful, and my judgment is fair (it never is; fair, that is) I did not notice you were gone. Which, I suppose, could be attributed to my being dead, were I not always dead.

Look at you, you pretty thing.

… Are you still a bear?

acrookedmile:

Storyverse: A Crooked Mile
Timeline: Prior to Ardost’s dismemberment and “death,” following Isaretta’s defection.
Synopsis: Ardost sends Isaretta a rather sordid love letter.
Warnings: Just what it says on the tin. Sexual content. It’s tasteful, I suppose, but ultimately a tad graphic.

Isaretta,

Do you think of me, pray? When it is late, and you are alone, and your hair spills down your pretty back… Do you feel the ghost of my lips on your backbone? The imprints of my fingers on your hips? I think of you, still, and my lips and hands remember. Do you lie beside him, and slip your white fingers down along that smooth snake belly of yours? I hope that you do.

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acrookedmile:

Collected here are all of the short pieces I’ve written about one Ardost Belastiot as arranged in chronological order. I’ll add more as I complete the works I have in progress. Ardost is the oftentimes protagonist of my novel-in-progress, A Crooked Mile. He’s a megalomaniacal sometimes former High King with silver eyes and an occasional bunch in his back . Pro Tip: Don’t kiss his ring. His hobbies include being a smart ass, murder, and waxing nostalgic (among other things). He enjoys long walks on the beach and strangling women in their sleep getting caught in the rain.

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I am converting this old patch of web space from an active RP blog to an Ask blog. You are welcome to send messages Anon, or otherwise, to which Ardost will respond with the same gusto as in the days of old.

His previous relationships and demise are utterly retconned, but you are still welcome to ask about those, as well. I’m also going to start putting up short pieces about his background and so forth, here, so that there will be more fodder for your inquiries.

In other words, Ardost Belastiot has returned to his Tower and, as ever, he is dangerously, dangerously bored.

Glory is that bright tragic thing,
That for an instant
Means Dominion,
Warms some poor name
That never felt the sun,
Gently replacing
In oblivion.

- Emily Dickinson

ofheroismandsacrifice:

*She takes in a slow, deep breath as he kisses her brow, letting acceptance, or something close to it, wash over her. Letting him go isn’t something that she wants to do, but she knows that keeping him won’t stop what is to come. She can see how weary he is and knows that he won’t last much longer. Before letting him go, though, she reaches for his cheek, barely applying any pressure to the thin flesh. On her tiptoes she rises and places one last kiss to his cheek, almost as a blessing both to him as he goes and to her as she lets him.  As she pulls away her lips tremble, but another deep breath holds her emotions at bay.* Go softly, love.

Like the dusk into darkness, my sweet Rose. He touches the spot where she kissed him as if he’s been given something precious, and manages a last smile that has in it the last flickers of the mischief that lit so often in his eye. Remarkable… To think it is a kiss that frees us. He waves to her, almost idly, then turns, and staggers away from her. He doesn’t glance back, and he doesn’t make it far - just out of her line of sight - before he collapses. A cool wind rushes through, and swirling silver dust drifts up toward the sky.

ofheroismandsacrifice:

twopartscrook:

ofheroismandsacrifice:

You did, once upon a time.  *She sniffles, then, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her palm.*  You probably know that you don’t deserve the tears that I’m shedding for you, and yet… I can’t stop myself.  I don’t think that I understand myself any better than I understand you. *She makes a weak attempt at a smile.* 

In any event, that will no longer matter. I have only to remove myself from your sight and that is one trouble that will have come to an end. It was odd to think of it so cheerfully, but after having endured death, near death, and undeath, the prospect of finally crumbling into nothing seemed peculiarly insignificant. It is for the better. I have no place, here.

*She nods, taking his hand from where it cups her cheek and holding it gently between both of hers. She can feel how frail he has become and it amazes her that he has lost so much strength.* Perhaps you may finally find peace, Ardost.  *She had come so close to calling him ‘love’ like she had so long ago, but she caught herself before she slipped, afraid that calling him that would only make matters more difficult.*  You should know that you will never be forgotten.

Someone as ridiculous as I? I should hope not, sweetling. A sudden weariness overtakes him, and for a moment his silver eyes slip closed. Concentration tightens his features, as he steadies himself. Peace is more than I have earned, but perhaps I shall find a little quiet. He leans forward, and kisses her on the forehead, mindful of the cut he saw when she had scratched at it. But now, let me go. This is something you surely will not wish to witness.

ofheroismandsacrifice:

twopartscrook:

ofheroismandsacrifice:

I have. *She looks up at him, looking so confused that she almost looks lost.* I don’t know why I am weeping, now. I… This is so weird. *She gulps and holds her breath for a second, trying to stop the crying. Truth be told, at this point she is tired of crying.*

Perhaps it is for old times’ sake, hm? He cups her cheek, but his touch is frail, almost tremulous. It seems as though he might fall to dust at any moment. But let us put a stop to this weeping. At this rate, you might stain your cheeks permanently. The jest comes with the wry quirk of a brow, and half of a rasping laugh that rattles too much in his chest. Did I not make you smile, once, also? Near as often as I brought you to tears, I think…

You did, once upon a time.  *She sniffles, then, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the heel of her palm.*  You probably know that you don’t deserve the tears that I’m shedding for you, and yet… I can’t stop myself.  I don’t think that I understand myself any better than I understand you. *She makes a weak attempt at a smile.* 

In any event, that will no longer matter. I have only to remove myself from your sight and that is one trouble that will have come to an end. It was odd to think of it so cheerfully, but after having endured death, near death, and undeath, the prospect of finally crumbling into nothing seemed peculiarly insignificant. It is for the better. I have no place, here.