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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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 Posted: Mon Jan 08, 2018 9:30 pm
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Posted: Wed Feb 28, 2018 9:03 pm
Paris, well, if he were really being honest with himself, Maximilian Rufus Tristian-Gaspard was very bad at dating. In fact, he was pretty sure no girl had ever expressed a real genuine interest in him outside of them wanting him to do their homework. Hillworth was a school of raging hormonal teenage boys determined to either fight each other, or ******** each other because what was the age of consent? (Fake if you believed half the duded who eye ******** each other in study hall).
Max was for the most part, not really into guys, partly because none had ever shown interest in him outside of looking for a fight when he snapped and went off, and, because he liked breasts. He really liked breasts. Granted, he’d never even touched one but he liked them, soft looking and bouncy and- breasts. Breasts were great.
Groaning in his room, the young man knew he shouldn’t think about ladies in such a way. He was better than that. He had more control over his body than allowing a bunch of raging hormones to dictate what he felt. Even if what he felt was a boner. Just think he told himself, of crazy people in the negaverse.
Which would have been okay, had Stella not popped into his head causing him to scream in frustration.
An hour later, he had regrets. He was girlfriendless, boyfriendless, and the only woman he had an interest in was nice and sweet but also possibly a murderer and evil so dating her was kind of out of the equation. Plus she was older. He felt like he was doing something naughty by wanting to date her and be near her. Sighing into his pillow, Max wondered if he was on the right path. Being a knight meant doing the right thing, but doing the right thing as of late was more and more ambiguous. The negaverse sought to free earth from senshi interlopers, which was fair. But they stole energy to do it, they had killed people in the past. Senshi wanted to get rid of chaos, and had killed a few on their side as well. The dark mirrors wanted to go to space and the knights- It felt like the whole job of the knights was to keep a fake peace that never existed in the first place.
Lifting his hand, the ring of his wonder sat under his knuckle, a reminder that he was more than what he appeared. He was uncertain what he wanted. What path he was on. As Max, things were simple, easy. He wanted an significant Other. He wanted to pass school, make friends, have less anxiety. As Paris- as Paris he was unsure about everything, including if he should remain Paris. The knight of Saturn stared into the distance, looking out into suburbia. Earth was his home, he didn’t feel some call to his wonder, to his power. He didn’t have the drive so many of his counterparts did.
Max sighed, wondering why things just couldn’t be simpler.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Thu May 31, 2018 9:29 pm
His interaction with the code left him feeling a little less than pleased. It had been months past, yet the squire felt that perhaps, he’d made the wrong decision in many ways. The code was not infallible. It was the culmination of gathered data from various sourced that were, by their own nature, biased. It was hard to disconcert what was bias and simply what was truth and fact. As far as his interactions with officer went, Paris was not so sure that things were as black and white as the code seemed inclined to present. It also was strange in how it was so stringent against the very notion of seeking out answers from the opposing side- a thing often seen with those who sought to exert control and a system that relied on a status quo. So it felt like perhaps, while the code did not have a bias in its own viewing of it’s purpose, it’s content and that which shaped it was bias and the effects of it could be seen in the wake of the originator’s absence.
Another quandary. Who had made or welcomed the code to his wonder? His wonder was one of lingering melancholy, of mourning and leaving the dead to their eternal rest. None had lived, truly lived on his wonder to create a stable population, and what he could recall, fragmented though it was, was that he in the highest position of power there, was even transient himself, a mantle passed down from one to the next. His was the role of a priest, not a warrior or zealot. A gardener of the dead if Paris felt so poetic. He kind of liked how that came off, until like you know, the mental image of him growing bones in the soil came to mind. He wasn’t made to grow bones. Nobody was. Well, some people were but those bones went to new people aka babies and wow okay.
Paris grunted as he laid back on the resident giant ******** monster skull that was deep in his wonder, housing the code. Less thinking about how people grew bones for babies and then couldn’t keep said bones it just came out all weird. This was about the code. Not about bone growing… gardening.. whatever. (Bone gardening was however, placed on his ‘things to ask about at a later time’. Okay Paris, he mental chastised himself. Focus, this was about the code, and the negaverse and not gosh dang bone gardening!
It was at that moment, in the cosmos, that the stars perfectly aligned to have Paris’s thoughts drift to who could grow bones. Ladies could grow bones. And who was a lady? Why, Stella was!
So Paris, ever still a young man, hormones raging worse than a linebacker on steroids in the NFL, was stuck yelling on top of a skull underground on his wonder- wanting to unravel the mysteries of the code. Indead, all he could think about was if Stella would find him weird for wondering if you could grow bones in a magical garden.
The code in the skull flickered, as if silently laughing at it’s keeper’s agony.
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Posted: Thu May 31, 2018 9:50 pm
The pain he felt in his lower rib shouldn’t have been that intense. Vaguely, he knew it was likely he’d cracked a rib, that he was in danger, but he also knew that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Literally this time. While seeking out agents of chaos to ask questions he had mistaking run into something less than talkative. A youma, big as a van, with an attitude that rivaled a trump supporter at a latin American worker’s union march. That was to say, ugly, mean, and probably going to snap and kill someone because they felt entitled to do so, (and have it blamed on something else entirely).
Such was the life of a knight, (or Squire in Paris’s case).
Grunting as he slid along an alley way wall, Paris knew he had little time. The youma was still blindly hacking as it attempted to shake off the smoke gas from his skull, and Paris, while now skilled at holding his breath, also felt it’s burn in his lungs, further agitating each wheezing gasp he took while his body screamed in pain. Cracked rib, burning lungs- he had to get away lest he become the youma next meal. And while sure, he hardly did much to stop agents of chaos these days, youma didn’t care about that. All they cared about was consuming energy, namely, starseeds. One of which Paris had inside him, right where it belonged, a place he rather liked it because well. He might have depression but he also certainly liked living thank you very much. The downside was that oh, living did involve youma and being chased down but hey no big deal right?
The howl of the creature sent a fear not unlike the time he was caught with his nose in a book about gay men and dating by his less than open mother. It was that kind of soul crushing fear where you really wondered if life was going to end. And as he reached the end of the narrow alley way, Paris wondered if it would. Running hurt, jumping hurt, but if he stopped moving he could end up more than hurt. He could very well end up dead. Gasping for air, tears at his eyes, the young squire kept pushing, hoping to perhaps reach the hospital, claim he’d fallen from a tree, and get help. Sure, mom and dad might ground him for a year but it sure beat being dead.
Too bad the hospital was several blocks away. Summoning his weapon, as hard as it was to do. He heard the youma behind him, closing in. he had one shot at getting it right. Turn, face it down, deep, (painful) breath, close his eyes, open the jaw and run.
Paris looked at the monster grimacing as it bared it’s fangs, howling in rage at it’s intended prey. Turn, face it, breath, hold, open, run. Deep breath, hold, eye closed.
Run.
Paris survived the night, two cracked ribs, some burning lungs and irritated eyes, but he did live. It was just a matter of now how to escape once he healed, given he would be grounded until further notice.
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Sat Jun 30, 2018 9:59 pm
Most of Paris’s life, he assumed he would grow up, reach puberty, get feelings for a girl, and that would be the end of that. He never thought past the whole ‘get feelings for a member of the opposite sex’ part, and being homeschooled, he didn’t exactly have many opportunities to meet girls let alone from anything other than admiration from how pretty or beautiful they were. In general, he assumed that he was just no girl’s type. That he might catch someone’s eye later in life or, as he’d blissfully discovered with Stella, be ‘cute’ in his own right, despite his bumbling and nervous nature. But in picking up a coffee late at night from a pop up drive thru late night place, Paris was re-thinking the whole ‘opposite sex’ aspect of his life plans.
Why?
Well, his name was Rich, and he smiled at him, winked, touched his hand when handing off the cup of decaf coffee and said he hoped to see Paris around.
Now, Paris was by no means an expert on flirting, but the man, (and oh, what a man he was. He has pecs and oh- those biceps! Paris could admit they were very Hrm.. beefy as some girls might say. Nothing like himself.), certainly had been rather ah, forward with him. Even if he’d been powered, his helm under his arm, Paris’s appearance hadn’t put the man at unease, rather, it seemed to only garner the man’s eyes and attentions the entire time his drink was being made. It shook Paris to be under such a stare. Mostly, as he was not sure how to react.
Sorry, he was straight? Maybe? He- he’d honestly never thought about it. Men had never made him nervous before. Never made him stammer in anything other than fear but that man, he’d just.
Paris’s pink and red face burned and it had nothing to do with the coffee he was drinking. How did he handle the fact he might- he might have a crush on the beefy barista man? He certainly couldn’t tell his family. He didn’t really have friends he could ask advice for. He- he blushed harder thinking of perhaps googling it. He’d have to delete his search history for sure. Maybe it was just his lack of amorous ventures that had the man’s attentions flustering him so. It was June after all- Pride was happening.
Swallowing hard, Paris debated trying to find Stella. To maybe… hold her hand. See if he felt stronger one way or another? The mere thought of holding her had sent him into another wave of blushing heat.
He was an idiot who couldn’t handle his feelings and all these pretty people paying attention to him. Why couldn’t he just be unnoticed, left alone. Granted he didn’t want to be alone all the time but god, being noticed was so hard when he felt this funny weird feeling in his chest when he thought of them.
Chugging the last of his coffee, Paris ran into the night, away from beefy cute baristas, and his feelings all at once.
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Posted: Sat Jun 30, 2018 9:59 pm
The blood had soaked through his gloves in a sickly red-black. The scent of copper mixed with tar, the warmth and heat of rent flesh soft and slippering in his grip. Paris worked at the corpse, pulling out organs and various bits of broken steel from where the ax had shattered on armor. Bone jutted in a odd angle to the open air- broken to grant allowance for the Knight to dissect his subject with care as to not do more damage than needed. This was the body of his mentor after all, and like all Paris knights who gained the mantle, they prepared the body of their predecessor. This knight was not at all new. He had trained for this, apprentice, then assistant. Cloistered with the others who held potential, he had grown in the catacombs as a child, knew the paths of bones and sealed flesh behind wooden and metal walls. His home was under the earth, in the hearths, the ashes of the recently dead.
As he pulled the body cavity closed, the man frowned. The body of his mentor looked like a doll. Empty, mailable, lifeless. Such was death. The starseed to the cauldron, the body was nothing but a used up vessel. It had no meaning, no purpose. What was life, but death pending? Death was the finality of all things, and the Knight of Paris served the mistress of Death. They always held that their service was a thankless one, for who would thank those that surrounded themselves and kept vigil over the dead? The graves and memorials served none but the living who sought to preserve the memory of those who had left long ago, to make them immortals. Yet these effigies and places would too, one day collapse and be forgotten. No being or memory would grant immortality. This was a finality, the knight though. Life was death’s creation, a state of being that allowed a different form, a chance to be one and not a whole.
The cauldron was cruel in it’s granting of powers. The mantle and powers passing to those who did not wish it nor want it, yet inheriting it all the same. Memories unasked for filling the mind of those who called not for them. The Knight snarled as he sewed the body shut, covering the corpse in stained white sheets, tossing blood soaked gloves into a bin with a surgeon’s apron.
He was the a of death’s devoted, yet he loathed the idealism of life. Mourners did not yet welcome the end- yet he-
Paris gasped, eyes wide and heart beating frantic as he woke from the dream. A vision perhaps of his past, or a telling of things to come? He had no apprentice, no followers and no one visited his wonder any longer. A chill raced up his spine as he looked into the inky blackness of space, having come to the surface of his wonder to see stars.
It scared him.
What was life but death pending? And what was he, but a servant of death’s solider?
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2018 1:44 pm
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