So we’re going with... ♑ Your muse appears at mine’s window in the night and serenades their window. (post-Tragedy)
It was a rare occasion that Sonia went to sleep early anymore. Often, she had plenty to keep her up: an unfinished proposal or address (that came with the added worry about if she’d be at best, denied and ignored or at worst, had yet another assassination attempt), her memories, a movie to distract her from her present state of life. But that evening, too much weighed on her shoulders and her mind: the Castle was slowly returning to a state of normalcy after the new Remnants had attacked. Everything, it seemed, except for her.
It was supposed to have been easy. Or at least, she should’ve been preoccupied with the likes of one of those manila folders, if she would compress the entirety of a man into a sheet of desirable statistics. Instead, it took a dance, a daring act of bravery, a long night in a sturdy chair, and his bold suggestion to knock her entire world off its barely-stable axis: He’d made two real, legitimate suggestions: that they marry, and that she call him by his first name.
Sonia was still wrapping her mind around the ideas of both. But in sleep, and only sleep it seemed, she could quiet her mind and fall into something, hopefully, dreamless and restful.
But that night, she wasn’t going to be bestowed with either.
“Wh-what?” She suddenly gasped, groggy, as she sat up straight in bed. The Queen didn’t even look at the clock: for her, appointments, and the day itself, seemed to begin when she said they did. But by the small slivers of moonlight that crept through her windowpanes, it was still very dark and very early indeed. Nevertheless, there was something coming from outside her window. Something that the guards outside her doors seemed to be ignoring, or perhaps they couldn’t hear it at all.
With a yawn, Sonia struggled out of bed, barely able to reach for her dressing gown in her fatigue. Wrapping it over her nightgown, she then half-strode, half-stumbled to her French doors, pushed them open, and sauntered onto her balcony.
Only to find Emi-Shirou. Guarding? Singing? Both? Sonia rubbed her eyes though it was her ears that would be the culprits of possibly deceiving her. But neither had.
“Shirou, what the hell are you doing, precisely?” She asked. Sonia was far too tired to be upset: when she was younger, it was her patience and general optimism that kept her away from anger most of the time. Now, it was simply exhaustion. Her body and mind always seemed so worn out and while she’d quarreled with him in the past, she was in no mood to do so anymore. Or perhaps ever again, there was no point in it. Not when, despite her fatigue, she could look into his eyes and feel both contentment and anxiety at the same time. “Are you singing? It’s so very late!”
@theharellan . "Something worse is coming. Something much worse than anything before." (priestess, or if u wanted to try out elgarnan or mythal!) . ursula le guin & the prince of egypt . accepting
The sun is eternal outside of the thin glass walls that separate the gleaming halls of Elgar’nan. Dull in colour, distant. Blood orange and always setting. In itself a statement of victory wherever his feet and steps took him. The stones beneath his feet gleaming, even now as the undying golden hour washes over them. Over him with dark and long hair of auburn hair; bright eyes of gold and molten honey, as Mythal would often describe them. Soft and sweet to the touc, and yet strong enough to hold the whole world into place. The softness is not present in the straightened shoulders. It washes over his form that holds itself without armour, relaxed as the wine is poured into a simple, unassuming goblet.
It washes over Mythal’s dark skin, seated to his left, one bare hand holding the untouched cup. The carefully and masterfully crafted foot rests against the wide arm of the chair. The dark liquid stuck in half darkness, half light. Much like her eyes, half lided but awake. Narrow and focused, distant in the same unreadable way that she had come to be known. A judge seated upon her bench, the soft silk blind not in sight.
It would be so, unradable, if any one other than Elgar’nan stood there. Anyone other than the figure that holds the weight of her gaze. The figure seated opposite to them.
To call him a person would be a gift, a blessing that left Elgar’nan’s lips. Even in this golden hour, the sun seems to not touch him. He is a shadow. He is a dying man and as he holds onto to life the more the shadows seem to gnaw at his being. He is a ghost. A ghost that haunts them the more his refusal to accept reality as it is, a ghost that seeks strife in any place that his eyes touch.
Elgar’nan’s eyes move to Mythal’s, who remains seated with her back resting against her chair. Seated in her chair in a comfortable, familiar manner. Thin fingers covering her mouth. She does not look up to her husband. The wine jug is placed down upon the white fabric that covers the table between them.
The air tastes of a deep forest and while there is no food atop the table, the scent of a half-hearted and desperate hearty meal hangs over them like a heavy blanket. A brief touch upon all of their tongues, the glimpse of laughter. Elgar’nan seems Mythal’s eyes close, one second, two; her fingers remaining unmoving.
The All Father rounds the table slowly; Mythal sighs but briefly, a light and barely existent thing and yet with her magnitude even that gentle could rock the foundations of this place that they found themselves in. A note of grief enough to wash away all shores. The stare is the same as it had been before and yet its weight hangs above them. Once Elgar’nan turns his back to the visitor, the scent is gone, as is the weight. Mythal’s eyes are once again open.
There is a snarl upon his lips, one hidden only by the goblet. Open to either of them if they so chose to see it when he sits beside his wife.
This is a threat.
He would bring shadow and cover it all they refused to abide by his whims, his wild ideas and ramblings. Even as his eyes finally landed on the figure, Elgar’nan knows that it is only a matter of time before this man, who his wife still called by his name, this man that had been close to family, to raise a hand against them.
He grieved the death and life that stood before him in the shape of that shadow: his wife with denial, depression, bargening. And his with anger.
Pure, hardened, unwavering acceptance.
“Such is the way of things.” he speaks plainly. There is no taste of wine upon his tongue, no scent of the grapes. Not even the warmth of the sun touches the sharp edges of his figures. Nothing warms the embers within his eyes and so they remain sharp; calculating, distant just as the dark red circle in the sky above a still ocean.
His wife remains silent, unwavering in her gaze. Mythal who still called him by his many names, the hope on her tongue warm as her embrace. To call him by any of those names, to Elgar’nan, was akin to disrupting the memory of an old friend, a family member. A recent departure. Mythal who held her judgement in wait, and him that watched someone that neither of them recognised parade in the shape of a man that she had admired so much.
Worse than the veiled threat, this felt like a sickly joke. To wear the skin of a friend to present weak threats with a pretence of civility when there was nothing behind their eyes.
His voice is falls, taken by the silence. Outside the wind brushes softly against the walls, against the glass but there is no sound that penetrates into the chamber. It reflects the All-Father’s tone: soft, and uninterested. With enough time I would wear you down into nothing, reshape it to my own desire. Or tear you completely. There is no stone that is left unturned, no place that is left untouched by Them. You are only allowed to stand because of my will.
The cup is placed down on the table. Elgar’nan’s voice echos in the large chamber as his smile grows to a sharpened edge. Reassurance thick within his strong, firm voice “Nothing can threaten us.”
“ * hey mama, look: i, um. got you some flowers. see? they're roses,
‘cause i know they're your favorite. oh, and, i grew them myself, too! “
“ * usually i snip off the buds, since i just like the pretty thorns, if i’m
honest--bbbut, i saved these ones just for you, ehehe. so... here! “ 🍰
sat on his knees, the young prince carefully sets the armful of flowers onto
the floor in front of him, glancing up at the chipped paint, faded depiction that
only silently looms above. as moments pass, that sad smile slowly begins to
fade, he fidgets, fussing with his claws and lowering his head with a sigh. 🍰
ralsei shifts from place with a sniffle, pressing his back to the wall and
pulling his legs to his chest, sat nestled between where the two figures
stand, as unknowing as usual. “ * ...happy mothers day, mom. “ 🍰
😨 - how many roleplay blogs have you had active at once?
😫 Answered here!
😨 Only one, so far. This is my first ever Tumblr blog! Which is why things might be a little messy and chaotic until I figure everything out and how I want things to be. But on Discord, I've been in at least seven roleplay servers at once.
Now though, I've kind of limited myself to really only having one or two spaces to roleplay (aside from private stuff ig), but having a decent collection of characters so I have a lot of different things I can write, but not too much that I can't keep up.
TOA Fleeting Snow 2021: send ♨️ to relax in the hot springs with my muse
“Enjoying yourself, sire?”
Merric sends a wide, friendly smile his liege’s way. The hot springs were something of a new experience for the Mage; while several of the students present have chosen to undress and enter the spring itself to relax their bodies, the greenhead has merely taken off his boots and seated himself by the edge next to Lord Marth, only his feet submerged in the warm water.
He won’t deny that it does feel good, though. His legs, accustomed to the experience of walking miles on foot without rest, certainly know how to appreciate a moment of relaxation.
“It sure is good to take it easy every once in a while, isn’t it... Have you heard of a place such as this existing anywhere in Archanea?” He inquires casually. “I wonder what the princesses would think about it. Princess Caeda would probably wonder whether her pegasus could also find it relaxing, haha. Princess Elice... I’m actually not sure.” Leaning back to look up at the sky, he lets out a quiet chuckle. “She’s just like you, you know. Both of you sometimes need affirmation that you’re allowed to rest.”
He shakes his head before turning back to his friend, the usual warm smile not fading from his lips. “I hope she’s taking care of herself. You I can watch, so I don’t need to worry here”, he adds, shooting his Lord a wink. “Let’s enjoy this time of relaxation that we’re blessed with, alright?”