#musings and mannerisms lyria

[proelio-procusi-a]

Which Of My Favourite Specific Character Archetypes Are You?

the Scholar.

Someone who'd give away most things, perhaps everything, for knowledge, for understanding, for meaning. A person living in the world like it's an experiment; a person oddly generous when others least expect it.

Life/Death/Life.

A person who represents the mysteries and inner workings of the world's forces; a person who has destiny at their back, a person wielding their understanding like a weapon. A person who cycles through rebirths and deaths, growing ever more clever.

tagged by: @notyetfixed

tagging: @bookofvesper @notyourastarion @wizofwaterdeep @xbadnews @oakthcrn @strvhd @aschcregen and whomever else wants to

[caelumsaltator]

@ardensfides​​ sent:  05. the hierophant : what are your muse’s morals / ethics ? do they follow their moral code strictly ?, 06. the lovers : how important are relationships to your muse ? do they value having a significant other ?, 07. the chariot : how much does your muse care about winning ? are they a sore loser ? / Djeeta || Arcana HC meme!

05. the hierophant : what are your muse’s morals / ethics ? do they follow their moral code strictly ?

Her code has changed a lot over the years. It’s gone from structured, -- no greys, only black and white. Now, she mostly sees the greys. To put it into terms that make a little more sense, she’s a Lawful Evil character. One that won’t be afraid to speak up to someone who deserves the words she has to say. She’ll also protect those who need assistance, and won’t play by the books of the kingdoms. She does things her way, and had to for these six+ years. 

She still follows that code, thus how she’s accrued so many people. To some, she’s appealed to their curiosities and their wants, because she knows they’ll be good allies in the end. Others were by accident. And some, well... she’s not sure how she managed to sway them to be on her side. 

06. the lovers : how important are relationships to your muse ? do they value having a significant other ?

THEY’RE. SO. IMPORTANT. -SLAMS HANDS DOWN-

She tries to form bonds that’ll last through time with everyone she meets. Even if she comes off as a little, well, unusual, she means well. As she gets closer to people, she finds herself taking in more of their opinions and mannerisms. As much as she wants everyone at the table to be friendly, it can’t happen, so she’ll take time to learn what makes them them and go from there. She didn’t get much outside of Gran ( in dual singularity au or childhood friends/siblings au ) and Vyrn. Her mother was always there for her, but taught her to be independent while adoring the friendships she’s made.

When it comes to significant others -- at first she didn’t. A small vow was made to herself that she wouldn’t become that close with someone. She wanted to be the captain that adored everyone, but kept them at some distance. She felt as if love wasn’t important in that regard. It’d make her weak; give her another weakness that her enemies could pray on. But as she gets close to someone in that regard, she learns what she’s been missing. A confidant that wasn’t Lyria, Katalina, Rackam, or Vyrn. She learns how nice it is to have someone who you can bear your scars, your troubles, and they’ll still love you for you. It does take her time to get over that barrier she’s set up. Once she opens the gates, she doesn’t want to forget those feelings.

I’m not sure if that makes sense but waejglka tldr; relationships are v important to her and, though she may come off guarded at first, she’ll come to love another and rely on them like everyone relies on her.

07. the chariot : how much does your muse care about winning ? are they a sore loser ?

Djeeta is that one dumbass that will, in fact, strangle her friends when they play Mario Party. She’s both -- she cares and she can be a sore loser. Lemme explain -- she cares a lot about winning. She’s competitive, and won’t turn down a challenge if it’s within her grasp. Won’t take it if she knows she’ll lose, or can’t use some tricks she tries to hide up her sleeves. On the other hand, she can be a TOTAL sore loser. Not for long, as those feelings are turned into motivation. Expect her to be grumpy for a while, pouting as soon as the loss happens. 

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Cat in the Cradle: is the witch really going to give up that easily, having been thwarted once by Obi?

Prompts are currently closed while I catch up. I will announce when I am open! :)

A/N: An installment of Our Place in the Stars.Takes place after Nightmares.

Content Warning: This entire series has allusions to ahistory of sex work and involuntary servitude. This chapter is no different.

He wishes he took Miss’s orders to sleep a little lessseriously last night.

For now that his fast has been broken, with so few hoursto boot, he is delirious, disoriented, and dizzy. The motion of his hands andhis mind no longer work in perfect concert with the other, the distancebetween one place and the next is longer than his memory.

But the draught had done it’s duty, lulling him to slumber deeper than he had any right to.

(“Take this,” Miss says, pushing the steaming mug intonumb hands. The brew is black. Nothing good ever came from a medicine that wasbrewed to black. “It will help.”

Eyeing is dubiously, he takes a delicate sniff, thenrears back, nose traveling up his face to escape it. “Can I take it tomorrow?”

“Obi,” she huffs. “You haven’t slept through the night indays. This will help.”

He peers up at her from under the veil of his lashes, ather puffed up cheeks and her tiny body forming a barrier between him and thedoor. Then back down to the drink.

“I’m fine, Miss,” he smiles, every beautiful tooth baredas he holds the cup back towards her. “Our walk was very refreshing. I think Ican sleep just fine without it now.”

She crosses her arms, staring down at him.

Wilting, Obi cradles the mug against his chest. Takes in the potion again. Hecan already taste the bitter that hovers in the air, the particular mix ofherbs meant to numb his brain to something approaching quiet. It looks like ascrying mirror, it is so thick, like something a traveling nomad would brew to tell him that he would soon come into a fortune if he would part ways with just a little bit more gold. 

A little twigthat the strainer didn’t catch floats about its depths.

Oh well. Nothing to be done about it. “Down the hatch,”he mutters, and tilts his head back to take it whole.

Ye gods, what is inthis? He only manages about half the draught before his tongue rebels, throatclosing against it, and then he’s coughing, liquid spraying as the mugdisappears from his hands. Swallowing, he bends over his knees, gasping betweeneach wrack of breath that escapes his body.

Miss is already sitting on the bed next to him. “See?”she tries, patting him on the back as he rubs the moisture from his eyes. “Itwasn’t that bad!”

If he could sit up straight, he tell her with his facewhat he thought. As it is, he has to find his words.

“Au contraire,” he wheezes, wiping off the liquid drippingfrom his chin with the back of his sleeve. “It’s worse.”)

But if his men notice, they don’t say anything. Makiricertainly doesn’t, instructing him in passing to oversee the security for the meetings.

So he does. Just… alone.

(“Are you sure, commander?” Jirou asked, leaning inclose. “I can send one of those idiots to take care of sweeping the meetinghalls.”

Obi thinks of Hiro, with his round, boyish face and hiswide smile. Of Kune, with his new wife and a baby on the way. Of Shinto, hissoft voice and brass laugh. Each and every one of them didn’t sleep for two nights in a row after he told them about his first days in Laxdo.

“I’m sure.” Obi claps his second on the shoulder, smilefirmly in place. “Though if I’m bewitched again, it’s your responsibility getme the best scratching post and only the finest collar.”

Jirou grunts, crossing his hulking arms in disapproval,but he says, “Would you like it to be belled or spiked?”)

It’s not a hard task, not in this city, where a glare ora pointed look is enough to send any busy bodies scrambling. After scatteringthe third anthropologist and the second historian from their hiding places, he thinks that the wingmight be close to ready.

Though, he muses, rounding the corner. He might have totake extra precautions from keeping that biologist from returning to her study spacethat shouldn’t have ever been a study place in the first place.

(“But it’s quiet here! And all the study rooms in thelibrary are taken. I’m working on my thesis,” the woman whines in a way that reminds him too much of Suzu,piling one paper on top of another so slowly that he might tear out his ownhair. “Are you sure I can’t stay? I’m only taking up a corner!”

Obi smiles through grit teeth. “Only if you desire to beturned into a mouse. There’s a Samese witch here, you know.”

Her lips press together in a thoughtful manner, the roundlenses of her glasses making her grey eyes enormous. “I always wondered howtransfiguration affected the body. If it existed, I mean,” she mulls, hands staying upon her task. “Doyou think it is even possible to make something the size of a human intosomething as small as a mouse? I imagine I would have to be turned intosomething of like size, maybe a wolf. There’s so many bones in the human body,though. Do you think they break to condense into a smaller form? Or fusetogether? I wonder if the internal organs mo-”

He really should have known not to give her that option.“Mistress Kazune,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please leave. Now.”)

The room at the end of the hall is the last, and most obnoxious.The carved teak has been primed to shine, the glossy surface of the tablereflecting the centerpiece of evergreens. Circling, he runs his fingers underthe edge, ducking down to check the legs of each chair and each cushion, when asudden blast of cold air sends the curtains of the far wall billowing.

Skin prickling, Obi bristles, crossing over to close thebalcony door. For a city so northward, so obsessed with every burner going at all times,you would think they would only open themselves to the out-of-doors to thespring, but it is a constant battle to explain to his Miss’s maids that doorsand windows lock for a reason-

Clucking his tongue, Obi pushes aside the curtain,grabbing hold of the knob.

“Leave that open, if you will. The air is so stagnant in theserooms. It’s like no one ever uses them.”

Obi has not spoken Samese in years. Has not evenpracticed the syllables on his tongue. But, as Garrack and Shidan and everyscholar he’s ever met is so prone to pointing out, his memory is excellent.

Slowly, he cranes his head, looks over his shoulder. It’snot often that someone is able to sneak up on him, but if anyone were to, itwould have to be-

Them.

Between her two hulking guards, the red of her veils burnagainst gray stone. Her other guard, the giant dog who stands as high as themeeting table, sniffs at the floor. Eyes following, Obi hopes that it is not inspiredto take a piss. It would really be a hassle to put the maids through securityagain on such short notice just because of a little puddle.

“Thank you. It is… refreshing,” she says, hands claspingtogether. Then, with a twist of her head, her voice lowers. Carries authoritywhen she says to her companions, “Leave us.”

Back drawing up straight, Obi’s shoulders go so tightthat it is pain. And her guards don’t so much as answer as grunt, turningtowards the exit. Obi moves to follow.

“No, no.” Something in her voice trembles, sounds amused. “Not you.”

It’s nothing short of an order, though, and while he hasnot been- been that since he was aboy, his joints lock up, rooting him to place and staring helplessly as thedoors close behind the two behemoths. And he wishes, just once, that Miss washere. Or Jirou. Or even Makiri. That someone was present that would rescue him,too.

The touch of a wet nose to the back of his hand bringshim back to himself, eyes coming back to focus on two brown eyes and a lollingtongue staring up at him.

“And what about him?” he asks, voice as dry as a two daytrek across a desert.

The dog licks its great maw, tail giving two quickshakes, and then it- it licks at hishand. Like a connoisseur of flesh. Like it’s testing if he is going to need a little seasoning before enjoying a mid-day snack of escaped-slave a-la-mode.

“Her,” the witch corrects. “What’s wrong? Does the littlekitten not like the big dog?”

She laughs, pleased with herself and Obi’s jaw ticks asher pet nuzzles at him, sliding its nose underneath his palm.

“Come now, it’s a joke,” she tsks, patting her leg, andhis assailant is immediately called away. “I’m very funny.”

Subtly turning his hand towards his trousers, he rubs offthe lingering sensation. “As you say.”

She hums, floating towards him, and his heart gives threeloud bangs inside the cavern of his chest.

“Don’t.”

Obi pauses, blinking, and he- he takes stock of himself,tries to figure out what he has done, and-

His left hand flexes around steel, the tip of his pinkytouching leather behind his back. His heart still races, though, his mind stillscreaming danger! so he lets themlinger, lets them hold that reassuring cold of tempered metal still tucked awayin his belt.

“You,” she sighs, dipping her head to catch his eyes. Heturns them further away. “You’re one of ours, aren’t you?”

His lip curls, fingers wrapping around a hilt. “Never.”

Arms crossing, she straightens herself and he can feelthe weight of her glare like a physical touch. “No need to hiss, kitten. I knowyou belong to her.”

Blinking, Obi forgets himself, head snapping in herdirection, but she’s moving away, looking towards the window at the snowfallblanketing Lyrias.

“Still, though,” she comments, voice distant. “You are a brave little one, living so closeto the border. It would just take the wrong set of eyes and a greedy hand tocarry you back.”

A cold sheen of sweat spreads across his face, and it’snot like- not like he didn’t know that. Not like he didn’t weigh thepossibilities when he followed his Mistress from the safety of the south to theuncertainty of the north, but still- It’s been years since the wars. Yearssince someone has seen another with a face like his in these lands, and- “Noone here knows.”

“Kitten,” she looks her shoulder at him, and he’s madebreathless, the light striking through the material of her veils just so he cansee the white of her eyes. “Everyone knows.”

The cold sickly feeling spreads, eyes watering as ifpunched straight to the nose. “Then why? Why,” he swallows, words battling fordominance between the world he was born to and the world his mistress insistedwas reality. But, despite Miss’s insistence, her tempered demands that he believeher and not them, he can think of no better word. “Why enchant me?”

“Ah, that… embarrassment.” She sighs, rolling hershoulders. “That was not meant for you.”

Obi stares, lost, then whispers, “Then why her?”

She hums, and fabric ripples as she moves, as she comescloser. “She makes herself too small. Like you.”

He’s not expecting it, though he should. He’s far too outof practice, unable to stand still any longer as those above him take him into appraisal, holding hisjaw between forefinger and thumb, turning his head one way then the next,prying back lips to check teeth and pressing on the skin below his eyes tocheck for yellowing. So when her hand appears, still gloved in that thickfabric and so near to his face, he roots himself to the ground. And waits.

After several breaths, his eyes slowly flutter open – hehadn’t even known he closed them – and he- stares at her. At the way her handhovers between them.

“Your witch,” she says slowly, carefully. “She treats youright?”

Obi rears back. “My mistress,”he hisses, “is only kind. Even if I were to deserve-”

He cuts himself off, biting his tongue. But it’s toolate. He’s revealed too much. Stirred up too many memories of that day in theforest, of how she bowed to his failure, asked him to fail her again-

Her hand lowers. “And why would you deserve it?”

Brows furrowing, he blinks at her, trying to figure outwhat she’s about, why should would ask him to state the obvious. “I’m cursed.”

She tsks, breath strong enough to move her veil. “Nowthat’s some lie.”

He stares at her. “But- in Wati-”

“Wati.” Shespits out the name like it’s a blasphemy, drawing herself up while he shrinks.Even though she is no taller than Miss, he is like a boy before her. “Thatcountry of heretics? Why would you go to such a place?”

Gaping, he stumbles over his words, “It wasn’tintentional. I just crossed the steppes and-”

A noise, not unlike the grumble of an aggrieved camel,vibrates from beneath the veils. “What gives warmth to this world?” she clips.

It’s a struggle to remain standing, to not follow the urge to sit at her feet,to retain and recite like the schoolboy he used to watch through open windows in the summer, but that’s not what she wants. He doesn’t think so, atleast. Obi’s lips part and, for once in his life, he is unsure of whether tospeak.

Palms smacking together, she raises her voice. “I askedyou a question, kitten. What gives warmth to this world?”

His mind, the sure thing that it is, goes perfectlyblank. “The, ah, sun?”

“Yes!”

Obi jolts at her enthusiasm, the way she claps her glovedhands in praise instead of as a method for drawing his attention. And issomewhat shamed with that pleased little warmth that blooms in his chest.

“The sun gives light to this world,” she says, her voice softening.“Grows the plants that the animals eat. Melts the snow at the end of winter.And what color is this sun?”

“I- Uhm.”

“What color are your eyes, kitten?”

Swallowing, Obi shakes his head, backs a few steps awayand- and this can’t be happening. This has to be some sort of dream. Some sortof new nightmare. She can’t be serious.

“You have eyes like a leopard that are the color of thesun,” she says earnestly, closing the distance he creates. “Why would that becursed?”

His mouth parts to answer, so sure, so very sure that sheis wrong. That he is right. But he can’t. Not before a Red Witch, of all people.

“My- my Master. When I was a boy. He kept me hidden, toldme I would only do harm if I left his house.” Not that it stopped him fromtrying. The marks that etch up and down his calves are proof enough of that. “BeforeI- I left, he said I was damned. That’s why the temples wouldn’t have me.”

“Sit, boy.”

He stares at her, so lost, so disbelieving. “But-“

“I said sit.”

It’s been years since he was so easily beckoned, but hedoes what she wills, tumbling to the ground, legs barely crossed, and she- she joins him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes try to latch on to anything but the color ofred.

“Look.”

There is nothing else to latch onto, so he does.

“I feel warm just looking at you. Blessed,”she says, so simply. Like she isn’t tearing down and putting back together hisentire world. “Just like when I stand next to your witch. Though I am starting to see why the two ofyou found the other.”

His mind rebels. Screeches and spits. No matter what she said, he still has his memories. He knows the way people’s eyes fell from his when he looked upon him is the truth. The way the others scurried from his path is not a lie. It isn’t his imagination that remembers the whispers into ears and the exchange of coin - the goldthe same color, they said, as his eyes. 

Whata lucky find, they murmur, touching his chin to tilt his head back. Hewill bring so much more of it.

“But my Master-”

“He lied to you,” she interrupts. And her words arefinal. Law. Touched with the heat of anger. “He was selfish. Kept you from oursight. All of them did.”

He shifts, uncomfortable, until the slippery slide of herglove touches his face and he jolts, staring straight into the veil.

“If we had known-” She clucks her tongue, thumb smoothingdown his cheek, and he’s been a man for years – years longer than he shouldhave been – but it takes every last bit of his will not to bow forward, to not buryhis face in her lap and let her soothe whatever hurt she could find. “If we hadknown, you would have been brought to the coven, been given a true Mistress.And oh, how we would have spoiled such a face as yours.”

His shakes, and- this room is cold, suddenly. So cold.“But I-”

“Hush,” she commands, a single finger to his mouth. “You would have beeneducated and dressed well, never knowing cold save when you went outside toplay. Been given a bed of your own alongside the other little boys blessed justlike you. And we would have protected you, little one. We would have made sureyou were safe.”

“I-” His voice chokes out and he shakes his head to clearit. “That sounds… nice.”

“It’s the will of the gods that we witches shelter you,”she says, so certain. Like she didn’t lay every single dream of his since he wastaken from his parents at his feet. “That a foreign one found you that is proofenough, hmm?”

To his everlasting horror, his eyes blur, leaking withouthis will, but he can’t look away. So he simply nods.

“So lucky,” shemurmurs, almost to herself as she runs her fingers through his hair. He’s followsthe touch, helpless. “That’s the reason your Master kept you like he did,child. He was trying to keep that luck for himself.”

He weak, so weak. And it’s that weakness that makes himask, “But how can I be lucky if I can’t-” Heat prickles his face, the beginningof a blush more mortifying than him purring like a housecat on his mistresseslap, but he pushes forward. “I can’t- be touched. Even by those that I want totouch me.”

The snort, he is not expecting. “Spirits,” she mutters, headtilting towards the ceiling and the boreholes of stones above them. “You sendme here to find an unimaginable treasure in this desolate place and it is ashorny as a young buck in the spring.”

His lips twitch, but then he flattens them, mustering upsomething like a glare that only makes her laugh more.

“Kitten,” she sighs, moving closer. “You don’t seem to becomplaining right now. Are you sure you can’t stand to be touched?”

He stares at her, uncomprehending, but then her handmoves again, carding through the bristles of his hair and he- his eyes pulsewide, mouth falling slack.

“All wounds can be healed, little one,” she cooes, thesilk of her gloves brushing his temples, smoothing down his neck.

He stares. “But-”

“Your woundscan be healed.”

Obi shakes his head, the whole world trembling beneathhim. “That’s not- it’s not-“

“That doesn’t mean they go away,” she whispers, takinghis hands between hers, thumbs rubbing along the lines of his knuckles. Across the memory of pain. “Woundsscar. Especially ones that have been left to fester. But that doesn’t mean theywill never close. You just have to stop picking at them.”

His mouth opens and shut, unsure of how to work. Unsurehow to pass the enormity of what he’s feeling, so he says, “You’re not going todrug me again, are you?”

All at once, she sags, the weight of her palm heavy inhis lap as she slaps the other to her forehead, but his chest- it feels lighter. He thinks he just made her laugh. Hehopes he did.

“That enchantment wasn’t meant for you,” she says, flat.“But the spirits work in mysterious ways.”

His lip twitches. “Is that a no or-”

If he could see her face now, he is certain he would haveearned himself a full glare. It’s a wonder that this knowledge doesn’t terrify him.That he finds himself breathing so easily when it would be nothing for her tostrike him down. “I don’t think either of us would survive that humiliationshould it happen again.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then he remembers whatit had felt like, waking up on his mistress’s lap, how warm she had been, howsoft and giving, and the exact way that his heart had shattered with the simpleknowledge that he could not bear it.

“Unless you would like more gifts of catnip. I heard that it can be particularly daunting to keep the stockrooms in the pharmacy stocked in the winter. Really, your King should learn how to better manage his roads-“

Flushing, he bites back, “Point taken.”

Humming, she says, “Glad to know we’re on the same page, then.”

He eyes her, words carefully chosen. “It may be one ofthe few places that we are.”

Her hand clasps his, fingers wrapping the back of hishand and she squeezes. Hard. “Come early tonight. To the ritual. I will haveyour brothers show you what should have been yours.”

Before he can answer, he has a face full of dog, it’sgiant paws crawling up his thighs and great pink tongue lapping at his cheek sosuddenly he nearly topples over. It’s the shock of the door banging open thatkeeps him upright, that keeps him from scrambling away from the cumbersome thing,and he turns his head, wide eyed and shocked to find Lady Haki and Lord Makiri staringat him.

The great dumb creature, having done its duty ofembarrassing him further, leaves him, barking twice at the newcomers as ittrots up to the Arleon heirs.

“Ah,” the witch says, clapping her hands together. “Excellenttiming. I was just about to teach your young kitten here the secrets of uswitches. I’m glad you stopped me.”

“We are eager to continue the exchange.” Mistress Haki’sface is cool, composed, but he sees himself reflected in the tail of her gaze,the look she casts over him concerned. “When we heard you came early, it wasdecided that we need not wait.”

“Very good, very good,” The witch hums, a pleased noise,smacking her lap and levering herself up. “No need to waste any more precioustime.”

[dan-de-leon]

A Valentines one-shot ficlet for @squidpro-quo

Happy Valentines Day!!

"I really love the OT3 with Zen/Obi/Shirayuki, something with the three of them would be amazing! I'd rather not get anything with abo au or explicit sex"

I hope this is alright >_< This is my first foray back into writing after a 5 year hiatus. I’ll probably post this on AO3 when I have time later. 

Have a lovely valentines!!

Untitled - a short omake?

The crew have some introspective thoughts and musings about the nature of their lives as they hear about the plot of Yuzuri’s latest obsession.

------------

There was a strong feeling of foreboding in the air. While Zen never liked trusting in such, he unwittingly fell into the same bad habit that his old manners teachers tried and failed to whip him out of all throughout his younger years: paying more attention to the weather than the words of the person he’s engaged in conversation with.

It certainly was the kind of day that couldn't decide whether to be bright or dreary. The snow flurries already stopped and zen's throat was no longer aching. Yet he was warned to stay aware of his health. Mainly since it would not be good for the image of their beautiful city if royalty got sick there all the time.

He pushed a bereft yawn down his lungs; no matter how much the gray seemed to begin looming over those blue skies, it would not fit if he were to yawn in the middle of shirayuki's cheerful and (altogether too) bubbly friend's dialogue. Something about romance novels? Everyone seems to be paying attention though. And who is Zen but a master at staying alert.

"The writing is superb! It delivered way more than I expected," she barely stopped herself from sighing, "my only objection was that it ended too soon."

Shirayuki, patiently listening beside him, was serene and hardly disheveled as usual. Despite her busy schedule and tendency to overwork, she always looked immaculate, whatever the situation. Meanwhile, her friend paused to glance at him. Was that a smirk he saw, just now? No. Yuzuri faced Shirayuki once more, though with a question obviously directed towards him. He braced himself.

"Though, of course, with your highness being around, this type of excitement must be humdrum nonsense, right?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. And then held his breath right after- causing a cough to sneak up on his already much-abused throat. He put a fist before his mouth and coughed once more for good measure.

"What? No! Not at all. What are the main points?"

This seemed to encourage the young girl. She gave a wider grin before resuming with her discussion.

"Oooooh, it had all the best elements!! Right, Suzu? There's the forbidden romance between the prince and the lowborn lady, him rescuing her from pirates and unruly bandits-"

What?

That one landed  way too close to home for him to keep being comfortable. His foot fidgeted. He glared at it to stay. Put. The many times Shirayuki got into trouble because of their situation still made him feel guilty to this day. But he would not ask her to stop, nor would he presume to imagine that he would ever be able to order her to do so.

He glanced at Shirayuki. She was frowning, but only a smidge.

-------

Shirayuki didn't really pay attention to what was being said. That said, she had her head in the clouds the whole time (considering that they were gray, growing, and halfway covering the sky).

That is, until she felt a tickle in her back. It wasn't too uncomfortable -- only enough to make her want to scratch at it. Fine, it was reeeeally uncomfortable. What material did they make herbalist clothes from nowadays, poison ivy?!

She blinked. She was sure she HAD heard the last portion of yuruzi's monologue, but who could really blame her for being a tad bit (note: a LOT)  distracted?

"The prince carrying the lady bridal-style-"

A memory of a warm hand gently wrapping over her waist

"-stolen kisses-"

The sun on her face. That warm spring day. The feeling of her heart pounding, as she felt the pain and simultaneous joy of a first kiss from a very attractive young gentleman.

"-dangerous enemies, as skilled as knights appointed by the crown!"

Come to think of it, they haven't really experienced any danger for those two whole years they've spent in lyrias, haven't they? It was like time stopped and it became normal, to not think about the castle. Shirayuki never had any trouble with petty distractions when there was work to be done. The time here went by so rapidly, since she always had the next project to work on. And once Zen returned, it was like time started moving once more.

And WHY on earth was that prickly feeling in her neck starting to burn? Shirayuki gave in and scratched at her neck. It wasn't the right spot, but it was close enough for the time being.

-----

Suzu was giving him that look again.

While he appreciated time spent with their friends in Lyrias, their teasing looks have always been his constant adversary and longtime companion. He should be used to them by now. He's never reacted before, and them goading him won't make him do so now.

The bubbly girl was being blocked from his view by Shirayuki's slender back. He didn't want to stare, really. She was right there. He couldn't help it. Honest.

"-she even got kidnapped! By the worst type of bandits imaginable!"

He remembered those days. Nonstop action, enough that he could barely breathe. Is he softer now, milder now, tamer now, in comparison? Has this place officially defanged him?

"The lady's true love, saving her in the nick of time!"

He'd never dreamed of that role before. But if he did, would it actually make any difference?

And of course, the prince and the lady's knight, both madly in love with her!"

Suzu's stare was penetrating him now. Not to mention, Zen switched from looking at Shirayuki to looking at him, too.

He sneezed. Everyone jumped.

"It's getting a bit cold. How about we head back in for some warm tea?"

Everybody seemed only too eager to provide assent.

And thus, their whole group started trudging back to the warmth of the kitchen, with the sound of Yuzuri's chatter providing a comfortable ambience. -----

Lyrias was practically a fortress. And thus, it was not too easy for anyone to just jump in and take any random person from the inside. So it was just Shirayuki's luck that she is the unfortunate person caught in the crossfire, yet again.

Some man (she had no idea who, he just blindfolded her and wrapped her up) knocked her out cold while she was checking out books in the extensive library. How and when they got inside, she did not know.

She was still blindfolded. Her hands were tied - but carefully. Whoever did this must've known her status, and didn't want to get in trouble for knocking her around too much. She was famous around here for being a friend of the crown, after all.

Now, what options do I have?

While her body might have just gotten used to the lack of movement that came with indoor work, she will not let it be a reason for her to lose that same tenacity that drove her to run all the way to another country just for the sake of avoiding the selfish wishes of a once famously spoiled man.

Shirayuki checked all her senses. Her sight was out, obviously. She wriggled her hands - still tight. She smelled the air - the heavy musk of being in a wooden room. But- and  her tongue darted out, tasting the air: why is it sweet?

Footsteps

And- they're getting closer.

This didn't bode well for her. She had to think of a solution, and fast.

Shirayuki knew the walls tasted of moss. This moss was lightly useful for providing a light tonic when collected, dried and placed in boiling water. They collected those flowers in the spring.

Fresh, though, and in wintertime, means the tiny leaves will release a certain powder when shaken.

The door opened, and Shirayuki kicked the wall. She held her breath and hoped to god that the man had large nostrils like most other hooligans here in this city.

--------------

Shirayuki had been in her lonesome all morning for some reason.

Normally Obi would be beside her. Yet today of all days Zen required him to be present for sparring practice. Man-to-man bonding, as they called it (though kiki would raise a finely manicured brow at this insinuation)

When he finally escaped for just a tad bit and ran through his usual shortcut (rooftops, what else?) to get to his mistress's haven, he was whooping for joy. The plan for the rest of the day? To provide any help for her in the best way he could.

Yet- what was this feeling of dread? He tried to sense for her presence in the library. His breathing evened out, and he stretched out his hearing to pinpoint the exact place she was supposed to be. This was a relic from days spent listening for the cadence of her heart amidst the roar of a snowstorm upon castle walls. He would recognize her even from the next room.

And yet, none of those abilities could help him out if she wasn't present in the room.

He sniffed the air. There was the light permeating smell of old books and cement. And something else - the residual scent of herbs, from days when Shirayuki brought samples to cross-check with books.

There was a bad feeling rising now, like a crested wave almost reaching the breaking point. He rushed to her oither hangout spots - finding none, he sought out the usual suspects for her attention. None of them have seen even a single strand of her famously bright red hair.

And thus, he had to report to Zen

------

"Shirayuki is missing."

Zen wanted to facepalm. Wasn't Yuzuri talking about this exact situation mere moments ago?

"I guess at least the plot is consistent, huh?"

"Master, you said something?"

"Nothing. Let's go rescue our fair maiden."

[montaguesoath]

P E R C Y for vday ask meme :)

valentine’s day alphabet! / holidays never end in rp land.

P is for PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

to be fair, romeo wasn’t actively looking for a partner, thus we’ll make our fair share of assumptions based off of juliet’s character: pretty, but is very witty, along with kind. if you listen to the two of them speak, especially on juliet’s side, you’ll come to find that the both of them answer off from each other and quickly he comes not to love her for her beauty but for her personality ( ...yes, i speak of the play, but there’s other good posts that i’ll link since they go more in depth to what i’m thinking more eloquently ).

honestly, the game nudges in the direction ( or i’m reading too much into the text again ), that this romeo and juliet are...reincarnations? if not eerily similar? to the lovers that fought against escalus in the beginning and won, saving verona ( and juliet mentioning ‘but i can’t shake the feeling that i’ve met him before. somethings feels so familiar about him.’ ). admittedly, it’s an easy way for cygames to write out how much in love they are while the two talk less with each other than their play counterparts, but they also can only do so much with 7 parts/4 chapters each.

with all that said, let me write out a clearer view for what romeo enjoys: a pretty face from first glance is nice, but once he finds someone that is on equal footing to his puns, and even able to retort back at him with great skill, has a big heart to all people and spreads their light, is what makes his heart be for that person.

E is for EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

again, i headcanon him as italian, and the culture is very much into giving affection physically. romeo won’t shy away from receiving hugs, nor deny giving a big ol hug away, though generally these days he tends to close himself off and keep to himself. his hugs lately have only been the one armed variety, though he has been pretty touch starved since his cousin, mercutio’s, passing as well as his father’s. the guy is pretty much all alone, save for his few meetings with lyria, captain, and vyrn, since they’re pretty much the only ones that know who he is that isn’t paris...

R is for ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

i wouldn’t say a cynic, since he wasn’t searching for love even as mercutio dragged him around; but a romantic for sure, which shows clearly once romeo and juliet meet up with each other. they even go through a version of the famous balcony scene on the grandcypher.

considering how romeo was stoic to dating around beforehand, to being quite prepared to his great declarations of love, possibly he’s thought of it. 

C is for CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

he accepts them. also answered here.

Y is for YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

oh you know, he has a substitute skill. but not to mention that he literally went out into the middle of juliet and paris’ wedding day, interrupting the wedding, but saving juliet’s life from an assassination attempt. then later, as lord montague, locked up away in the montague estate, he wrote all that he could to not only be seen as incompetent and sway the people onto the capulet side, but to finally end this family feud that escalus had force them unto, would decide to give up his own life ( with captain saving his life, paris cutting the sash saying he took ‘lord montague’s life’ but romeo will have to be exiled from verona ), to allow the capulet family to flourish and lead over verona.

he gave up his name, his title, his livelihood, the woman he loved, decided for verona’s sake for paris to continue to be able to marry her, so he may protect her life as well as verona’s peace.

yes he is protective and he does it in an extreme manner with what he cares about.

[proelio-procusi-a]

Rate your muse’s traits 0-10!

Compassion: 9/10

Bitterness: 4/10

Happiness: 8/10

Politeness: 8/10

Chivalry: 7/10

Pride: 3/10

Honesty: 7/10

Bravery: 6/10

Recklessness: 5/10

Ambition: 4/10

Loyalty: 9/10

Love: 8/10

Sense of family: 5/10

Attractiveness: 7/10

Agility: 6/10

Sex drive: 3/10

Tagged by: @yieldingdreams

Tagging: @seeliecourt @notyetfixed @tadbitfooled @princessofpranks @ambitiousillusions and you

[proelio-procusi-a]

how   are   you   color   coded?

yellow   coded,

yellow, a study in wildfires, honeycombs, and summer rain. everyone sees you smiling and laughing, happy in all the ways but the way that you know is true to you. everyone believes that nothing bad could happen to you, that you live life so freely that you'd never miss a beat, even if something bad DID happen to happen around or to you. but you're as miserable as the rest of them. you might be warm and gentle, when you need to be, but at the end of the day, you have long since accepted that fire is like you: best to be admired but never touched.

blue coded

blue, a study in wisdom, belief, and knowing when enough is enough. you know yourself best, but you know the way the world works even more. you've been wandering in this world a little too long, and maybe that's the problem. you're a wanderer, a vagabond, an oracle, and a prophet all the same. who are you when the curtain call drops the last encore on you? do you dance behind the scenes for a job well done or are you already planning your next show? take a breather, for a moment. enjoy what you've done, enjoy what you have, enjoy the world that you've been wandering for so long. this world is so much better when you realize that some of it is worth living for.

tagged by : @seeliecourt

tagging : @notyetfixed @yieldingdreams @pinktief @funscarie @madefate and you!

[proelio-procusi-a]

what's   your   role   in   the   tragic   play?

misunderstood villain

prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. you are chronically misunderstood. whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. you may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. you're a pretty jaded person. you don't trust or even really like most people. maybe you did at one point. but that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. you think a lot about what your life could have been. you're stuck in the past. you're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. you're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. you don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. you're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway.

bold protagonist

you're the star of the show, baby! and boy does that come with a lot of emotional turmoil. you have a seemingly endless supply of determination. whether you have a lot of goals, or one big one, you're constantly working towards it. you're pretty restless, and struggle with imposter syndrome and generally feeling like you should be doing more. your insecurity might not be immediately obvious to others, however, as you come across as very strong and bold. vulnerability is not your strong suit, and that's likely to be your downfall. if only you had just let people in, and asked for help... well, maybe this was always gonna be a tragedy.

tagged by: @seeliecourt and @notyetfixed

tagging: @infernaliscor @bezanturian @yieldingdreams @princessofpranks @exandriian @ambitiousillusions and anyone else who wants to!

[proelio-procusi-a]

WHAT  KEEPS  YOUR  SOUL  TETHERED  TO  THE  MORTAL  REALM?

your dying heart

your heart aches at the thought of leaving them behind. all you've ever wanted was for them to be safe; for them to be happy. your purpose is to be there, to protect them, to keep them safe from this cruel world. they will be okay. your need to be needed is keeping you from being free. you love so deeply, you care so much, but who is there to do the same for you? you cant always be there; it's a fact you can't accept, but in order to leave this realm, you need to make peace with it. you deserve freedom. you deserve to be free

tagged  by  : @thelyss

tagging  :  @aschcregen @bijoublushing (your choice)  @oflyrium @viburni @solstice-muse-collective (your choice.) and anyone else who would like to.

[proelio-procusi-a]

dump 9