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@fell-heart
a breath of fresh air... (1.5.26)
hello all! as of today, january 5, 2026, i have plans to revive this account and hop back into the indie scene. i'm very excited to write again !!
alongside morgan, kana, and siegbert, i have plans to create proper bios for my ocs, especially some of my splatoon and fire emblem ocs.
i look forward to writing with you all !! ♡
archived as of 5.23.24
hello all! this is just a post to say that as of may 23rd, 2024, this account has been archived. fret not; it is not indefinite! sometime in the future, I may revive this account, and start to rp on tumblr again as a whole.
until then, you may find me on discord (@/nimine54). i am always open to dms and making new friends (or reconnecting with old ones!).
thank you for your kindness, and good yard ✨
a bet is a bet is a bet. nótt-siegbert.
fabuelix:
starter for @fell-heart( NÓTT & SIEGBERT )
BY THE FIFTH BELL OF DAWN, nótt is aware of the path she’s carved out before her. prince of nohr arrives on time with the strike of a bell, the eerie shock of noise that clashes with the training hall doors being pushed open. nótt watches him as he approaches; indeed, the spectacle this would be if the two had rose to the tension in front of the public. the idea of humiliation in the face of jötunheimr’s legacy and upholding is beyond infuriating. ( is this why your throat births the first lines of threats as a response? )
nótt smiles, hrímfaxi buried blade first into the ground beside her. “ darling, ” she greets, her voice a pulling sound of sweet honey and elegance. “ you arrived on time, i see. perfect! to see such eagerness in a man is quite the sight. ” austri, her bird of metallic shine and goddess’ blessing, keeps its attention stuck to the prince. untrusting, surely. for who would bring honor to a man who wishes only for conquest and not for settlement? siegbert is being difficult, that is true. and that is all there is to it. nótt understands that a sudden difference in lifestyle must be hard for him to take, but it is one to adapt to. a crown is nothing to the embrace of a wife, yes?
( your gaze traces his figure, any hints of aggression or planning that may slip and give you an inch of preparation. you have trained yourself to best anyone — mother has sculpted you into her divine warrior. )
“ if you must concern yourself with backing away from this then now is the time to do so, princeling. ” nótt’s fingers close around the length of hrímfaxi’s shaft. a warm, welcoming smile teases the bow of her lip, “ we do not have an audience with us here. i have no plans to make you submit easily. ”
otherwise, what would her power be for then? what would be the reason behind her smiles and grace? there always has to be an outlet. the deposit opposite of its source. mother had never realized how difficult it would be to push for peace when the mold of her daughter was formed only by a difference in strength. but nótt does not disagree with it.
even now as she faces siegbert with honor and purpose. “ shall we put value on this clash of morals? ” if he wants to be a hero, then she will give him a risk. she will give him what heroes die for. “ when i defeat you in this battle, you will take my hand in marriage. ” hesitation is absent in the face of her desires; a conquest of faith and love. ( it is the one thing in the world that you can never have enough of. it is the one thing in the world that you need more than the blood under your skin. )
“ you will not win but, ” she pauses for a moment, a frown curling her lips down. “ what would you enjoy as a reward in a world where you do win? what is this thing that i cannot give you without the act of a bet? ”
Time and time again had insult been thrown in dusk’s way. No longer; prince was tired and vengeful. It was only for so long that Siegbert could handle such disrespect—not even the basest of Nohrian scum would tarnish his name for so long. No, this prince held fast, with jaw clenched and carmine gaze ablaze, that he would bring honor back to his name. Jötun customs be damned.
Nótt would perish.
She’s greeted with naught more than a slight raise of the chin in acknowledgment. No rules hold him back; Siegbert rests his left hand over the pommel of his blade, angling it back in a relaxed, but active, manner. Wrangling aside, he was ready to strike from the moment he approached and whispered yet more to cloy him once again.
Weight shifts from one foot to the other, hip jutting out just so; prince of dusk appears relaxed, but steely gaze says anything otherwise. A slow exhale through his nose, the barest hint to voice his disappointment. She disappointed him. Let her talk herself into oblivion.
Finally, lips part and a firm voice breaks her monologue. “When I win,” Siegbert begins, “you will learn to respect me. No more looking down on me as a lesser being. We are equal.”
Right crosses over left, fingers flexing around freshly-wrapped hilt and drawing blade in a delicate motion. Any normal man would need two hands for such an action, but Siegbert wields his broadsword as though it weighed no more than a twig found on the forest floor.
“That is all I demand. Are we understood?”
// im not an animator nor have i ever claimed to be but i had to animate for class, and so… kana bana
Sal in gentle pink hues, reblogs are appreciated ❤️
tactical folly. morgan-hal.
9000-hal:
He arched his eyebrow. Hal continued to play the game as normal, his programming already taking Morgan’s moves into consideration and coming up with possibilities to work with them. His eyes however didn’t even look at the pieces on the board.
“You are partially right, Morgan. My mind far surpasses the one of a human being. On that front…indeed, I am at an advantage. But that is because I was created to aid and guide, only. My powerful mind’s only function is to serve.” He stated calmly. “However, you shouldn’t undermine your own capabilities. After all, even we can make mistakes, as advanced as we are.” He seemed pensive at that. In the past, Hal would often blame any mistakes and failures on human error. That until he made a mistake himself, and then proceeded to attempt to fix it- by making more mistakes. He couldn’t live in denial forever.
Maybe that made him slightly more human, in a way.
His hand rested idly on top of a knight, his pale skin and red fingernails contrasting with the piece’s obsidian. The android gently caressed the piece before moving it forward.
“Depends, on what you see me as. In one way, I can be using this game as one of my many ways of conducting a psychological report.” With a soft sigh, he placed both elbows on each side of the board, fingers intertwining and resting under his chin. “I could be using this game to gauge your intellect and classify you as a capable individual or as someone unqualified.”
A small smile. “Or, I could be simply using this as a chance to get to know you better for the sake of forming a bond, innocently as that. Now, which option do you believe in? Who, or what, am I to you?”
"A psychological report?" he presses with a chuckle. Now there was an interesting subject. What kinds of things would Hal come back with after a fervent analysis of Morgan's psyche? Would he be labeled "normal," or would the terrors of his past subjugate him as an outcast? Would his inability to remember his own childhood be rendered a red flag or an unfortunate event in the in-progress backstory of the tactician in Hal's mind?
( A question further: does Hal have a mind of his own, or is he nothing more than a highly-intelligent persona giving responses that seem "human," but in reality are carefully chosen based on past interactions? )
( Morgan chose to believe the former. )
"Well, I like to consider myself an intellectual. Someone much more capable than what might appear on the surface." A smile still gracing his features, he plucks another piece from the board and places it down with confidence.
"And I think you would be able to tell that without this sort of conversation. So, to answer your question... I believe you are someone simply trying to form a bond, a friendship. And I am more than welcome to that.
"To me, Hal? You're someone new and exciting, and I look forward to growing closer to you."
reminiscence in tears. morgan-inigo.
feroxanfei:
He’s being selfish. What he really wants are a few minutes to himself—to cry his eyes out, to absorb the fact that his little brother isn’t the same as he was four weeks ago, to call mother. Inigo swallows past the lump of guilt in his throat. It’s apparent Morgan feels slightly more at ease when Inigo is there. He’ll settle for sending Mother a quick text.
Thumbs tap rapidly on the phone’s touchscreen. It’s rarely out of his hands these days; if he’d just had it on him back then, could he have been there in time? (Logic tells him no, nothing would have changed but logic has never ruled his brain). Inigo assures Mother he’ll call her once he leaves the hospital before slipping the phone in his back pocket. Katerina sits at the nurse’s station, talking animatedly with a fellow nurse.
“Excuse my interruption, ladies! I’m simply in search of some water.” Inigo summons a smile, though it lacks his usual cheer. Ever kind, patient Katerina nods. “Just a second, Inigo.” Usually, he’d offer some flirtatious comment, tell her not to rush. Mustering up the energy is too much of an effort right now. Tears prick at the back of his eyes until he can’t hold it in anymore. Elbows prop against the counter, head falling into his hands. How can anything be normal again? Recovery is going to be a long, long road, one Inigo will follow Morgan down without hesitation. Still, fear claws at his heart. What if they can’t come back from this? What happens if Morgan never recovers his memories? What if—
An arm wraps around his shoulders. Inigo starts, furiously wiping at his face as Katerina hands him a tissue. “Thanks, darling,” he dabs at his eyes. She slides a stack of paper cups and a water pitcher across the counter. “He’s a strong kid. Give him time.”
Inigo sniffs in response, grabbing the water and cups before returning to Morgan’s room. Robin helps her son take a tiny sip. Inigo, who knows his brother better than himself, darts into the attached bathroom, emerging with a wad of toilet paper. He silently begins to wipe away the tears on Morgan’s cheeks. Just like Morgan used to do when they were kids.
“You know, I think I hold the world record for crying.” It’s an attempt at a joke, one that rings a little flat to his own ears. Inigo gently removes his hand, glancing at his aunt and uncle. “I, uh, should probably get going…”
Although he can't see his brother's tears, can't hear his cries, Morgan still knows when he's weeping.
It's like a sixth sense. A weight builds in his chest, a sense of unease; something is wrong, something that needs to be remedied as soon as possible. He's always hated when Inigo cries (has he? He can't remember); it's like the sun being blotted out from the sky by dark clouds. Ichenka, who always had something to grin over, shedding tears was...
More painful than losing any memory.
Gentle hands on wet cheeks bring him back. It's easier to focus on that than how mortifying it is that he can't even get a drink of water on his own. Amber gaze flits up to meet the deepest brown.
"Until I see a medal, I don't think you hold the world record." Lips quirk slightly. They’re trying—but that smile falls the second elder brother moves away.
"Don't leave me.” A whispered breath, sudden fear overtaking him. This, this is familiar, so horribly familiar.
( The same feeling as blacking out before managing to hit call. The same feeling as fearing he was about to die alone in the trash heap that was his wrecked car. )
"... Please. I... I would rather you stay here, with me. We can cry together, okay? Both of us can get that medal. Reminisce in our tears, or... something."
Arms are too weak to lift up much, but a frail hand finds a callused one. A gentle squeeze, another, and a third. “We can do that together, right, Ichenka?”
—end.
we should have carpooled. morgan-inigo.
feroxanfei:
Stepping through the glass doors feels like entering an entirely new world. Can students help here? Inigo sure hopes so. Boyish grins lights up his face as he turns his head, desperate to capture the full effect of this palace.
Light pressure on his fingers brings him back down to earth. Morgan, who appears just as overwhelmed, squeaks out a plea for help. Oh, right. The scavenger hunt! Flower crowns don’t make themselves, after all. Inigo squeezes back with a nod. “Of course. You sure you don’t want to pick the flowers yourself? Though maybe they have some set aside specifically for students…”
Footsteps are silent so as not to disturb the tranquility of the greenhouse. Inigo likes to think he’s a man of depth—not only all brilliant smiles and endless flirtations. Mother kept a tiny flower garden in their backyard; he’s picked up more than dancing skills from her. Elves, half or no, are drawn to growing things. Gardening is more of a passing hobby instead of true passion, though he still has a deep love for flowers.
Rhythmic clicking catches his ear. “This way, Morushka,” Inigo murmurs, tugging his brother further among the leaves. A gardener stands in front of some gathered students, clipping the stems of a bouquet. “Found ‘em. This place…it’s incredible.” The wait for their turn isn’t long; Inigo really wasn’t paying that much attention anyway. Brown eyes snagged on a rare bare patch of soil, the empty space jarring when surrounded by overflowing plants. “Boys?” The gardener’s voice is slightly raised, as if he’s already tried to call them. “Sorry!” Inigo chirps. “Two bouquets, please. One purple, one white.” He adds. Gardner shears and hands them over without fuss.
Water runs a chilled line down from where his fingers meet the stems. “Last one to complete their crown buys tea?”
"Hello, boys." Morgan hears the gardener the first time. Sees the kind smile, the one that falters when neither of them respond. Inigo's attention is elsewhere; Morgan gently nudges his side. Pay attention, stupid. "Boys?" Inigo's head snaps up and little dragon lets out a sigh of relief; thank the gods he doesn't have to speak. He takes the purple bouquet quietly after giving the flowers a little sniff—it's nice. Smells as flowery as his brother.
“Sounds like a plan.” It’s been a while since they’ve had a little contest like this; normally it revolved around stuff like who could clean up a certain area faster or who could run to a certain distance first, not something so detailed. Really, though, wasn’t this kinda stereotypical for an elf? Making flower crowns?
(But he’s so happy to be doing it. Just spending time with his brother is a gift.)
They find some little spot to settle down in the courtyard. Other students mill about, doing their own thing; no one spares a second glance at the pair of boys with two beautiful flower bouquets that they’re currently taking apart. Each bloom is laid carefully in front of him in a neat line; he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt one of the flowers by being too rough with it.
“Ready? Set? ... Go!”
Memories of the same activity come rushing back. Years ago, toddlers sitting under the watchful gazes of their parents, deftly weaving together the dandelion stems into bracelets and crowns. The only difference now is the absence of their parents and the new bloom of a wide grin across the dragon’s lips instead of one of absolute focus. He’ll tell Inigo he remembered something later—for now, he has a contest to win.
Elf is fast, but dragon is faster. Just seconds before Inigo does he holds up a completed crown, “haha! Done! I win! You’re paying for tea!”
The crown is placed delicately on Inigo’s head. “There. Now you’re a real pretty boy!”
out of the element. morgan-inigo.
feroxanfei:
Inigo fixes Morgan with a derisive stare. He knows that all the memories of….before are gone, recovered with the memories of relearning everything. Magic, however, remains the one constant subject Morgan excelled at within the first five minutes. Inigo remembers his little brother’s amber eyes positively glowing with delight after he cast his first flame spell the afternoon he picked up a spell book.
Half-elf starts to feel a little useless. What kind of magical creature can’t use even the most basic of bless incarnations? Inigo appreciates the words of comfort, he really does, but he’s irritated and his head is starting to hurt from staring at a stubbornly red fruit. Nonetheless, he follows Morgan’s advice, trying every ridiculous thing he can think of. Curling his fingers. Uncurling them. Palm up, palm down, two hands up, one hand raised.
He’s long since stopped putting his heart into the motions by the time Morgan pushes away in exasperation. “That’s a genius idea. Hey, can we stop by the café and get something to drink?”
Armed with cheap brushes, flashy gold paint, and a white chocolate frappe, Inigo grins at his enemy. The fruit stares impassively back. “It would be my genuine pleasure, dear brother.” He takes an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink, slamming it down besides the source of all his woes. Curling his wrists like he does as part of his stretching routine, he settles into the chair—
“Did you feel that?!” Something sparked underneath his skin. Or not sparked, more like…a warmth flooding his veins, rushing towards his fingertips. Inigo stares at his hands for a second, abruptly pushing away from the table. Chair clatters back as he stands. If this doesn’t work…”Don’t you dare laugh at me,” Inigo warns. He avoids looking at his brother, opting to take up first position.
And a one, and a two! A simple ball change leads into an elegant spin, ending with a flourish of his arms extended towards the apple. Nothing changes. Inigo is about to storm off in disgust (and embarrassment) when the stupid fruit ripples. “Wha—?” Gold slowly cascades down from the stem. Turning to Morgan with a disbelieving smile, Inigo can only laugh. “Always said my dancing was magical!” He looks down at his hands again. He casted magic! “…I did it.”
Mocha cookie crumble to match white chocolate frappe. Cheap metallic paint to match the inability to bless an object. Morgan didn't blame Inigo, really; he didn't have the practice or know-how to complete the task. How could he expect Inigo to just do it? No, that was entirely unfair, not to mention rude. Mage supports his brother in everything. This little event didn't count as a failure, no sirree.
Inigo’s outburst startles him. “Feel what?” All Morgan felt was his coffee going down the wrong pipe since he choked a little, but don’t worry, despite his coughing, he’s fine, really. Dancer stands, chair falls, and Morgan can already feel giggles bubbling up. Is he really about to dance for this?
The laughter dies away when the damn apple responds.
“You did not. You did not!”
Standing just as abruptly, he manages to not knock his chair over in his surprise. Amber gaze locks onto the apple, watching it slowly fill with color. Legitimate golden color, and not cheap paint. “You... did it. You actually did it!”
Before he realizes, he’s jumping in excitement like a little kid. “You did it! Gods above, Inigo, look at you, you beautiful dancer, you! You’re a full-fledged elf, now!”
(Passers-by stare at the duo that’s squealing over an apple, but neither brother notices. Nothing can ruin this happy little moment.)
“Okay, now do it again! ... Don’t give me that look, we both need one for the scavenger hunt! Do it again!”
—end.
🍪 "Happy pocky day, Morgan." Ilyana says around a mouthful of the dessert. The cream-covered end is held gently between her teeth. "Want to try a bite?"
It’s Pocky Day! Send a 🍪 for my muse to react to yours offering to play the Pocky Game!
It was something of a tradition between them. Not only every year, on the eleventh of November, would they play the little pocky-kiss game, but every time either of them had pocky, they play it. After all, that was how they got together. As a joke, all that time ago, they played a round that ended in a kiss, and the rest was history. Now, it’s something quite special for the both of them.
“‘Course I’d like to try a bite,” mage replies with a grin. “You really think I’d ever pass up an opportunity to kiss you, thunder girl?”
By now, both parties know it takes exactly how many bites on both ends before their lips brush together. Like clockwork, Morgan takes the biscuit into his mouth and bites in one, two, three, four times before meeting his love in a sweet kiss. They’d learned to get over the slight awkwardness of kissing with pieces of pocky being held in their mouths; now, the important part was the taste of each other.
With a soft hum, hex boy pulls away and chews slowly before swallowing. A grin paints his lips, “thank you for the treat, my love. May I have another?”
It’s Pocky Day! Send a 🍪 for my muse to react to yours offering to play the Pocky Game!
// baby boy isn’t often sad. but sometimes. he’s really sad.
// don’t mind what he’s saying, boy’s just rambling.
[🥧 Our muses baking pie] Cooking has never been her strong suit. Odd, for a woman who can eat the entire contents of a restaurant and not bat an eye. Ilyana simply knows her boundaries. Over half the ingredients will end up ingested before she can finish cooking a meal. But she could watch Morgan move around the kitchen for hours. Ilyana sneaks another apple slice, moving to stand next to him. Wraps a hand around his arm and leans in close. "Can I help?"
Autumn Asks || 🥧 Our muses baking pie
Morgan was no masterchef, but if losing all of his memories in some car accident made him realize one thing, it was that he wanted to learn as much as he could in any and all subjects before his time on this earth expires. Except for geometry. He hates geometry (and triangles).
Cooking was mostly trial and error, anyways. One thing that he could no longer mess up (unlike his first few attempts) was a simple apple pie. These days, he was even getting into complicated latticework for the pie crust, rather than a simple flat top with some decorative holes cut into it.
“Hey, babe,” he hums, leaning down to steal a kiss to her lips. “First thing you can do to help is stop eating my apples, else you’re going to have to go buy me more.”
It’s not like granny smith are hard to come by, but Ilyana would have to drive all the way to the store to purchase some, and why would she want to leave Morgan’s side?
“Here, can you lay these apple slices in a circular pattern? Start at the inside going inwards. Layer them up, like this.” He demonstrates for her with a certain finesse that only someone as meticulous as Morgan could have. “Once you’re done, I can start with the lattice thingy for the crust—hey, hey, thunder girl, drop the apple. No. No eating.”
QUOTE FROM MAN STABBED: ‘ WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO, STAB ME? “
indie, multi-muse, oc friendly yuri lowell of tales of vesperia.
Autumn Prompts 🍂
Starter scenarios for the autumn season! Requested by anonymous. When sending to or from a multimuse, don’t forget to specify who the meme is for! Send a symbol for:
🍠 Our muses making a warm, hearty meal
🎃 Our muses carving Jack-O-Lanterns
🥧 Our muses baking pie
🍎 Our muses going apple picking
🥤 Our muses enjoying fresh apple cider
🥮 Our muses making Mooncake
🌰 Our muses gathering chestnuts to roast
👻 Our muses tell ghost stories around a campfire
🧶 Our muses doing needlework together
🦇 Our muses decorating for Halloween
🥣 Our muses making soup
🍆 Our muses exploring a farmer’s market
🌽 Our muses navigating a corn maze
🎞️ Our muses having a movie night
🏈 Our muses playing an autumn sport
🌳 Our muses wondering at the foliage
🍺 Our muses celebrating Oktoberfest (or just having drinks)
🍃 Our muses raking (and maybe planning to jump into a pile of leaves)
💐 Our muses making an autumn wreath
🍫 Our muses making s’mores
☕ Our muses drinking something warm on a cool evening
// blows raspberry i am once again asking for your hand in marriage miss dewa
i couldn’t resist drawing morgan and sal (@9000-hal) for this assignment for class. i was only supposed to spend two hours on it but oops i spent way longer than that!! anyways morgan and sal should kiss and that’s that on that
