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@heirjinto
#HEIRJINTO. affiliated shiro, penned by sara (she/her). please read my RULES + NOTES ON PORTRAYAL before interacting. happy writing! updated 5/31/26.
⁺ links: dossier / stats / conduct / thread tracker (still updating) / credits: psd / pfp ⁺ please let me know if i've missed a thread! i try my best to ensure i track everything accordingly, but i'm only human.
In her complete oblivious state, Sakura kept on smiling at Shiro, a genuine one, wondering how cute he was whenever he suddenly blush like that. It definitely reminded her of Ryoma, even though she wasn’t sure she has ever actually seen him being embarrassed by her or in general…
To be truth, it was also fair that they both didn’t know each other that much, war put them in a condition where anything that you could call ‘daily’ wasn’t actually daily anymore and despite all the good efforts she tried to put into regaining forces after all that happened, mayhap others were different from her, different from her character, different from her spirit. She was quite the type of person that ignored signals from other people, of course in a innocent way, as she actually was pretty empathic, on the other hand; yet, the relationship between she and her nephew was still on progress and who knows that her attitude was perhaps too much for a young coming from the deeprealms.
Lost in her own obliviousness and in Shiro’s chatters, Sakura suddenly felt surprised in hearing him complimenting her for an outfit she wasn’t that sure and confident about: it was a simple dress, but in some way different from her usual safe picks. And even more, he surprised her with a gift, a flower from his bouquet! A dainty smile tugged Sakura’s lips as she picked the tulip and add it to her bouquet, but after that, she immediately thought she should do the same for him, to help him getting a better chance on that girl.
“Your kindness is so precious my dear Shiro” she tilted her head in sign of gratitude, “You’ll do an even better impression on her with this” and she extracted one of her orchid to hand over to Shiro. “Here, orchids are symbol of pure love, exactly what you represent”
— 𝘧𝘪𝘯.
four lovers? in this economy?
wk 1 || ethereal ball 2026
@heirjinto sent:
[ MOVIE - COMEDY ] - A techno-magical reproduction of a fantastical comedy about four young lovers who find themselves in a forest that calls itself home to curious spirits.
Ophelia says around a mouth full of starch, “They likely have higher protection from the fairfolk, as the bond of love can overpower many fey magicks.”
The popped corn, as it was called, is greasy and salty, and Ophelia can't help herself but shovel more of it into her mouth.
“The texture of polyamory offers an interesting twist as well; a complex enough love that can both entertain and befuddle the machinations of the fairfolk is a solid protection strategy.”
Ophelia's eyes glimmer, reflecting the light of the magic moving picture, seemingly changing color with every frame as it overpowers the natural grey there.
“What's your strategy for fighting one of the other folk who wants your skin? I've made seven different lists so far, but I'm still not convinced I'll be completely prepared in that situation!"
"....uhhhhhhh. honestly? i'd just hit them."
as with most conversations with ophelia, he can't quite understand everything she gets at. there are only snippets shiro makes sense of—grasping only what matters, and that's the posed question of what one would do to combat the fairfolk, as she calls them.
he dips his hand into the bucket and tosses a handful of popped corn into his mouth, chewing contemplatively before speaking through a mouthful.
"yeah! and it'd work! you know why? because they'd overthink it. they'd think, 'hey, this guy's probably got a whole scheme up his sleeve! with magic! and tricks!' so while they're expecting the unexpected, i whip out my naginata and—wham! bam! i'd slice and dice them. easy."
run away with us for the summer
ethereal ball week 2 [sequester]
His haori still sits on her shoulders as she leads the way through quiet, darkened hallways. He is taller than her, and so she had to tuck some of the fabric into her obi to prevent it from dragging along the floor. An odd sight, most likely, but she does not mind at all, clearly pleased by her little trophy of the night.
At this hour, it is expected that people begin to drift more and more from the ballroom. Though the greatest number of people are still gathered and dancing, most others have drifted off to the entertainment offered, or to their rooms, or back to town for the night. No one walks the halls that they have found themselves in. Why would they? No professors would be in their offices at this hour.
The door to her father's office is locked when she tries to open it. Mitama sighs in turn before tapping the wood with her finger. The click of the lock echoes around them before opening properly.
"Make yourself at home." If her father has any complaints about her taking over his space, then he will be have to be brave enough to face her and say them. Her bouquet is dumped onto his desk as she waves over at the nearby seating. "There's a candle by the wall there, if you would like some light."
Dawn's light, the ball always takes all her energy away...Mitama stifles a yawn behind her sleeve. "Did you want a drink?"
@heirjinto
it's not as though he's ever attended one of azama's classes—and it shows, if not in his complete ineptitude for faith magic, then in the sheer fact that the classroom remains an unfamiliar sight.
until now.
shiro stands in the doorway, peering around the darkened room curiously before stepping in and closing the door behind him with a soft click. "your dad keeps drinks in here?"
funny thought. he can't even begin to imagine what lessons might be like.
shiro meanders to the wall that's been pointed out to retrieve the candle, bringing it with him to join mitama where she sits. he slides it over wordlessly, expecting her to light it. "here's a better question." he lets out a small yawn of his own—contagious things, they are! "how often do you camp out in here? does your dad know?"
@verseandrhyme sent: [ STEAL ] - Purposeful or not, it looks like you've gotten your hands on something that isn't yours. You may want to return that before anyone notices. Or you may want to start running. / /
After their brief time outside, winter's chill has seeped in more deeply than she would have liked. A shiver passes through her as a breeze cuts through her clothes. Ugh, what a horrible time of year to host a formal event in the mountains of all places...
It occurs to her then as she does her best to make sure her shivering does not jostle her flowers that she had yet to give Shiro one. Hmm. Perhaps she might remedy two problems at once.
She slips one of her lilies free and turns to him. "Shiro. I am cold." Problem, and now the solution. She offers her flower. "Give me your haori."
mitama finds him seated at an empty table far from the commotion, with his feet propped up on a spare chair. in hand, shiro has a box of chocolates that some girl was nice enough to give him—or so he'd thought. nice, until he'd opened the box and found half of them missing—! but hey, at least the stranger left him with this scrap of paper to use as a napkin.
"whaf?" shiro's just popped a candy into his mouth when mitama asks. he swallows quickly. "i mean, what? how? it's like a thousand degrees in here!" really, it's like the stuffiest room in the world with all these bodies packed together like sardines, leaving him missing the cool breeze outside that had ruffled his hair and sapped his skin of discomforting heat.
he stares at her before bringing a hand to her forehead and frowning. "maybe you're sick? we can find midori. she's probably got one of those rank drinks that'll fix you right up."
in the meantime, he swings his feet off their perch and rises to stand, setting the chocolates aside to shrug the garment off. "i better not catch anything!" he warns, tucking the haori around her. "'cause if i do, you'll have to make it up to me with more than a flower!"
spoken like she hasn't patched him up countless times. the nerve of men.
"hey, speaking of...do you even want mine? your bouquet's already stuffed. you really took this flower-hunting thing seriously, huh?"
"Hah." He can't help it; he laughs a little, though not unkindly. "Yes... I suppose I should have assumed as such. I still remember how I'd approached you hoping to discuss politics, only for you to suggest arm wrestling instead..."
And though he'd lost rather spectacularly, it'd been a clarifying moment in several regards—first, that he required a different approach to different people if he meant to forge the kind of connections he desired, and second, that Shiro was simply like that. Personable. Warm. Strong, too, though not only in physical prowess alone. He was the kind of man who made himself impossible to forget.
"...But, as prince, I'm sure you understand how these kinds of events will always remain important. Even if you don't like it, you'll have to learn to dance and use the appropriate utensils eventually." Turn, turn—and yes, it's abundantly obvious that his friend has precious little idea of what's even going on. Siegbert tries to, and so he hopes he is successful in, biting back a smile.
"Until then," he continues, guiding Shiro back a step, "You may rely on me to help you—even if it means you busy yourself mimicking my every move." A sweep, and the dance begins its slow descent to its end. Unfortunately, that is how long it takes for Siegbert to realize: "...wait. Have you been using your salad fork for your dessert...?!"
oh noooooo, shiro. you've been using the salad fork for your dessert. that's terrible. that's, like, really unforgivable. how could you not have known the difference? stupid. the SALAD fork has FOUR prongs, not to be mistaken for the DESSERT fork, which ALSO has FOUR PRONGS. nice going, dude. totally unacceptable. the world's gonna stop spinning now because guess what? you didn't use the right fork to keep pushing it 'round. yeah. that's right. that's him right there, officer. the fork offender. go ahead and clap him in chains.
"...oh, come on. what's the difference?! there's only so many ways to stab food...!!"
bicker as they may—his complaints are already starting to drown out the final notes of the song—there's still an indisputable truth in what siegbert says: that he is reliable, and it won't be the last time shiro follows his lead. it's their path to walk together as future kings, anyway: stride-in-stride, heads turned toward the same future.
by the time the music ceases, he will have come to swallow that reminder. there will never be any love for this, he's sure of it, though he can begrudgingly admit there's no shirking the duty that's befallen them.
"goodbye, prince siegbert," shiro says with a bow. a playful one, a touch mocking, but he holds the other's gaze long enough for him to understand: i hear you. "thanks for the dance."
— 𝘧𝘪𝘯.
At this point, her expectations are low, not because Shiro has disappointed her in any way, but simply because she assumes that that is that. Promises exchanged like vows without rings, a beautiful night turned into tragedy avoided, what else is there to do from this moment on except to enjoy the stars until the two of them feel prepared enough to return to the ballroom battlefield once more?
Well, Shiro could catch her entirely off guard. That is something that could be done.
She blinks as the device is suddenly brought into her line of sight again. Except this time, it is not the screen she is presented with, but the lens once more. When Shiro presses on the button, she hears the device come to life once more. When he asks his question, she feels how his breath brushes against stray strands of her hair.
Oh, her smile is going to look absolutely ridiculous.
She laughs quietly and reaches out with one of her hands to hold the other half of the device and angle it in a way that (she hopes) ensures that Shiro is also in the frame. "How cute of you." Because it is. It is cute, and more thoughtful of him that she might of anticipated, even if he brings her a question she has no idea how to answer. What would her future self want to hear? Surely nothing that she would not already know. And if that is the case...
Mitama takes a deep breath before speaking. She will have to see later to know if her voice was too quiet...if watching this does not make her try to delete it out of embarrassment.
"I hope that you are happy and loved."
there’s a future he’d like to see someday, and it starts like this:
a clear night sky overhead, and the people he loves seated beneath it, caught mid-laugh with starlight in their eyes. come sunrise, they will all belong somewhere, whether inside the walls of an imperial court or halfway across the secluded countryside.
they’ll think back to moments like these, and even to earlier days of innocence, reflecting on how much has changed. instead of grieving what was lost and what was never had, there will be a well from which they draw peace.
it will be a kind future, carved by the sword he will one day wield.
shiro watches as mitama smiles, taking notice of how she visibly softens. her laughter melts into his own—sheepish at first, before it grows chestier and travels to the belly. he’s glad she thought to include him in the frame. it's a promising sign that his friends will not leave him behind so easily.
what does he have to say to his own future self, then?
unlike mitama, he doesn’t say it aloud. instead, he stares into the lens and holds the gaze of a king, trusting that he will remember tonight.
i hope you are worthy of what you've inherited.
— 𝘧𝘪𝘯.
Black Summer
continued from here
"I doubt you do."
Hoshidan. The accent is unmistakable. And of course, of course a Hoshidan would find a way to come here too. Not just rotting Nohr from within and making them a farcical display of Nohr's true destiny, not just leaving them to starve, but across the seas, no doubt looking to snub a loose end that slipped through the cracks.
But even then, it wasn't a familiar face. Not that he personally knew every Hoshidan in the frontlines, but there was a general expectation he had; this was one of those... brats. The ones that just popped up out of nowhere, who had Dragon Veins coursing through their blood, yet were fully fledged adults, even with such a short time they could've been conceived in.
"But your stance implies aggression. And while usually, I would be more than keen in returning it, this is neither place nor time. So, pray tell, who am I speaking to?"
He turns away, feigning watching one of the dances on the floor as he plucks his flower and places it on the table next to the Hoshidan.
The hair isn't really a giveaway on who created the brat, if he is of the second generation that still perplexes him. Just that he is. And that he is here. And that is proof that he will have some cleaning up to do here. Hoshido will not kill Nohr. Cannot.
No matter how many times they break his people, turn them soft and pliable, mold home into as many ridiculous shapes they can manage.
Nohr will live.
And he will make it live.
hey, what's that they teach in conflict resolution 101? peaceful, workable solutions. negotiation. mediation.
except there's nothing peaceful in the way this guy suggests his willingness to throw down the gauntlet, no matter the pretenses of manners he follows up with. and what's there to negotiate? shiro can't say he even knows what the stranger wants—or that he even cares, honestly, with this amount of pushiness. so that's off the table. mediation, too, because what's the point of bringing a third party into this? shiro, you can't do anything right on your own!
"are you sure about that? it's hard to say when you won't take the mask off." oh yeah, he's making a real splash in these diplomatic waters. "i'm not implying anything. all i did was ask if we know each other. that's an easy 'yes or no.'"
if his stance really does suggest aggression, shiro shifts so that one hand rests on his hip, and the other drops by his side. there. compromise. the look on his face, however, remains the same: miffed and perplexed all at once, especially when he notices the stranger move to dispose of a flower nearby.
in any case, the tin man's not budging anytime soon — that much he can tell. the stiff spine and demanding tone give it all away. what's left to do, then, but play the same card in whatever game he's trying to set up?
"none of your business. see? now we're both keeping secrets. not so fun, is it?"
begrudgingly, shiro tosses one of his own tulips onto the table. it lands with a light plunk! beside the other flower and lies there to rot when he shrugs his shoulders as if to say: whatever.
[ SEQUESTER ] - Some rooms remain unused, and while by the padlocks on their doors you suspect they are meant to remain that way, some poor sap seems to have forgotten to make sure they were locked properly. They make for an excellent space away from the chaos of the rest of the ball—though you may not be the first one there.
It isn’t long before someone’s stepping into his space.
Well, it isn’t Sylvain’s personal space. It doesn’t belong to him. In fact, he thinks that this particular room has been forgotten about for too long. Abandoned and a little dusty, old tomes open to specific pages as if their owner intended to come back to them years ago but never would.
It’s storage, extra candles hidden away for the event that Sylvain had promptly lit with a carefully aimed bit of fire magic. It’d almost feel romantic, if he knew the guy that slides past the half-closed door and seems to sag in relief.
He thinks he’s alone. Fun.
Sylvain allows it for a breath, calculating his approach. A wild improvisation, all things considered, stepping up to the other man, searching for a reaction. “You’re not who I expected,” He’s grinning, voice pitched low but still echoing in the silence. Outside the door, the chatter of several dozen ball attendees can barely be heard. “That’s alright, I can make this work. Sylvain Gautier, in case that matters to you.”
it doesn't. even with a name to put to the face, he still has no idea who sylvain gautier is. or why sylvain gautier's got a whole lot of candles lit around this many flammable objects. or who sylvain gautier might be expecting in a place like this. or why sylvain gautier grins and squares up the way he does.
"huh. i'm shiro. if that matters to you."
this room isn't what he expected, either. his eyes dart around to take in the details he hadn't noticed upon walking in—rotted wooden crates stacked haphazardly in one corner, a rickety-looking chair in another. nothing of particular note other than the books that sit with their pages exposed.
hmm. the candles. the books. the grin.
ohhhhh.
"really? book club? now?" he questions dubiously, and before sylvain gautier knows it, shiro's invited himself in, lightly shouldering his way past to pick up one of the tomes and inspect it curiously. "and i thought i was the only one who wanted to get away. how many people attend these things?"
i'm sorry for handing out visas when i shouldnt have and i'm sorry jugdralis are getting jumped for reasons still unknown to me. lets do better. we can change the world and by change the world i mean we can make up without lecturing me, shiro, about all thats been said & done
"Hah... yes, well. With so many delegates from different nations, I'd thought it best to greet you appropriately at least once. I assume you haven't yet introduced yourself to some of the other royals?" And there are countless in attendance, each hailing from lands far beyond their own shores. Princess Edelgard, of the Adrestian Empire; Queen Celica, of the One Kingdom; why, the list went on and on, so substantial that it had taken him a good while to commit each name and accompanying face to memory prior to the ball.
"I would never turn down a challenge from you, of course," Siegbert continues, dipping into a bow before the music sweeps them into motion, "But I'd thought that you would be beside yourself with excitement in a setting like this, and would have preferred meeting their acquaintance rather than arm wrestling me. There are people from every walk of life, and you have always been rather..."
...rather what? How could he condense all that Shiro was into a singular word?
A spin. A turn. It gives him time to think, but none of the words that come to mind seem to be enough, even with the extra time.
"...the sort others might dream of meeting, I suppose, at events like these."
well, you see, siegbert, you assume correctly. as vast as the sea of royalty stretches, he's not thought it important! with the added addition that he's presumed the royal emblem on his chest would be enough to do the talking for him, and therefore, has deemed it entirely unnecessary!
"yup." okay, not entirely true. "i mean, i've told them my name, but what difference does it make if i don't bring up the prince stuff? i don't want folks being nice just to butter me up. if they don't like me as shiro, then a title shouldn't change that."
siegbert bows. this dance has a bow? he follows suit, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he tries mimicking what his friend does. turn, turn, turn. now they're just two royal spinning tops. "you're joking. you thought i'd find this exciting?" whirl around, whirl around. this is actually kinda ridiculous. "i like meeting people, yeah, but this is totally different!" formal is the word he's looking for. "we've gotta bow and dress up and dance... this sort of thing isn't my scene. if you really want to get to know someone, there are other ways to go about it. like, i dunno, going for a walk in the woods. somewhere you know you can be yourself."
everyone's hopping now. why is that? shiro glances dubiously, yet continues to shadow siegbert's every move. "anyway, you've got it all wrong," he continues. "seriously. i'm like a fish out of water here. i'm bound to disappoint someone whenever they try to talk to me about special forks to be used with special cakes."
Between his choking and the way his eyes start to flutter, she nearly allows a healing spell to light up her hands and fade into his chest. Is it her weight on him? The position? Concern far outweighs whatever urgency moved her here and she nearly lifts herself up and off of him when he finally begins to stir.
(In the shifting of his arms, she feels a pull and shift of the muscles sitting beneath her hands. Healing takes a casual touch. She has seen the bare skin before of many of her comrades, she has put her own hands on them to mend what had been broken, and none of those moments had felt like it does here and now, when in feeling the shift of Shiro's muscles all she can note is how small she feels in comparison.)
His whine does make her laugh. The way he promises so easily, with a certainty that she is not sure she could ever feel, brings the smile back to her face. She has believed him capable of a great many things. There is no reason to begin to feel differently now.
Seeing him manage to do so? After all that had been taken from them? What an honour that would be.
"Okay." It only makes sense to promise in return. And that is that.
Not a great many students are outside with all the fanfare indoors. They have both long since been suited for quieter things - books and fishing do not fare well with parties. The stars above make for as good a blanket as any as she finally grants him his release, turning around instead to lay down with the back of her head on his chest and a contented sigh as she settles in next to him.
"You had better begin planning ways to fill up my time, then, if you are to be responsible for it." She reaches for his hand without asking and pulls until it rests on her stomach, where she can then fuss with his fingers as she watches the stars. "That is quite a lot of it to fill."
"okay," she says, and shiro feels himself exhale again. for good this time, knowing that specific crisis has been averted, though a new problem hangs over his head now:
how to go about executing the promise he's just made?
it's a tall order even with all his outward bravado—a question that he suspects doesn't have pre-written answers to discover in a dusty book somewhere, and one that would escape even the most seasoned advisors who, despite their experience, could never understand what it means to feel like a foreigner in one's own ancestral home.
shiro doesn't glance her way when mitama finally settles beside him, nor when she takes his hand into hers. he remains silent and uncharacteristically contemplative for once in observance of the sky overhead.
her request is not an impossible one—after all, there are none who master time as well as lonely children do. for those who learn to pass it by wading shin-deep into rivers and by slumbering beneath the shade of ancient trees, it becomes second nature. every second of every day filled with something to preoccupy themselves, for fear that they might start thinking about what remains missing in their lives.
"pffft. who says i haven't already?"
his unoccupied hand abruptly scrabbles for the device at his side. shiro fumbles with it momentarily, propping himself up on an elbow and contorting himself into an awkward angle so that he can point at her. there. filling time already.
his thumb hits one of the buttons. "is there anything you wanna say to your future self?"
@pastbelow sent: [ ostia ] the sight of his friend holding a sword brings a smile, soft at the corners, to shigure's face. it's not merely the weapon, of course; it's also the stiffness of the obi at his waist, the scuff marks on his boots, the way the sleeves of his haori are already crumpled, merely a few dances into the night.
the shiro in his memory had not been ready to bear the weight of his father's sword, but had done so anyway with his own brand of valor. when the time comes for this hoshidan prince to rise to the occasion, there's no doubt in shigure's mind----that he will do no less, either.
"…try not to stab me?" shigure teases, laughing good-naturedly. "but i'm ready if you are, shiro."
one second the tide rolls in, and out steps a blue-haired partner who leaves him with this sword. in the next, the water recedes, and she's gone with the waves.
in her place stands a ghost who shares the same eyes and that striking shade.
......?
( can you fault him for gaping the way he does? staring at shigure with a scrunched brow, his grasp on the weapon's hilt slackening as he glances out at the sea of people, then back to shigure once more. )
deja vu.
"...aw, c'mon. you guys totally planned that." he shifts suddenly, his voice tapering into a grumble. disgruntled as he might seem, an old friend would recognize that he bears no real annoyance — just surprise at being caught off guard. "you think it's funny, huh? okay! everyone point at shiro! laugh at shiro, 'cause he doesn't know what he's doing!"
everybody including himself, it seems, because even he can't stop the grin that gradually spreads when he hears shigure chuckle.
( it's nice to see him like this. as out of place as shiro feels here, surrounded by everything he's never been any good at, it's worth it if only to see his friends flourish. )
"ehhhh, you've faced worse," he ribs back, just as affably. "a guy like you knows how to dodge a blow or two."
@ahnenstolz sent: [ ZENITH ] - A dance invented to celebrate the burgeoning peace recently established between the once feuding kingdoms of Askr and Embla. Long ago, so the story goes, these faraway lands had been meant to work in harmony. One land tasked with the closure of gates, and the other charged with opening them - this dance evokes a history of the back and forth of conflicting duty, eventually culminating in a tranquil hope for a better future. /
One melody ends, and all it takes is the slowly building hum of a lone violin to transition into the next. There is no better time, and certainly no better song, to which he can approach a man he hopes to know for the rest of his days.
"Prince Shiro," he greets, far too formal for the smile he wears with his approach. "You've room in your schedule to spare me a dance, I hope."
despite his inherent — and some would say questionable — competitive streak, this is where shiro's forced to admit defeat. and sure, even with a laundry list of faults to tote, he can manages to admit that where he's a fish out of water in this environment, it's siegbert who takes up the winning mantle.
tall, decorous, eye-catching. already looking more king-ly than prince-ly. born for this, really. all that talk of not being able to hold a candle to his father, but here he stands, the steadiest flame of them all.
"nuh-uh. we're NOT doing that." a very (un)princely finger prods siegbert's shoulder. firm, yet friendly. "it's always been 'shiro' to you. 'siegbert' to me. you're letting the night get to you, buddy."
no matter the fun he pokes — oooooh! siegbert the always-proper! siegbert the chivalrous! siegbert who unfortunately grew half a milicentimeter taller than him since the last time they met! — there's still truth in what he says. maybe it's not as forthright as it should be, or packaged in a neat and pretty way, but on the heels of a request comes a plea:
( let's keep things between us as they always have been. let's not change, even for the future. let's stay friends, and not solitary figures sat across opposite thrones. )
before siegbert deflates, shiro hurriedly slides in an, "oookay okayokay. okay, fine. this once. after you're all danced out, though?" a challenging grin spreads across his face. "we go back to the basics — best out of three arm-wrestling matches. loser has to fill the other's cup for the rest of the night. deal?"
The return of her quip prompts another peal of soft laughter. "True. You really must be desperate to keep me around, then. How awful it is, being this cute."
...she can joke all she likes, but that does not change the fact that she is dodging the question, something he could just as easily call her out for. Despite how simple it seems, it really is difficult to answer. Here, in this moment? It feels so easy to say that she will return, and even easier to convince herself that everything will work out exactly as she hopes it will.
But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Will she still be so certain that a place for her could be made a week from now, or will taking flight still feel like the better option? She has no way of knowing, and hurting Shiro through ignorance feels like a sin she cannot forgive herself for.
His decline onto the ground is so surprising that she can only stare after him for a moment. Their little recording is still playing. Mitama quietly presses the button and the two of them freeze in the middle of their laughter.
...I wish to find a place to call home.
"Do you promise that?" Mitama does not lie down. Instead, the stars above are interrupted by the stars that walk the earth as Mitama joins him on the ground with a hand braced on either side of his chest as she leans over and looks down at him. Her twin strands of hair fall forward and dangle in the air as she watches him, no longer smiling. "If it could...do you promise to try and make it so?"
uhmmhmmmmmmm...! ( hey, quick question: is it possible to choke while you're lying down? ) ( & when you haven't even eaten or drunk anything? ) the answer to that is an instant and resounding yes, you can, because when shiro tries to speak, all that comes out is a strangled cough and a small "yes" that sounds like a squeak. great! really cool!
his ears swiftly turn a compromising shade of pink that rivals that of her hair, darkening as it becomes painfully obvious that mitama's gaze remains unwavering while he looks up at her with very, very blinking eyes.
um, hey! i wasn't expecting this, fluttering lashes spell out. like, at all-!
much like the constellations that litter the skies overhead, she remains unbudging. fixed where she hovers, the smile wiped clean off her face and replaced instead with something solemn. that alone is enough to shake him out of his stupor, and promptly, shiro clears his throat — though the weight of her hands proves painfully hard to ignore. why is that? she's not even heavy. this doesn't even hurt.
"c'mon, 'tama." somber as this all is, his voice edges on a whine. "you know i don't make promises unless i plan on keeping them." carefully, he shifts so as not to throw her off balance, his palms lifting from the ground only to return just as uncertainly. he's not sure what to do with them, not sure why things have taken this turn specifically, but there is at least one thing he knows unquestioningly. "i will. you'll see."
suddenly, shiro's no longer blinking as ferociously as he was.
"you just need to be there to watch it happen. do you promise to give me a chance?"
...now why is he staring at her so hard? Has she been the one to manage to say something wrong? Her smile starts to dim a little as, for a heartbeat or two, Shiro just stares at her with eyes blown wider than she thinks she has ever seen. Worry begins to crease her forehead when he abruptly coughs and turns it into laughter.
It really feels like there is something there in that moment that she missed, but...he needles and prods at her like nothing is wrong, and his good mood has always been a powerful thing.
Mitama thus huffs in turn and allows her face to twist with a pout. "And? You say that like you would protest in any way when you and I both know you would be the one to offer the moment that you thought I was tired!" She is a dainty and fair maiden, after all! Had life been fair, she would have never had a life of marching at all!
...jokes aside, she really should think about it. She can ignore it all she wants, but the day that the future becomes the present will come, and she will inevitably need to know what shore she will set her feet upon next. She would prefer it not be a lonely one.
She feels also that she should share such an intent, if only for the sake of providing comfort. That is the adult thing to do...right? Except...she likes him smiling much better than how he looked moments ago. She would hate to ruin that again.
So instead, her pouting turns to smiling, though far more teasing than before as she moves closer to him with a taunting hum. "If I give up my naps, then I will have so much time that needs to be filled. Since you are the one asking that, you will be responsible for filling it, will you not?"
despite the initial relief, there's still a knot of muddled feeling lodged in his chest— strangely weighty no matter how much they laugh and joke now. "well yeah, obviously....buuuut i can't fill your time if you're not around," he quips back. "so you tell me. does this mean you'll stay?"
it dawns on him suddenly: is it a selfish thing to ask his friends to stay? would that count as clipping their wings and forcing them into his own gilded cage? and— if he was honest with himself—wouldn't he be a hypocrite to tell them not to leave when he'd taken off after the war?
better to be a lonely king than an oppressive one.
either way, shiro won't let it show. he opts to exhale in an exaggerated manner and stretches his arms overhead to give the impression that he's finally unwinding. like it's the night that's tiring him out, and not the weight of everything else pressing down on him.
in a sudden burst of restlessness, he shifts when she does. not to pull away, but instead to change from a sitting position to lying on the ground, eyes fixed on the night sky with the certainty that she will do the same.
"...if you do leave, you'll come back, right? hoshido might not feel like home right now, but maybe it will someday. i'll find a way to make that happen for all of us."
are you saying i look catholic?
ethereal ball 2026 / continued
the sight of that extended hand gives him momentary pause. despite his time in fodlan thus far, and in spite of having fought alongside their nohrian allies, the gesture still remains a foreign one when a bow is the more customary greeting back home.
"nice to meet you. i'm shiro." it's a little clumsy on his end, what with his trailing sleeves and the bouquet he shuffles from one arm to the other before taking the other's hand in a loose grip. "mine does the same thing. i don't think i'm supposed to be wearing it tonight, but who cares? if a headband offends someone, that's their problem."
not the most diplomatic answer, sure, but seriously — haven't the royals of the world got bigger fish to fry?
it's the follow-up question that takes him aback, and just as quickly, his amicable expression turns confused while he parses what's been asked. shiro stares at ronan until realizing his gaze is elsewhere, and following it, discovers it falls on mitama in the distance.
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. he must've spoken to her and assumed they all were...?
"not all of us. this is what we wear for important events back home." or were expected to wear, because let's face it — he hadn't gotten to attend many of those growing up. you know, deeprealm and all. "you haven't heard of hoshido?"
@seawardoath
