—𝔦𝔳𝔬𝔯𝔶 & 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔩

𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔯

[mercurialstorm]

𝔦 𝔞𝔪 𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤

𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱

ᴵⁿᵈᵉᵖᵉⁿᵈᵉⁿᵗ ˢʰⁱⁿᵍᵉᵏⁱ ⁿᵒ ᴷʸᵒʲⁱⁿ ᵒʳⁱᵍⁱⁿᵃˡ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ᵇˡᵒᵍ

 º  Mun is over twenty and five.

Mature content will be present and tagged accordingly. . .Minors do not interact

                  •     •      ❬  ₗₒᵥₑd by Cₒₙ    

🄰 study on grief,

post-war trauma, classism, inner conflict, bad father figures,

girlhood that was womanhood all along, implications of religious trauma, hoarding feelings and to be lit from within.

  carrd. prompts and ice breakers.  aes and studies. pinboard.

[alt-er-loves-trove]

you're making "the face" again.

To whoever you wanna throw at Lyanna's direction 🌻

Hi hello hiii 🌜

"What face?"

Anastasia said, almost too casually to hide the brewing storm she truly felt inside. Lyanna's voice alone made Anastasia freeze in her tracks. She had heard some words thrown around about her ancestors. Lyanna was here, face to face with her in the vast hallway. What is she going to do? Is she going to turn me in to the Marleyan government for some vile experiment? She laughed bitterly, Lyanna's wit never fails to get to her, and she had grown fond of it.

Don't be stupid, Köhler. Ana reprimanded herself. After hearing the declaration inside the meeting chamber, Anastasia knew she could never trust anyone outside the walls again. Her vision was askew. Is this person really her friend or will Lyanna turn her back on her, just like her father did? Just like what the Warriors did?

Two years of inheriting the Angel Titan who had escaped Marleyan's dictatorship. Two years of finally unraveling everything that is wrong with their world, two years... of finally meeting someone outside the walls who sees her as more than just a weapon, an expendable pawn. Anastasia didn't want to lose her, but it seemed like the cards were stacked against them, and she had prepared herself for yet another heartbreak.

She didn't mind Lyanna's fascination with the Titans—or in this case, her Titan. Ana finds herself closing her eyes, her heart shattering as she remembered how Lyanna's genuine offer of friendship and true loyalty crumbled the walls of defense that Anastasia had built around herself, but she wouldn't let it show. Not now, not after her nation declared the extinction of all Eldians.

"You know you shouldn't be seen with me, right? What would your father say?"

[mercurialstorm]

The hallway was vast, stretching into dimly lit corridors that carried the echoes of their hushed conversation. The golden glow of the overhead lamps flickered, casting long, distorted shadows along the walls, as if the building itself was uncertain, caught between past and present. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and dust, remnants of the many meetings held within these walls—meetings where decisions had been made about people like them without ever considering their voices. A draft snuck in through the cracks of the high windows, ruffling the edges of old banners that bore the Marleyan sigil.

Lyanna stood with her arms crossed, weight shifted to one hip, the dim light outlining the sharp angles of her face. Despite the tension thick in the air, she looked strangely at ease, though Ana knew better. Lyanna’s ease was never carelessness—it was a quiet kind of control, the sort one learned after years of being in rooms where speaking too freely could cost you everything. A trait she had learned at her father’s side, in his carefully measured words, in the way he always seemed to be weighing the worth of a conversation.

Her father.

For a moment, Ana’s words threatened to drag her back into his shadow, to remind her of all the times he had spoken for her, about her, as if she were nothing more than a piece to be placed in the right position. A daughter of duty. A girl raised with the understanding that to be Eldian in Marley was to walk a thin, unforgiving line. Lyanna had spent her life learning how to navigate that world, to shape herself into something acceptable—sharp enough to be respected, restrained enough to be tolerated.

But here, in this quiet hallway, face to face with Anastasia Köhler, that world felt distant.

What face?

Lyanna didn't answer right away. She simply watched, studied the way Ana’s shoulders were too stiff, the way her fingers curled slightly at her sides, as if preparing for something. She had seen this before—the way Ana wove a barrier around herself the moment something hit too close to home.

The flickering light cast Ana’s expression in soft shadow, but Lyanna still caught the flicker of something in her gaze. Something deep, buried beneath years of betrayal and disappointment. Lea had spent enough time with her to recognize the signs—the way she tried to pretend she didn’t care, as if she hadn't already prepared herself to be left behind.

Then, Ana laughed—short, bitter, a hollow thing. It didn’t suit her.

You know you shouldn’t be seen with me, right? What would your father say?

Ah.

Lyanna let out a breath, slow and measured. Of course, it came back to that.

A humorless chuckle escaped her lips, quiet but deliberate. “You think my father is my biggest concern right now?” Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, something only someone like Ana—someone who had learned to read between the lines—would catch.

She was probably waiting for her to flinch. To step back. To hesitate.

Lyanna didn’t move.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable, eyes sharp beneath the dim light. “Or do you think I’m still weighing the odds, figuring out if you’re worth the risk?”

She let the silence stretch for a beat, then scoffed softly.

"You insult me, Köhler."

Because if she had wanted to turn her back, she would have done it long ago. If she had cared for self-preservation over everything else, she wouldn’t be standing here at all. She had seen enough betrayals to know what they looked like. And if Ana thought she was going to walk away now, after everything—after two years of fighting, of understanding, of something that might actually mean trust—then she didn’t know Lyanna at all.

[aedearly]

✎ㅤ. . .ㅤ𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of loose verses taken from songs by precious pepala. writing/roleplaying prompts. some contain religious imagery and/or topics. most of these are angst, but some can be fluffy! feel free to edit these as you see fit.

❝ fill my lungs with holy water. ❞ ❝ memories... memories. i'm not sure. were they ever real or were they forged? ❞ ❝ have i been deceived by the light? ❞ ❝ should i even grieve? ❞ ❝ what if it was all a lie? ❞ ❝ give me a reason to say it's not me, it's you. ❞ ❝ give me a reason to leave. ❞ ❝ i promise i won't be sad if i catch you with red hands. ❞ ❝ i'm on my knees praying, you're the devil in disguise. ❞ ❝ if i get to those golden gates and he turns me away... oh, then you can say i told you so. ❞ ❝ i’ll burn forevermore like the sun that will rise even after i die. ❞ ❝ please, can't you see you're killing me? ❞ ❝ smother me with loving hands. ❞ ❝ secrets that i keep? oh, they’d keep you from sleep. ❞ ❝ i'm just a black sheep. ❞ ❝ so cover me in wool and pray, maybe i'll change. ❞ ❝ throw me to the wolves and say you're not to blame. ❞ ❝ i feel like i'm falling from heaven to hell. ❞ ❝ found the apple of my eye in you, and i want to take a bite. ❞ ❝ maybe you can call me eve; standing here under the forbidden tree. ❞ ❝ this love isn't holy. ❞ ❝ father, forgive me, for i don't know if i can change. ❞ ❝ i feel like the angel who fell. ❞ ❝ maybe i want to bring the devil to dinner one day. ❞ ❝ once in a blue moon, i let my guard down for someone like you. ❞ ❝ too many times, i've been left with scars. ❞ ❝ i will keep my cards close to my chest. ❞ ❝ heart ain't on my sleeve, you will never gonna see how i really feel. ❞ ❝ these tears are for my eyes only. ❞ ❝ my heart is made of glass—half empty and smashed. ❞ ❝ don't leave me alone with my head when i'm hanging on by a thread. ❞ ❝ this silence is heavy and it might be the death of me. ❞ ❝ the monsters from under my bed now live in my mind, and they're not very kind with me. ❞ ❝ don't leave me, don't leave me alone. ❞ ❝ oh shucks—i think i've gone and said way too much. ❞ ❝ i think i should've kept my mouth shut. ❞ ❝ i will hold out my hands, i'm ready for the cuffs. ❞ ❝ what are you laughing at? ❞ ❝ prepare yourself to live it again, and again and again. ❞ ❝ speak the truth you know they want to hear. ❞ ❝ tell a lie enough until it feels real. ❞ ❝ pray and everything will be alright... what a lie! ❞ ❝ hide the wounds and never let them heal. ❞ ❝ i'm getting butterflies, but they're not the good kind. ❞ ❝ the knot in my chest is getting too tight. ❞ ❝ this must be what it feels like to have a good time. ❞ ❝ mmmm, i want a bottle of wine… ❞ ❝ having fun yet? ❞ ❝ take a deep breath… ❞ ❝ i declare a thumb war (just so i can hold your hand). ❞ ❝ wrap me around your finger. ❞ ❝ 'guess i like when we play rough. ❞ ❝ break down my walls, and i'll sit right in the palm of your hand, darling. ❞ ❝ i need you to stay, need you to stay. ❞ ❝ i feel like you can't feel the way i feel. ❞ ❝ i'll be messed up if you can't be right here. ❞ ❝ when i'm away from you, i miss your touch. ❞ ❝ you're the reason i believe in love. ❞ ❝ you know that i know that i can't live without you. ❞ ❝ i'm a moth in a room of butterflies. ❞ ❝ don't say you miss me. ❞ ❝ i'm the death of the party. ❞ ❝ i know you all too well, but can't call you a friend, because friends don't make you feel this way. ❞ ❝ the devils i'm afraid to face resemble you more day by day. ❞ ❝ all i ask of you, let go. ❞

[icarussinclair]

I love hands.

[kuutamosonaatti]

Views from Suomenlinna at summer

Helsinki, Finland, 1965

[anarchyrpbook]

LADY MACBETH a roleplay sentence meme with various quotes and sentences taken from ava reid's lady macbeth. this book is based on shakespeare's the tragedy of macbeth, and as such there are dark themes included. feel free to tweak prompts as needed.

you are beautiful, there are none other in the world like you.

you will hear the sea from every corner of the castle. after enough time, you will not hear it at all.

we will have to observe the rite of first blood, they will not respect my power otherwise.

my lust for blood will be rewarded.

you will have your rubies, and i will have what is mine.

how long has this castle stood?

every soil has its evils.

she has not saved herself. she has only given herself a different death.

the lord has placed my life in your hands.

will the lord not ask to see their corpses? proof of their blood?

i will have to strike my own near-death blow.

you will have to press harder than you think.

violence is like a coin. if you spend it easily, people will think you imprudent and reckless.

sometimes no words are as eloquent as the spilling of blood.

you nearly dishonored me with that letter.

you will not lie to me, you are my lady wife.

i will never harm you, my lord, i swear it.

my father would never betray an ally or broker a false peace.

now you are the dagger in my hand.

whatever he has done, it is not worth this.

tell me of her. the wife who came before.

why dishonor yourself for my sake? why risk your birthright?

i do not wish to see you live without shelter.

the crown is not mine to lose.

i did not hesitate; i do not regret. 

it is the way of the world, violence.

every man says, when he first kills another: i did not know there would be so much blood.

are you deaf and cannot hear screams in the night?

what will you do with me? slit my throat in your bed?

you are of no use to me dead.

i promised you protection from him. i will not relinquish that vow.

a clever way to say you think me dishonorable.

i will do better. i will not displease you. i will not disgrace you.

these matters are below the concern of a queen.

what is the state of your honor now?

you have no leave to speak to me of honor.

if you say i have no honor, i have no honor left to lose.

it is my trophy, my treasure, mine, mine, mine.

did you think you could beat me as you did, and face me no recompense?

was it worth it, your vengeance? 

i feel no satisfaction while you still draw breath.

were you merely stitching me into some great tapestry of deception?

but i do not think you deserve to be shown such mercy.

you will not speak now, you will listen.

i see now that this treachery was following closely behind me, like a shadow.

this old wound of yours, i do not forget it.

love is not as easy to smother as the rest.

these are not the actions of a king.

i thought you might help devise a punishment.

what makes you cringe from me now?

i will not let harm come to you.

a queen does not forsake her people.

has something happened to displease you?

you carry the prince’s monstrous spawn.

please, you cannot believe him. it is not true.

i do not deserve it. i should stay here, after all.

you have again given me a good chance to prove my honor.

if you are to show yourself, perhaps it should not be all of yourself.

[toabstain]

foul lady fortune, by chloe gong.

part one. assorted lines taken from the third book in the secret shanghai series. adjust names and pronouns as needed. trigger warnings for mentions of death and violence.

poison. that's not such an abominable way to die.

when did you start getting so foolish?

you can't keep doing this.

you can't keep trying to fix our father's mistakes,

treason is not inherited. they'll see. they'll have to see.

you're too trusting, [name]. you ought to be more careful.

why don't you two listen to a single thing i say?

when are you going to let that go?

darling, did i have a tone?

i'll be your replacement father, kid. it's okay.

i don't think the spies in the bushes outside quite heard you.

it's so hard not to hate them.

do you know how many people have gotten away from me? zero.

i was always going to catch up to you.

listen, i'm a married man -

you're going to give me a hernia.

don't sweetheart me!

it wouldn't hurt to tell me what instructions you're under.

yes, [name]. nation over everything.

but not you, sweetheart. never your life in exchange.

if you're going to accuse me of something, WHY DON'T YOU COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY IT?

you know what, i see it. horrible. [name], how could you?

if you would be so kind as to relieve me from having to witness a domestic spat.

who did this to you? i'll kill them.

trust me, if there was something that could have been done, i would have done it myself.

i am not defenseless.

there are plenty of other places to go.

i tried to hold on but that only made it fall apart further.

it's an image i've trapped under museum glass, put on display for my visitation every so often.

it is merely who i am. falser than vows made in wine.

oops, dead. don't wave around weapons you can't use.

[sloppjockey]

this post has been flagged for

[vhsviolence]

Eileen (2023) dir. William Oldroyd

[licentiapennas]

@mercurialstorm liked for a small starter!

"Staying out this late past curfew will make people think you’re up to no good, ma’am," she says. Ironically, she too is out late, but for Heather, it’s perhaps different—after all, the cleaning bucket by her side is a clear indicator of her purpose.

[mercurialstorm]

Lyanna turned her head slowly, leveling the woman with a measured look, her expression unreadable in the dim glow of the streetlamp. She noted the irony in the statement, the scent of soap and damp fabric lingering in the air between them. A worker, then. Janitorial duty, mayhaps. Not a soldier, not an informant—just someone who had the nerve to speak as if they held any authority over her.

She exhaled through her nose, glancing briefly at the empty street beyond. “People think all sorts of things,” she murmured, her tone laced with quiet amusement. Gloved fingers idly curling around the lapel of her coat. “It doesn’t make them right.”

Her gaze flickered to the cleaning bucket at the woman’s side, then back up to meet her eyes. There was no challenge in her posture, but there was something deliberate about the way she held herself—self-possessed, unmoved. If she had been caught doing something worth reprimanding, she certainly didn’t seem concerned.

“Wasn’t quite aware that grime posed such an urgent threat that it warranted breaking curfew, alone in the freezing cold” she added, arching a brow. Tone calm but laced with quiet scrutiny.

"Unless, there’s some urgent matter of national security that depends on spotless floors in the dead of night.”

It wasn’t quite an accusation, nor was it a deflection. It was simply a statement, edged with curiosity and something that might have been the faintest hint of mischief.

[mercurialstorm]

My  muse  pulls  your  muse  under  their  umbrella  during  a  sudden  downpour. (Hello hi throwing Vito at you for Lyanna hehe)

The sky had been an unbroken stretch of dull gray for most of the afternoon, the air thick with the promise of rain. Lyanna had noted it absently, as she did most things, tucking the information away but making no move to prepare. She had always prided herself on her ability to endure discomfort—wet clothes and cold skin were minor inconveniences in the grand scheme of things.

And yet, when the first fat droplets splattered against the cobbled streets, followed by a sudden, relentless downpour, even she felt a twinge of regret. The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the ground with a force that blurred her vision. Within seconds, her dress was clinging to her frame, damp strands of hair sticking to her face.

She had just resigned herself to the miserable walk back when a shadow loomed beside her.

A warm hand caught her wrist—not forceful, but firm enough to draw her to a stop. Before she could react, a canopy of dark fabric unfurled above her, muting the sound of the rain against the stone. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before her gaze flicked upward.

Vito.

He was grinning in that effortless, disarming way of his, as if they weren’t standing chest-to-chest beneath a shared umbrella, their proximity so close she could catch the faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke and leather clinging to his coat.

Lyanna exhaled through her nose, her usual sharp retort failing her as she became acutely aware of their closeness. The space beneath the umbrella was limited, forcing her to stand near enough that she could feel the body heat radiating from him.

She should say something. Break whatever this was before it settled too deeply in her bones. But words felt distant, unimportant.

It was nothing. Just a moment. Just shelter.

At least, that was what she told herself. But her fingers curled slightly, and she wondered—just for a fleeting second—what it would be like to reach for his hand instead.

“Thank you, but, this isn’t necessary,” Lyanna muttered, tilting her chin up just slightly. Her voice was firm, but the usual sharpness wasn’t there—it was quieter, like she was trying to convince herself more than him.

Nothing about the situation changed. He didn’t step away. The umbrella stayed where it was.

She exhaled sharply, hating the way the silence pressed in on her. “What, do you think I’ll melt?” she added, aiming for something wry, something dismissive.

It didn’t land the way she wanted. The words came out a little too quick, a little too defensive. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Pulse thrummed beneath her skin, unfamiliar and unwelcome.

She kept her eyes on the rain, refusing to look at him, because she had the sinking suspicion that if she did, something would shift. She should just move. Step out from under the umbrella, leave the moment behind.

And yet, she stayed rooted in place.

[gloomglimmer]

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂  𝐑𝐏  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒  .  .  .  (  pt  1.  the  art  of  touch  )   Set  the  stage  for  longing  glances,  lingering  touches,  and  the  quiet  tension  of  unspoken  words.   ✧  ˚₊  Themes:  soft,  slow  burn  &  a  touch  of  angst 

✧     ›    SOFT   &   FLUFFY   .

My  muse  tucks  a  loose  strand  of  hair  behind  your  muse’s  ear,  their  fingers  lingering  for  a  second  longer  than  necessary.

My  muse  falls  asleep  on  your  muse’s  shoulder  during  a  long  ride.

My  muse  surprises  your  muse  with  breakfast  in  bed,  complete  with  a  handwritten  note.

My  muse  pulls  your  muse  under  their  umbrella  during  a  sudden  downpour.

My  muse  gently  wipes  away  a  tear  from  your  muse’s  cheek,  their  touch  tender  and  careful.

My  muse  laces  their  fingers  with  your  muse’s  absentmindedly,  only  realizing  it  after  a  few  seconds.

 ✧     ›    TENSION   &   SLOW  BURN   .

My  muse  fixes  your  muse’s  tie/dress/jacket,  their  hands  brushing  against  their  skin  for  just  a  moment.

My  muse  leans  in  as  if  to  whisper  something,  their  lips  dangerously  close  to  your  muse’s  ear.

My  muse  catches  your  muse’s  wrist  before  they  can  leave,  their  grip  tightening  just  slightly.

My  muse  watches  your  muse  from  across  the  room,  their  gaze  lingering  even  when  caught.

My  muse  challenges  your  muse  to  a  bet,  knowing  exactly  what  they’ll  ask  for  if  they  win.

My  muse  absentmindedly  plays  with  your  muse’s  fingers  while  they  talk,  not  even  realizing  they’re  doing  it.

✧     ›    ANGST   &   EMOTIONAL   .

My  muse  pulls  your  muse  into  a  tight  hug,  as  if  afraid  to  let  go.

My  muse  wipes  away  the  blood  from  your  muse’s  face,  their  hands  trembling.

My  muse  shows  up  at  your  muse’s  doorstep  in  the  rain,  eyes  filled  with  something  unspoken.

My  muse  gently  cups  your  muse’s  face,  whispering,  “Why  do  you  always  have  to  make  things  so  difficult?”

My  muse  kisses  your  muse  like  it’s  the  last  time  they’ll  ever  get  the  chance.

My  muse  lets  your  muse  go,  even  though  it’s  the  last  thing  they  want  to  do.

 ✧     ›    TEASING   .

My  muse  corners  your  muse  against  a  wall,  a  smirk  playing  on  their  lips.

My  muse  whispers  something  in  your  muse’s  ear  that  makes  them  blush.

My  muse  pulls  your  muse  onto  their  lap  with  zero  warning.

My  muse  playfully  steals  a  bite  of  your  muse’s  food,  then  grins  as  they  lock  eyes.

My  muse  deliberately  leans  in  closer  just  to  see  your  muse’s  reaction.

My  muse  drags  their  fingers  slowly  down  your  muse’s  arm,  pretending  it  was  unintentional.

[mercurialstorm]

Lyanna. You sweet girl. .

[mercurialstorm]

❛ do you want me to leave? ❜

The air was dense with the stench of decay, a putrid blend of damp earth and something far worse—something sickly sweet and rotting beneath the ruins. Lyanna pulled her threadbare cloak tighter around her shoulders, though no fabric could shield her from the biting wind that carried the echoes of a world crushed beneath the Rumbling. A carcass of a city, its bones jutting from the earth in the form of broken walls, splintered beams, and twisted iron. Ash still clung to the remains like a shroud, rising in ghostly wisps as her boots disturbed the filth beneath her feet.

She stepped carefully, picking her way through what had once been a familiar street, though now it was unrecognizable—craters swallowing the cobblestones, remnants of homes reduced to heaps of stone and wood, doors leading to nowhere. Silence has been a heavy, smothering thing that pressed against her ears. The only sound was the occasional creak of debris settling, a mournful sigh from a city long past saving.

Lyanna’s breath trembled as she stepped over a skeletal hand, half-buried in the rubble, its fingers curled inward as if grasping for something—someone. She didn’t stop to look. She couldn’t. There were too many. Too many reminders of those who had been here. Those who hadn’t made it. Her stomach clenched, though she had nothing left inside her to bring up, hunger having hollowed her out days ago.

The wind howled through the ruins, rattling against the remnants of a tram car that had been overturned like a forgotten toy. A loose sign swung from a broken post, its rusted hinges groaning in protest. Liberio District—West Entrance. The words were barely legible beneath the soot and claw marks of destruction. Lyanna reached out, trailing her fingers over the letters. Her throat burned. This had been home.

But home was gone.

A distant sound—something between a sob and a cough—snapped her out of her trance.

Lyanna stiffened. The voice was low, rough, but unmistakable.

She turned slowly, her breath shallow, her fingers still pressed against the rusted sign as if holding onto the last fragile thread of the past. Reiner stood a few paces away, his broad frame hunched slightly, as if the weight of the world had finally bent him. His face was gaunt, streaked with dirt and exhaustion, his golden hair dull beneath the smothered sky. His eyes—those weary, guilt-ridden eyes—met hers, hesitant, guarded.

"Do you want me to leave?"

His voice barely carried over the wind, but it struck her like a hammer.

For a moment, Lyanna said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unspoken. She knew why he was here. Knew why he looked at her like that, like a man standing before the grave of someone he had buried with his own hands.

Because, in a way, he had. They both did.

The Rumbling had taken everything— homes, families—but it hadn’t started with that. It had started long before with the cracks they'd carved into their world, the brain washing, the betrayals, the zealotry, long before the titans ever came crashing through. And yet, here he was, standing in the ruins, breathing the same as she was. Both slive, while so many others weren’t.

Her fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into her palm.

Did she want him to leave?

She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that nothing he did now could undo the past. That she had spent nights waking up to nightmares of her mother’s face frozen in fear as the ground split beneath her. She wanted to tell him that every time she closed her eyes, she saw footprints bigger than houses, crushing everything in their path. That the silence of Liberio was louder than any war drum.

But when she opened her mouth, no words came.

Lyanna looked at him, really looked at him. He wasn’t the armored warrior who had once trampled cities under his heel. He wasn’t even the broken soldier who had long since lost his way. He was just a man now. A tired, grieving man who, for some reason, was still standing here. Still asking if she wanted him gone.

Her throat tightened.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper.

[mercurialstorm]

Haven't been online since forever, the idea of writing anything seemed kinda overwhelming for a good long while now. Exhausting graveyard shifts happened once again, most of my free time's been strictly for recharging and collecting myself. It felt scary to even think of restarting the process of writing and I've been very reluctant because of my low energy levels. But here I am, since I'm a whore for my weird girl and her beautiful interactions with all of you (and the ones about to happen)🌻

[mercurialstorm]

Lyanna is definitely the type of girl that's quiet and collected but when there's alcohol involved and she is with a romantic partner? Oh boy, she gets bold and daring, purposely coming up with ideas to embarrass them and get them where she wants them; imagine she indulges in her drinks for hours and they'd tell her to take it slow and she'd probably clap back with a "that's not what you said last night" just to see them flustered and get a reaction. And that's all you need to know about this demon.

[mercurialstorm]

"Hey ya little weirdo, check it out." Jean places a little barn owl carved out of wood down in front of her, looking very pleased with his find. "Saw this and thought'a you — don't ask me why though."

(fashionably late to the birthday scene but shhh)

Brows furrowed as she flipped through a research book on her lap. Fingers played idly with an empty inkless pen, twirling it between her nimble digits, engrossed in whatever information she was absorbing. Jean's voice chirped, pulling her out of her musings, as he'd be hurling chitter chatters about strange little creatures carved in wood. Or was she the strange creature? "Jeano~" She singsongs his name. The wrought-iron bench pressed against the hem of her linen dress, legs squeezed together, one foot gently swaying and brushing against the mallows. Her lips cracked into a smile as she observed him nonchalantly placing the wooden figurine on her lap; he remembered. She was twenty-two autumns alive, today. "Should I be worried that you've been paying this much attention to my weirdnesses?" She picked up the carving, examining the intricate details with childish fascination. She'd lie if she didn't admit on the tiniest resemblance. If souls exist, who knows, maybe her's has the shape of a little barn owl? "She's pretty, solnyshko. Thank you"