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･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ RULES･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･
indie multimuse. features canon & original muses. multi-ship & multi-verse. side-blog. by arlo (they/them). very slow activity.
a study in; writing your own story, answering the hero's call, atoning for your past, finding your place in the world, and fighting for what you believe in.
blogroll: intothewildsea - pressedpetalsinpages
muse list below (bios will be linked as they are completed):
Lead them or Fall
Despite himself-- despite the polite kindness and the never-ending well of Roland's patience-- doth he snort bluntly, sharp and short.
"Whencever thou art ready to leave, verily," offers he freely, wrapping diligently, minding the tightness of the new bandages.
"Prithee: the circumstance of Thought dictates thou shouldst keep this place before me, since the nimbleness of mine own Feet bid to me to wander as oft as a blown dandelion seed." He ties off the end of the loose bandage into a little bow, tidy and cute, and moves onto Muriel's other wrist; flapping his hand playfully to gift this mountain of a man his choice to grant it.
"You would let me just...live here?"
As nice as Roland has been, Muriel still has trouble wrapping his head around the fact that he's being offered a permanent home. Then again, perhaps Roland is simply being pragmatic. If he travels a lot, having someone watch his home to protect it from robbers makes sense.
Why he would pick Muriel, who he has only known for two days, doesn't make sense, but Muriel is learning that Roland will just do what he wants whether it makes sense or not.
Inanna nudges his knee with her nose and gives him a pointed look. He grumbles, but turns his gaze back towards Roland. "I guess...I could watch your house while you're traveling. If you want me to."
Visitors to Grasswick came and went as sure as day turned into night, it was simply the way of things when it was the kind of village nestled on the road to everywhere else important, and so Mal had resigned himself to the fact that perhaps he wouldn’t ever see Rhythorn again, promises be damned — but there was no mistaking the towering figure sheepishly picking its way down the crooked stepping stones of his garden path, a peculiar flutter in his chest and a smile upon his lips as he padded to the front door and awaited his knock, trying not to appear too eager as he turned the handle and tugged it open with an easy smirk, leaning in the doorway. “Hello, stranger.”
The orc looked much the same, still handsome in that weathered, rugged way of his, but the most notable difference was the patch over his eye; Mal’s smile ebbed a little at the sight of it, brows pinched in concern as he drank in Rhythorn in his entirety. “If this is a new stylistic choice, I’m not sure it suits you.” He mused, a teasing curl to his lips as he gazed up at him with his head cocked. “Come in — and watch your head.”
"I'm not sure it suits me either."
Ducking his head beneath the door frame, he stepped inside. He was tired, sore, and dirty from the journey, but once he'd started he was reluctant to stop. He'd missed Malus more than he realized he would.
Once he was inside, he felt himself hesitate again. He usually didn't feel so awkward. It was an unusual and uncomfortable feeling. "I'm sorry that it took so long for me to come back," he said finally. "I was injured and healing took longer than I would have liked."
It sounded like a poor excuse, but he did have the scars to prove it.
@beautiful-mischief (malus)
He hadn't meant to be away for so long.
Days turned into weeks. After he'd gotten severe injuries in a fight with some bandits - one of which was a nasty burn that covered his left eye, rendering it completely blind - he had been in no condition to travel. Healing had taken longer than he would have liked.
But, eventually, he had managed to make his way back to Mal's town. He hoped that Mal wouldn't be too angry at him, for staying away longer than he had promised. He hadn't thought to send a letter. Being injured had left his brain foggy for a while and it just didn't cross his mind.
Now he was at Mal's door and was hesitating to knock. He had an eye patch over his eye, to try to hide the worst of the scar. He was already scary enough. Finally, he grumbled at himself, and knocked on the door.
@learningtodie (gale)
The night was quiet and it was late, but Daphne couldn't sleep. Anxiety was gnawing at her. Her head rested on Gale's chest, turned just so to make sure she didn't poke him with her horns. His arm was wrapped around her and she listened to his steady breaths.
She had thought he was asleep, until she felt his hand move to stroke his fingers along her upper arm soothingly. "You can't sleep either?" She kept her voice low, not wanting to wake anyone else. "I hope I didn't wake you up."
@eritvita
Dragonborn.
The word kept rattling around in his head. Part of him wasn't sure he believed that he was Dragonborn. That he was some sort of chosen one. Life didn't work that way for people like him.
Despite that, he had gone to the Greybeards. He had shown the ability to use the Thu'um. According to them, he was Dragonborn.
What in the hells was he supposed to do with that information?
Fight dragons? End a civil war? What was expected of him? Why was the weight of Skyrim suddenly resting on his shoulders, when days before, he was going to be executed like a common criminal? Why was he supposed to fight to protect a world that would snuff him out simply for being an orc?
It was all very frustrating to mull over.
He had returned to Whiterun to stock up on supplies. People still seemed a bit uneasy around him, because of his stature and height, but at least they were willing to do business with him. He supposed the fact that he'd slayed a dragon endeared him to them a tiny bit.
When exiting one of the shops, he bumped into someone. They were on his blind side, but thankfully, as soon as he knocked into them, instinct had him reach out to grab their shoulder and steady them.
"Apologies." His voice was a deep, raspy rumble. "You all right?"
@archaeval
He was still learning the layout of Skyhold, discovering its little nooks and crannies. There hadn't been much time to snoop between the missions and fighting dragons. And kissing the Inquisitor.
He was trying to keep that part discreet, though, for the time being. Only because she had asked him to. He didn't think it was because she was embarrassed of...whatever their relationship was. A fling, maybe.
At this particular moment, he wasn't snooping. Niamh had sent him on a errand to deliver a book to the librarian. He hadn't even realized Skyhold had needed - or had gotten - a librarian. Delivering the book gave him an excuse to poke around. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He'd expected the librarian to be a little old lady. The woman sitting at the desk was decidedly not a little old grandma. He lifted the book. "Inquisitor asked me to bring this to you."
@eritvita
It had been two days since Roland had given Muriel shelter and treated his injuries. They still ached, constant reminders of the collar and cuffs that he had been forced to wear for so long. They itched, too. The bandages kept him from scratching the wounds, at least. He knew he'd feel guilty if he ruined the kind man's handiwork.
Roland had been kind enough to cut his hair as well. It had been long, matted, and dirty. No amount of brushing would get the tangles out. Now it was cut to his chin. Still shaggy and messy, but at least it was no longer gross.
He'd finally let Roland coax him into taking a bath. After a good scrub he almost felt like a new man. He'd been given fresh clothes. Clothes nicer than anything he'd ever owned, honestly. They were soft and comfortable.
Instructed to sit, he settled by the hearth, obediently staying still while Roland wrapped fresh bandages on his wounds. Each touch made him flinch despite him knowing the other man wouldn't hurt him.
"When...when do you want me to leave?" It was something that had been on Muriel's mind.
am i done writing bios. no. did i finally do some starters and put them in my queue. YES. PROGRESS.
muriel: has a horny thought
muriel: what the FUCK is that
@archaeval
It had taken some time, but Muriel was slowly getting used to sharing a space with another person. He had felt awkward at first, sharing Ruby's tent, even though she had been clear with him that he was wanted there. Sleeping next to her had been a bit harder. Touch was been difficult for him. If they brushed against one another, even in sleep, his entire body would tense and he'd jerk away out of instinct.
He knew she understood, probably better than anyone, why he reacted that way.
Slowly, though, it had gotten better. He was getting better. While he didn't want anyone else to touch him, Ruby could, and each time her fingers brushed his or her hand rested on his forearm, he flinched a bit less. And soon he found himself craving her touch in ways he'd never thought he would.
Those were thoughts he would never voice aloud. They were too embarrassing. Even just the thought of them made him flush, all of the way to the tips of his ears.
So it was no wonder when he stepped into the tent and accidentally caught sight of Ruby changing clothes that he turned as red as a strawberry. He couldn't manage to sputter out any words and quickly turned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Sorry," he finally managed to get out.
𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝑫𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑬?
when they're getting ready for the day
this is all you've ever wanted. you and them and the promise of a future. you should be getting ready too. but you lay in bed for a moment, still feeling the traces of their warmth on the sheets, their scent on your skin. you watch how carefully they choose their outfit for the day. you watch as they pair the colors. you memorize that face they make when they stand at the mirror checking every detail. you savor how routine it is. you savor it because you both earned it. there is something precious in the domesticity and you vow to never take it for granted.
tagged by @archaeval <3
muriel post-epilogue choppin wood for the hut :) the hair keep getting in his face
Ever grateful for the assistance she's provided him, Revali nods his thanks. It's been a rather challenging task to gather the pieces of material. To carefully study numerous textures, styles, patterns, and colors of fabric every village and town that he's visited had to offer, selecting only a few to add to his collection before moving on.
It's a bit of a relief to finally have the accessory commissioned. The scarf itself is meaningful to him, and he can only hope the person it's being gifted to will appreciate it.
As before, the Rito takes great care to study the elaborate assortment, feathered fingers tracing each piece he plucks from a chest. After some time, he settles for three— one teal, one periwinkle, and one navy blue. ❝ These, if you don't mind. ❞
She doesn't rush him in choosing the fabrics, instead deciding to take a look at the materials he brought. Carefully pulling each piece from the satchel, she lays them on her worktable. It's clear he's put a lot of thought into the fabrics - they all compliment each other beautifully, despite being from different regions.
Humming thoughtfully, she eyes them, already thinking of different designs. When Revali speaks, she turns and looks at what he's chosen. She smiles, giving an approving nod. "Perfect. You have a wonderful eye for colors."
She takes the fabrics from him and lay them on the table with the rest. "Is there anything particular you would like me to do with the scarf? Any embroidery?"
It’s not a good story unless the hero dies
