a sky of clouds . ᤢ♥︎◜ ͡ ◝ ᭬ ✤ ♥
in the distance the sun breaks through , only to disappear again ...
✺ 𝓡𝙴𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷 ͜ ། transitive verb
¹ to demand the restoration or return of ; claim again or back .
² an independent & private multi-muse roleplay blog 𝑓𝑡. characters from 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 & 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 .
³ written by imojean , 23 , they/them ; canon-based with some original theorizing ; plot-driven & multi-verse .
𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 : the burden of holding something that requires a great tenderness ¹ , a longing that's killing me ² , & sanity ; a guillotine ³ .
¹ danusha laméris , ² mahmoud darwish , ³ inkpressedpetals
hard to do anything wit a broken elbow ............................. dunno how to get my partner to work wit no money ...................... sighs at life ........................
now that i'm feeling a lot better, i can finally get back on my feet and will be accepting discounted commission orders through my ko-fi!!!
i don't openly talk about this but i'm heavily disabled and despite all attempts to do commercial work, apply for retail jobs, anything else, i haven't had much luck and it seems like the universe really doesn't want me to give up on my dream of illustrating full-time just yet... fingers crossed that this finds people! there's no pressure but a little reblog would also be nice if you wish to spread this around :D
here is my portfolio if you want additional references of my artwork <3 i love drawing anything! fantasy, creatures, literally anything!
❛ i will always be by your side. ❜
❛ i will always find my way back to you. ❜
❛ i will always make room for you. ❜
❛ i will be gentle with your heart. ❜
❛ i will be here when you wake up. ❜
❛ i will bring you flowers just because they reminded me of you. ❜
❛ i will choose you on the easy days and the hard ones. ❜
❛ i will keep your secrets safe. ❜
❛ i will keep you safe, as best as i can. ❜
❛ i will keep you warm. ❜
❛ i will listen, even if you need to say it a hundred times. ❜
❛ i will make the scary things feel smaller. ❜
❛ i will remind you every day that you are loved. ❜
❛ i will stay with you when you need me. ❜
❛ i will take care of you when you forget to take care of yourself. ❜
❛ will you be mine, even just for today? ❜
❛ will you come closer? ❜
❛ will you let me be your safe place? ❜
❛ will you let me make you smile? ❜
❛ will you stay a little longer? ❜
❛ will you stay close to me? ❜
❛ will you stay for breakfast? ❜
❛ will you tell me about your day? ❜
❛ will you wait for me? ❜
❛ will you walk with me for a while? ❜
❛ you will always be enough for me. ❜
❛ you will always be in my heart. ❜
❛ you will always be someone i want beside me. ❜
❛ you will always be worth waiting for. ❜
❛ you will always have a home in me. ❜
❛ you will always look beautiful to me. ❜
❛ you will be my number one priority. ❜
❛ you will be safe with me. ❜
❛ you will be the first person i want to tell. ❜
❛ you will be the reason i feel loved. ❜
❛ you will have all of me, even the soft and silly parts. ❜
❛ you will never be alone while i'm here. ❜
❛ you will never be too much for me. ❜
❛ you will never have to pretend with me. ❜
❛ you will never have to wonder whether i care. ❜
hai... ive successfully implanted fia into shadow of the erdtree & also the undertaker into elden ring base game & shadow of the erdtree... i want to write in them... here's a little rundown (more well-written descriptions for each verse on the carrd) but also this is a bit easier to understand rp-wise i think...
fia (shadow of the erdtree)
takes place post-canon age of duskborn, she is killed by d but lives on noncorporeal-style because, well. it's the age of duskborn. technically in this state of the lands between, we still have queen marika as its godqueen, and the tarnished pc is now the new elden lord. this is bc through the mending rune created by fia it doesn't actually "destroy" the order and replaces it with another (like ranni's ending) it just mends it
through her indirect relation with godwyn, that to her is Almost a marital union, she is made a demigod (like how rennala's children were easily written off as demigods due to having marika as a step-mom before the radagon reveal) and is somehow selected by the greater will as an empyrean
this is the haziest part to me bc it probably requires some plotting with the main actors of sote but she travels to the shadow lands and tries to go to enir-illim to do what marika & miquella did, intending to obtain absolute godhood over the lands between
in the process she also plans to unveil the shadow lands. something something sun/fire imagery (godwyn, miquella, anything to do with fire giants, frenzy flame) goes here
undertaker (elden ring?)
post-dawn ending. the night is defeated and limveld spits its inhabitants back out where everyone came from
instead of actually going back to where she came from the undertaker starts off in the nox towns Before they were banished underground. it kind of doesn't matter what the timeline is here bc i really made it all up and consider it an au of sorts for everyone
since this is so far back in time, the carians hadn't even made their way to the top of raya lucaria academy yet
the undertaker is in possession of the scholar's most important findings on albinaurics & intends to make good on her promise, making her way to raya lucaria to see whose eyes should be laid upon it
this part gets weird bc its incredibly lore-theory-reliant but my lukewarm take is that the carians are a generation of albinaurics similar to the nox and have not come into power bc of genetic disabilities. it's the scholar's research that, upon its delivery to raya lucaria, improves the carians' conditions and enable them to increase their influence over liurnia
whatever it is that the scholar's research contributed to this side of the country (carians albinauric or not), the point is that it made people so powerful that the nox even ended up being "banished" underground (or maybe they even did it willingly to sever themselves from the influence of the greater will, this is yet another long theory for another day)
tl;dr: undertaker ends up in the distant past of elden ring & is maybe one of the reasons how politics got kinda fucked up over there
the real undertaker elden ring au that takes place after everything above:
i want to believe that she's actually in the church of vows taking care of ol miriel :) isn't she sweet!
undertaker (shadow of the erdtree)
completely unrelated to the events above
basically in this au, nightreign never took place. she never gets sent to limveld by her monastery
tl;dr: on her childhood her convent was heavily involved with the hornsent and the construction of enir-illim, but nobody knows of her loathsome hex. when the area is imprisoned in shadow by marika, she is left with no choice but to spend the rest of her life roaming the lands and secretly feasting on the shadows themselves when there are no beasts left for her to hunt
by the time anyone relevant to elden ring & the dlc interacts with her, she has eaten so much of darkness that she has become a shade herself. no one can actually recognize that this is the undertaker, not even the hornsent, so she just more or less wanders as a forgotten not-yet spirit, looking for someone to lend an ear
there's definitely more in store for her re: who she ends up allying with in messmer's war, where she ends up by the time sote actually takes place, but this is all up for plots!!
fia 𑁭͡❀ vanilla oh heart of ice and mind of gold, what am I to do with you? you are only good in small amounts, bittersweet fledgling, you are hard for most to swallow. your spirit is strong, your wit is potent, your biting essence drives even the most daring away. but why are you hiding your sweetness? I know within you, you are soft, but humanity has made you bitter. you mask your pain and sorrow with spite and sensibility. you say you do not care about trivial things, but don't you? sweetheart relax. you can let down your drawbridge, the waters are not poisoned. I know you have looked monsters in between the eyes and scoffed at them, but please, relax. you think your armor protects you but it is smothering you slowly. little owlet, when will you learn, words can only get you so far? feelings are what makes this world pulse. do not suppress your feelings. your heart can still thaw my dear. trust.
lanya 𑁭͡❀ mint oh spry little dryad, spinning sprite, you drift through life as light as lion down. you are the chimes of churchbells and the laughter of faeries. gossamer and spidersilk shine from your ribs. life is fleeting, you more than anyone should know that. something we love today may never see tomorrow's sun. you pride yourself on skipping through moments, soft and merry. but you do not let your soul be tethered. is it for freedom or fear, sweetheart, that you do not let yourself be tamed? you are as fresh as and wild as bluebirds in snow, you smile at your problems before dashing away. hoping they will never catch up to you. but even nike can't run forever. you have been hurt before. but that is life. you wish to never feel that way again, but regretfully I must tell you that is nothing short of impossible. life is but part sorrow part sun, you cannot have teacups until they are burned by the kiln. oh I see the scars child, they shimmer down your chest, I see the pain in your eyes. but I also see the stardust. keep smiling, but allow tears also. you do not have to be solely wonder, fear, you are allowed to be bitter. so bite, and scream, and laugh, and love. that is what makes life worth living.
tagged by : @frenzie THANK YOU !! KISSES
tagging : @luckyberet , @vicarlunares , @wishcast , @attckdog , @woevrns , @nikushiimi , @echosdeath , @flameskewer + who else wants to do this !
Elysium dreams beckon all into slumber's dominion —— petals they were, latched onto the lulling breeze into a cascade tumbling down over dew-blessed soil. Many stray here for an ounce of fleeting comfort ; a rest so enticing, yet an indulgence which steeps heavy into their marrow lures them to succumb to sleep eternal.
St. Trina ( greedy as she is ever observing ) plucks her dainty hands from the pursuit of free will, instead watching those unfortunate battle the weight of their troubles against the fervor of their spirit. Many prevail, yet plenty wilt && perish tragically all the same.
" You may, " the goddess had said, cupping her loving hands around seemly Alburnauric cheeks, tugging the habit back modest, " but —— the world might beckon you home. Are you prepared to leave it all, my dear? " It was fruitless to ask, for the answer is almost always the same, but St. Trina deigns to ask it as her favor has swelled for this one over time and secretly does she wish her champion to persist.
the question pushes deeper into her chest than any blade could have , finding the places she has kept carefully hidden beneath prayer , beneath her tiresome duty , beneath the name she was given and the name she buried . no plea for absolution comes through her parted lips , nor admission of the things that haunt her waking hours ... there is only the stifling tremble of one who has spent so long expecting punishment that kindness feels far more frightening .
❛ i do not think the world has ever beckoned me home , ❜ she whispers . a bitter thing to say to a saint , perhaps , cruel to place such sorrow into gentle hands . her gaze lowers to the hands cradling her face , relishing despite herself the warmth she has convinced herself she does not deserve . ❛ it has only ever sought in me what i might offer it . ❜
her fingers curl weakly , afraid to reach for such a holy presence that even now her hands might carry the same ruin they have always carried⸺they , after all , might stain this sanctuary as they have every place that once sheltered her . ❛ do you not tire of offering kindness to those who only know how to beg for it ? i cannot imagine i am the first wretched soul to arrive at your feet asking for a miracle . ❜
there’s a moment where she is sure her eyes are deceiving her. that the darkness is playing tricks on her sight - blinking heavily in an attempt to clear away anything obscuring her. when nothing changes, she curses her traitorous limbs for bringing her out here. away from the safety of civilization and into the dark, dank woods.
hopeful that she can disappear without disturbing the other, who’s back is still (thankfully) turned to her. as she moves to leave, her foot catches on dead leaves beneath her - rustling them with a slight crunching sound. the stranger faces her head on after that and she is even more confused by her attire - what is nun doing in the woods covered in gore? “are you hurt?” it is obvious to her her that she is not, but she still asks as a way to skirt the obvious.
lips part , though nothing comes for a beat . her gaze drifts briefly to the blood drying over her fingers , then back to the woman standing among the pines . odd , as there is no accusation to be discerned in her face⸺only mild but baffling concern . the unfamiliar kindness , if it is even that , leaves the undertaker grasping for something normal to say . ❛ ... no . ❜ she answers , her worn voice scarcely above a whisper . ❛ i ... maybe a little . ❜ her hands instinctively fold into the sleeves of her habit , hiding what little they can , though she knows her pathetic state easily undoes the effort . ❛ why would you come this far into the woods ? it's not safe out here ... child . not this late . ❜
the nun takes a hesitant step backwards , as though distance alone might spare them both . ❛ there are terrible people in these woods . i would hate for you to meet one . ❜ irony sinks heavy in her chest . if the woman had stumbled upon her only moments sooner , before she'd managed to compose herself , perhaps she already had .
speech is a lesser thing, too small for what coils through the dream and grinds its grief into every root that dares grow near the prince. lightning crawls along fortissax's scales in slow, branching veins, red at its heart and pale at its dying edges. it slips between the ridges of his wings. it gathers where claw meets earth. each pulse illuminates the deeproot depths for a single violent breath, revealing wet bark, blackened stone, and the vast, ruined body beneath his keeping.
cold and slick, difficult to grasp, the prince lies at his side, reaching for the warmth that blazes within fortissax. the dream presses against him from every side as well. it knows him too well. no shadow falls without carrying some echo of gold. sometimes the dark opens for half a heartbeat and shows him what the world used to witness instead of what lies before him: godwyn crowned in living radiance, godwyn laughing beneath an open sky, godwyn reaching towards him with a hand untouched by death. so ever-bright.
really, the dream has become cruel and fiadh's words move through the charged air. they find each sore place without haste. she speaks of the prince's future as though it waits beyond the storm and of fortissax's grief as though grief alone knots him here.
his head lowers by degrees, bringing his skull nearer to her level without diminishing his colossal presence, filling the whole of her sight. horns rise behind him like the broken spires of some blasphemous cathedral. his breath leaves him slowly, hot and faintly sulphurous, disturbing the damp chill that gathers close to the prince. ❝ then thou knowest love is no ornament set aside when its vigil groweth inconvenient. ❞
he remembers another sky. he remembers the golden order before its splendour turns brittle with contradiction. he remembers a prince who does not look upon the dragons as relics fit only for conquest, but as beings whose strength may stand beside his own. kinship begins there, strange and difficult, forged from battle and reverence and the terrible tenderness of being seen clearly. fortissax stands at godwyn’s side in life. he does not abandon him, merely because some tarnished crawls forth from nothingness to lay claim to a thing whose weight and consequence their meagre mind could never hope to fathom. yet even a wretched ant may serve to keep a dying order in motion. his gaze fixes on fiadh, bright and narrow within the ruined grandeur of his face.
the prince is partly sheltered beneath the curve of his body, not held as property, but as the last promise fortissax knows how to keep. until his proper death. ❝ ere the chaos thou hast foreseen falls upon us, i would ask thee this: what right either of us possesseth to make a future from his silence? without his knowing. ❞ the storm gathers close around him. every pulse of red light reveals the terrible shelter of his folded wings and the ancient creature who has long since ceased to know whether he protects a choice or merely delays a wish. his head inclines by a fraction. ❝ when mercy demandeth that one faithful hand release what another would carry onward, by whose judgement shall the blade descend? dost thou not already deem thyself the rightful hand? ❞
❛ no , i do not . ❜ her words are fragile but no less truthful , slipping through the cracks of the storm with enough strength to be heard . ❛ i cannot deem myself rightful in anything so crude as a hand that holds dominion over another's end . ❜ fortissax's lowered head fills space between them , his face close enough now that she senses in him a creature held together by what it remembers rather than what it is . she does not look away , how could she ? in him she beholds yet another who lives in death , though none can bear its burden more faithfully . ❛ is that even a possibility , when all he has now is a fate with no author , a legacy uncarried ? his only voice , echoing through the soundless mouths of those who live in death . ❜
because of you . she cannot pretend her laments do not find their truest mark within the dragon himself , though she takes no pleasure in placing them there . to salt a wound left unhealed is no victory of hers … still , conviction asks of her what kindness cannot : that she leave the truth untouched , even when it passes through an unmoving lichdragon's sorry heart .
❛ there is , as i believe , no shame in death . ❜ she continues , and knows not of what comes over her next : her hand rising and making its slow , devastating journey to rest against the roughness of fortissax's cheek . ❛ the world has already made too much of a prison out of it . your devotion only binds him more effectively than any blade or judgment ever could . ❜
feeling the breeze of his exhale , the raised scales beneath her moving thumb , she allows herself to marvel at the detail with which the death - prince's soulless body has chosen to commemorate such a vast and terrifying beast . she wonders , almost without meaning to , what there is to be learned of what once existed between them .
she accepts , with sadness , that this is a kind of love she will only ever come to know in dreams .
fia can only stand within her absence of grief as he does in the abundance of his own⸺their mirrored selfishness a self-devouring serpent of continuity . within it , she finds herself considering not what he has lost , but what proximity to loss must have done to the way he once experienced living itself . ❛ do you think your actions will let fate cast you a different die ? ❜ she says at last , voice low against the storm's hum , ❛ set him free , or keep him still⸺will you even remember him any differently at all ? ❜
the reconstruction work around castle town had begun to take on an uneasy rhythm , scaffolding layered over half-restored stone in a way that suggested an imminent collapse ... depending on who is looking at it . sellen moves through it without ceremony , pausing too long at joints where zonai supports meet hylian masonry , her attention always drifting toward the points where old and new hyrule coalesce .
if she looks inward , she can find them just as easily .
when the structure gives way it does so with a sharp , decisive sound ; dust rising in a useless cloud as bodies shift instinctively backward and the princess⸻zelda⸻already too close , catches the worst of it against her forearm . somewhere at the back of that instinct there is the familiar habit of wondering where link was at moments like these , a question that formed with the ease of recollection from her years of residence in the castle before she allowed it to dissolve just as quickly ; it was not her place to assume zelda required a shadow , and less still to imply she was ever in need of rescue .
sellen is at @woevrns' side almost immediately , bowing her big head with a steadiness that belongs more to the clinic than the field , already drawing clean cloth and salve from her inner compartments . [ patch . ]
❛ hold still , ❜ she says simply , her focus already narrowing to the abrasion itself rather than the circumstances that caused it , fingertips careful in the way they test for embedded debris before she begins to clean it away with precision . thanks to zelda's support of purah's refinements to zonai-construct interfacing, sellen's current form has been rebuilt with more articulated joints . she does not remark on it , though the improvement makes itself evident in her hands , the ease with which she cleans and binds the wound , as if the body has finally caught up to what her work requires of it .
only once the bandage is secured does she pause , cloth still in hand , her attention lifting briefly from the injury , focus softening by a fraction . ❛ are you otherwise intact ? ❜ your highness , at the tip of her tongue . after so long , it's still hard for sellen to stamp it down .
completely revamped my pinned (i edited it instead of posting a new one bc i'm Shy about putting it back on the dash)
completely revamped my carrd, it should be mobile friendly too but i haven't been able to test it on a variety of phones
updated my rules page (specifically re: interactions, soft boundaries on ship dynamics that i may not want to see on the dash, shipping with my muses) please feel free to reread so we're on the same page!
added a muse i'm voice testing (lanya :) the little tomboy)
added shipping guides to my individual muse pages (most importantly i added some more context to fia's silly one-sided marriage with godwyn)
all verse pages are rewritten so it's much easier to navigate, each individual verse of my muses that i use in my tagging system have descriptions now if you want some more context to where they are in our threads
au pages are now on their own pages + easier to navigate, plus soft launched an info sideblog @everd4rk that has everything on there. i have Not added clear trigger warnings yet bc i'm losing track so browse with caution
he stares at his own open and bruised palm, how it flexes stiffly in quiet contemplation. he considers also how the incantations he’s memorised and learned off of corpses through his life roll through him much more quickly than the glintstone sorcery that continues to evade him. in truth, he has grown up thinking of such sorcery as a distant myth; it belonged to nobles and scholars and the wealthy sort of aristocrats that bandits & mercenaries alike whispered about. to see glintstone sorcery up close for the lowlives of leyndell was considered something of a spectacular privilege. however, long before he would ever stumble upon the carian manor or see the wonders of loretta’s bow, or witness the stream of stars resuming their freefall from the high skies, there was sellen, his dear tutor.
❛ i’m merely charmed by your underground prison. ❜ cheek! it was perhaps why he’d been impressively unsuccessful in acquiring a tutor. at her unmoving silence & statuesque coolness, he looks over at her at last, from where he stands with his palm open. it was rather simple and uncomplicated, he thought, this truth she asked for. ❛ if you must know— i’ve never had a tutor before. or none too willing to see such worth in me. ❜ he said it without pity or a lack of pride though, as if it was a folly of others to come to this conclusion; but sellen, despite the wealth of evidence to suggest he was a hopeless cause in glintstone sorcery, hadn’t turned him away. ❛ hmm... true, but none i’d bother with calling a friend too. they can keep their chalk and academy hats, sellen; we can make it work right here. ❜
what did it matter, that they had no table to their name nor a myriad of libraries? he thought, he had always been rugged that way, always learning with makeshift miracles. her wisdom and instruction, far from poor, was both stern & patient. it was virtually impossible to read what expression she might be wearing, or gather any indication of her true thoughts. yet he tried regardless in his assessment of her distant posture, standing up straighter to speak. ❛ what are you truly thinking? this sorcery can evade me only so long. let me try again. ❜
his jest earns no smile , though her gaze almost imperceptibly softens before discipline smooths it away again . friend . the word hangs strangely in the air within the cellar , ill - fitting amongst crystal dust and damp stone . under her breath : ❛ a dangerous criterion by which to select one's instructor , but i shan't repeat myself ... ❜
the sorceress stares upon the bruised hand he offers so readily to failure , reaching towards it before clasping it in her own , and finally turning his palm to the sky as though its answer might yet reveal itself beneath the skin . she has seen glintstone bloom in prodigies , in fools , in frightened children scarcely old enough to understand its chemistry . never has she seen it remain so obstinately still before a will as unwavering as his .
she wishes it was as easily dismissed as poor technique . ❛ you mistake my concern . it is not your resolve i question . if determination alone governed sorcery , there would be no distinction between scholar and soldier . ❜ the irony escapes her . were it truly separate , liurnia would not be tearing itself apart above their heads . she herself had once entrusted her work to the knights of the cuckoo , only to discover that military patronage offers no sanctuary once political loyalties begin to shift .
she takes a measured pause upon relinquishing kenneth's hand . ❛ glintstone , my dear , is not merely a conduit for sorcery . it is evidence that thought , matter , and the stars were never truly separate . there are minds to which its current clings as though it were merely returning to its point of origin … ❜ she stoops to retrieve a fragment of glintstone from her workbench , setting it carefully into his waiting palm . ❛ your flesh is transient . your mind is transient . but beneath both lies the same stellar substance from which glintstone was born . ❜
in a moment , she meets his eyes . he will make a fine sorcerer , she is sure of it . talent neglected is no less talent for having been overlooked . ❛ set aside the desire to triumph , and the fear of humiliation . both are indulgences of the ego . what remains within you , once they are gone ? ❜
