the moon will sing @star-scry - Tumblr Blog

by solar. multi-muse. private. theconqueringhq.

#pinned.#tc.intro

notalicent

SILVERWING — 2.07 | "The Red Sowing"

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exitmybody

instead of a brain there is a mini haunted house in my head

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dwgif

Doctor Who The Lodger | 5.11

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sentrysvoid

10 Things I Hate About You dir. Gil Junger | 1999

#ed.& gyles tyrell

namtan

FORBIDDEN FRUITS 2026 | dir. Meredith Alloway

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kosmogrl

what doesn’t kill me leaves a pit in my stomach that never goes away

seeing wildflowers and birds and critters and sunsets really can keep you going

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allsadnshit

"Growing Around Grief"

Lois Tonkin, 1996

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gildedheirs

His heart was cut from stone, no one word or jab could get to him - not in public. Or so, that is what Gyles would repeat to himself. This was a moment of peace in the festivities, even as he looked at the sunset from above. His breath settles as his face remains sharp. Even he could get used to this, and he knew he might have to if all blessings were given.

A voice that is not his sister’s is suddenly too close for comfort against his ear. His fingers clasp the balcony’s edge, destined to leave marks. His turn is sharp, but uncalculated - he turns around too much, eyes searching for its prey who was already to his side, clutching an offered goblet.

He says nothing, only glaring at Emeric. If this is a compliment, he refuses to take it. In his mind, he is the one in control. In his mind, he takes the goblet and pours its contents over Emeric’s head, staining him. In his mind, Emeric cowers away in fear, never to be seen around Gyles again.

But this isn’t happening inside his mind. He was still in Lemonwood: breathing, thinking, vehemently hating.

“Your theories are more intriguing than the reality.” His voice is lilted, a strange dichotomy between his former actions. Yet, he takes the offering, pulling it closer to him, inspecting the contents which are dark like blood.

The mental image of Emeric covered in its contents, still with that dimpled smile turning blood red sparks in his mind. He can feel his jaw twitch against his will. “You do not seem like the raspberry type.” Those are the words he ends up saying? Well, perhaps it was better than letting his intrusive thoughts win.

To ignore them, he brings the goblet to his lips. Its metal is cooler than the air around him, and he finds the drink tasting like its moniker. It’s overly sweet, something he preferred. He couldn’t take another lemon, so it was a welcome reprieve. It would’ve been a waste to throw it over his head, he concludes.

“It has potential,” he remarks. Yet, he still longed for the burn of firewine. “My blood runs deep in the Arbor Golds, but this is even sweeter than them.” For once, he asks a logical question, eyes looking for his betrothed's. “Do you have a sweet tooth, Lord Emeric?”

star-scry

Emeric watched Gyles over the rim of his own goblet, his gaze wandering over the other man's features. He was sure there had to be some tell hidden there, some crack in the careful mask — a flicker in those watchful eyes, some secret written in the elegant slope of his cheekbones or the stubborn jut of his mouth.

It was like trying to glimpse the bottom of a well after nightfall. Cold and dark, the still surface only giving back a pale reflection, shrouding everything else beneath it in mystery.

He could not even guess what it was about him that seemed to so thoroughly displease his betrothed. Never once had any of his former paramours, and there had been many, looked upon him with such open disdain for the crime of offering a cup of wine. Courtesy and courtly manners, he had always thought, were seldom received as an offense. Yet the tight clench of Gyles' jaw and the narrow cast of his eyes suggested that Emeric had committed some grievous slight merely by existing within his eyesight.

He knew he had done nothing to deserve it.

That, he suspected, was the real root of Gyles' irritation.

One dark brow arched, "Oh?" he said, curiosity warming his voice. "And what makes you think so? I confess you've got me curious."

It has potential. It was hardly a ringing endorsement but he might have called it at least faint praise coming from Gyles. It was, after all, the kindest thing he had yet said of anything he had offered him, and measured against all their prior encounters, such meager approval seemed almost lavish. To Emeric, it felt perilously close to victory.

"I've a fondness for sweets well enough," Emeric replied, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl, "though your lordship is right. I am not really the raspberry type. I prefer the tangier taste of the cranberries and citrus. The raspberries balance them well though — a touch of sweetness to temper the tartness."

His eyes glimmered over the rim of his cup, alight with quiet mischief and the smile that he paired with it held the faintest hint of wickedness. A private little joke that only he is in on unless Gyles should catch the double entendre in his words. If he did not…well, some seeds were best left buried until the season was right. Should Gyles mistake his words for nothing more than idle talk of fruit instead of an attempt at light flirtation and an observation of his betrothed’s disposition besides, it might be the best thing for he was not yet sure at how he might react to being called tart.

#ed.txt #ed.& gyles tyrell