when the sun sets we're all the same

Multimuse blog. Selective for the sake of mental health. Mun is 21+ | Muses depend on verse. Fandoms: House of the Dragon rp, Lord of the Rings rp, Supernatural rp, Vampire Diaries rp, Stranger Things rp, etc. Middle Earth RP Masterlist

[storiesofthenight]

a selective & independent rp blog with a collection of multiple muses from various fandoms amongst which house of the dragon, stranger things, supernatural and lord of the rings. sensitive themes may be present and explored due to the nature of the fandoms and muses

loved by Kim, 30+ (GMT +1)

mains: @rebelliousfamily , @indyflanery , @noctiium , @wcrriorhearts , @stolenfates , @xx--ofmanythoughts--xx , @storytellerwheeler , @nctamonster, @eldestwhccler

info: [carrd] [promo] [AUs] [mains]

interactions: [memes] [opens] [starter calls]

[Writing sample in form of an open starter]

[c]

[storiesofthenight]

I've always had to deal with Japansse summer heat and humidity when I came because my workschedule doesn't allow long holidays outside of July. However if it's 37 and feels like 47 then thats too much. Its the same for the coming few days and tbh I'm ot sure I wanna leave the room...

[storiesofthenight]

I have a google doc that I use to write replies in with tabs and all but I am going to have to reorganise it because it is chaos in there and I am currently only using one of the tabs because everything else is just random.

That said, I have queue'd 2 replies, watch me being productive in the morning and am going to prepare myself to set out for some sightseeing. I can't spend my last week in Japan in my hotelroom writing right?

[storiesofthenight]

looking up which languages in general they use in Pentos because I recall it being Valyrian but like wanting to make sure it's dialects or High Valyrian thing, and google literally saying 'if you are planning to visit the Game of Thrones universe, brush up on your Low Valyrian to communicate with the common folk'. I'm like '... ...'

[storiesofthenight]

Ok, I am going to bed, it is past midnight and I'm waking up at 7. Have some more writing done but haven't anything fully finished to post, hope to finish a reply or two or three of those that are in progress tomorrow. [Also, send memes?]

[storiesofthenight]

I like to think there is not much that unsettles Daemon, or at least not in a sense that he will have to admit it to himself, but I imagine that that scene in the last episode, it unsettled him in the hardest way possible.

[storiesofthenight]

so I write my replies in docs because it's easy and synched all over my devices, funny thing is that it's always going on wanting to suggest corrections to my spoken word parts because of how the characters speak and I'm like 'no, no I'm not changing this' xD

[brazenbaela]

She considered him for a long moment before she answered.

The meal sat between them, half-finished, and she was aware of the particular irony of it — Aemond Targaryen, who had set in motion the chain of events that had brought her to this room, this captivity, this diminished and chained version of herself, sitting across from her now and asking her about weakness as though she were someone he might trust with the answer. As though the walls between them had not been built from specific and irreversible things.

And yet.

She thought of her father. Of the armour he wore so completely that most people never questioned whether it was armour at all. She thought of what it had cost him, quietly, over the years — what it still cost him, in the spaces between his certainty where she alone had sometimes been permitted to look.

She thought of herself.

❛ I am not certain, ❜ she said at last. Quietly and without the accomplishment of certainty she might have offered someone else. ❛ I have never been certain of it.❜

She looked at her hands briefly. The chains were a fact she had stopped registering in the way of things one simply learned to carry.

❛ But I think — ❜ she began, and stopped, and began again, more carefully. ❛ I think the burying is where the weakness lives. Not the feeling itself. The burying of it. What it requires of you, to keep it down. What it takes from everything else. ❜

She did not look at him directly when she said it. Gave him that, at least — the same courtesy he had given her, the ability to receive something without having to be seen receiving it. ❛ It is exhausting, ❜ she said simply. ❛ In my experience. The keeping of things buried. ❜

The silence settled around them again, the particular silence of this room, of this strange and impossible conversation that neither of them had intended and neither of them, she suspected, quite knew how to stop.

She thought, briefly and without meaning to, of Lucerys. Of what he had looked like as a boy. Of the fact that the man sitting across from her carried that too, whether he permitted himself to feel it or not, turning it over and over in the dark the way he had described — unable to escape it.

She did not say any of that.

Some things were true and also not hers to say.

❛ You asked me how I can be certain, ❜ she said instead, after a moment. ❛ I told you I am not. But I will tell you what I do know. ❜

She looked at him then. Directly. Just briefly, as he had looked at her.

❛ Whatever this is — ❜ a gesture, slight, that encompassed the room and the conversation and the strange territory they had somehow wandered into together, ❛ — it has not brought me trouble tonight. ❜ At the very least, she could offer that truth.

[storiesofthenight]

At his own question, he had not known what her answer would be. Aemond had to admit to himself that he didn’t actually know the person sitting before him for they had not really spoken in years. Even without the war, the animosity between the two sides of the family would have kept them apart, especially after he had claimed Vhagar. There had been no chances to speak, or to know each other, though he had never thought of it, or even rued it up until perhaps this moment. 

Her admitting she was not certain however, despite being unable to predict it, did not come as a surprise. Who was ever truly certain of anything in life? Nothing was ever clear or certain and predictable. But then again words followed that made him still. The burying is where the weakness lives. It is exhausting.

Oh it was indeed exhausting. Every waking day, he would rise from his bed and pretend that he felt nothing, that the deaths by his hands were but a speck of dust on the shelves that were his memories. But he remembered every single one of them. Every scream, every look of terror, every whispered prayer for life. It was not only exhausting, it tore at him. At the gentle child he had once been, eager to learn and grow, unaware of the horrors that lay before him. That child lay hidden within now, behind walls and doors bolted with steel bars simply because it was the safest way.

“Be as it might, I have no choice. No good would come from letting things free.” There was a frown on his brow as he thought over the words. Even as a child, he had not been accepted for being the way he was, so why would there be a change now? It was a time of war, and he was supposed to be the dread of the enemies. The one they feared most. Him and Vhagar, the beautiful and dreadful beast that she was. And while she made him feel powerful, for it was impossible not to feel it when such an old and giant dragon listened when told to burn the things before him, in the end … even now, he was still terrified.

Whatever this is, it has not brought me trouble tonight.

The words drew him back to reality. To the truth that they were not there as friends or even old acquaintances, but as prisoner and captor. He tilted his head and turned to look at her slowly. “Whatever this is, it has never happened.” He spoke, the walls she had broken through coming back up quickly and as solid as they had been before his thoughts had broken the silence earlier. His posture shifting, the tone in his voice still soft but firmer than before. “You’d do best to finish your meal so I can return to my duties.” He had already been here too long, if he remained much longer people would start asking questions.

[storiesofthenight]

[storiesofthenight]

Modern Aemond's first tattoo is of a dragon he designed himself (guess who she looks like) that he's got on his ribs. At that moment he's already left home, which he did in his second to last year of secondary school after an argument with Alicent.

[storiesofthenight]

✶  ︵  *dash  game:  knowing  your  writing  partner  can  potentially  make  writing  together  a  lot  easier!

the basics

name: Kim

pronouns: Any are good

sexuality: biromantic / asexual

three facts

Neurospicy & insecure over the stupidest things

I can get around in 6 languages: Dutch, French, German, Spanish, Japanese and guess what, English.

Music helps me write, it helps me with 99% of my life tbh

roleplay experience

how long: officially, the records state that I started rp'ing at 13 which means 20 years ago, on tumblr for at least around 15 but can't remember exactly when I first got here and can't check the archive because I've changed blogs a few times in these years.

platforms you've used: tumblr, livejournal, forums, chatprograms such as Line, AIM, MSN (omg those were the days), email, Kik, Wire, online chatrooms, and I actually started on paper ... that makes me sound old but I guess I am ...

best experience: Honestly, making friends here has always been the best experience, had a few romances through here too and while they didn't all end up well, some have turned into friendships for life in a sense.

muse preferences

female or male: both, though I tend to lean towards male muses.

fluff, angst, smut: I prefer angst and fluff and especially if one leads to the other. Smut, I used to write that once upon a time, y'know when the animals still talked and all, but I've become too self-conscious about it since and tbh my muses are difficult when it comes to nsfw stuff anyways.

plots or memes: both, I love plotting but sometimes memes takes us places that we never imagined possible so ... and it's a fun icebreaker too.

long or short replies: both, though I don't really do oneliners except for like oneliner starter calls. I like to at least give the person I'm writing with something to work with, and tend to use the 'yes and' system, so I will often write the reaction that my muse has and then add things to it to keep things going.

best time to write: usually in the evening, though I have been known to sometimes get ideas at work or during the day and then I try to note them down somewhere.

are you like your muse(s): yes and no, I have many muses and they are all different. But people who know me will notice I have a tendency to certain types of muses, is it because they are like me, I don't know, I think it is often because they have bits in them that I wish I could be like, though obviously they are also often very flawed in some aspects. I do not have the urge to set the world on fire for instance. Often however, my muses have a certain ache in their hearts, and that is something I can relate with, so in that aspect perhaps yes ...

TAGGED BY @therapardalis

TAGGING: @brazenbaela, @sparedson, @jacaeryse, whoever else wants to do this, feel free to steal and tag me. Just tagged a few people that I've recently spoken to and that I don't think I've tagged in things like this before ....

[storiesofthenight]

Hungry but don't wanna leave the hotel room so help...

[brazenbaela]

She did not move when he said it.

That was the first and most important thing she gave him — stillness, and the particular quality of her attention that meant she had heard every word and was not going to pretend otherwise, was not going to look away or offer him the mercy of her distraction. He had said a true thing, perhaps without meaning to, perhaps without quite knowing how true it was until it was already in the air between them. And she was not the sort of person who let true things pass unwitnessed.

She looked at him for a long moment.

Aemond Targaryen, who had killed — she did not let herself finish that particular inventory, not here, not now, because the arithmetic of their losses was not a thing she could do in this room tonight without it becoming something neither of them would recover from. She looked at him instead as simply what he was in this moment — a person sitting across from her in the particular exhaustion of someone who had been carrying something very heavy for a very long time and had, perhaps without meaning to, set it down just slightly. Just enough.

She understood that, in the complicated and unwilling way she understood most things about him.

❛ No, ❜ she said quietly, at last. ❛ I don't imagine they would. ❜

Not unkindly. Not with the edge she kept for him in other moments, the sharpness she had learned to wear around him the way she wore armour — because what purpose would it serve now, here, with him looking away from her as though he had not quite said what he had just said.

She was quiet for a moment longer.

❛ I have turned things over too, ❜ she said. And this was not a gift she gave him easily, was not the kind of thing she said to people she had not chosen carefully — but there was something in the particular honesty of what he had offered. However, accidentally, that seemed to require honesty in return. The way her father's blood moved in her, perhaps. The refusal to be less than equal in whatever room she found herself in. ❛ Things I cannot escape either. That I suspect I will be turning over until there is nothing of me left to do the turning. ❜

Her eyes stayed on his profile.

❛ It does not make you weak, ❜ she said finally, simply. Perhaps it was because she was tired. Or perhaps it was because of the wine. But here she sat speaking to someone she never saw herself quite speaking to in this strangely non-combative manner, given their histories. Here they both sat, utterly different in their motivations — yet somehow sharing an understanding in this peculiar reprieve from whatever animosity existed between them. And in the tone she reserved for things she meant entirely and without qualification.

❛ The turning over. I know that is not what you were asking. But I find myself saying it regardless. ❜

[storiesofthenight]

In all honesty, when he had offered to bring Baela’s meal to her, he had not had the intention to speak to her. He had simply wanted a moment away from everything he was used to. From the people who would say the same things day in day out, praise his skill with the sword, or how he and Vhagar had handled some thing at some place, or … from the people who did the opposite and would berate him for his temper that would sometimes take over. But he was of the blood of the dragon, the fire was in him and sometimes there was just no holding it back.

He’d sat down to wait and make sure she ate, after all what good would a starved prisoner do, with every intention to just do that. Wait. But waiting and silence lead to his mind wandering and where else could it wander than the enemy in this matter? The Blacks, the war … the war he had started. The kill he had made that had changed everything more than it had already been changed.

I don’t imagine they would.

Her words struck him, catching him off guard and making him realise that he really had been speaking out loud, voicing emotions that he usually kept buried deep within. It was easiest that way, to keep them far from the light of day where people would only judge him if they knew. Nonetheless, he did not react to her words, his eye still fixed on something unimportant in the distance in the room. That way, in a sense, he could pretend none of the words had been said, but she did not let him linger in that pretense and smashed the wall that had already begun to reform with her words. 

I have turned things over too.

There were things she regretted, that was clear from her words, from the atmosphere that seemed to wash from them. Things she would turn over until there was nothing of her left to do the turning. He too felt those things would not leave his mind until he was no more than dust in the wind. 

His eye had closed by the time she said it didn’t make him weak. Unsettled by the similarities in their minds even though they were most likely over different matters. For him, it was his first kill that would haunt him forever. It had been unintentional and had left him sick in his chambers that night until someone, he had no clear recollection of who, had picked him off the floor and washed, clothed him and brought him to bed. 

He did not believe that it did not make him weak however, after all it had left him vulnerable and he could not allow that. Not in this family, not in this city with these people. So he had made the walls higher, stronger … so why was she, Baela, the one to break through them? Perhaps it was because they had once, as kids, known each other before the war had begun, before everything had begun to change. Or was it because of what she had said? For once, someone hearing his words and seeming to read the meaning behind them? And even more so, relating to it. His family did not do that, they only saw him as the cold and stoic prince he had built for them to see.

“How can you be certain that it is not weakness?” He spoke eventually, glancing at her so briefly as if he worried she would see right through him if he gave her a long enough look. “If it brings only trouble and conflict, is it not best just put aside? Buried and never seen again?” But it had been seen, … and once seen, could he ever truly bury it again? “Those things never bring anything good with them.” Was he a fool for continuing this conversation? Perhaps, ... but truth be told, it was the most honest conversation he had had in ages, even despite how few words had been spoken so far.

[storiesofthenight]

@brazenbaela asked: 🎼 / for your muse of choice ^^ [X]

Aemond was not one to speak his emotions, he had hardly ever done so as a child out of fear to be ridiculed, which was a frequency in a sense. And the last person he had ever expected to speak of feelings to was Baela. Why he did it, he did not know. Maybe he had had too much wine, or maybe he was delirious. But the words had slipped from his lips without thinking. “I don’t want them to know the secrets.” The secrets in his heart, the regrets and the suffering that he had always hidden behind walls of a cold demeanor. “I don’t think they’d understand … I don’t think they would accept me.” He frowned and sighed, looking away which almost made it seem that he had not even really been looking in the first place, his mind occupied with the things he kept going over and over on like he had so many times before. Softer even than before, a last few words before he falls silent entirely. “I turn it over, but I can’t escape.”

[storiesofthenight]

I am still working on a few starters. But those will be for later. Gonna do replies and random things now.

[kikismemes]

𝓛𝔂𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓼 — send 🎼 for a starter based on the lyrics of the song I am listening to.

[storiesofthenight]

Muses I'm going to archive: Percy, Eric, Annorîn, Dúathrîn, Karen, Lea, Conrad