#emwrcte

[ryuuna]

LMAAAOAOAOO

SELENE I'M SO SORRY FOR WHAT I'VE UNLEASHED UNTO THE WORLD

but also I'm gonna pin this to my fridge ty for this balding gift 👩‍🦲✨️

[monmuses]

robert its pissing me off

south carolina is gone

[vicarlunares]

The Inner Sanctum is alight with the mid evening sun. An array of various colors slant down into the congregation halls, enlivening the empty room with an artistic vastness from the entry double doors all the way to the pulpit. The bishop's podium is erected tall, far above the uniform striation of pews, enticing onlookers to draw their gaze towards the gilded cage crowning such revered section.

Nestled behind such immense monument lived a medium altar. The visage of the Emperor chiseled into polished marble; pristine, untouched, venerable in its detailing. He wields his fabled sword in both fists with the blade pointed down towards the Earth, hilt hugged towards his middle. Downwards His head is bowed as if in prayer, face illuminated by a row of candles bordering before Him; a pale orange glow flickering over the alabaster cast.

At the far end of this display was a pair of golden gauntlets, clasped, fingers interwoven in silent plea. The Living Saints head is bowed forward, her skin pushed into the thumbs, with her brow strained in with worry. Fervent prayer spills from parted lips, hushed into the silence of her and the crackle of candlelight:

O' Throne, guide me towards thy light. Grant me stillness of thought; grant me clarity. Return to me modest understanding — return to me vulnerable heart. I humble myself before thee in reminder of who I am and who I ought to be. Instill in me strength, conviction, purpose. Grant me passage to victory.

And every such entreaty sung with sonorous praise; a hymnal hashed together between many into an earnest song from the heart.

St. Celestine kneels in total submission before all effigies which line not only the altar table but also the sanctum walls. She beseeches the saints for painless, quick death. She asks that all her efforts never exist in vain — that all she has done and will do inspire those that precede her in this endless battle for Humanity and its prosperity.

Nearing the end of her ritual, thin sandalwood incense is plucked from the small box within the altar drawer. The ends held over flame, wicking the edges until the coating flaked away when a sudden chill rolls up her spine.

It is a hollow feeling. An empty, blacken void. It is a rift best known to her as the sundering of reality parting between material and immaterial before the shriek of eternity shouts through the rip, with it every foul obscenity that itches to rend its way into the waking world. The Saintess remains still where she knelt, discerning fact from fiction ( should this prove to be a trick of her traumatized memory or a very real && lived moment to experience ). But, she was quickly finding this was not a warning to be ignored.

An existence unwanted, masked in porcelain serving only to veil the foul suggestion beneath. St. Celestine stood on her heels now, hand over corded hilt, guarded against her late night visitor.

" Leave, " she states only once with fairness, but still stern, " you have no reason to be here. "

The world could be shattering under foot and her with it, matters not, this creature knew better than to be within the holy grounds sacred to those like the Saintess. Not that any deal has been brokered between them on boundaries, nor as St. Celestine actually bothered to curate rapport with this thing ( a man, they had said — lamentable beast, she would argue ). Whatever it may be, she did not want him here and she was of no mood to speak with him either.

Whatever he had wanted, it would not be answered by her — for that she is certain.

Closed — @emwrcte

[diabotsis]

hilbert vc: hey man look!! a lil thing just for you!! you can trust it I promise!!

"Oh, why-- Someone appears to have misplaced their Pokeball! Oh, a MASTER ball you say? Well, we can't just leave that lying around, now can we--?"

he crawls right into the box

[midokai]

     ❝     i've given it some thought,     ❞     some nonsensical argument of ideologies held within' their ever churning mind,     irrational sentiment after irrational sentiment——     always a newfound issue to bring to attention,     to mull over     &͟.     ponder.     if the abrupt cadence of their voice startles hilbert,     well,     they are sorely oblivious to it:     index finger     &͟.     thumb brought up to chin in sincere contemplation,     brows knitted     &͟.     nose scrunched where they sit 'side him.     the world is quiet,     nearly silent     &͟.     if he'd been sleeping he's surely awake now.     ❝     if i will be honest,     i think pokemon centers do more harm than they do good.     ❞     [  @emwrcte   ]     ——     (   hilbert.   )     ♡ !    

[adeptvsimperialis]

There is nothing that goes against complimenting your battle-brother and raising morale on the battlefield in the Codex Astartes, Reclusiarch, sir. With all due respect, of course.

[wandrare]

X with @emwrcte

              we  were  once  sisters,   her  chest  aches,   where  did  that  go  so  wrong?

but  that  ache  is  quick  to  subside  as  that  of  ‘Blind  Justice’  continues  on,  words  spoken  with  a  certain  edge  of  malice  that  often  laces  itself  into  Morganas  own  tone  when  prompted  upon  her  dear  kin.  it  happens,  from  time  to  time,  that  she  misses  the  thought  of  what  such  a  bond  could  have  been  if  not  snuffed  away  by  the  teachings  brought  upon  them,  alas,  differently.

❝  a  memory  of  who  you  once  were.  ❞        before  their  Aspect  mother  dug  her  claws  too  deep.  her  own  voice  does  not  waiver,  it  is  strong  and  direct,  yet  something  behind  her  words  cries  with  that  loss.    it  does  not  matter.     it  hasnt  for  a  very  long  time,  this  she  knew.  where  Kayle  was  right,  is  that  Morgana  couldnt  care  for  her  now.  she  was  the  Perfected  Image  of  who  was  created.  Morgana  was  not.

her  chin  rises  in  slight,  once  similar  blue  eyes  now  marred  by  her  decisions  a  glistering  shade  different,  mirroring  that  of  which  is  cast  from  Kayle  alike.        ❝  even  if  on  my  finality,  i  will  see  that  you  learn  the  truth.  ❞        her  hand  clutches  into  a  fist  at  her  side,  an  itch  to  bring  forth  her  own  judgement  upon  the  other  right  then  and  there.    but  why  can  i  not?

               because  some  part  of  Morgana  did  still  care.

bound  wings  flutter  along  her  back,  the  only  other  sound  present  beyond  their  spoken  words  as  the  bare  of  feet  flex  along  the  healthy  world  beneath  her.  its  a  short  moment,  quiet  between  her  words,  before  attention  is  diverted  off  to  the  side  and  that  once  confident  voice  is  different.

              it  is  softer.

❝  have  you  ever  thought  that  what  Mother  had  shown  us,  taught  us,  could  be  wrong,  Kayle?  ❞

[erobret]

@emwrcte

HARVEST HAD COME TO AN END , and her wheat had been cut from the land . normally , she would have still been trapped within that village for they kept the wheat . however , her golden crop had been sold so that money could be made to help repair the stables from a previous fire that had caught from a broken oil lamp .

she knew not of where she was . the bustles were set in the corner of a dark room . she had emerged from the grain and sniffed the air . she scented the sea . . . she followed it , moving through a door quietly to emerge under the night sky . wind whipped at light brown hair . hands moved to hold her tresses in place as the gust died down only to be met with the spray of salt water .

a step was taken and she nearly lost her balance as the ground beneath her shifted . she stumbled to the railing and peered out of the vast darkness . where was she ? was she . . . on a ship ?