#lordalbion

[koffiehuis-love]

lordalbion heeft gereageerd op je bericht: Sigurd, We gotta get our respective guys to learn...

“Terrible, terrible idea. I object.”

“ It only seems fair. I got to look at you, you got to look at Emilio and Sigurd should get to look at me.”

[cafe-de-spain-blog]

@lordalbion | [[I'm on mobile so I can't link back to the ask but I wanted to reply anyway so sorryyyy]] One eye slips partially open, glaring up at the man before him before sliding shut. "Shhhh!" He hisses, "I'm not here so go away." You don't own shit

[musikleiter-blog]

@lordalbion

This was… entirely unexpected, and surely a mistake? He’d even let out a bit of a gasp once he opened the attachment, though his eyes did linger a little longer than he’d like to admit. Arthur turned his phone horizontally in order to enlarge the image, tilting his head to the side.

“Good God,” he muttered, his face taking on a rosy hue. A part of him wanted to send no reply at all, and perhaps save the poor sod the humiliation he was sure to experience once he realised he’d obviously sent this to the wrong person, but he also felt obliged to make it known.

[ text: Austria ] I shall discard this.

[ text: Austria ] Though that’s not to say it isn’t fetching.

Roderich wasn’t the sort to send out such photos often, but when he did, they were just as artistic as he was. He wouldn’t dare settle for something sub par, after all. Though it was a miracle that he’d even gotten the courage to take the photo in the first place, and yet another miracle that he’d managed to figure out how to send a photo at all.

Of course, that was where his miracles ran out.

Hearing his phone go off, he quickly opened it, but his mix of anticipation and nerves was quickly replaced by confusion.

[text] I beg your pardon?

He glanced at the conversation ID, and then immediately blushed, becoming more flustered than he already was from just taking the photo.

[text] Oh my god i am so sorry

[text] Yes, please, discard it

[text] Thank you

[text] For discarding it, I mean

[pohjantahdenalla]

lordalbion replied to your post “Some contact names on Tino’s phone”

// Raspberry Worm? Tino thinks he's a parasite? xD I love the capitals.

//It’s a reference to his eyebrows. xD Rather indirect but a reference anyway. Because meter worms are often found in raspberry bushes. Of course I had to add the capitals too, I had a lot of fun thinking up contact names for them too. Next time I should add special ringtones too.

[konigsberggg]

“What’s done cannot be undone.”

“If you’re sore about me bombing the shit out of London, get over it. That was like, fifty fucking years ago,” Gilbert grumbled. “I don’t care if you don’t want a unified Germany, it’s going to happen whether you like it or not. It happened before, it will happen again. You and your Iron Lady wont stop it, I have America backing me and so I will win.” It was 1989, and Gilbert was not going to back down. He wanted a unified Germany again, and Gilbert was willing to fight tooth and nail for it to happen- for the better of Germany, and Gilbert thought that if anyone had a problem with that they could kiss his ass. 

[koffiehuis-love]

lordalbion heeft gereageerd op je bericht: Women’s Eurocup, Scotland vs England. England is...

“There’s little point, Jan. Scotland shall always be destined to lose when it comes to anything involving me.”

“Heh, poor guy though. They fought so hard too.”

[aquarellecoeur]

@lordalbion from here. 

“I never implied anything of the sort. Not a liar, but indeed dishonest,” Francis replied, leaning against the doorframe of whichever room Arthur was sitting in. In his arms he held a large mixing bowl, half full of something soft and fluffy - egg whites and sugar, whipped to perfection, ready to rest. “However, I don’t see how you can sit there and tell me you’re an honest man when we agreed to bake this together and you are stuck on your behind sipping tea.” 

[musikleiter-blog]

the bards shall sing for you ; fantasy au

@lordalbion

People would often approach Roderich with compliments and praise and tell him how he would be remembered throughout history, for his songs will surely be sung for generations to come. And perhaps he would be remembered, but Roderich, in response, would often smile and say simply that he does not wish to be remembered, for he wrote his songs not so people would remember him, but the stories of the heroes he told.

Roderich thought that surely, the heroes he sung tales of had a much greater reputation than he ever could. They fought ferocious beasts, saved lives, displayed immense amounts of courage, and Roderich, well, he was only a bard, and a bard did little but sing.

No, Roderich was fine with only his music surviving, and not his name, for in the end, that was why he did this, why he worked so hard to write beautiful ballads that would do the great heroes of legend justice and help the new heroes be remembered throughout time. If even just his music was remembered, then a piece of him lived on, even if no one could remember just who had woven these tales of heroic deeds and adventures that most people only dreamed of.

Roderich was immensely proud of his work, of course. His grand reputation as a musician only served to motivate him to write better music, more accurate paintings of the lives of heroes in the making. This desire to create better music had lead him to search out one of the greatest heroes of the time; Arthur Kirkland. A knight of high standing, many songs had already been written of this man’s great deeds and adventures. Roderich himself often sung these songs, as they were quite popular. But something had always weighed on his mind. While he didn’t doubt that the knight truly had done legendary things, it seemed details of him varied. It was hard to place just what had happened, and so, it was hard to write songs about him. And Roderich, ever the perfectionist, knew he had to meet the man himself if he wished to write the best song about him.

His search had brought him to a tavern in a small seaside town, a place he didn’t often visit; Roderich had never been fond of the ocean. A man matching the description of the modern hero sat at the tavern’s bar, somehow avoiding the looks and stares one might expect a hero to receive. After watching for several minutes to confirm that this was in fact the man Roderich was looking for, he approached, gently tapping the stranger’s arm.

“I apologize for interrupting sir, but, I have to ask. Might you be Arthur Kirkland?”