starsasunder

STARSASUNDER is an independent & private dual-muse roleplay blog featuring an original warrior of light & their Azem from Final Fantasy XIV, as foretold by VESPER.

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|| mun, dossiers, rules, headcanons, verses, prompts

“Hello, beloved. Did you miss me~?”

An almost absentminded ear flick picks up the sound of his approach before he arrives, but it doesn't register in her conscious mind. She is focused, and beyond that, she is in their home, where she is safe and surrounded by layers of enchantments and shields. Her mind assumes it is one of their children, if anything. Not her long-absent husband. away for some time on business.

But she knows that scent, and she certainly knows that voice.

She relaxes into his embrace almost immediately, savoring the way his lips press to her ear as he speaks. She has missed him terribly, of course. Good luck getting her to admit it.

nighttime ; prompts & sentence starters. // accepting.

The stars overhead spin in an ever-repeating dance, their paths mapped and known, yet still holding such mystery for those who dwell below. It is a pristine night; the snow-swept plains of Garlemald are eerily empty. If one wanted the solace of their own company, this place was as good as any to find it.

Except that she now had additional, unexpected company. The rasping sound of his voice interrupts the serenity of an otherwise silent snow-cloaked night. An irritated flick of a pointed feline ear is, at first, the only reply Estinien gets.

'Of course it's Estinien. No one else would bother climbing up here.'

She has claimed the top of a radio tower far from Camp Broken Glass as her chosen spot for stargazing, though the notebook in her lap remains markedly empty.

PROMPTS FROMTHE HUNGER GAMES: MOCKINGJAY // accepting.

There's a pause as Astraea looks up from the cup of coffee she'd been nursing, silver gaze looking askance as she searched for what he was referring to. Her office, oft-empty, made for a good meeting place when one wanted to be uninterrupted. After all, few bothered to stop by when its occupant could so rarely be found there.

"Oh, that?" She finally found the object of his attention, stashed away between a mish-mash of other trinkets that adorned the shelves. Inside a dusty frame, an essay for a 'Phantomology 101' class had been carefully framed. In bold lettering across the top, a large '97' was circled in red ink. Framed alongside it was a page filled with handwritten notes - both in her own handwriting, and his.