#erobret

chestnut hues watch the way the moonlight sprays across the still water, how it shows a perfect reflection of the real thing, which rests high and full in the clear sky, millions of stars scattered around it. there is a sense of unease within her as she sits close to the lake, opposite rune. the moon's association with earth's water was positive; it controlled the tides, and they worked hand in hand, like yin and yang. but roselle, a witch gifted the power of the moon, found herself looking over at the steep lake in fear.

one of the many ways for her to recharge when needed was something she called 'moon baths', which was essentially moon-charged water. drinking it was okay, but bathing in it was the best and most efficient way to recharge. so far, she hasn't had to recharge in water that was that deep, so far she'd been able to thread through waters and just stand to recharge. but here she was, gaze fixated upon the moon-charged lake, scared, knowing full well her feet would not touch the bottom if she tried.

brows rise as he speaks, her head lifting ever so slightly, her attention flickering to the half fae across from her. her fingers continue to toy with the moonstone resting from cord around her neck, a frown pulling at her lips. ❝ i wouldn't know either, ❞ the witch admits timidly, quite unlike her, ❝ i've spent so much of my life running from my enemies i never got the chance to even learn how to swim. ❞

@erobret | @necrodanciing asked: "I'm fine. It's just a sprain." Ankle was swollen and bruised. She'd been too careless during her foraging. There was a flush to Rosemary's cheeks as he and the dragon looked over her. She had not expected them to come crashing through the brush to get to her when she had called out with her mind. "There's no need to worry."

Of course he had come running the moment she had called for help, both him and Thorn alike were not too keen on risking losing anyone. They had lost so much already and losing Rosemary seemed.... too much. However, seeing it wasn't as serious he relaxed and he knew the dragon had done the same.

Snow had fallen thick upon Whiterun’s roofs, muting the clangour of the stone-spined city. Farkas walked beside Eivor as they returned from the plains, fur-trimmed boots breaking the ice crust, leaving two parallel trails across the white expanse. He glanced at her profile, half-lit by the weak brazier glow spilling from the gates, and saw how night seemed to gather about her shoulders like a cloak.

The hall smelled of resin and smoke. In Jorrvaskr’s quiet, he shed his armour piece by piece, laying suffering steel to rest upon the bench. She was near, already stoking the hearth, her movements purposeful.

His hands were raw from the cold, but when she brushed past him to place fresh kindling upon the fire, he thought himself warmed. He sat, pretending at weariness, though it was only the heavy, strange peace she brought that made him linger.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo’s hands move with deliberate reverence, tracing the outline of her world as if learning it anew through memory and instinct. Each object he touches is a syllable in the quiet language of her life; the soft clatter of knitting needles he lays carefully in their basket, the ledgers of the departed stacked with the precision of a chronicle keeper, the worn pages of her spelling books aligned in a way only she would know, the devices and hooks placed for the seamless navigation of her cabin.

A dagger rests last in the center of the table, the sheath bearing an emblem of the Shirai Ryu, carved by his own hand, edges precise, intention sharp. He steps back, unaware she stirs, and then the faint rustle of breath reaches him. His head tilts, eyes narrowing, and a quiet acknowledgment escapes him. “I did not realize… you were awake,” he says, voice low, carrying the weight of both apology and explanation. “I am… arranging what you have left, returning it to the way it belongs. I remember where your needles fall, the books you consult for your words, the hooks you grasp for your steps. Even the ledgers of those you honor - I cannot replace them, but I can preserve their place.”

He pauses, hands resting lightly on the sheath of the dagger, the carved emblem glinting faintly in the dim cabin light. “This… is for your protection. Not merely against the world outside these walls, but against those who would disrupt the peace you have built here. I have carved it myself, with the care of one who knows the weight of loss, and the honor of guarding what must remain safe.”

continued  from  x with  @erobret

Eris  had  always  believed  it  to  be  true;  Nesta  would  be  utterly, completely  wasted  in  the  Night  Court.  Seeing  her  now,  sitting  amongst  scattered  autumn  leaves  —  he  truly  believes  in  nothing  else  more  fiercely.  She  is  a sight  to  behold. 

He’d  seen  it;  the  way  her  family  would  look  at  her,  as  though  she  were  a  broken  thing  to  be  fixed.  But  Eris  had  only  seen  strength  in  her.  If  there  was  a  crease  between  her  brows,  a  deviant  tilt  to  her  chin,  or  even  a  bite  to  her  words . . .  he  saw  it  for  what  he  believes  it  to  be:  Unshakeable  fortitude  that  commanded  nothing  but  his  utmost  respect.

He  chooses  to  misunderstand  her  flushed  cheeks,  believing  it  to  be  because  of  him  rather  than  some  book.  How  could  he  not  indulge  in  such  thoughts?  In  the  precious  time  he’s  been  granted  to  get  to  know  her  better,  he’s  found  himself  thoroughly  captivated.  Her  unapologetic  strength  and  candor  was  the  first  that  caught  his  attention,  but  up  close  like  this  —  his  gaze  is  drawn  to  the  curve  of  her  lips,  the  way  her  eyes  remain  fierce  even  as  colour  rises  in  her  cheek.  What  a  thing  of  beauty she is,  and  damn  him  for  letting  himself  think  it. 

@erobret  Nesta  says  to  Eris:  “  you  think  you  know  me,  but  the  truth  is,  you  don’t.  ” ↳     from  ...  i  couldn't  find  it  !  is  this  unprompted  🩷

So  we’re  doing  this  now,  he  thinks  wryly.  The  deep,  soul-baring  portion  of  the  evening.

“  You’re  right, ”   Eris  says,  snapping  his  book  shut  with  a  soft  thud.  A  sigh  ghosts  past  his  lips  —  more  theatrical  than  sincere  —  as  he  slips  it  back  onto  the  shelf  slowly.  “  I  don’t  know  your  favourite  colour,  or  how  you  take  your  tea  —   ” 

“  But  I  know  the  fire  in  you.  ”  He  doesn’t  say:  the  kind  that  would  rather  burn  the  whole  world  down  than  be  extinguished,  the  kind  he  saw  in  his  mother’s  eyes  before  his  father  snuffed  it  out  with  his  cruelty.  “  Fire  knows  its  own,  Nesta,  whether  it  wants  to  or  —  ”  A  chaotic  thud  cuts  him  off  mid-sentence  before  something  slams  into  his  legs  with  enthusiastic  force.  Eris  stumbles  just  slightly,  enough  to  scowl  before  his  features  shift  into  a  mix  of  exasperation  and  reluctant  fondness  as  he  looks  down.

“Aaaah,  Juriiiii~.  Keepin’  an  eye  on  me  again,  eh?”

𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄  obscure  hair  buns  anywhere,  blackened  claws  moving  to  pinch  the  tip  of  one  and  wiggle  it  around  idly,  a  low  hum  leaving  him  a  he  leaned  down,  lips  brushing  against  her  ear  as  he  spoke.  Laughter  leaves  him,  hollow  and  unhinged  as  he  pulls  back  from  her,  hand  gripping  her  shoulder  and  playfully  shaking  her  before  he  lets  go.  “Did  my  beloved  Gwi-Ma  send  you?  Aaaah,  does  he  need  me  to  get  more  souls  for  him?  I  can  grab  a  few  more  sacrifices  if  he's  that  hungry…”

//  @erobret  |  starter.

𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐀 : a  kiss  at  the  altar. / @erobret

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒋𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒖𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓 ⸻ an ancient tradition that spans even his long lifespan . deep in the hollow earth , in a chamber where his nuclear environment does not reach , gojira and his queen hold hands before the bioluminescent waterfall , illuminated by the very light and energy that thrums within her . primordial vows are exchanged as the very nature of the land demands , and he and his love ⸻ two parts of one whole , in every lifetime that has existed ⸻ are branded with each other's mark both physically and spiritually .

his smile ⸻ reserved only ever for her ⸻ beams down at his adored wife , clawed hand carefully and gingerly brushing aside the hair from her fair neck . eternally warm lips press to her skin , moving slowly up her jaw , util finally he reaches her lips . the kiss is softer and lighter than in their other prior romantic rendezvous , more sacred , and gojira pulls back just barely , noses still brushing together as he finally feels his chest fill . with breath , with life , with mothra . ❛ my beloved , ❜ he coos , dragging the backs of his fingers along her cheek . ❛ my queen . ❜