#tyraunt

I really hope they let us bring over pokemon like this so we can continue to adventure together. I miss my old partners.

@tyraunt​ said, “ you need to watch where you're going. " from kaleb. pretend i am on my other blog. you will now mentally switch icons. with your massive brain

“   Oh, it must be late.   ”

It were as though the estate had been plunged into eternal night once someone stepped within its halls; eerily quiet – cold . On particularly weary nights she would swear the shadows wrapped itself around her, hang from her bones as she strolled around aimlessly until she grew too tired to bear its weight any longer. They’d retreat back under the rugs, hide behind the curtain, slip away from sight when she reached her door and retire for the night. It was as though it meant to keep her from drifting too far in. If the walls could speak, she wonders what it would say about the ghosts it’s housed over the years. And if parts of Kaleb drifted among them. Dinner had long passed, but she’d stayed behind, a pile of books she hoarded from the library littering the table. There were so many, but not a single page held a whisper of the history of these walls. Nothing noteworthy at least. The words were beginning to blur and string together on the page, signaling the end of her research for now. She fumbles around the open hard covers, neatly packing them into a small tower within her arms. It covers her view, but no one would be awake at this hour to avoid tripping into. And she’d paced the halls enough times to know her way around with a small hindrance. With a tired sigh, she rests her back against the double doors and makes her way down the hall.

As expected, her only company had been the distant metronome of the clock in her journey back to the library. She lights a small candle and sets to work filling the empty spaces along the bookshelf, a little disappointed that her efforts brought back nothing. It were as though she hadn’t been meant to find it in the first place. When the last book slides back onto the shelf, something falls at the other end, presumably from the way she’d shifted the other books over. It clatters to the ground--- metal? “  Oh, man. I hope I didn’t break something.   ” She wraps her hand around the candle holder to bring it closer to her, stepping around the shelf to see just what had made the noise. But instead of a broken ornament, there lies a single brass key. There had really been no keys in her time there, the doors she’d been allowed within were generally always open. But then there was the matter of the hall, she hadn’t been in. The one Kaleb explicitly commanded her stay away from. No explanation. And when she’d just arrived, questioning the reason had no place on her agenda. But now that she’d made herself a permanent resident, she finds herself curious again. It could have been an ordinary key for something far more mundane, but what if … Her strides are purposeful down the halls, bright eyes focused on the end goal in front of her. It simply could not wait until the morning. The weight of the key heavy in the pocket of her skirt. She finds her bright hues are lifted towards the paintings along the walls. Lifeless gazes prying into her, they are watching her, just as the shadows do. And for a moment she is unable to tear away from it, forced to swallow something that tasted akin to guilt. She fails to notice the figure rounding the hall, nearly colliding into them, but they’re quick to avoid her distracted state. Like a cat, she recoils into herself, a small yelp as she realizes who she’d just bumped into. Kaleb. She had just been so close, perhaps the paintings were just warning her that he would always be around to see her as well. She gasps softly, lashes fluttering as she sputters out in response, “   OH .. my god, you scared me.   ” A hand rests against her chest, pulse erratic, but not out of surprise. With a low sigh, she smiles, resisting the urge to let her gaze wander to the hall behind him. The one she’d just been in reach of. The key feels much heavier, her hands moving to rest against her waist, if only to ensure it doesn’t fall off her body.

When most members of her family were given time off, they sought out long holidays away, or personal pampering, or spending some of the Novoselic Royal Family’s vast wealth on luxurious treats. Sonia Nevermind was, in more ways than one, the black sheep of the family. If just for her recreational efforts.

In the middle of the night in Boudry House’s attic, she knelt on the wooden floor, arranging a few items to their correct positions. When she lived in Novoselic Castle with her parents, the cellars attached to the hidden passages made for acceptable places to indulge in her “bizarre interests,” but upon coming of age and inheriting the royal residents that spanned a full square city block in the capital, only the attic offered her the seclusion she required among the dozens and dozens of rooms. Everything else seemed too small, too thinly-walled, too risky in alerting security and other members of the overnight staff that something was amiss in the presence of the princess and heir to the throne.

So the attic it was, despite the numerous boxes and trunks and the bit of dust that gathered on her stockings and the hem of her skirt, she looked over her work: the pentagram was drawn in place, the candles were lit, and the altar she’d arranged in the center filled with the herbs and oils written down in the antique book she’d found deep in a used bookstore in Rome nearly two months ago, during the little amount of leisure time she’d been granted from the international summit she attended. But it had sat idle on the bookshelf in her bedroom since, the princess not wanting to attempt a new invocation while distracted with her royal duties. No, she’d needed to be patient until tonight, at three in the morning, when she’d read the inscribed Latin aloud and prayed, just as she’d done since she was a girl and then an adolescent, that one day she would be granted a glimpse into Hell. From spirits to serial killers, all of them resided there in some shape or form. Of this, she was sure.

“Even if it doesn’t work,” She promised herself in a whisper, setting the lighter aside before picking up the book, gently flipping it open to the correct page. “At least I feel a bit more like myself here, trying a new summon again.” For as hard as she fought in high school to be a person before a princess, to prioritize herself over her country when necessary, Sonia found it more and more difficult the older she became and the more of her father’s duties she took on as a working royal. But for now, she pushed them from her mind, closed her eyes, and began to chant.

Outside, the wind had already begun to pick up, signaling the impending, forecasted storm that was meant to arrive by sunrise. So she didn’t make much of it, making no move to open her blue eyes and see what had been jostled about due to the window she’d left partly open. Instead, Sonia continued, her tone growing louder, more certain, before the same window suddenly shut with a loud ‘BANG’ followed by every candle she’d meticulously lit going dark.

That was enough for her eyes to fly open, Sonia’s heart beating rapidly beneath her blouse. The overcast night left little light for her to see by, and so she gently put the book aside, scrambling for the lighter instead. Feeling around in the dark, She managed to light one of the candles again, scrambling to her feet to survey the damage to her surroundings.

save yourself and avoid doing it

@tyraunt​​ said, “ You're home. You're safe. “

She prayed to any star that would listen to keep her unsteady hands firm in his eyes when they'd returned to the estate. Hoped that he'd ignore the way she hesitated to open the door to her room, digits trembling around the golden-brass knob for a moment as she weighed her next words. But all she manages is a muted wish goodnight, rushed along by the ceaseless pounding in her chest and swallowed up by halls much too large for two. Its walls held secrets she'd barely scratched the surface of. Her own a newly acquired addition to an untouched and bleak mystery. Perhaps they'd whisper that when she stepped into her room she'd lost hours of the night, searching the palms of her hands for stains she'd mercilessly scrubbed away. Or how she curled up, sheltered beneath her sheets and squeezing her eyes shut; softly pleading 'don't think about it' until dawn. The next morning lit up far too bright, her reflection against the vanity mirror fatigued and dazed. Every muscle in her limbs ached as she peeled herself from the sheets, ready to prepare for the day as she had mornings before. But, this time, she had no plan. Her purpose had been fulfilled and the asset she'd played was no longer a necessity. There was nothing to bind her to this place. But she'd forced herself to swallow the thought and tuck it away for later. After all, there was breakfast to be had. 

It took a while to get ready, and every time she made her way to the door to head for the dining area, she'd find herself retreating back to the bed or drawers for something she'd forgotten. A complete scatter-brained mess she'd become it seemed, but eventually she makes it out the door. But strangely enough her feet don't carry her anywhere near food. Not that she'd been particularly hungry. Instead, she finds herself in front of Kaleb's quarters. Normally she was eager to spill the contents of her mind, but she found herself drawing blanks. Reluctantly lifting her closed fist to the door and gently tapping her knuckles against the wood. She can't recall a single instance in which she's ever waited to be allowed, usually apologetically scrambling out the room after sharing her piece when she realizes he's busy. It feels foreign. But once she hears his voice from the other side, she turns the lock and pokes her head inside, "   Good morning!   " The corners of her lips turn to smile, but it hasn't quite reached her eyes as she shuffles inside. She watches him sit at his desk; it seemed he had an infinite amount of papers to work on.  Did he have to write about anything regarding Ei — no, don't. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, tearing her curious gaze away from his work and towards him. Breakfast. You're here for breakfast. With a tilt of her head, she strolls over beside him, hands laced together behind her back. And although the thought of eating right now makes her stomach churn, she grins as she offers, "   Are you ready to eat?  " She questions, "   After all, it may be .. one of our .. last meals together, no?   " There's a thread of silence to follow, just before he stands up and extends a sheet of parchment from his desk into her unexpecting hands.

A slender brow raises in his direction — there's a hideous amount of dread building up as she glances between the paper and his face. Gods, she hopes he doesn't notice it. Upon first glance, she notices that his script lines the page, perfectly printed letters very unlike her own messy scrawl. She squints, briefly noting her name in the center of the page as she begins to read. And she swears her thunderous heartbeat could be heard throughout the entire estate as it echoes against her ear drums. She imagines the worst. That this very page was confirmation of every horrible thought that weaved its way in her every thought for the majority of the night. It'd tell her the blood on her hands was rightfully there. That her clock had run out; no matter how right she'd felt here, her time would always meet an end. Because what's an expended resource to a king? She could make hundreds of excuses for herself to prove her own worth, but would that ever make her worthy?  Her lips quiver, she wants to tell him she doesn't want to read it, but that's a cowardly way to go. And so she continues on. It isn't until she catches glimpse of the word 'citizenship' that she quiets her apprehensions to properly pay attention. " .. Wh .. what is this, Kaleb?   " The words begin to blur, droplets smudging the ink as she read it over again, teal hues widening. He was granting her citizenship? 

She looks to him again, uncertainty behind her teary gaze. But his response is assured. It shields her from every dark thought that plagues her for just a moment. It's something terribly hopeful in a reality that has left her so very dejected. She holds the paper tightly to her chest; digits trembling as his words echo in her head. Home. Home. It isn't this paper that has elicited this warmth within her. He's a king, his word is law. If he said then it would come to be, he didn't need to waste his ink or his precious time. And yet he did.  Her arms find its way around him, warm tears spilling into his jacket as she quietly sobs in response, 

@tyraunt​ said: 🔥!

Unpopular Opinions/Hot Takes! Get them piping hot, today only!

If you want interaction but aren’t getting any, just saying “Oh I’m too shy to reach out” or “Lol I’m trash and that’s why no one will write with me!” do not count as excuses.

Let me explain.

In the RPC, especially the indie RPC, you will likely be in one of two positions: You will come across someone you want to write with (whether in tags, a mutual is writing with them, tumblr suggests a blog for you, etc) or you will be approached by someone who wants to write with you (by a follow, by a message, by an ask, etc). If you’re in the latter category, that’s great! It’s up to you as to if you want to write with the mun and muse(s) interested in you and yours. You’re perfectly within your rights to refuse, too. Maybe they don’t follow your rules, you don’t know/aren’t comfortable with their muse(s), or writing and activity expectations aren’t met? No matter what it is, you aren’t obligated to write with everyone who’s interested in you.

The rest of this post is for everyone who belongs in the former category: you found specific muns/blogs you want to write with.

Basically, people aren’t mind readers. They won’t know that you sincerely want to write with them unless you tell them. And no, just becoming mutuals with them is not enough.

You, yes you who really wants more interactions with that blog you keep seeing on the dash that excites you but you’ve never interacted with them before, need to be proactive here. Send asks. Send memes. Send OOC messages. Introduce yourself and ask if they’d like to thread, plot, or both!

We are all geeks and nerds who love writing fictional characters, canon and/or OCs, a lot. There is nothing to be afraid of: we’re all in the same hobby. Being afraid to communicate in order to engage in a hobby that is dependent on healthy communication may very well lead to not actually participating in the hobby.

Reach out to people. Send memes. Open lines of conversation. Don’t be afraid to plot. Don’t be afraid to write!

@tyraunt​​ said,  “ don’t ever let anyone make you doubt your worth. ”

Ah, her food is likely cold at this point; silverware idly poking at the portions on her plate and gaze following the pendulum of the clock against the wall. Completely absorbed in thought, she fails to register when he saunters into the room, brows seaming together against her forehead in evident bewilderment. The glide of wood against marble floors finally pulls her from her thoughts, surprise morphing into a smile as he takes place across from her. "   Oh, thank you for joining me your majesty. Finally free from your evil lair of paperwork?   " She teases, elbow propped against the table, chin nestled comfortably within her palm. Oh! But now that he's here, perhaps she could air her weight out to him and see what light he could shed on this seemingly endless internal debate. To her surprise, he'd yet to shut her up completely when it came to her rants. And while he provided sensible answers to whatever plagued her frenzied mind, she found comfort in his words. With a soft hum, she looks towards the cloak blanketing her shoulders. In her daze upon arriving back to the estate, she'd failed to completely remove her guise from her earlier venture around. It was — in part — for her assigned objectives, but also a  wager spurred on by her own morbid curiosity.

"   So .. " It's a slow start to her pending story; wanting to start from a point that would conceivably make the most sense, but not drag it on further then his (seemingly) endless patience. " .. Why are those who are half ... angel or .. demon treated so terribly?   "She pauses, recalling the retinas burning into the back of her cloak as she walked around. At first, she thought she'd have to make a break for it — assuming she had been exposed, but that's not what they'd gathered about her. She'd heard the term snarled in whispers. Half-breed. Ah, even here, it was all the same. If you were not pure, you were no better than the dirt that clung to their boots. It was a reality she'd long endured and why her family always lived well below their means. Why suffer through a life of exile and ridicule on Asgard, when you had some semblance of freedom living on Gaia? At least, that's how her mother always posed the circumstances of their living. If her father were around, how would he have viewed it in a similar light? Her brother had always convinced himself they were certain for greatness beyond what the world would hand to them. Somehow she'd convinced herself of the same, but there was always that hint of lingering doubt. Doubt that she would always be less. Did he have doubts about her worth towards him solely based on that fact as well?

"   And do you feel the same way about those who are neither truly demon or angel? Is there a real difference between you and I? Does that make you worry about my capabilities?   " Oops, once she'd allowed the first question to slip from her lips, the others came rushing out the flood gates. Offering little time for him to reasonably answer before she went into her spiel. "   I don't think I'm less! I .. or at least I thought I did. I think I could be just as talented or intelligent .. powerful even if I put my mind to it!   " If there was anything she enjoyed, it was proving those who doubted her wrong, but it seemed there was little she could do to discourage preconceived notions about her very existence. She stands from her seat, undoubtedly riled up by her own doing, "   And if you have any doubts about me, I swear to you, I'll show you I'm everything I said I'd be. Because I'm more than ju—   " His words cut through her tirade, freezing her mid-speech as she blinks down at his still seated, calm frame. At first she blinks a few times, centering herself to where she was as she promptly eases herself back down into her chair. 

"   Oh.   "