#Muse: Illya

[magnificentmuses]

“You seem to be good friends with Miyu.” Illya have a very nervous Violet. “W-what are things she likes?” Maybe ask the girl yourself instead of her friend you idiot

"Uh...that's something you're better off asking her about, not me...?" Illya was, of course, quick to point that out.

#muse: Illya

[multimuseticles]

"Imagine having a little brat as your blog icon."

#remilia muse #dash commentary #reaction to ran making illya their blog icon

[twinxmasters-archived]

"Violence doesn't solve anything? I think if you're thorough enough, you can solve any problem with violence."

#{on our masters' internal reflections} (musings) #{the master of purple} (illya)

[thebreakfastmuses]

"Half a year later, does Fischl still not appreciate my birthday present to her?"

#{musings} #{regal winter} (genshin illya) #((by present she means the teeth she beat out of basil))

[alchemistdefective]

"Did you know? Us kitsunes are able to hypnotize our victims and make them do what we wish according to their orders. Basic hypnotism is when your target is in a drooling mess, no different from a mindless zombie."

"Now good hypnotism, on the other hand, is when your target doesn't realize they're hypnotized. Say, if I were to ask you to cook me a pizza even when you're not willing to, then you go 'Urgh fine, just this once', when I have planted a mental suggestion in you."

"Great, so... why didn't you use it more? Sounds really useful-"

"... I tried doing to someone and she realized I was trying to hypnotize her."

"... She got off on it, and I have never used it again.........."

#KITSUNE LECTURES WITH RIRUNE #(also trauma with Rirune) #muse: rirune #SAW ILLYA'S THING AND IT REMINDED ME OF THIS IN MY HEAD

[illyaoakheart]

THE REACH’S DELIGHTS

“Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair.” 

The unofficial title of The Reach’s Delights -- also known as The Flowers of The Reach -- has been given to the true-born daughters of House Redwyne, House Oakheart, and House Rowan. Daughters of three of the most wealthy houses in The Reach, as well as Westeros, the unbreakable trio of young women are known famously for their beauty, piety, and poise. Each of the three ladies is called after a flower, representing the close bond in culture between each of their respective houses, as well as their own qualities. 

Lady Lucrezia Redwyne, the eldest of the three women, has been dubbed The Orchid of The Arbor due to her refinement, thoughtfulness, and her mature charm. Lady Illya Oakheart, second born of the Reach’s Delights, is called The Rose of Old Oak (specifically, that of a white rose) for her purity, loyalty, and genteel nature. Lady Meredyth Rowan, the youngest of the ladies, is known as The Hyacinth of Goldengrove in reference to her determination, playfulness, and sense of self. It is said that The Flowers of The Reach are closer even than that of the lords and elder members of their respective houses. They are seen together more often than not, and are known to be one another’s closest confidants. 

@lucreziasredwyne @meredythrowan​

#|| the reach's delights -- illya & lucrezia & meredyth || #|| amongst the trees -- illya oakheart || #|| the reach || #||aesthetics|| #||creations|| #||muse|| #TURKISH DELIGHTS FTW

[dcviated]

@twinxmasters​ sent:  "Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't leave no matter what, Raguna?"

The bag of soil hits the ground with a huff, the farmer giving themselves a moment to recollect themselves before they properly acknowledge Illya. To say things had been going well since that night in her room would be a lie. Conversations between the pair were tense whenever they did take place, and progress on his front was laughable at best. What little resources were available to him weren’t giving him any satisfying answers. Make another homunculus body? What’s the point of that? It wouldn’t solve anything.

Still, at the very least, he was doing what he could to make living for the mistress comfortable, ironically. Perhaps unsuccessfully on that front as well.

“I haven’t left yet, have I?” The otherworld farmer turns to Illya with a weak smile, a handkerchief brought out to wipe his brow and clean his hands before a water bottle is plucked up. “Haven’t given up either.” He’s still smiling. It’s almost like he’s challenging her without realizing it. From his end this was all benevolence with no expectation. What happened would happen. But to his end, at least he could say he tried.

“Does that answer your question?”

#twinxmasters #twinxmasters :: illya #muse :: raguna #verse :: isekai #100% stubborn protag mode

[bestinhisclassmoved]

if you were a deity, what would you be the god of?

warfare and strategy

prideful and ambitious, your followers come to you for guidance and luck in battles they feel are too much for them. you embody the bravery and bloodlust of warfare and the battle intelligence for strategy and leadership. Your patience tends to thin around those who don’t respect you or question your intelligence and strength.

#headcanon #about the muse #lol calling old illya out much?

[mvnces]

this took me a concerning amount of time to make

#( * / out of character ; personal. ) #i should make a tag for lil dash things huh #also i was gonna make more for like sobieski or illya but #i am lazy . i can't think of anything for any of my muses .

[magnificentmuses]

“Forget Castoria! Who needs her? At least (summer) Illya knows to answer my call! On the first 11 pull, too!”

“T-Thanks Master, but ah...I’m not sure I deserve such praise...? Ahaha...”

#muse: Ritsuka #muse: Illya

[crystaltowerz]

|| tag dump. ||

#|| fish out of water -- casimir tully || #|| casimir tully -- threads || #|| casimir tully -- threads -- dorne || #|| casimir tully -- threads -- riverlands || #|| casimir tully -- threads -- westerlands || #|| casimir tully -- threads -- the reach || #|| casimir tully -- muse || #|| casimir tully -- face || #|| family. duty. honor. -- house tully || #|| amongst the trees -- illya oakheart || #|| illya oakheart -- threads -- dorne || #|| illya oakheart -- threads -- the reach || #|| illya oakheart -- face || #|| illya oakheart -- muse || #|| sword in the darkness -- rhydian wildbear || #|| rhydian wildbear -- threads || #|| rhydian wildebear -- face || #|| rhydian wildbear -- muse || #|| rhydian wildbear -- threads -- the north || #|| our roots go deep. -- house oakheart || #|| strange the dreamer -- jaehaera targaryen || #|| jaehaera targaryen -- threads || #|| jaehaera targaryen -- face || #|| fire and blood. -- house targaryen || #|| jaehaera targaryen -- muse || #|| dragon of the sea -- vhaenessa velaryon || #|| vhaenessa velaryon -- threads || #|| the old. the brave. the true. -- house velaryon || #|| vhaenessa velaryon -- face || #|| vhaenessa velaryon -- muse ||

[twinxmasters-archived]

Winter Breeze’s Reprise

“It’s a shame that Basil’s become such a loose cannon. But at least he’s keeping the Knights and that otherworldly god’s attention away from me. If he starts causing too many problems for me... I can always make improvements.”

A light chuckle escapes the alchemist’s lips as she holds a glowing beige vial up to the candlelight. “It would be a shame if it ever came to that though. That wannabe knight is so good at getting me what I want. He was even kind enough to grant me the perfect opportunity to collect some DNA samples. Tehe~ Basil should’ve gotten his hands disintegrated the day I first met him! If he ever pushes his luck too far... Well, thanks to this - I can always make another. Perhaps one more... picturesque of a proper lady’s retainer?” She wears a mischievous grin as she sets the vial back down on its proper resting place. She had no present plans of using it, of course. It was more of a fail-safe.

Back to more pressing matters.

On the other end of her desk, a now-useless Knowledge Capsule lies on its side, Illya rolling it back and forth across the table with her off-hand.

“It was most fortunate that Kusanali chose to shut down the Akasha Terminal as well. No one has any need or want for these anymore. I expect no inquiries from the Akademiya as to where just one of their many defunct cans of wisdom disappeared to in all of that chaos... Though I suppose it was a good thing I absorbed this as soon as I got it, or my little investment back then would’ve been for naught. But there’s no point in contemplating hypotheticals that did not come to be. Now... I have everything I need.”

She stands up from her desk and moves to the center of the cellar, where a chalk circle lined with candles decorated the floor, and the assorted materials needed for what she was about to attempt lined up next to it. “A bottle of Abyss Mage blood, a bundle of Ley Line sprouts, a copy of Ella Musk’s notes on Hilichurlian language, my gift from the Archons, and of course, what I learned from that capsule... Yes, yes... I think I have everything I need now.”

A matchstick lights all the candles surrounding the chalk symbol, her Vision rested neatly atop the Ley Line sprouts in the very center. There was just one more step. Uncorking the vial of blood, Illya moved back to her desk and grabbed a letter opener. A quick yank across her palm and light grunt of pain drew the necessary amount of blood from her body, and she held her clenched, bleeding fist over the vial, letting her vitality drip into the tainted blood below.

She quickly wrapped the wound in bandage before carrying the blood mixture over to the circle, pouring it all around the chalk markings. The book opens, and once she flipped to the right page, the incantation began.

“Mi muhe upa biat tomo kuzi lata zido. Mi muhe kundala ika unu. M̷i̸ ̸m̸u̵h̶e̷ ̶u̴p̶a̴ ̶b̵i̸a̴t̷ ̷t̷o̶m̴o̶ ̷k̸u̵z̷i̷ ̵l̸a̸t̷a̷ ̸z̵i̸d̶o̸.̷ ̴M̵i̶ ̶m̵u̴h̵e̷ ̷k̷u̵n̵d̶a̵l̴a̵ ̷i̷k̵a̶ ̷u̸n̵u̵.̵ Ṁ̶̩̩̓̊i̸̹͎͛̑ ̷̧̺͚͊m̵̜̄u̸͈͉̫̅̀͆ḫ̸̼̄̅͠ę̴̈́ ̵̹̳͖̇̒͂u̵̯̮̙̒̄p̷̘͕͕̎a̴̮̲̣͊͝ ̴̰̭̀̀b̴͍͊͂í̷̝͝͝ã̴̯̀̑t̸̺̪̍ ̷̰͘t̷̢̜̱̓̇̇ö̴̤̭́͑m̷͇̬̺̍͆͝o̴̠̲̐͒̾ ̷͝ͅk̸̼͍͓͆̈́ṷ̸̓̋̈z̷͍͓͖̾̆̀i̶̻͋̚ ̷̙̭́̇̿l̶͇̕ä̵͔́̊̈́ẗ̸͉͇́a̵̫͚͌͗̉ ̸͍̜̊̔̍z̴̪̔̅ȉ̵̜͛d̴̻̩̗̑o̴̡̪͙͋͘.̴̺̉̚ ̷̧̈́̾͠M̸̜̲̖͆̚ỉ̷͎̜ ̴̥̮̾ḿ̶̳̋̂ǘ̴̹̪͔͌̕h̵͖̹̫̑͒e̴̗͐́͐ ̶͖̪̻̉̚k̴̳̞̖̔̽ǘ̸̥͖͕͝͠n̷̦̏͛̂d̴̫̋̌̓a̶͔͑ḽ̸̟̿̑ă̵̢̈́̋ ̶͍͋̂̎i̷̬̔̀͝k̶͖̫͌̊̒a̵̤̜͊ ̶̛͚̳̰̓u̷͚͒͋n̶͇̘̓ṵ̴̍͒.̴̥͚͋͜ M̵͙̩̹̈́͋̃͋̔̓́̏̎̌̊i̷̧̢͈̰͓̳̟̱͉͖̙̲̰̓̈̒̈͒̄͂̈̔̌̒̑͋͠ͅ ̶̡̬̠͎͚̖̺͔͔̾͌̈́̽͐m̴̨̘͍͕̮̩̦̭̣̲͇̈́͗̋͒̏̒u̷̢̡̡̝͕̦̙̗͎̞̬͇̙͊̂̐̎̀̇̓͌͝ẖ̸̺͈̜̐̾̔͛͝ȅ̵̥̱͎̥̥̻̰̰͉͈͖̗͓̤̍ ̶̂̀́͊͜u̶̢͈̹̥̫͙̰̯͕̪͇̎̿̍̀p̸̰͚̮̎̔̾̅̈́̆́͂͌̕ą̶̡͈͍͔̤̫͉̱̰͔̅̓̔͂͑ ̸̢̙͚̒̈̾́́̐̄͆͂͛̽͐̅b̸͈͙̬͑͊̊͛̀̐̄̚͝i̶͇̼͎̱̅̓͑̓̊͑̋̉̽͂͝ͅa̷̛̦̾̓̄͐̔̏̎́̑̈́̈́t̵̢̢̯͚̩͉͇͔̭̪̪̿͆ ̶̡̨̞̼̼̠̘̰̠̥̊̋͑͑͘͘͝ͅt̷̨̘̺̫̼̫̦͍̩̓́̓́͛̔̊o̶͙̠̿̒̈́̇͊̀͛́͒̆́̎̕̕ṃ̵̛͎̔̀̈͌͂̊o̶̧̻̙̹͎̞̘̖͒͌͆̈̋͆̂̽͒̎͊͗́̃͘ ̷̧͍̣̦̗̥̱̠̜̠͇͎̦͐̃̅̉͂̔͋͗̍̇͘͘͜͠k̷̘͖͈̏͐̋̌̑͆̀͋̍̕͠u̷̧̜̲̬̠̪͌͐͛̋̀̊̄z̷̫̪̞͖̘̬̞͉͇͇̑̀͛͗̋̋͘͘̕͝ȉ̷̛̬͔̥͕͎͓͓̥̥͆̑̑͑͆ ̷̪̝̬̘̺̂̍̀̏̑́̀̈́̔̈͊͆̚l̷̢̜̹͎̟͊̿͂̊͗͋̒̊̇͋͜͝͠ȃ̸̧̧̢̜̥̼̳͕͔̥͍̣̳̹̟͂̋͆̆́̆̽̍͠ţ̵͍͓̭̠̬͇͓̦͇̰̣̙̓̈́̂̍͜͜a̷̻̝̞͚̰̤̣̜̝̫͔͘̚ͅ ̶̡̖̬͕̝̞̩̺̻̒̓̑͊̚̚͜͠z̶̢̛̬̟̜̻̰͈̺͚̿̅͐͋̈̓̅̾͑̌͌͘̕͠i̷̢̡̫̻͉̳̖̲͎̭͛̋͆̾̓́̏̓̕͝͠ͅͅͅd̷̼̫̘͛̾͂͘ȱ̴͕̺̞̘͖̤̞̖͇̋̀͛̑͜ͅͅ.̵̢̨̗̻̙̻͕͇̘̠̪͓͍̖͌̔̾͂͝ ̶̛̻͇̘̭̞̩̔͑̂̀̆̒͂ͅM̴̧̰̻̟͉̳̣̗̖͛̀̿̑͆į̵̳͍̥̣̱̲̰͔̼̏̔͊̑̌̌͜͠͝ ̷͓̏̆̆̎̽̂̒̀̇̓̏̚͝͝ḿ̷̧̡͍͎̣̟̮̮̲̙̬͖̞͉̯̍̐̐͌͂ủ̴̫̹̰̰̘͉̫̪̉́̔͆͗̋̆̋͘͘͘͠͝͝h̵͈̣͈̣͛̒̌̃̋e̴̡̢̘͖̻̥͙͓̦̪͕͍̎̏̓͝ͅ ̷̬̳͔̪͙͔̤͓͑̓ͅk̵̡̛̜̱̲̋̃͒̓̎̓̎̍̑̕̕͝u̸̡̡̡̧̱͈̩̮̱̟̰͍̝̹̅̑n̶͓̦͇̭͍̫̳̩̹͖̬͙̞̬̈́d̸̢̬͖̪̜̣̙͔̮͔̭͎̝̘̩̽ã̴̧̡̘̗͚̬̟̣̹̜͓̭͉̜͛̾̾̐̏̋͊̈̈́̈́͘͝ͅl̴͉͓͔̦̦̪̪̝̬͎͂͜a̴͇̞̒̆̅́̀̑͒̎͋̅̓ ̶̧̺̜̳̝̉i̵̡̪̙̣̪̜̠͉͈̻͉̯̯͂̓͂͜͜͠k̷̡̨͔̗̟̤͔͉̱͉̠̓̽͋́̾̑̚͜͜ͅá̶̫͔̘̩͍̹̪̜͚̠̟̍̋̎̇̆̎̓̅͌̀̂̈́͜ ̶̗̤̖̖̉̈̋̈́̾̿͊̔̈́͌͋͝͠u̴͈͔͊̆͛͐̐͋̐̊̊̓̓͐n̵̙̗̗̼̥͎̣̭̙̮̤̜̂́̊̇̉̂͂̃͂͠ų̴̯̭̰̘̞̞̰̜̭̹͍̓̈͌͌̏̀̇̑͛͂̄̑̈̊̒͜.̶͍̞̃̏̀̆̋͋̑͑͘͘ M̸̢̭͙̼̪̩̠̬̽̊̓̈̊͝ͅi̷̛͙̪͙̮͈̘̫̪̓̎͂̎̍̈̄̄̉́̇̈́̔ͅ ̴̛̛̬̙̦̍̽̋̌͛́͑̂̉͊̅̾͌̆́̔͘̚͝m̵̯͍͂̓̇̿̔̀̃̐͑̅̈́̅̅͌̿̐͒͠͠ų̴̛̞̮̰̩̳̼̳͓͈̦̘̟͂̉̄̿̓̈͐̈͌͘ḧ̷̛̲̘̝̠̮̻̈̃̅́̏̉͒͋̋̈́̄̎̕e̸̛̟̺̭̦̰̲͌̅̈́͐̅̔̈́̔́͗͝ ̴̢̢̰̫͕̬̮͓̗̞̬̺̼̖̻̲͆̉̔̕͜͜u̴̗̪̱̣̪̥͍̺̙͎̺̔̈̊̒̿̀͌̒̂̓͒̚͘͝͠͠p̶̢͕̟̠̰̟̖̗̍̄̿́͘à̵̖̏̓̂̑̈́̂̒́̚͘ ̶̧̛͖͇͚̘̙̣̘̗͕̏̅̓͊̕b̷̧̨͇̃̔̀̈́̔͐̈̿̎͗̄̾̅̕i̷̼̠͓͔̺̟̎́a̸̡̳̹̙̯̥̻͉̘̜̠͓̯̕͜ͅt̵̡̧̥̩̪͎̙͇̜̥͉͂̅̓̓̇̊̀̔̏̍͑̈́͠ ̶̬͚̈́́̊̈́͌̆͒̊t̶̼̙͈̾͂̍̊̏̀̃̋̇̀̓̆͒͑͊̍͝ờ̷̮̈͆͐̋̋̔̓̀̐̊͘͘̕͘͠m̵̨̱̞̩̼̰̘̬͍̺̩̤̠̣̰̩̎̍̂̓͂͊̀̏͠ͅơ̷̖͛̈́̿̔̈́͆͒͘̕ ̴̙̻͓̗̲̲̠̽͛̂̉͌̕k̷̡̨̛̹̹̻̼̞̺̓̋̆͒̍̚͜ͅǘ̴̼̤͎̯̾̓̇z̶̝̜͉̣̼̝͖̗͖̟̄̓̉̎̂̂͛̑͊̐̍̏͘͠i̴̛̙͆̄̾̇̚ ̶̭̰̱̲͉͓̲̣̪̜̟̲̼̘̟͎̈́͌͆̊͆͗̌̈́̉̄͋̒͒̆̂̌͋͒̚̕̚͜l̵̢̧̢̛͚̯̳͎̹̫̮̱̗͔̙͒̉͐̽͌́̒͌̔͒̃̐̎͝ã̶̧̢̭̱͙̱̰̞̳͔͓̝͎̱͉͉͍̞̝̑̍͑͋̃̅̔͂̾͜͠ţ̷͚̩͚͔̻͎͖͛̈̂̅̈́ͅǎ̶̡̦̩̠̗̫̻̝̤͖̫̟̭̯̪̩͔̆̋̄̚͠ ̷̨̩͉̜͚͉̰̫̊̎͗́̓̐̌̂̑̔̉͋z̶̨̧̡̛̭̘̟̮̲͇͕͉̈́̀̎́͒̌̾̍̚͜ͅȋ̷͔̭̥̃̍̀̄̌̽͛͐͜͜͝d̵̨̢͍̭͕̣̼̱̦̝̟̤̙͖̙̠̬̥̻̪̙͋͊͛̒͂͑͝͝o̵̖̰̺̗̫̲̰͚̪͖̤͕̣͙͕̰̼̺͔̻̹͆͆̿͆͑̿̂̓̅͐͐́̄̽͝͝.̸̺̱̯̹̙͕̟̙̲͖̂͐̏̽́̿̐́̄̏́͝ ̸̛̛̦͛͂̈́̿͒́̉̈́͛̈́͘͜M̵̨̻̬̗̟̟̟̱̤̅͋̂̑̂̔̉̏̀̽͜͝͠͠ï̵̡̢̪̳̠͓̺̬̻̗͇̲̹͈̦̼̩̤̹͙̒̽́̍̈́͆̀͗̇ ̶̛͔̖͉̫͈̩͓̟̱̩̮̤͖̬͈̰̓̆̒̅̈̏́́̃̾́̕͜ͅm̴̧̨̯̱̠̮̬̪͔͉̼̲̘̤̥͕̯̦̱͖̾͆u̷̥͍͙̜͙̫̞̅̎̐̏̄͘͘ḩ̴͓̪̣̺̀̕͝ę̵̧̤͕͎͖͇͈̬̣̱̻͖̭̪̦̰̞̈́͐̌̀̑̓̈̒̾̈̓̔̾̏̀͑̔̚̚̚͜͜͜ ̴̡̡͚̯͖̹͖͓̪̟̼̺̣͉͚͔̃̓̀͂̕͠͝ͅk̶̡̨̡̝̬͇̘̖̘̭̮͔̘̰͇̋̔̌u̸̦̫͎̻̜̳͕̜̮͒̓̈́̂͋͑̉̉͋̈̓̏̐̕͠n̶͈͑͊̽͂ḑ̸̗͉͎̼̲͋͗͆̑͆̌̊͋̈́̈́́͠ȁ̶̞̺̳͖̫̮̜͌́̈̎͋̂̋̅̈́̊̔͋́͗̚͝l̶̩̟̰̹̬̩̤̽̓̇̌͒͊͑̈́́̕a̵̛̺̺͗͋̈́̃̌͗̈͂̍́͊̔͐͜ͅ ̵̘̘̦̖̹̠͉̲͚́͊i̴͓̠͎̦̬̤̇̾̆̈́̀̀͒̾͑̄̂͒͂̊͜͝k̷͇̼̝̯̺̙̖̦̦͚̣̒̅͌́͐ͅa̶̧̬͖̹̐́̋̂̾̏̓̀͘͝ ̴̧̢̝̣̦̠̤̜̬̖̮̔͒̉͝ṹ̷̡͎̣͈͍̟͎̻͙̫͙̘̰̝̟̱͕͙͈̦̌͂̏̆̀̊͝͝ͅn̷̳̝̲̻̱̦͇͓̠̺̯͒̍̽͛̉͜͜u̴̡̟͈͎͚̹͖͎̱̟̲̭̥̭͕̯̭̿̅̽̇̈̋̌̀͐̀̉̕͝.̵̢̡͚̱̹̘̜͇̯̖̹̱̉͂̌ͅ Ṁ̶̡̳͎̯̦̰̥̭̳͉̐̏̅̀̉̾̎̚͝ï̷̛̯͔̭̰̎̍͊́͑̈́̀̄͂͂͝͠ ̴̡̧̛̗̩̳̲̭̬͙̹̪̮͓̖̹̹̺͔̦̻̥̦̞̈́͑̐̽̎͜͝ḿ̸̛̫̩̦̪̥̰̤̯͔͉̱̲͓̤̔̅͋̔͊̇̌͛̉̌̌̕͜͜ų̷̧̡̛̙̮̟͔̞͕̘̗͍̝̪̱̗̖̖̞͓͍̟̗̖̟̭͔̱̠̞̅͒̐͑̍̎̆̌́̏̀̌̈́̋͋̕͘͝ḫ̶̬̠͖́̀̓̎̅̓͒̆̀̓̿͛̃̂͗̓́̾͛̋͒̀̌̕̕̕͝ę̸͎͍͈͙͉̲̻̹̱̬̥̐̈́̓̇̔͑ͅ ̴̨̢̢̢̤̹͍̜̦͙̣̪̩̤̳̮͍̆̈́͂̆̈͛̓̏̋͊̌͋̿̃̀͗͋͗́͛̆̋͆̓̽̌͝͝͝͝ͅų̴̨̭̫̳̩̗͓̭̞̬̠͓̠̖̫̘͎͕̰̜̬̖̺̭͒͗ͅp̷̡̨͈̰̝̹̮̯̞̠͎̘͎̯͔̫͚̗̫̼̜̥̊͛͒̋̀a̸̘͈̬͈͙͙͚͙̰̜͚͂͋̃̽̿̚͠ ̶̛̬̣̠̞͉̭̮̻͂̀͜b̶̨̢̢̪͈̣̱̠͕̠͔͔̭̱̣̳̗̼̬͚̤̦͓͔̜̙̖͚͎̱͊̾̍̽́̌̅͛̾̔́̂͊̇̌̑̓̈͗́͘͠i̵̧̡̛̛̛̲̥̖̰̬̬͚̰̟̥̤͖͙̗̻̗̺̩̗͊͋͑̐̌̂̏̽̔́̍͗͛̄̈́̏̽̓͆́̕ͅá̴̡̢̘̖̺̗̥̰̱͓̺̹̯̟̤̙̱̫̀̉̽̚ṱ̵̡̩̌ ̸̨̗̠͎̖͓̗̻̟̜͈̰̼̯̄̂̑̆́̀̊̽̉̈́ț̴̡̯̯̱̰͖͔̲̺̖͙̘͍̲̣̪̓̾̅̀̈̂̇́́͆͌ͅò̷̧̧̪̲͎̩̺̺͉̻̮̣̲̣̭̣̦́̌̽̀̈́̾̎̍͜͜͜͠͝m̶͚͔̫̖̯͈͈͙̜̣̾̂̽̉̄̋̄̎̃̅̊̽̾́̊̽͋̃̚̕͜͝͝ò̷̢̨͍̖̪̹͙͇͚̠̯̦͊̂̌̀̎̏̿͋̄͑̚̚͝ ̶̰̩̠̘͎̥̅̽̊͒̃͝k̵̠̺̭̺̗̫̳̲̓̐̐̎́̈ͅų̸̨̢̭̞̞͉͚̘̺̥̝̗͈̜͔͍̘̯̯͇̦̞͕̖̂̓̿̑̏͐̚̚͜͜͜ͅž̴̢̡̜̲̩̱̺̝̭̭͚̞̱̟̩̻͕̱̩̓̓͐̓̓̓̽͑̎͊̑̃͋́͋̎̏͂͛̋͐͆̈́̀͊̆͜͝ỉ̸̡̨̛̛̭̫̳̺̗̾̅̿̐́́̀̽͆͋̇̃̾͌͐̐̓͋̽̏͊̚ ̸̡̨̢̛̤̩̬̠͖̰̜̜̥̿̍̋̑͋̀̒̕ͅl̷̮̜̰̝̘̥̻̣̭̠̓̈́̍̂̽͝ą̶̢̧̧̭̮̱̲̹̫̘̤̳̪͇̻̟̼̝̣̠͔̪͖̱͙̀͗̄͗̀̓̊ṱ̸̨̧̛̻̗͍͉͕̱̞͉̙̅̀͋̔͑̾̅̅͊͘̕ͅa̵̡̧̱͍͉̮̯̫̞͇̺̗̫̮̦̪̳͍̞̼̓̓̅̾̉̈́̅̀̉̓̅̑̍͛͜͝͝͠ ̶̢̢̡̮̯̮͎̲͎̳̬͔̠̰͕̺̖͇̥̰̖̼̣̗̙͍̗̊̈́̓̀̚z̴̧̧͎̝͇̲̺̟͔̺͓͖̪̦̩̦̠̺̬̙͌̏̍̈̈͆̿͛͛̒͊͐̓̅̔̈i̷̧̛̲̻̲̙̜͖̜̬̣͕̼̣̙̠̤͉̜̻͐͗̌͑̆̇̀̋͂̄̔̚ͅd̴͔̟̪̜̜͓͇͎̱͇͚̲̮̟̅̎̓̈́͆̐̿͂͆̒̕͝͠ö̶̧̭̻̺̯̪̖̥͙̣̮̪͕̱̫͍̟̹̯̝̺̯͓̟̹͔̙͕̦́͐̇̆̌̀̌̈́̈̑͊͐͒͊̇̅̈́̿̀̿̈̃̄̕͘͘͜͝͝.̷͍͂̾̎̓̄̏̎̓̽͋͋̇̔̍͆̄͊̀͗̂̌̾̑̿̀͘̚͠͝ ̵̨̘̼̤͊̄̌̓̿̈̊̈͛̑̌͒̆̓̈́̈́̈́́̋͑̌̑́̑̈̍̏M̵̡̭̤̹̱͍̖͉̼͒͋̓̀ͅȉ̸̢̡̦̤̭̯̯͖̗̤̠͊́͒̑͘͘̚ ̶̛̥̥̘̼̼͕̟͕̙͎̦͑̔͑̀̋͋̀͊̂͆̀̿̒̚̚͠m̷̧̢̺̻͖̫̠̝̘̞͕̙͓̆̾̌͘u̶̢̗̰̣͕̘̦̟̻̳̎h̸̢̡̜̺̞̲͇̤̯̜͉̜͈͎̠̠̙̤̣͇͍͛̕e̵̛̹̱̻̳̥̤̬̩͍͖͛̾͆̏̄͋̽̓̾̓͌̀̊ͅ ̷̢̡͚̬̭̻̖̥̱͍̺̯̖̥̤̘̯̗͉̠͇̦̤̳̤̥̭̇̉́͐͠k̷̨̰̼͔̫̥̠̹̻̥͔̗͙̭̃͊͐̽͂͘ủ̵̦̤͕̦̥̺̣̬͎̟̹̯̣̥̲̣̹͉̮̲̲̈́̏̾̏̋̋͐ͅṇ̶̡̛̛͖̭̠̣̬̜̖̟̀͌͗́̊̄͋͋̐͛̃͂̇̃̏̕͝ḓ̴̥̟̫̪̩̣̔̀̈̉̈̆͋̂̋͛͒̓̊̏̆̆̃̇̊̇̈͘͘̚͠͝ͅâ̶̧̛̻̪̗̜͉̘̝̥͔̯̹͚̬͇͐͛͗̄̆̄̉͒̊͂̿̀̍̿͂̽͝l̶̡͓̣͉̦̽̅̌̈́͂̈̈̎̍̈̍̎̽̓͗̆͐̌̈̐̊̏͆̍́͘͘a̸̧̗͈̥̜̦̜͍̬̦̻̫̺̜̖̳͔͊̓̋̅̓͘͘ͅ ̷̨̢̺̟̳͈̬͓͖̤̬͔̦̲̝͙̠̰̠͕̝̀̄͆̂͊͊͝͝i̶̡̛̻̯̹͕̳͓̟̝̱̦̟͇̦͇̪͉̜̺̲͉̖͔̳͕̖̹͔̒̐̆̎̾͑̐̍͑̇̉͗̅̈̊͊̚ͅk̶̢̡̛̗͎͖̙̥̝̫͕͔̬̱̋̀̍̐̃̿͊̇̔͂̆̍̉̔̊͋̑̐͐̿͛͊͑͂͌́͘͝͠ͅȁ̸̡͍̪̯̜͎̈́̀́͆̀̀̅̀̽͋͌̕͜ ̵̢̛̼͙͚̗̰͍̳̰͔͖̼̗̯͐̊̅͌̊̋̈́̂̇̊̅͒͛͛̊͗͋͘̚͘͝͝͝ủ̴̧̞͉̮̻̥̦͓͍̣̺͓̣̦͎̯͍͖͖̮͙̞̗͈̝͓͑̿̒͜͜͝ͅṋ̷̨̧̡͍͙͚̲̙͇̹̫̹̱̗͂̑̊͆͆̉̈́̓̉̀̽͌̀̊̏̈́̍̊͂̒̆́́̽͘̕ų̶̝̖̪̮̪̳̯̭̤͍̤͍̖̻̙̲̘̦̮͙͕͕̀̄̔̈̏́̽͗̈́̍̇̎͊̈́͆̈̉̊̋̇̚͘̚͝͝.̶̣̹̹̱͇̖̣̩̮͚̳̼̻̪̜̥̣̙̦̅͋̓̈́̑̌̊͛͗͆̽̽̎̏̽́́̕͜”

“I̵̤̍́̈́̈́ ̴̱͈̮̖̭̏r̷̡͖͇̮̺̉̅͆̒ë̸͖͎͚̓j̵͇̈́́̀̓͝ȩ̴̡̪̻̍͛́͝c̸̲̳͈͎͉͑ţ̶̛̠̉͑ ̵̡̼̳̦̄̇̈m̵̛̯͍̌y̵͎̝̯̤̖͊̚ ̶̱͉̇̈́́b̶̺̞̎͐i̴͉͔͌̾̌̏̕r̴̮̣͆͐ţ̴͊͠ḣ̸̲̬̯͠r̷̢̩͖̆̐i̵̻̻̣̣̥̐̂̑̋͠ģ̶̼͎̪͌̏̌̆ḥ̸͔̟̂̀͑̚͝ṯ̸̭̏͋̀ ̵̘̱̩̇ą̷́͗͋̃͊n̸͖̯͆͘ͅd̵̛͓͕̉̀̈́͝ ̴̮̘̼͌̈́̏͠ͅs̴͎̺̔u̷̢̟̤͒̅p̸̙̈́͒̚ȅ̵̯̠̩͔͈̾̽r̸͕͊̽̽̃͝f̶̙̟̌̒ḯ̴̛̖̪̥̐͠c̸̜̲̻̀̌̾̎͠i̵̞͈̊a̴͔̬͖̓̐l̶̯͗̒́̏̍ ̸̖͙͈̲̈́̃h̷̢͉̆̿u̴̡̳̞̯̔m̴̡̐͜ă̴̮͖̈́n̶̹͊͛͒̐͜͠i̴̺̲̻̜̐̎̕͜͝ţ̸̬͈̽y̴̩̞̙͍͑̐͆ͅ.̸̯̞͛ ̸̻̬̈̀Ȓ̶̠́͆̍ě̷̝̯̱̗̇ͅv̴̥̔̔͂́e̸̪̲̹͛͜à̷̺̥̈́̚l̷̨̝̻͖̈́ ̷̭̎̇t̷̻̽ͅö̶̧̹̭̹̲́̂̈́͘ ̴͖̫͔̩͐m̷̰̐̎̊e̵͉̙̓͌̕ ̶̣̌̀̔͜t̵̫̞͉̃̓̉h̷̜͔̀̾̓̀͝ë̶͉́̌ ̷̨̹̫̰̫̀t̸̞̭̍̓̅̈́͘ͅr̸̝͇̈́͒̀͑͝ù̶̩͓͖ṯ̴̇͋́̑̚h̴̖̼͙̣̪̔̇̿̏͘ ̸̞̣͔̣̏̀ȯ̷̤͒͑f̴͍̗̭̔̈̂̚ ̴̛͔͉̟́͊͜͝T̷̗͍͚̝̩͐́e̴̱͉̯͗y̵͔̆v̷̛̰͖̻̰̘̾͗a̴̜̙͒t̶̘̱̝̮́͑,̸̙͈̻͐̓́̈́̚ ̸̪͍͕͒̀̍̋̚ľ̵̻̭̂ȍ̶͇̮̘͉̼̀r̴̡̻̂̉͘ḍ̵̘̱͑s̷̖͇̈́͠ ̵̹̠͑̃̈́̀̃o̸̠͗͛̊͘f̴̧̒͘͜ ̸͇͖̹̍̄ẗ̸͓̱ḧ̷̢͆̍́͠e̶̛̦̔ ̶̝̯̿͂͑A̴̗͍͖̋͐̇b̸̝̼̳́̈̕ŷ̴̡͈̜̼̽ŝ̸͙̠͖s̴̪͖̱̔̐̄͂͝.̸̫͎̤̗̒”

#{on our masters' internal reflections} (musings) #{regal winter} (genshin illya) #((archon quest spoilers under cut))

[skittles-menagerie]

//As someone who’s literal only experience with Fate is Prisma Illya, I’m sure I’m 100% qualified to write a Fate character

#not me eyeing Illya's mom or Bazett #and maybe Illya herself #I really shouldn't add more muses though...

[set-phasers-to-whump]

leave (stay)

prompt: "leave me alone"

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hello here's another sickfic for my beloved illya :) it's sort of pre ship napoleon/illya sort of not idk. what is romance even. hope you enjoy!!

“Leave me alone,” Illya mumbles into his folded arms, before Napoleon has even said anything, before Illya has even so much as glanced up to discover who is behind him. (From the tone of his voice, it’s abundantly clear he knows it’s Napoleon, anyway).

“Well, good afternoon to you, too, Peril.”

Illya does not move an inch, does not reply. Napoleon does not bother to attempt to fight off the instinct to tease him. 

“Sleeping on the job?” 

It is rather odd to find Illya like this, head pillowed atop his arms and a half-complete mission report in the typewriter. It’s something that Napoleon has done on…say, a few occasions, but Illya? He’s far too much of a rule-follower for something like this. 

“Go away,” is the only response Napoleon gets, and, well, if he insists. 

It’s lunchtime, anyway. Napoleon grabs his jacket and heads out to the street, making his way directly to his favorite sandwich shop a block and a half away. 

He eats at a small table by the window, watching the people on the sidewalk hustle by. The holiday season is fast approaching, and already many of them are carrying large department-store bags, surely laden with gifts. 

He muses, idly, on the topic of holidays and whether UNCLE might host - or be open to hosting, upon his gentle suggestion - a party. He wonders whether Illya would be opposed to receiving a present. Probably. 

He barely makes it back to the office before his allotted lunch time is up. He bumps into Waverly in the hall, who says nothing, merely raises an eyebrow. 

Napoleon flashes him a grin and gets the barest hint of a smile in return. He’ll count that as a strong success. 

He is expecting to return to business as usual in the office, but he discovers that Illya has not moved in the time that he has been gone, or, if he has, he’s come right back to the position Napoleon had left him in. 

He must really be tired, Napoleon thinks. After all, he’s seen Illya take out five men in two minutes after not sleeping for three days. Now, even a simple mission report seems to be too much. 

He stands behind Illya for several seconds, hoping for some acknowledgment of his presence. But nothing happens. 

I’m asking for it, he thinks, but goes ahead and jostles Illya’s shoulder anyway. 

He expects Illya’s head to snap up, perhaps for a punch to be thrown his way, or, at the very least, some strong words. 

Instead, Illya slowly lifts his head and turns around, docile as anything. Weird. 

He blinks at Napoleon, rubs a hand across his eyes. 

“Were you actually asleep?” Napoleon asks, not quite willing to believe it. 

Illya’s face morphs into what could be very charitably deemed a glare. 

“No.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

Illya shrugs. “This is not my problem. Go away.”

Undeterred, Napoleon presses on. “What did you get up to last night, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sleeping.” Illya looks away from him. He’s angry, which is understandable, but - well, now Napoleon is really curious. And a little worried, not that anyone needs to know. 

“Is something the matter?”

“Yes. You will not leave me alone.”

With this, Illya stands up. He is presumably going to stalk away and slam a door behind him. At least, this is what Napoleon expects.

But this is not what happens. Instead, as soon as Illya’s on his feet, he raises a hand to his head and then sinks right back down into his chair. 

Napoleon is now a lot worried, and no longer in a jovial mood. 

“What’s wrong?”

Illya does not say anything. He’s closed his eyes and he’s breathing very deeply and very deliberately. 

Napoleon has an idea. He takes a step into Illya’s space, reaches out a careful hand. Illya’s forehead and cheeks are hot beneath his palm. Ah. 

“You’re sick,” Napoleon says. 

Illya does not say anything, but Napoleon knows that he’s right. 

“For how long?”

Still nothing. 

“Okay, look. You simply can’t sleep here. It’s far too uncomfortable, and sooner or later, someone a lot less caring than me is going to come by and kick your chair.”

Illya opens his eyes a little. He looks exhausted, now that Napoleon really considers him. And miserable. It makes something in his chest feel as though it is being squeezed.

A solution enters his mind. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than nothing, and he knows Illya will not complain. “Come with me. When you’re feeling up to it.”

He waits for a few seconds before Illya very slowly pushes himself up. Napoleon wordlessly offers his arm, and Illya briefly grips it, closing his eyes. When the dizziness seems to have passed, he lets go and looks at Napoleon. 

“Right. Well. Follow me.”

They go to the break room. It’s a rather forlorn space - the UNCLE agents, by and large, either do not have time to use it or would rather spend their free time anywhere else. The room is dark and has no windows. There is a rather sad bookshelf, a table with two mismatched chairs, and a couch that Napoleon firmly refuses to sit on. 

But it’s a quiet space, and the couch is a better place to sleep than a desk. 

Illya takes it with no protest. He does not bother to undress even slightly, tie and jacket and shoes still on. His eyes slip closed almost immediately, and Napoleon allows himself the simple indulgence of staring at his partner, just for a few seconds. 

“I can feel you looking at me,” Illya mumbles, without opening his eyes.

“Sorry.”

He expects to be kicked out - needs to be, actually, so he can get back to his own work before someone realizes he’s not there. 

“Will you…” Illya mumbles, on the verge of falling asleep. 

“Yes?”

Tell me to leave. Please, ask me to stay. 

He doesn’t get an answer either way. Illya has already fallen asleep. 

He lingers a few seconds more. Wishes for a blanket to drape over Illya’s sleeping form, settles for his own jacket instead. 

He turns off the lights, pulls the door shut behind him. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the darkness, and then he gets back to work.

thanks for reading!!! love u all <3

#whumptober2023 #no.17 #leave me alone #the man from uncle #fic #sick #cared for #my writing #i say things #illya kuryakin #went to the botanical gardens today and then walked around a neighborhood i hadn't rlly been to before #(i've been there but it was dark and i did not know where i was relative to anything else) #and now i am going to the gym in a couple hours...nothing like a late in the pm workout

[illyaoakheart]

The Sept of Trees

Though Old Oak has become one of the largest Seats in The Reach over the centuries, several structures on the land are overgrown and have been abandoned in favor of new, refurbished wings. Some abandoned halls are said to seem a part of the Endless Forrest itself --  one such building is the first Sept built upon House Oakheart’s lands, once known as the Sept of Trees. The ancient oaks around the structure seem to grow in and out of the very walls, all but rooted to the earth. Ivy crawls the interior walls and what remains of the ceiling, draping into long broken windows. Some stained glass remains, and scatters colored light within during certain points of the day. While no formal religious ceremonies have been held here in almost a century, it is still considered a holy place dedicated to The Seven.

#worldbuilding timmmme #lots to do but as this is one of illya's fav escapes this is up first #old oak is all very over grown #|| old oak || #|| amongst the trees -- illya oakheart || #|| our toots go deep -- house oakheart || #||muse|| #||aesthetics||

[dcviated]

@twinxmasters sent: "Ehm..." Illya gives a good once-over at the tainted patch of soil, rising upwards like the world's largest loaf of bread, then looks down at the now-empty bag of limestone. "Well... That... Doesn't look right..."

Six pound bags of lime don't cost all that much. Raguna makes enough to buy several of them in just a day. As far as the lawn and gardens he was tending around the Einzbern manor he'd be able to get away using just a couple bags to cover the area he'd planted. It advertises about a thousand square feet, so, yeah. Should work fine for the season. He'll fill up the spreader and--

Oh.

The displaced farmer has come outside to see that the entire contents of one bag have been applied to a fraction of that space.

"Uh.................................. Illya?" Raguna will need more than a fraction of the time to absorb what he's seeing. The soil? Ha. Ha. "Okay. The good news is it hasn't rained and washed anything in. Right. There's still time to clean most of this up..! Because otherwise this spot is going to be a new barbeque pit. So lets--"

Wait for it-

Crash of thunder~!

"G-GRAB SOME SHOVELS! BERSERKER!!! WE HAVE TO GET THAT LIME UP!"

#twinxmasters #twinxmasters :: illya #muse :: raguna #verse :: isekai #inbox :: answered ic #TOO MUCH BASE #TOO MUCH!!!