#all the while your lover has become the god of judgment and has been searching for you for so long

[perenlop]

morphogala is a yuri tragedy. to me

[urbanwhimsy]

The Man Who Didn't Believe in Love from Miguel Ruiz

I want to tell you a very old story about the man who didn't believe in love. He was an ordinary man, just like you, but what made this man special was his way of thinking: he thought love wouldn't exist. Of course, he had tried for a long time to find love, he had observed the people around him, much of his life had been spent searching for love, only to find that love didn't exist.

Wherever this man went, he used to tell people that love is nothing but an invention of poets and religion, just to manipulate the weak mind of humans, and to gain control over them. He said that love is nothing for real, and is thus impossible to be found,  even though he might be  looking for it.

This man was highly intelligent and he could talk very convincingly. He read a lot of books, he went to the best universities, and he became a respected scholar. He could speak everywhere, in front of any kind of people, and his logic was very conclusive. What he said was that love is just like a drug; it makes you feel happy, but it creates a strong need. But what happens when you  become highly addicted to love, and you don't receive your daily doses of love?

He used to say that most relationships between lovers are just like a relationship between a drug addict and the one who provides the drugs. The one who has the biggest need is like the drug addict; the one who has a lesser needs is like the provider. This is the one who controls the whole relationship. You can see this dynamic so clearly because usually in every relationship, there is one partner who is very much in love, while the other one is much less. This leads to the latter one taking advantage of the one who gives his or her heart. You can see the way they manipulate each other, through their actions and reactions, just like the provider and the drug addict.

The drug addict, the one who has the biggest need, lives in constant fear that perhaps he will not be able to get the next dosage of love. He/she thinks, "what am I going to do if he/she will leave me?" That fear makes the drug addict very possessive. The addict becomes jealous and demanding. The provider can always control and manipulate the one who is longing for the drug, by administering higher or lower doses, or maybe none at all. The one who has the biggest need completely surrenders and will do whatever he can to avoid being abandoned.

The man of our story went on explaining to everyone why love doesn't exist.

"What humans call `love' is nothing but a relationship based on fear and control. Where is the respect? Where is the love they claim to have? There is no love. Young couples, in front of the representation of God and in front of their families and friends, make a lot of promises to one another: to live together forever, to love and respect each other, to stand in for one another, through good times and bad. They promise to love and honor each other... and make promises and more promises. What is amazing is that they really believe those promises. For some time after marriage, for a few weeks or months , all those promises are kept one by one.

"Then you'll have a war of control, of manipulation, just in order to establish who will be the provider, and who will the addict. A few months later, the respect they swore to have for each other is gone. You can see the resentment, the emotional poison, how they're hurting each other, until they don't know when the love will stop. Nevertheless, they'll stay together because they are afraid to be alone, afraid of the opinion and judgment of others, as well as their own. But where is love?"

That man used to claim that he saw many old couples that had lived together thirty years, forty years, and they were so proud of it. But when they talked about themselves, what they said was, "we have survived  matrimony." That means one of them had surrendered to the other; at a certain time, she gave up and decided to endure the suffering. The one with the strongest will, and a lesser dependency, won the war, but where is that flame they call love? They treat each other like a possession:

"She is mine."

"He is mine."

The man went on and on about all the reasons why he believed love didn't exist, and he told others,

"I have lived through  all that already. I will no longer allow anyone to manipulate my mind, and control my life in the name of love."

His arguments were quite logical, and he convinced many people with all his words: Love doesn't exist.

Then one day this man was walking in a park, he saw on a bench there was a beautiful lady who was crying. He got curious and, sitting besides her, he asked if he could be of any help. You can imagine his surprise when she told him that she was crying because she had just realized that love doesn't exist.

He said, "This is amazing, a woman who believes that love doesn't exist!"

Of course, he wanted to know more about her.

"Why do you say that love doesn't exist?" he asked.

 "Well, it's a long story," she replied.

"I got married when I was very young, with all the love, all those illusions. I believed I would share my life with this man. We swore to each other our loyalty, respect, and honor, and we created a family. But soon everything changed. I was the devoted wife who took care of the children and the home. My husband continued to develop his career. His success and image outside of home were more important to him than our family. He lost respect for me, and I lost respect for him. We hurt each other, and at a certain point I discovered that I didn't love him anymore, and he didn't love me anymore either.

"But the children needed a father, and that was my excuse to stay and to do whatever I could to support him. Now the children are grown and they have left. I no longer have any excuse to stay with him. There's no respect, there's no kindness. I know that even if I find someone else, it's going to be the same, because love doesn't exist. There is no sense to look around for something that doesn't exist, so that’s why I am crying."

The man understood her very well.

He embraced her and said, "You are right; love doesn't exist. We look for love, we open our heart, we become vulnerable, and in the end all we find is selfishness. That hurts us even when we don't think we will be hurt. It doesn't matter how many times we try; it happens again and again. Why even search for love any longer?"

They were so much alike, and they became the best friends ever. It was a wonderful relationship. They respected each other, and they never put each other down. With every step they took together, they were happy. There was no envy or jealousy, there was no control, there was no possessiveness. The relationship kept growing and growing. They loved to be together, because when they were together, they had a lot of fun. When they were not together, they were missing each other.

One day when the man was out of town, he had the weirdest idea.

"Maybe what I feel for her is love.” he thought, “But this is so different from what I have ever felt before. It's not what  poets or religion say it was,  because I am not feeling myself responsible for her. I don't ask  anything of her, I don't want her to take care of me. I will not blame her for difficulties I may encounter, or unload any of my dramas on her, we just have the best of times together, and we enjoy a lot being with each other.

I respect the way she thinks and she never is embarrassing me. I don't feel jealous when she's with other people, I don't feel envy for her success. Perhaps love does exist after all, but it's obviously not what everyone believes love to be."

He could hardly wait to go back home and talk to her, to let her know about his weird idea. As soon as they started talking, she said, "I know exactly what you are talking about. I had the same idea long ago, but I didn't want to share it with you because I know you don't believe in love. Perhaps love does exist, but it isn't what we thought it was."

They decided to become lovers and to live together, and it was amazing that things didn't change. They still respected each other, they were still supportive of each other, and the love grew more and more. Even the simplest things made their hearts sing with love because they were so happy.

The man's heart was so full with all the love he felt that one night a great miracle happened. He was looking at the stars and he found the most beautiful one, and his love was so big that the star started coming down from the sky and soon that star was in his hands. Then a second miracle happened and his soul merged with that star. He was intensely happy, and he could hardly wait to go to the woman and put that star in her hands.

As soon as he did, she felt a moment of doubt: that love was overwhelming. While that thought crossed her mind, the star fell from her hands and broke into millions of small pieces.

Now there is an old man walking around the world, swearing that love doesn't exist. And there is a beautiful old woman at home waiting for a man, shedding tears for a paradise that once she had in her hands, but for one moment of doubt, she had let it go.

This is the story about the man who didn't believe in love.

Who made the mistake? Do you want to guess what went wrong? The mistake was on the man's part in thinking he could give the woman his happiness. The star was his happiness, and his mistake was to put his happiness in her hands. Happiness never comes from outside of us. He was happy because of the love coming out of him; she was happy because of the love coming out of her. But as soon as he made her responsible for his happiness, she broke the star because she could not be responsible for his happiness.

No matter how much the woman loved him, she could never make him happy because she could never know what he had in mind. She could never know what his expectations were, because she could not know his dreams.

If you take your happiness and put it into another person's hands, sooner or later he or she is going to break it. If you pass your happiness on to someone else, it can always be carried away. Happiness can only come from inside of you, and it is the result of your love, and you are responsible for your own happiness. We can never hold anyone responsible for our own happiness, but when we go to the church to get married, the first thing we do is exchange rings. We put our star in each other's hands, expecting that she is going to make you happy, and you are going to make her happy. It doesn't matter how much you love someone, you are never going to be what that person wants you to be.

That is the mistake most of us make right from the beginning. We base our happiness on our partner, and it doesn't work that way. We make all those promises that we cannot keep, and we set ourselves up to fail.

[avtrbee]

in the beginning

a/n: wow! thank you so much for all the love you gave me with never! i never expected that kind of reaction :> here's another gojo fic I wrote a couple months back, you can consider it as a prologue of the relationship or smth but it can also be a stand-alone. the fic was longer, where I included what happened directly after the wedding but I felt like this had a better conclusive ending. i can post it as part two if you want please enjoy the fic and don't hesitate to comment with some criticisms or your general feelings abt the fic! thank you once again!

summary: the beginning of y/n and gojo

my masterlist The night was quiet, aside from the calming buzz of cicadas. The cool air blows gently between both of you, lifting your hair as if you were inside some commercial. It was full and bright from where you stand with Gojo (Satoru, you quickly correct yourself. You’d be a Gojo soon enough), bathing you in the moonlight. If you were any other person, you’d think you were in some romantic getaway with your lover. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The reality was much crueler.

It was calm before the storm.

“I…” Satoru starts. “...I’m not ready to be a father, Y/N.” His body faces the beautiful scenery of lush trees in front of you with his hands in his pockets, but his face is slightly tilted to you. His usual blindfold is off, replaced by the shades you’d given him back then, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his striking eyes.

You scoff. “You’re telling me this now when we’re getting married tomorrow?” You roll your eyes in another direction, to anywhere but Satoru. Your tone was cold and hard as you felt the bitter anger rise in you again at the reminder that you were to be expected to breed like cattle, all for a hopeful offspring that can inherit your Cursed Techniques or be somehow stronger than Satoru.

The anger quickly died down as you glanced at him in your peripheral vision. Satoru was in this too, he was to be expected to breed with you, forced to raise his future children to be a soldier in a world they didn’t choose like the both of you at this moment. You make the mental note to be considerate of his feelings as well. That’s what marriage is about anyway. Right?

His childhood was pleasant from an outsider's point of view; born with techniques that make him a god, a silver spoon in his mouth, and hails from one of the three great clans. But that suffocated him. It's why Satoru is so carefree with a happy-go-lucky vibe and a problem with authority. They have dictated everything he did since he was born. You and Satoru are fools if you don't realize that the same will be done to your children.

“I’m not ready to be a mother too,” you confess, tone softer, laced with understanding. I never wanted to be one in the first place, you think but don’t bother to say. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to have to be one soon enough. “But they’re going to expect an heir and several spares as soon as possible.”

Then it was silent again, Satoru not bothering to contradict your statement. It was a fact, and it's what triggered the series of events that led you here anyway.

Some of you wonder if Satoru has ever wondered about a family of his own with a wife he actually chose. Against your better judgment, you decide to ask him exactly that. Communication is the key to any relationship, right?

“Have you ever dreamed of a family with a wife you love?”

You expected him to look at you and giggle, some half-meant tease running out of his mouth. Instead, he turned to you fully, glasses lowered, and stared. “Have you?” he asked, throwing your question back at you.

“Family? No.” You answered. “But a spouse...once in a while.” You admit, lowering your head, staring at the ground instead. You have not admitted this to anyone. Despite knowing that the possibility of you getting married off to another clan was rather great, the idea of having a family with someone you don’t love seemed meaningless. That and your utter fear of pregnancy and childbirth. You’ve seen many friends struggle with issues that are rooted in bad parenting. You don’t want that. You don’t ever want that. A spouse, however...that was a dream you’d let yourself dream when your guards are down.

“Nevertheless, they will demand a child from us. They will have a cruel fate,” you muse, staring at the ground. “If they get our cursed techniques, they’ll become a toy. If they don’t, they’ll be shamed. I don’t want that.”

"No, they won't." He replies in a firm voice. I'll protect them, goes unsaid in the cool air. You find yourself agreeing. We'll protect them.

You feel fingers below your chin, pushing your head back up for your gaze to meet with Satoru’s. His glasses were off, and you concluded that you’d never get tired staring at his eyes. It was breathtakingly blue as if there were oceans and ice glaciers hidden underneath. He stares at you for a few moments and you let him. You feel him search for something in you before curling his lips into a smile.

“Alright! It’s settled, then!” He exclaims the usual joy back in his voice. “We'll make it work, Y/N-chan.”

The disbelief escapes from your mouth before you could even control it. “Y/N-chan?” you repeat scandalized. You were many things to Gojo Satoru and he has called you such. You’d been L/N when you first met, Y/N when you got closer, 'kouhai' when he wanted to brag about how powerful he was, 'wifey' when after the announcement of your engagement or when he’s feeling mischievous in front of anyone (“We aren’t married yet, Gojo-san.” You’d remind him every time), but he has never called you Y/N-chan. You cringe.

“Whaaat?” He whines, a pout forming on his face. “You don’t like it? How about darling? I heard British people say it to each other during my visit to Europe! Dah-ling.” Satoru tried, purposefully lowering his voice, trying his hardest to have a British accent.

You burst out with a laugh, squeezing your stomach, folding over. Your eyes were squeezed shut in bliss, lost in a brief moment of happiness so you don’t see Satoru smiling softly at your laughing form.

Once you’ve calmed down, you turn away and start walking towards the path to the Gojo residence. “Let’s go, they’re probably looking for us.”

“Pbshhh,” Gojo replied, hurrying to your walking figure. “They’d probably think we’re doing something naughty~”

“Oi!” You scolded, pulling his ear. “Someone might hear you!” You could imagine the possibilities. You’d never know when someone can be hiding in the dark. You suddenly imagined the possible situation that your own father would’ve heard him. Not only would you be embarrassed, but he would most likely give you and Satoru a proud nod. He and the other Elders were the ones who pioneered your marriage anyway.

Gojo rolled his eyes at you. “It’s not like we aren’t allowed to do it.” He said with a huff. “You’re going to be my wifey!”

“We’re not married yet, Satoru.”

Though you’d come back to the residence the way you left, with your hands behind your back and his hidden underneath his pockets, the atmosphere between you was not as cold as before.

[hiccstrxd]

Kisses from the moon

Hello! I wanted to write shameless fluff with lots of kisses and this is exactly what it is. I’d like to believe that for a first timer in the kissing department, I did it okay lmao

It's rated t btw. You can find it in ao3 as well. Enjoy!

Summary: She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

It hasn’t been that long since the battle of the Storm Spire and relationships among the neighboring kingdoms couldn’t be any more restrained — the shifting alliances have been slightly worrisome but the newly pledge between the Dragon Queen and the young King of Katolis compensate all the arising uncertainties, if just a little.

Rayla doesn’t know that much about politics but she supposes that last bit gave enough solace to the kingdom. A bright occurrence amidst the cataclysmic disputes and deadly wars.

And since this was now her home away from home, she was very well informed — rather unwillingly — in its state of affairs.

Both Callum and Ezran (and Bait too, apparently) had firmly made her know that if she was one hundred percent sure and at ease with the idea overall, she was more than welcome to stay in Katolis, no matter if it was merely a temporary arrangement. It took quite a lot of arguments and counterarguments from both parties and even further persuasion from the two brothers (and frog) for her to concede to the proposition with an underlying hesitation.

She was fairly certain that her residency in the kingdom — and in the castle no less — will not be as gladly received. She’ll have to withstand many scornful looks and insensitive judgments left and right, her presence won’t do any good there. Plus, she would feel so out of place and a little bit too conscience-stricken for her liking. But then again she didn’t have anywhere else to go, nowhere to call home.

It was all very confusing and frustrating, rightfully so.

Later that night, with the moonlight casting shadows over the two lovers that were basking in the company of one another and with no impending death hanging in the air, a five-fingered hand was tenderly holding her four-fingered one, a warm smile on each of their faces. Lazy strokes were traced on her wrist, going up to her palm and finally detouring to each of her fingers, making careless doodles with the tip of his forefinger. She let out a sigh of contempt.

A murmured ‘I love you’ was softly said to the wind followed by an imaginary heart being drawn on her palm.

She looked over at him. His eyes had softened a great deal and he now sported the gentlest of grins, he redrew the heart for emphasis. Rayla intertwined their fingers together and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

She’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you, too.”

And maybe that was the little push that she needed to make up her mind.

That’s how she got here. In Katolis, she meant. Definitely not with her back pressed slightly against the wall and a pair of gentle hands that held onto her with urgency, if just a little shyly.

She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

They were both expected somewhere else, the kiss was just a farewell gesture, something to get them through the day until they could be close with each other again — which was most likely to be late at night or early morning for how tight their schedule was today.

Rayla needs to break it off. They need to get going. She doesn’t.

She felt his hands that were once placed safely on her waist, slowly trail down to rest on her hips with a lose grip. Hers started their journey upwards, tracing his neck with feather-light touches to finally cup each side of his jaw. Their lips moved against one another at a deliberately slow pace, their noses brushing every so often with each gentle pull.

They have kissed before, of course, but nothing like this.

A loving peck on the lips, a quick kiss on the forehead, even a small brush of lips against each knuckle. They had definitely had some kisses that had lasted more than they should have but even those seemed to be cut short. No, this is new.

The gap between them came to be nonexistent, their breaths mingling together in their shared space. She felt warmth blossom in her chest as he pulled her even closer, his thumb slowly drawing small circles on her hip and when she felt him smile against her lips she couldn’t help but let a small smile out too.

Kissing him has always felt quite exhilarating, a rush of feeling that made her heart soar and her mind numb. A tingling sensation that extended from the tip of her fingers up to her very lips, a warmth that consumed her and spread like a wildfire within. Rayla has never kissed anyone before — she hadn’t felt the need to, having little interest in that sort of matter before— but she had seen Runaan and Ethari display little shows of affections every so often, and as a kid, her inherent curiosity had led her to wonder how loving someone felt like.

Ethari had said that it was like holding your whole heart in between your hands, so delicate and precious that the rest of the world blurs and fades away having no point of comparison with its beauty. Runaan, ever the pragmatic, said that it was a matter of sentiment — you feel everything more intensely.

She reckons that both are quite true, to some extent. Though, she might add her own contribution to the mix: it felt like a typhoon of emotions all at once; you feel weak yet strong, confused yet never more certain in your life, vulnerable yet empowered. It’s warm-hearted, a tender gesture. But then again, it’s something that she cannot fully put into words because the concept is so abstract and the action is so blissful that no notion will ever do justice to what she feels.

Soft kisses soon became frenzied presses of lips and their hands seemed to have a mind of their own, moving on their own accord and trying to frantically touch every patch of skin, clinging to the fabric of clothes in an attempt to be closer. His breath faintly tickled the skin beneath her nose, their heartbeats rhythmically pounding against their chests, and the almost inaudible sighs of delight, whenever their lips brushed against each other, was all she could hear in the secluded corner of the castle. Her senses were overflowed with his presence.

She couldn’t help the soft gasp she let out when he gently bit her bottom lip and pulled it in between his own. It was definitely something they haven’t done before and the action's intimacy promptly took her off guard.

And then he was frantically pulling away, eyes wide with horror and with eyebrows that seemed to reach his hairline, his lips the tiniest bit swollen from their whole encounter. His hands were still on her hips but if he was desperately trying to bring her forward before, he was now doing his best to hold her at arm’s length.

He was quite a sight and she would find it in herself to poke fun at his ridiculous countenance if she didn’t think he was on the verge of a mental collapse.

“I-I’m so sorry, that was not— and I just— I got carried away... Not that that excuses it! I — oh Gods,” Callum stumbled over his words, hand clasped over his eyes, and shifting uneasily on both feet. Rayla had trouble deciphering the inarticulate unfinished sentences that were being stuttered past his mouth but his body language could clue her in.

She raised a single eyebrow whilst fighting an amusing smile from breaking out.

With tentative fingers, she reached forward to lace their fingers together with the hand that was covering his face, his momentary flinch didn’t go unnoticed as she did so.

“Hey,” she softly said with a small smile on her face because leave it to him to straight-up freak out during one of the most intoxicating kisses they have shared so far in their relatively new courtship. She gently rubbed her thumb on the side of his hand as a silent way to reassure him that it was all good. He visibly relaxed a tiny bit, though still showing a little apprehension for his actions done in the spur of the moment. “I liked it.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes and she wanted to smack herself for the uncharacteristic demeanor.

She felt a coy smirk tug at the corners of her mouth, “I really liked it.” Rayla relished the way his face went from rueful to downright embarrassed, a deep flush spreading all over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. She couldn’t stop the heartening laugh this time.

“O-oh?” She heard him mumble. He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that was not holding hers, and she playfully rolled her eyes at her dorky human prince’s antics.

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it out again.” She said while mindlessly arranging the scarf on his neck that has become rumpled by her own doing. She looked at him solemnly, this being a little unfamiliar to both of them and the uncertainty of how to approach was slowly killing her. With a clear of his throat and his forest green eyes thoroughly searching hers to silently confirm what she had put into words, he shifted forward.

“Well, in that case,” He brought one hand to pull her closer while he raised the other one to caress her cheek lovingly. His eyes stared earnestly at her as if he could find all the wonders in the world by solely looking at her. It was wistful thinking, but she’d rather not dwell into that right now. Not when the only thing that matters was the blitheness from her heart and the prince that was the cause of it all.

He drew her toward him as the space between them once again diminished and with half-closed eyes, slightly pursed lips, and with the erratic thumps of the heart filling the air, they slowly leaned in again.

He nudged his nose against hers and placed a small kiss in the corner of her lips. Callum smiled, he went to do the same on the other side but she’d have none of it. She looped her forearms loosely at the back of his neck and lunged forward — she took delight in the muffled hum of surprise.

Their lips glided lazily but surely against each other, and this time — with the self-consciousness fading away and the overwhelming feelings of adoration rising in its place — the kiss quickly took a passionate turn. Fervent lips searched hers and she returned the gesture in equal measure.

When they came to this corner almost hidden from any prying eyes to share a light kiss, one which swiftly became so much more, Rayla had been concerned they would get caught. They never seemed to get any privacy in the heavily guarded walls of the castle and sneaking around resulted in their last resort, something that both thrilled her and troubled her; there was always a crown guard just around the corner, a handmaid that not so subtly eyed them from afar, or worse, the High Cleric that without fail appeared around inopportune instances.

The number of times she had wished the earth to open up and swallow her whole were unimaginable.

But now, as she now pulled his bottom lip in between her own, that thought was dismayed and stored in the back of her mind because kissing Callum made all of those seem as insignificant worries as every kiss felt like the very first one — she was sure there wasn’t a greater feeling than being in his arms. She could stay here forever.

That was until a nervous cough could be heard behind them, a few paces away from the darkened corner. They jumped apart.

“Prince Callum,” Corvus gave a slight bow, eyes not quite looking directly at the couple, “your presence is required in the throne room.” He cleared his throat, posture uptight as always but shifting from one leg to another rather uneasily.

Oh, sweet primals.

Rayla could already feel the burning sensation on her face and ears and quickly disentangled herself from his embrace in an attempt to put some proper distance between them. He was not expecting her briskly move and promptly stumbled over his own two feet, arms flailing to catch his balance before he fell somewhat unceremoniously on the ground below.

“Corvus, hi! Yeah, I was just on my way. I was just telling Rayla about the... uh,” He trailed off, unsure of what to say that would be credible enough to somehow cover up their real deed. Rayla was sure she was just about to die from embarrassment.

Corvus placed both his arms behind himself and with a deadpan expression affirmed, “I assure you, your highness, I do not need an explanation. It is all good. Nevertheless, let’s not keep the High Council and the King waiting, shall we?” Rayla could have guaranteed the corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest — almost imperceptible — in what she could only assume was amusement. “And Rayla, Soren is waiting in the courtyard for your daily training session.”

With that last bit, she nodded in acknowledgment and went straight to where she was initially supposed to be nearly fifteen minutes ago. And she almost gave Soren the triumph of his life since the only thing on her mind was how much she had enjoyed their little rendezvous and the excitement of its reprise was as annoying as it was enthralling.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Something more than Dreaming (One Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: weird dreams. Panic blushing

Word Count: It feels so weird to work in an office which has one-fourth of the workload of your previous office (though this one has ten times the responsibility, coz I am the head here). Anywhooo, I am in a place where there is no booze, no bars, no friends. :/

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The lights are a mixture of all the flavours the Gods can taste on their tongue. The seventy-five coloured rainbow seems like the perfect vibe for the buzz that is setting in on the nerves currently. Bass-boosted music and the cool air running through the building filled with heated, sweat-ridden bodies is driving everyone up on a new high. Wait. Is everyone feeling the same high? Or is it just me? Before that sharp brain of his can evaluate the situation, a new beat is hitting him hard along with the scene he witnesses unfolding in front of him. There in the unruly crowd of drunk and horny strangers, seven hottest aliens dance along with the one person his eyes seem to be searching for. You.

It's not good enough for me, since I been with you It's not gonna work for you, nobody can equal me

Everything else fades away in the background- and he is convincing himself that it is because his senses are heightened in a dark place filled with lunatics- and the only focus is you. That is what he repeats to himself when his eyes land on the movement of your fingers in your hair; that is what he is singing internally when watching you pout and bite your lip makes him gulp.

I'm gonna sip on this drink when I'm fucked up I should know how to pick up

That is what he wants to smack into his head when he feels his body gravitate in your direction while you are swinging your hips in a way he feels should be considered a sin; a sweet seductive sin.

I'm gonna catch the rhythm while she push up against me Ooh, and she tipsy

He keeps denying the internal dialogue of feeling jealous with all these strangers around you all this time, and still cannot get his icy glare off anyone who gets even an inch closer to you. At one point he is happy to see the boys be distracted by the light show that begins at the bar. That is until he sees something he does not like. He does not even realise the eyes he turns with those veins popping out of his arms and neck, neither does he acknowledge the dangerous vibe he gives off that automatically clears his path to you to remove that excuse of a lizard trying to prey on you from your back. With one tight hold on his neck, he is making that pervy lizard writhe and struggle where he stands, making him shed his skin with just the poisonous look in those green eyes. That devilish glare is enough to send that creature running. Once he is convinced there is no sign of any more ill intentions, he turns back to the most unaware person in the world- you, of course- and watches you struggling to twerk.

I had enough convo for 24 I peep'd you from across the room Pretty little body, dancing like GoGo, aye

There is a minute pause when he tries to absorb what exactly it is that you are trying to do and has to question how you are the same person he saw dancing so effortlessly a few seconds ago. Just when his patience runs out, he grabs your hand and takes you away, walking through the dispersing crowd without looking back till he finds the darkest corner in this excuse of a building and pushes you towards it. He can easily assess that with the amount of bao-bao in your system, you won't struggle. And you don't. Your back is against the wall and by the time you can ask him- in between the giggles- what was going on, you find those familiar arms caging you from either side.

But you are unforgettable I need to get you alone Why not?

The bubbles of fun are suddenly popping from the heat your whole body feels at once with Loki's body so close to yours. That perfect mess that is his hair is covering his face while eyes are stuck on you. His brows are struggling to loosen themselves up and his breaths are shallow.

A fucking good time, never hurt nobody I got a little drink but it's not Bacardi

You can tell he has been sweating, for you can smell his very intense natural odour- something you have become quite familiar with on this space trip; the trip that continues to make you conscious about your own body's smell now that you do not have any deodorants to cover it up. You can also tell there is something wrong with the way his veins are popping in his neck- though you do not refrain from admitting to yourself that it kinda makes him look hot. Very hot.

If you loved the girl then I'm so, so sorry I got to give it to her like we in a marriage

You know it is that bao-bao making you so bold but you could swear to all the powers in the universe you want to take a chance. The thought is tempting and fun to fantasise about till you realise that his hands have come close enough to brush against your arms and the mere touch is sending an unfathomable buzz up and down your body. "Loki-" is all you struggle to get out of your dry throat that is thirsting for things it should not be. And to add to these strange waves crashing inside your limbs, he brings his face closer to yours. You know your heart has taken a dive and your lungs are fluttering with that sweet scent of alcohol that brushes on your lips with his sigh. So close is his face that you can spot every single cell of flawlessness on his skin. Is this really happening?

Oh, like we in a hurry No, no I won't tell nobody

It feels like he can hear your thoughts for his hand comes to pick those sweaty stray strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. This is really happening. The world is swirling all around you. So are your breaths when they see those wanting lips come closer. Not able to take this twist along with the stuff you are high on, you close your eyes and wait with parted lips.

You're on your level too Tryna do what lovers do

The fire inside his gut is driving him closer to you even though his sanity is questioning every logical reason behind this. But that sweet scent coming off you is clouding every possible sane answer there could be. That's the thing. He does not want to be sane anymore. What is the advantage in that anyway? His hand is moving on its own, catching his breath when he feels your heated skin on the back of his fingers while brushing away those hair strands that are driving him mad for making you look so...he dare not say such things even to himself- that make him feel things. And boy, does he not like feeling things, especially such things. Oh, lords be praised! He loves the way your gaze is struggling to rest at one place, walking all over his eyes to his jaw before settling on his lips. And then closing themselves shut. He does not know whether that is an invitation or not. But looks like this sweet alcohol is making him bold. So, this is what alcohol really does to you, huh, he wonders, thanking the maker for this ale that was able to make a God feel the buzz. ... Wait. I am feeling the buzz. His own statement makes him blink out of the drunken trance for a second. "Why did the beer taste sweet?" his suspicion speaks. That suspicion is quickly turned right when he sees your meek smile and feels the floor beneath his feet sweep him face down into the ground. "Oh f-"

   The boy band patiently sits in the lounge in their own particular ways. While one is sipping on their drink, the other has got their face in their palms. One has that mischievous smirk on his face and the one sitting next to him is gazing with a look of pure confusion. One has got his brow up while tapping his lips with his index and the other one is pushing two glasses of- what looks like- water towards the one particular side. And their captain is just plain tired at this point, looking at the ones who are their centre of attention. You and Loki.

You sway to and fro on the couch while Loki sits next to you with his head in his palms, his eyes lost in a void, given up on this world. You are pouting by this point, looking at the empty table in the middle of the crowd of you nine. "So...are we going to order food soon?" You had to ask. You feel a movement from your left and are nervous to look in that direction, whining internally when Loki drowns you in his judgmental gaze. "I'm hungry," you mutter as you look down. "I don't think you're getting any food today, Princess," Violet mentions, turning all the heads to him. "What, I was just translating what Loki's eyes are saying." "But I'm hungryyy," you cry. Loki closes his eyes and sighs. "Serves you right to starve." Violet carries on with his translation. "Stop it," Loki commands with his eyes still shut. "Okay." "Why did you spike his drink though?" Green asks put loud, making it hard for you to get away from all those curious eyes. You shrug. "I just thought it'd be fun. Loki will let his hair down and, I don't know, dance." "From the looks of it, it was gonna be more than a dance." "What?" "I said from the looks of it Loki can't dance." Loki pretends to have not heard White's word but narrows his eyes at him when he gets the chance. "Relax-" White gestures you two to drink the water-like liquid- "both of you are on the fourth stage. One more and it'll wear off like it was never there." "What's the fifth stage?" you tilt your head while your hands are squeezing your abdomen. "And how do you know about these stages?" "The Bao-Baos are our people's speciality," all seven of them say in sync, leaving you a little speechless. "So what's the fif-" You pause and never come back to the sentence. Your eyes are looking at infinity, seemingly lost in a trance, your body has let go of all the tightness, easing into the couch. Loki turns to watch the slow transformation. Anyone can tell from the look on his face that the word 'worried' right now begins and ends on you. He also knows that with that metabolism of his, he is going to hit that stage you are in, in no time. And so he goes, letting his trance begin while his gaze is still settled on you. There is a pause around the table as seven pairs of eyes observe the both of you. "Alright boys-" White slaps his thighs- "you know what to do." All of them get up with different tasks in mind. Violet takes two fuzzy blankets out of nowhere to put them around you and Loki. Green lights a candle and puts it a little close to the side where his tranced bunnies sit. Orange takes the charge to put headphones on and takes a few seconds to decide whether to put on his romance playlist or horror playlist. Red and Yellow draw the curtains to the private lounge while Sky puts shades on you and Loki before tucking a plushy under your arm, Loki's arm and handing one to Lulu as well. "Perfect," White announces, "now let's have some fun till they sober up." He calls for Lulu- who readily jumps and settles on his shoulder- and goes out into the crowd with his brothers, leaving the two of you to go through the final stage of your colourful high.

You The music is a soft melody with a depth given to the bass, and you can automatically tell there is a touch of Galimatias in there somewhere. Blinking and feeling the environment around you, you find yourself out in the open, an unlit paper lamp in your hand surrounded by the building and creatures you were just dancing around. This cannot be real, is just a passing thought in your mind, never given the weight it deserves. Why? Because you are already distracted by the pairs sitting on the grass under the shimmering night sky and oil lamps either hung on the trees, rested on rock piles or kept safely on the grass. The scenic beauty is too romantic and the smell of vanilla burning somewhere is bringing up emotions you wanted to keep hidden from the world for some time more. If it isn't for the voice that calls out for you from behind, you are quite sure another minute would have ended in tears. "Is this the spot?" You know the voice all too well to turn around voluntarily but a part of your subconscious itches at this new wavelength you feel in that very sound. That silken voice that has a veil over it suddenly seems...free. And to add to your surprise, the God of Mischief who adores the shades of gold, green and black is out of the blue walking towards you in a white shirt and blue jeans. Are those ripped jeans? And did he just tie his hair back? You are in the middle of thinking about this new persona when you are pushed into the river of questions with that slight tilt of his head and a huge smile. If only you could see the look on your face like Loki 2.0 was seeing right now. Your frown; your wrinkled nose and those lips turned as if they have tasted something sour.  "What?" He laughs. "You're laughing?" Your gasp of unbelief is not making it easy for the God. "I just asked you if we're sitting here and you looked at me as if I was some strange alien." He shakes his head. So do you- at the fact that you could see his teeth throughout that sentence. "It's just-" you lick your lips and try to move a liiiittle back, away from him- "I've never seen you smile this much, let alone laugh." He breaks in a giggle, making you pause your breath. "Staahhp," he nearly sings and pokes you on your collar, trying to act all shy, forcing you to wonder if he is an imposter. "Okay, something is definitely of-faa-" The distraction in front of you makes you miss the end of the stone beneath your step, almost sending you down seven feet but Loki is quick to catch you by your hand and pulling in towards him by your waist. Ah. Now, this chest to chest nearness is quite familiar. So is that scent that naturally lingers on him. It is him. More or less.

Loki The illuminated aquatic ball gets a red and yellow micro planet down the hole. The tentacled pink alien grumbles something at his opponent, breaks his cue stick and stomps out of the bar. A nonchalant chuckle comes of that very opponent as he straightens himself after those smooth three shots. "Come back when you are old enough to stop whining." "One Midgardian Sex on the Beach for Loki," the waitress sings before setting the twirling glass down beside his cue stick and walking away- but not before she has felt that ass on her fingers. There is not much colour on his face except for a tired look in his eyes when he feels those intruding hands on his jeans. "Get those hands away be-" "Before he cuts them off clean." Loki has to turn to find the source of the voice that is somewhat quite usual to his ears. And when he does, the waitress is forgotten right at that moment, for all his senses are on you. You stand at the entrance facing Loki, who has to take a lungful of this musty bar air to come to terms that the person wearing a generous amount of kajal and smokey eyes is you. That smile on your lips assures him that. But the outfit brings back some more questions. All black. Those jeans- black. That tank top- black. That leather jacket- black. Those high boots- black. Those belt accessories hanging off those thighs- wait, they actually look good on her. And is that a nose ring? Your steps come to a halt right in front of the God; the very God who stands there nearly toppling over his cue stick. Your fingers take the liberty to tap him under the chin and draw yourself close enough. "Better keep that butt safe from unwanted hands before I claw someone for even looking at them," you whisper before pretending to bite him and walking away with his drink. The chill around his neck does not subside even after you're gone. And he is still wondering just one thing. "What kind of bao-bao did she eat now?"

You "What?" "...Nothing." Loki smiles and tries to hide his face in his hair. "Why are you looking at me like that?" It's no lie. You have been staring at Loki for the past twenty minutes with a smile on your face. You are sitting the same way you were sitting when he longingly looked at a couple making out, or when he moaned while eating a burger, or when he said you looked pretty in the moonlight. "I am wondering," you hum, letting your arm cradle your head, your gaze still stuck on him. "Wondering what." Loki mirrors you. "How amazing you are," you sigh, closing your eyes, "and yet I miss my Loki."

Loki "Are you comfortable in those?" He is still getting used to your eyes following every single hot body that passes by the room, checking them out without any restraints. Your eyes finally come back to him and find him pointing at your outfit. "Why? You wanna borrow them for the night?" Your suggestive voice raises the God's brows and forces him to inhale through his mouth before blowing all that air out. "I will just borrow my own drink for now," he acknowledges while taking his cocktail and downing it in huge gulps, all the while you sit there with your legs apart, resting quite casually with your arms on the bar table. Breathing in through your teeth you lick your lips. "You are looking quite yummy today, Loki-" you tilt your head and smirk with your eyes- "wonder how you'll look on that pool table there." "Quite heavy on top of you," he quips, feeling a burp come up. His arms go past you to keep the glass over the tabletop when he feels your legs wind themselves around his to pull him closer. "What makes you think you'll get to the top?" you point out while playing with his belt loops. Loki looks at you for one long minute. Eventually, he lets his hand set those two hair strands in their place, every from those side braids that add something to your look which clearly does something to Loki. "As painfully lovely as that offer is," Loki hums and looks right into your eyes, "I feel I should rather bear with the Y/N I know."

You wake up with a jolt to the bass-boosted music thumping outside. Removing the shades and rubbing your eyes you nearly slip your lenses out. "Fuck," you mumble under your breath before realising you had been drooling. On Loki's shirt. Your fingers work discreetly to wipe that drool off his black shirt. "You are buying me a new one." His voice reverberates in your ear that is closer to his chest, sending goosebumps down your body. Slowly moving away from his chest to sit straight, you wipe the marks of your saliva away from your lips and clear your throat. Loki clears his throat and snaps the knots in his neck and then removes his shades. "I didn't realise when I fell asleep," you mumble as your fingers move through your hair to straighten them out. "Probably went through the last stage," Loki insists, removing any wrinkles from his shirt and finding something resembling a plushy under his arm. "Which was one bizarre dream," he mutters. "Felt like a weird dream," you utter. Both of you freeze for a short second at the synchronisation of your thoughts, turning to face each other for one fleeting moment. As if looking into each other's eyes opens certain doors that did not seem to be there before, both of you turn away to hide your heated faces- questioning whether the other one knows something. You busy your hands to move your hair behind your ears. Loki pulls at his cuffs before trying to scratch an itch in the back of his head. You move the blanket over you closer to your chest before wanting to bury your face in it. Loki tries to play with the plushy's head, trying his best to check if he could see you from the corner of his eyes. "Do you wear white?" You blurt out without a warning and it is only later that your eyes are popping out as words register in your mind. "What?" Loki is confused. He blinks and tilts his head a bit. "Uhh, no. I...don't." He does not know why he is answering that question. "Do you have a naval piercing?" He asks, genuinely curious; more like cautious. "God no," you gasp, feeling your hand go over your naval to check. You blow out some of that hot air burning inside you. Loki inhales, trying to look at anything but you. "Have you ever tried braiding your hair?" Even though it is an interesting question, it is a bit strange coming from Loki. "Like, like those side braids?" You ask softly, showing him a rough example on your hair. Loki nods. "No-" you shake your head- "but it'll look good on you." Loki nods. "You too. It will look great on you as well." "And a bun at back will look good on you as well." A minute or two passes as you two sit there awkwardly, trying to find something to talk about. You look at your wrist to watch the time before realising you are not wearing a watch. Loki is scratching an itch on his palm as he tries to come up with a strategy. "Oh!" you jolt up in your seat at a sudden realisation. "the kids!" "Hmm?" "We should find Lulu and Javier." "Oh! Yes!" Loki nods and gathers the blankets and the headphones, keeping them at one side before getting up with you. "We should find them and get back home." "I hope they are okay." "They better be okay or I will kill those colourful bastards for neglecting the kids in their care." And off you two go into the alien rave, thinking the new door has been shut for good, never anticipating the events that are about to come that would change the whole dynamic of many relationships.

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Quiz: Which Desmond Hall Character Are You?

SPOILER WARNING FOR DESMOND HALL ARCS I AND II

Last week, I was going to work on finishing my next review, but then my muse pulled me aside and ordered me to write a Desmond Hall personality quiz while threatening me with a conjure doll and silver pin. Not every Desmond Hall character is in this quiz, only the ones that I thought would be the funniest to write. Enjoy!

1. You have just arrived at an ancient manor house enveloped in darkness that rests atop a sinister network of haunted caves. When you learn this, how do you react? A. Lie in bed for several days while writhing in agony. B. Accept it and keep myself busy while pining for my voodoo island home. C. Act insufferably smug, because soon the house will belong to me. D. Go search for creatures in the caves to alleviate my boredom and satisfy my compulsion to do random disturbing things. E. Barely react at all because the writers have forgotten that I have a personality. F. Swan around while talking to myself about how the manor looks like something out of a storybook. G. Wish that I could live there again, because I've been trapped in a trippy magical closet for months.

2. The daily newspaper arrives and the headline reads, "GIRL BRUTALLY MURDERED.” What is your response? A. Retreat to my bedchamber and panic loudly about how I hope no one discovers that I’m the murderer. B. Get the body buried and all evidence concealed. C. Observe a moment of silence for my former doxy, then promptly forget she ever existed. D. Cut out the photo of the victim's face, suspend it from a papier-mâché gallows tree, and display it prominently in the foyer. E. Feel moderately concerned for my safety, but not too much. My ghost boyfriend will protect me...maybe. F. Scheme to blackmail the killer into marrying me. G. Wonder, "Was that my brother again?"

3. Your hobbies include: A. Moping around the manor house in fancy suits and contorting my face as though trying unsuccessfully to relieve myself. B. Reciting dramatic monologues with bits of scenery caught between my teeth! C. Plotting murder, robbery, and the corruption of young maidens while sipping sherry. D. I wander. I visit. I'm here and there. I'm a kind of ghost of Desmond Hall. E. I used to enjoy rebelling, flouncing, and bickering, but I've lost my taste for those. Now I prefer hanging out with old people in a cottage that smells of strange spices. F. Talking to and stroking my sweet little snake. (By which I mean "reptile with no legs and a forked tongue." Get your mind out of the gutter.) G. Necromancy.

4. Your favorite foods include: A. Bubbly eggs cooked in champagne. Definitely not kippers. B. The cuisine of my native island, before the evil of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES made all the plants poisonous and killed all the animals! C. My spouse's hors d'oeuvres--but only when I don't have to eat them off the floor. D. Sugar, strawberries and cream, and the very best...*checks Teleprompter*...butter. E. Muffins laced with magical herbs. F. The delicious misery of the man who tried to strangle me and of all the other women who want him. G. I don't eat anymore. I'm a ghost. Food passes right through me--literally.

5. What turns you on? A. A lover who is unpredictable but not murderously crazy, and who likes to wear lacy nighties. B. I would not know! I have not felt those urges in three hundred years! C. Money. D. Anyone from my preferred gender who actually wants to spend time with me. E. A ghost who behaves like Edward Cullen. F. Jean Paul Desmond! He is the sexiest male character in the history of television. G. Submission and unquestioning devotion. Also, lesbians.

6. What is your signature look? A. Highly flattering mod suits combined with an unflattering combover. B. A long black Victorian dress. C. A stodgy gray/green suit, which is probably in desperate need of Febreze after being worn three days in a row. D. Turtlenecks. E. Bleached blonde hair and faddish early ‘70s fashions. F. Long pointed fingernails, false eyelashes, and a creepy grin. G. I once hung from the ceiling with my shirt torn open. Does that count?

7. Everyone has a skeleton in their closet. What is yours? A. Although I want to reach out and help the beautiful young women who come to me, instead my hands reach out to kill! B. I single-handedly cursed my employer's family by signing his grandfather’s (misspelled) name on a pledge to the Dark Lord. C. I am a black widower. D. I used to participate in necromancy rituals with my dear cousin. E. I stole a piece of my mother's jewelry and sold it at a pawn shop. F. I am a priestess of the Serpent God. G. Funny you should mention skeletons. My closet has a literal one hanging in it.

8. If you had to guess, which of these personages were you most likely in a past life? A. A freebooter possessed by the Devil. B. Myself. C. Henry Seewald--who looks exactly like a toddler version of me--transported back in time via the 49th hexagram. D. Someone named Claude. E. A young girl sacrificed by a priestess who looked like my mother. F. Ophelia, if she were real. G. My great-uncle with the same first name as me, who was allegedly disowned for being a poet.

9. Your favorite Dark Shadows character is: A. Barnabas Collins. B. Magda Rakosi. C. Nicholas Blair. D. David Collins. E. Carolyn Stoddard. F. Angelique Bouchard. G. Quentin Collins.

10. What from 1970 Dark Shadows do you believe was most likely inspired by Strange Paradise? A. The character of Judah Zachery, who is highly reminiscent of THE DEVIL JACQUES ELOI DES MONDES. B. The use of a retcon to completely change Angelique's backstory. C. The name Desmond Collins. D. The implied reincarnation in the Summer of '70 arc that (sadly) never got explored as much as it should have been. E. The subplot about Quentin falling in love with Daphne's ghost. F. The Leviathan cult's use of snake iconography. G. The carousel in Tad and Carrie's playroom.

If you answered mostly A, you are Jean Paul Desmond, richest man in the world and master of Desmond Hall. Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome in spite of his receding hairline, Jean Paul is the victim of two self-imposed curses, one of which causes him to strangle people when the Mark of Death appears on his hand (which is totally not a reflection of some repressed or hidden part of his personality, having formerly displayed megalomania and control freak tendencies on his island). When not under the effects of this curse, he is the living embodiment of charm and sweetness and attracts would-be partners like moths to a flame. Logically, the same must be true about you, because online personality quizzes are never wrong. ;)

If you answered mostly B, you are Raxl, daughter of the Priestess of the Serpent and winner of the Canadian 1969 and 1970 scenery-chewing contests. Far older than she looks, the Desmond family’s housekeeper may not be as loyal as she appears, depending on the whims of whomever wrote the plot outline for the final arc. She is an expert on all things occult and supernatural, from tarot cards to the Egyptian Key. Even after her retcon, she is awesome.

If you answered mostly C, you are Laslo Thaxton, husband of Ada (Desmond) Thaxton and master of Desmond Hall in the absence of Jean Paul and Philip. I would say that you are an unscrupulous, greedy Devil-worshiper like Laslo, but I’ve always hated those personality quizzes that make moral judgments about people just because they share some traits in common with the villain. Therefore, I’m just going to assume that you are most likely a decent person who only got Laslo because you happen to love money and Nicholas Blair.

If you answered mostly D, you are Cort Desmond, twenty-something cousin of Jean Paul and Philip. Eccentric and erratic but oh-so-adorable, Cort is a polarizing character loved by some fans for his good looks and (often unintentionally) funny lines, but hated by others for being somewhat of a spoiled brat. Like Hamlet whom he idolizes, he seeks justice for the death of his father, along with the inheritance his Dear Stepfather Laslo wants to steal from him.

If you answered mostly E, you are Holly Marshall--or, rather, what Holly has become since her creator Ian Martin left the show. Formerly a spitfire with a high IQ, a low boiling point, and a love for outdated slang, Holly has become a shell of her former self under the new writers. She spends more time unconscious and hypnotized than not; when she is conscious, she wastes her time pining after an unsuitable love interest who treats her like Edward treats Bella in Twilight. I hope this doesn’t describe you, because, if it does, you should seek help. Don’t be like Desmond Hall-era Holly!

If you answered mostly F, you are Agatha Pruitt, a young seamstress obsessed with Jean Paul. While the master of Desmond Hall has attracted many suitors, none are as strange or disturbing as Agatha, who blackmails him into letting her live at Desmond Hall after his failed murder attempt and proceeds to wreak havoc there along with the Serpent God (who may or may not be Raxl’s Great Serpent) whom she worships.

Finally, if you answered mostly G, you are Jean Paul’s brother, Philip Desmond (not to be confused with his cousin Philip Desmond, or either of the two Philippes des Mondes). A secretive figure largely mysterious even to his own brother, the handsome Philip dabbles in the dark arts and other mysteries, which ultimately leads to his disappearance into the caves beneath Desmondton and reappearance as a ghost. His character alignment is unclear--he may be evil, or just chaotic neutral--but one thing is clear: whoever messes with Philip has the Devil to pay.

[sheepish-uwu]

if u take requests, could you write a small bit abt lion reacting to docs death?

of course, and merry (early) christmas anon! i hope this is to your liking!

i gift to thee: 2.2k words of pure doc/lion angst! rated for MATURE audiences as it deals with dark themes :). enjoy! you can also read it on  a03!

Death was a demon that had once held an inescapable clutch on his soul - as it tends to do with many - for the elusive afterlife was intimidating to most. It was a trampling force that held no remorse for those caught in the aftereffects and was one of the only things Olivier could not run from other than God’s judgment. All he’d known how to do was run; run from responsibility. Run from his family’s advice. From the people he loved. From his son. From his lover. 

Olivier had sworn he’d gotten over the fear of death. The moment he’d been exiled from his own family and girlfriend, he’d considered himself better off as dead then. He had been a shell of a human being back then, constantly wishing for death’s release despite lacking the willpower to go through with any of the treacherous thoughts that had plagued his mind. He often sends thanks to the divine force that kept him from that horrendous fate. There must have been a reason for keeping him alive even when he was practically six-foot underground in his own alcoholic and drug-induced misery. 

Death had become a common factor in his work field to a point where he’d never bat an eye at the miscellaneous casualties if there was a purpose. It was the main cause of his and Gustave’s disagreements whenever they’d argue, their differentiating philosophies and viewpoints remaining on very shaky ground that he’d squint to say was common - so they ignored it the same way they ignored each other’s politics. In his defense though, life was just so fragile. Mortality has kicked him in the face multiple times. Like when he was barely an adult and hospitalized for his toxic obsessions, he’d had a lot of time to think about how close he had been to death and, more bitterly, how many had died to something he hadn’t. He’s held the hand of sickly dying patients and carried heavy corpses of civilians and colleagues to a point where any shock, fear, or emotion has dissipated. 

In Rainbow, the only deaths he’d witnessed were the ones of recruits. It was always upsetting to lose a member of their organization, yet their losses had never really phased Olivier - at least not in the way it affected people like Gilles who’d worked and trained with them more personally. They had yet to lose an actual operator though, whether it be through sheer luck was unknown to Olivier - yet they’d always managed to keep a clean streak even when missions went haywire. It was common to joke about dying on the job otherwise the lingering fear would eat them alive, and despite the teasing nature, there was always a truth to their words. It remained unspoken, yet drifted through the atmosphere whenever anyone laughed about their possible fate in an upcoming mission. Despite the mirth in their teasing voices, Olivier saw the flash of uncertainty and fear in their eyes - the feeling being reciprocated by everyone else in the room. 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? The lead up was unbearable, someone had to die eventually - right? It was all a matter of who and when. Everyone secretly expected the more reckless operators to be the ones to die first; after all, they were the ones who joked most about dying and were more prone to life-endangering endeavors. It’s what made the most sense, right? 

So why was it that their doctor - the one who preached the most about caution and safety - died first? Why hadn’t it been someone like James - who jumps headfirst into the fray without thinking? Or Elias - who practically gloats about willing to dive right in front of bullets to save lives? Often times, Olivier thinks he’s the butt of a joke the entire world is playing on him. Right when he gets complacent, comfortable, and happy with the way his life is heading, life throws a curveball that sends him tumbling back down the steep rocky mountain he’d been so desperately trying to climb. It’s what happened when he was a teenager and thrown out to the streets, it’s what happened when he almost lost his rank from his relapse into toxic behaviors, and it’s what’s happening now. 

And it hurts - so much more than all those experiences combined - to a point where Olivier wants to scream. Rip his hair out and peel off his own skin in a valiant attempt to shake off all these layers of pain and anguish. And this loss shouldn’t hurt him so much. He - he thought he’d gotten used to death’s company. And death wasn’t the final destination, there was life for Gustave after his earthly one - even if he wasn’t a devout believer in heaven or hell. For Olivier’s own sake, he held onto the notion that Gustave was with his heavenly father despite his lover’s religious doubts. The thought of Gustave being permanently gone tore at Olivier’s chest and applied an emotional pressure that made his sternum feel like exploding. 

Even still, despite knowing Gustave is in a better place, Olivier despises every second without the other French man’s company and guiltily relishes in this selfish desire. He misses Gustave and desperately searches for ways to keep his lover’s presence lingering, even if it wasn’t physical. He’d already gone through a phase of replacing all of his pillowcases with Gustave’s clothes, inhaling the poignant scent of his lover; outrageously expensive cologne, aftershave, and home. The day the scent wore off had been soul-crushing, and instead of being comforted by the pacifying smell of his deceased lover, he was met with his own depressing stench of sweat, tears, and desperation. 

The love he shared with Gustave was resurfacing into a loneliness that made every tender memory sour and turned every night alone with his right hand into a pathetic display of grief - any kind of pleasure received being reduced to a vigorous lust for what he couldn’t have anymore. The night his anger, grief, and desire merged into one amalgamation of self-loathing sent Olivier on a rampant self-destructive course, seeking out the artificial love of strangers for a taste of the past. 

Except it was superficial and each impetuous touch from the men couldn’t compare to the way Gustave’s careful nimble hands had once explored his body. Where Gustave was attentive, loving, and selfless in the way he reduced Olivier to a babbling mess, they were rough and selfish. Greedily taking from Olivier - though he’d be a hypocrite to be modest and say he hadn’t initially been doing the same thing - and the realization that this wasn’t Gustave, and he’d never find a suitable replacement for the love he’d once shared with the man, hit him like a freight train and sent him barreling down into a pit of despair. Any sound of pleasure he’d once emitted was obscured, all there was was pain - his cries being muffled underneath sweat-laced skin and the sound of the once euphoric activity. When the brute realized his sobs weren’t of pleasure and asked a concerned “shit, are you alright mate?”, Olivier merely nodded despite how much his soul screeched at him to say no and spill out the cesspool of his inner demons and unrelenting heartache. 

His church had been helpful and alleviated the unbearable torment of his wistful thoughts. The people he confided in supported him through his mourning, promising to keep him in their prayers. Their intercessions helped ease the nagging thoughts that he was completely alone in this particular struggle, and the distractions from his time volunteering kept his mind away from the distress in his empty home. Gustave never went to church with him despite how adamantly Olivier tried to convince him, and he never would’ve imagined he’d ever be grateful for it. Everything and everywhere reminded him of Gustave, but not his church. The only place Gustave refused to accompany Olivier to, and the only place that didn’t overwhelmingly remind him of a certain presence he was missing. 

He tried to find solace solely on his religion, and oh how he tried to find respite and healing through prayer and guidance - but old habits die hard and the sudden influx of emotional turmoil dug up everything he’d fought so hard to control. It felt like he was constantly on a malfunctioning autopilot mode - he couldn’t control his actions that progressively got more and more destructive, exacerbating his situation without a care in the world as he let his inner demons take over. Thought and inhibition were completely thrown out the window every time he took a swing of Gustave’s once treasured expensive wine. A sight that’d surely make him fume and retch in his grave, he’d think guiltily, forlorn gaze cast down at the half-empty glass bottle. 

He dreaded to imagine what Gustave would think of him if he saw him now, and remembers vividly the disappointment and hurt that’d paint his handsome face in the beginning of their relationship when Olivier would oftentimes turn to alcohol to deal with the stress. 

“We’re a team now, anything that bothers you bothers me. Tell me please, don’t push me away - I know I’m not the most emotionally available person in the world, but I care. I don’t want to see you like this again, please.” Gustave had exasperated, crouching down next to Olivier’s huddled figured hugging the toilet - spewing out his regret from the night before.

It took him a while to trust Gustave with his anxieties and problems, and though he had always been distant with his comfort compared to someone like Gilles - who’d embrace Olivier in a warm hug and soothing words - it worked. Gustave offered Olivier a shoulder to cry on and tentative back rubs, though the hesitant physical touches couldn’t compare to his words. They held advice - a logical merit that kept him grounded and resilient with a promise that these problems he faced had solutions so long as he put the effort to solve them. 

“But Gustave,” Olivier whispered, voice hoarse as he stared at the soul-shuddering marble tombstone that did very little to dignify who Gustave Kateb was and all of his humble accomplishments. It made Olivier distraught to see the altruistic man who worked so hard, every single day, reduced to a few words. “How do I get through this? Without you?” His voice was breaking on every syllable, body oscillating back and forth on his heels in a desperate attempt to contain himself. 

Olivier was met with nothing but the sound of wind rustling through the willow and oak trees and the soft shrill chirping from the thrushes and the songbirds, a hurtful reminder of how ultimately his loss was meaningless to everything but him. The world would carry on unforgivingly and leave Olivier behind to rot in his despair while trying to grudgingly trek through life, all while carrying the heavy solid weight of grief on his back. Nobody was going to wait on him to catch up, nobody truly cared or was impacted as much as Olivier was, and Olivier was sure that right when he’d returned from his leave in Northern France, the majority of Rainbow would have moved on.  Perhaps they’d already found a replacement for Gustave. Olivier grimaced, the thought embarking a shrewd feeling of dissatisfaction that boiled in his blood. 

“I can’t do this, I don’t want to go back without you there. It’s unbearable please, I-” his pleads cut off abruptly into a sob that tore through his chest and throat, leaving behind a tingling sensation that kept his breathing uneven. “I miss you. I-I can’t… I don’t know what to do. Please, help me.” The blonde French man crumpled on the cold ground, the maintained grass damp and chilled from the icy dew-heavy morning.

 “Help me,” Olivier reiterated, body slumped downwards as he fisted handfuls of the surrounding flora carelessly - a ravaging tick surging throughout him to destroy whatever he could get his hands on. “Gustave help me. Help me, help me,” Olivier repeated uncontrollably between breath-stealing wails, his repetition a painful reminder of the birds that surrounded him in the desolate graveyard - only able to repeat rather than speak. 

“I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have spent so long fighting you, you’ve brought me so much joy. It was a waste, and I wish I could go back and spend all those hours we wasted arguing about something stupid and petty and just.. Kiss you instead.” Olivier heaved out once he finally caught his breath, eyes glazing over the dirt and grass that now contaminated his pale hands. 

A bubbling emotion surged throughout him, its force overwhelming and warm that induced a trembling in his fingertips. A phrase came to mind, the only way to explain this feeling that had been eating him alive throughout the past year. Three words contributed to this almost rapturous feeling that Olivier had stubbornly avoided saying unless he deemed the time acceptable. How idiotic he had been to hold himself back like that because now there was no more time left to share this revelation he’d been holding inside of him selfishly.

“I love you.” Olivier whispered, voice hushed as if admitting these three words was a crime - but the only thing that was crime-worthy was how long he’d kept it to himself. 

And so, he was met with nothing. Just as he had been earlier, and would be forevermore.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S 

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry. 

BACKGROUND: 

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek. 

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which. 

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time. 

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered. 

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? ) 

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him. 

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival. 

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately. 

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm. 

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why… 

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS: 

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken  

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy. 

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down. 

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway 

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt. 

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath 

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.   

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire;  madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles; 

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

[maitre-kuroneko]

Top 10 of the 2010′s

I was tagged by @joi-in-the-tardis list off my Top Ten of the 2010′s, and as usual it took me forever to do it ^^;

I’ll begin with a warning: I was in a really dark place at the beginning of the decade. For too many years, I was already locked in a constant dark mood that I later identified as depression, that huge monster really has it claws deeply on me and was slowly instilling suicide ideation. I honestly could not project myself in the future because, “if life was already as it is now, these years all adults around were in the opinion shall be my best ones, why live to see the rest?”. I was convinced it would be endless suffering and something was bound to happen before I turned thirty. I tried not to focus on this because obviously this post is supposed to be about accomplishments, but I’m bound to mention it in a few points:

My student life came to an end… and it was a struggle, I still don’t know how I managed to juggle all the learning, multiple reports and the hellish study trip to Africa while having a massive depression with suicide ideation. In the end, I had my diploma but I was a very average student, had next to no relation with my fellow students – who (except two girls, and even them I kept absolutely no contact with afterwards) did not understand me and wanted nothing to do with me. As soon as all exams were over I got the hell out of here and only came back to fetch my diploma (and it took me nearly a year). But the thing is: I did it. It took me a year more than it should have but against every odds, sleepless nights and breakdowns, I did it, out of sheer stubbornness.

I had my first jobs: hello my social anxieties… you were really a drag for this step. Sending applications? That’s alright. Anxiously waiting for someone to call me back? Go to an interview? Do a job with a lot of interaction with people? Urrrrgh… I remember my first days as a cashier: a lot of blushing, sweating and a long internal litany of “don’t forget to raise your voice, don’t stutter…” My first days on the phone? “oh thank gods there’s a script to follow”, said she, while shaking. When I left, after two years on the job, my manager said I was the best example of a shy, nearly silent person who turned out to be a good employee… (but they still didn’t want me back – ahah). Working did so much to quell my stuttering and general anxiety at randomly talking to strangers. 

I fell in love: it did morph into a huge toxic mess and it took me months, if not years, to disentangle myself from it all BUT I’ll never throw it away because it saved my life: when I was travelling through the darkest part of my life, thinking seriously about ending it all, that man came and loved me, broken pieces and all. It proved me there was something loveable about me, even if most people would say I’m cold, unexpressive, terribly awkward and haughty, there would be people to see past all this.

I left my parent’s house: another struggle… it took time partly because landlords were not interested renting their place to a part time worker, and partly because I was very afraid to live alone. I firmly believe that part of my depression was manageable because there were people around me I had to pretend to be – mostly - alright for. Pretend comprised: eat at least a full meal a day, make jokes and go to school. People, even people who didn’t know or didn’t want to see my mental state or whom it was really hard to live with were still part of my survival plan: what would happen without them? But it was just becoming too difficult to live with anybody, I’m just a bear wanting to be left alone, I can’t be nice and sunny as soon as I leave my bed but people kept insisting talking to me at an unreasonable volume. From the day I moved… it was a liberation, and my depression bouts turned out to be way easier to navigate when I was not under scrutiny. If I want to stay silent and not use facial expressions all week-end I can do so and, wow, all the spoons I have on Mondays. My relationship with my dad is so much better since we don’t see each other every day.

I learned I didn’t need someone to do things: no one wants to go with me on conventions, concerts or simply to the movies? Do it with yourself girl! That’s basically what I said to myself after being disappointed at missing too many events – and I discovered it was ok. Very ok. I still can’t manage things far from home (that would require a night or two in a hotel), or eating alone at a restaurant, but maybe I just need some more years to achieve this.

I travelled : no big journeys around the world but I live in a country with a large variety of reliefs and flora, near oceans and seas, so I managed to have some nice vacations, mostly with family but I also traveled alone by train, which was a big no-no ten years ago ^^;

I asked for help and followed a very informal therapy, just having someone listening without judgment can be a huge improvement to one’s mental state and self-esteem, which leads to… 

I made peace with myself: most people find me weird, inadequate, have no problem drifting away and never speak to me again. So what? Is it telling something about me or about them? If what they perceive is not attractive, does it mean I’m not interesting or undeserving of having a good life?

I became a vegetarian: for a long time, to evade hypothetical remarks and bad jokes, I entertained the somewhat weird idea I could put aside meat and fish at home and eat normally at people’s places… it didn’t work. This diet was ridiculously easy to adopt once I was living alone, then I began to be sick, mentally and physically, after eating anywhere else: my stomach was rebelling against the food it was not used to ingest anymore (the last Christmas I ate meat I was sick for three days afterwards. GREAT) and my mind clearly did not agree with the paradox of abstaining because of my principles but then throw them away just to please disrespectful others. After two years of this I took the leap and stopped completely, I lost the count for how long (three years?) and, despite the jokes and unwelcomed opinion, I live way better with myself, which is the most important thing. You only live partly with others but 24/7 with yourself.

I tried: better failure than regret. It may be a weird accomplishment but it takes me so many time (hello again anxiety) to dare doing new things that every failure means a prior victory anyway – I tried zumba, Aikido, Qi Gong, to learn guitar, to mend things with friends, to make new ones, I went in search of companionship, I tried to buy my own flat. Every failure can be more or less depressing but can also give a better understanding of oneself and of circumstances, of what can be accomplished in the future.  

It took me weeks to write this, first because my initial reaction at being tagged was “I’ve not accomplished anything a thirty-something person is supposed to have”, oh dear. Before my stupid anxieties over everything took the better of me I decided the best course of action would be to just do the thing, prove to the low self-esteem part of my brain it’s not because one does not reach society’s expectations that they do nothing. Obviously, time was needed to dig up ten accomplishments I’d want to kind of brag about, and then some more to find a way not to morph something supposed to be light into the boo-boo story of my life. Let’s say this post simmered in the background for a while. Ten years ago, I’ve already been a pessimist for a long time, joy and simple pleasures squashed by bullies and my general lack of social skills, I ended basking so much in the negativity I forgot there could be nice things in life.   With all the gloom I’ve been experiencing in the last few months I needed to remember my “lowest of the lows” and all that was accomplished to evolve into a more optimistic version of myself. Work is still in progress and people are often puzzled over my ability to joke about past me and present problems (if I don’t the alternative is complaining, if I complain I’m doomed, got it?), which might be contributing to that weird image they have of me but – meh. Don’t care.

I’m ace, I’m bi, I’m poly, maybe aspie, a bookworm and serievore, sometimes a gamer, a lover of imaginary worlds, a cat person without a cat, a great hugger without people to hug. Nice to meet you.

[bvgeyman]

@oleandercrowns​ || Adrian and Dorian || Prompt here

‘ there are many things that will fit beneath your skin ’ (Adrian to Dorian)

Today marked the arrival of another birthday. It was a time where Dorian would heavily contemplate the love affair between life and death. The immortal was a slave to the cyclical nature of time. For one who was destined to eternally be frozen in time, each passing year filled his soul with an indescribable bitterness. Perched on a ledge, high above Seoul, stormy gray hues survey their surroundings like a God passing judgment on their followers. From this height, the city lights looked like glistening diamonds decorating the sidewalk and streets while the stars felt within reach. Dorian had always dreamt of flying. If he were to fall from this building, he would surely accomplish that dream. His long legs hung over the cement ledge, poised as if ready to take that leap of faith.

He knew jumping would be pointless because he had done it before. He could remember the wind rushing around him as he fell. He could remember how tranquil those few moments felt. He also remembered the pain and cold darkness. Part of his curse was never being allowed to forget what it felt like each time he “died”. The body he inhabited would break, but his soul would merely pass on into a new vessel--rinse and repeat. There was once a time when he attempted to kill himself regularly. Each day his attempts would become more elaborate than the last. Finally, he grew tired knowing his ending would only lead to a new beginning and began killing those around him. The Immortal grew a hunger for the bloodshed that would never be sedated.

The air was several degrees cooler up here, but it went unnoticed by the brunet. He wore a stark white shirt with none of the buttons done and paired it with black leather pants that may as well have been painted on. His bare feet scraped against the cement whenever they moved. Nestled on his lap was a blond male with bright blue eyes staring up at him in paralyzed horror. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Dorian purred, his deep voice a sultry serenade, but there was a hard edge to it that couldn’t be ignored. He had met the other male at a nightclub and coerced them to return to his penthouse where they fucked until blond had passed out. “You look frightened. No worries, the poison should wear off in a few and you’ll be able to move your body.” The brunet paused as if to think something over. “Of course, you won’t be alive by then,” He whispered as if he were soothing a lover while his slender fingers threaded through the golden tresses. “I once looked like you. My hair was so golden the sun was jealous, and my eyes were so blue they were often mistaken for a clear sky. I saw you tonight and thought to myself, ‘I must destroy him’,” Dorian mumbled as the hand not caressing their hair moves into their view holding a knife.

The brunet placed the tip of the blade against his victim’s cheek and pressed it forward until a ruby pearl of blood leaked out. “It is intoxicating to see how easily you bleed,” Bringing the knife up, Dorian licked at the blade and gave a deep groan. “Taste better than your cum,” He purred and placed the knife against their chest. “How dare you make me jealous of your fragile beauty.” The Immortal paused to give a soft hum. He began sliding the knife down their bare chest, drawing an angry crimson trail in the blade’s wake. He moved it all the way to where the blond’s heart was located. “Want to know my birthday wish?” He asked sounding amused while one of his hands continued stroking his victim’s blond hair. “On this day of love for one so loveless, I wish for your heart, darling,” Dorian purred as he leaned over so that their gazes locked. “I want to be the last thing you see while you breathe one final time. Send my love to Hell, darling,” He whispered before pressing a kiss against the blond’s lip and repeatedly plunged the knife into their chest.

With each violent stab, blood-splatters began to decorate his clothing and his handsome face. Once his anger dissipated, the Immortal let the bloody knife fall from his stained hands onto the rooftop behind him. His eyes had clouded over with darkness by now, filled with passionate unbridled rage. Leaning over, he pressed a gentle kiss to the blond’s cold blood-stained lips before unceremoniously pushing the corpse off of his lap. He watched in silence as it plummeted down until it blurred with distance and once again his attention returned to the horizon. Dorian lifted a dirty hand to brush back his dark hair, now his grey eyes were dulled with apathy. The high of a kill only last so long before he was hungry for more.

‘ there are many things that will fit beneath your skin ’

The voice washed over the Immortal causing a shiver to dance along his spine. He had wondered how long it would take for Adrian to find him. The brunet wasn’t hiding, but their neverending game of cat and mouse always had one chasing the other at some point. Their paths hadn’t crossed since Dorian’s last death which had been several months ago. Knowing that his lover had still been searching for him all this time made his pulse quicken with desire. “And if you were to peel back the layers, nightmares would come pouring out,” The Immortal mumbled.

A few seconds later, he tilts his head backward and stormy gray hues studied the lean figure of his lover--his Adonis. “It has been too long since I’ve bathed in your presence, my darling.” Shifting, he picked put a forgotten bottle of cabernet sauvignon and stood upon the bloodstained ledge. His bare feet barely made a sound as he walked along and held his arms out for balance. Occasionally, he would bring the bottle of wine to his bloody lips and take a long sip. A deep hum left him before he looked over at his lover who was lurking in the shadows. Dorian loved being watched by those icy hues. He loved being the center of their fantasy--a fallen star. “A king trapped in a kingdom built upon fallacies incapable of completing the cycle of life.” He paused to take a drink.

“We are born. We live. We love. We hate. And, we die,” Dorian mumbled as he turned to walk in the opposite direction. “What am I that I can’t complete such a simple timeline?” The eternally beautiful Immortal stated, finishing off his bottle of wine before holding it outward. “I live vicariously through my victims. I weep because I can’t die and yet I don’t want to die. Instead, I send as many people to Hell as possible. Il vaut mieux être marteau qu'enclume,” Dorian yelled out before letting go of the wine bottle so that it fell off the side of the building. He turned to fully face Adrian and hopped back down onto the rooftop. “It is better to be a hammer than a nail. Kill or be killed.”

[sleepinglune]

never enough, pt 2

once upon a time, you and mark were lovers. but, some things don’t work out as you let your emotions of insecurity break apart the love you shared. back to the present, you and mark meet up once again as music majors who have to compose a song together.

part one ← part two. ➝ part three.

you dreamt about meeting mark. you envisioned this scenarios many times. they were all different from each other. the stark contrast was always on what kind of expression he had. most of the times, it was a sincere one. no malice as the boy wasn’t able to bare such emotion. there was another constant in the mix. the distance. it was an arm-length away. neither of you dared to vouch into that space. it was the space that marked your ever-wallowing emotions. it was also the leeway that justified the day you broke two hearts. yours and his. but, most importantly his.

but, here you were. your hand willing crossing the barrier, fingers eager for touch. you thought for a moment maybe he wouldn’t hold it. but, he did.

if this happened in more favorable circumstances, you would think mark’s touch was euphoric. it caused electricity to course through your veins. the blood racing as your limbs are trying to retain their strength. but, you’re thankful by how your focus was on your sticky fingers. the remains of the dried-out coffee cause sweat to accumulate on the dents of your palms. that’s why your heart relaxed the moment you heard the word you always longed to hear. you pulled your hand quickly, the remains of palpitation still pulsed through your palm.

despite you didn’t really thought about it, donghyuck and yukhei did. they noticed how hasty your action was. you sensed how your best friend’s eyebrow rose, questioned the nervous energy you radiate. at the sudden gaze, you felt self-conscious on how your sudden pull would be taken. god, you were just hoping mark wasn’t taking it the wrong way.

“ha, good. i don’t think i need to worry much then. you’re a good artist, after all.” you asserted, tone filled with genuinity.

your features that were plastered with anxiety somewhat softened. the tails of your lips were upwards, a smile you only handed to him. mark remembered that look very well. it was the look he usually caught you had when you stared at him with awe. adoration crinkled in your eyes.

whilst you two shared these gazes whose weight was becoming evident to bystanders, donghyuck’s curiosity simply grew. it was like trying to contain a burst of flame. he cleared his throat to have everyone’s attention.

“oh?” his tone released an airy feel to it. his head tilted as his gaze fixated into yours. under his eyes, you felt rather intimidated. “i been having this question running through my head for a while actually. how do you know mark? or better yet, why you keep acting between knowing him and not knowing him at all?” his words strung in the air that grew tense.

your fingers reached for the hem of the shirt, crumbled the piece of fabric. your first reaction was a rather foolish one as you let the nervous bubble of laughter burst. it resonated on the confined space you did. “uhm,” your throat somehow found your voice under the crumples of your body waiting to combust. “mark and i have history, per say. yeah!” your tongue tried to adhere together as you grew scared of getting tied together between your debate to lie or tell the truth.

“i just- we have known each other for awhile.” you settled for that answer, slightly proud you didn’t stutter. but, you knew that wasn’t the answer he was searching for. but, mark rescued you from the scrutinizing his best friend was putting you through.

“stop giving her that look, hyuck. she’s right. we’re acquaintances.” his voice mellows out the situation, a depth of hurt concealed by his kind nature. donghyuck realized this as he has been friends with the boy beside him since eternity became a word.

“i’m not questioning that. i’m just curious on how you know each other.” he refuted, a pout etched on his lips.

“well,” you said, your mouth eagerly betrayed you. “we met through music. i quickly became his fan. i really like that song, sentimental.” your tone managed to not quiver under the three gazes focused on you.

at the mention of the song, mark’s facade faltered a bit. his lips weren’t able to maintain the friendly smile he upheld. sentimental was a song he composed when his emotions were too wild. he couldn’t keep the wild beast called the heart in the confinement of his ribcage. hence, he let it free when he wrote sentimental. sentimental was the song about your break up.

donghyuck who witnessed quietly this interaction finally connected the dots. his eyes widened, lips parted at the new revelation he just unveiled. before his throat could vibrate with sound, yukhei intervened. his own mind twirled the gears and connected the straws without a destination.

“i agree! it’s a great song! but, y’know. my heart lays with the songs cherry bomb and we young. those songs always have me hyped!” his tone fragments the quiet atmosphere that loomed over your shoulders. you have never been more thankful for yukhei’s ever so friendly personality.

you saw how mark’s expression returned to its glory. the big eyes that held the stars and the smile that challenged the sun’s spark. his cheeks are painted with the prettiest shade of red, deluded between the space. a sheepish laugh escaped. “i’m glad you guys enjoy my songs. i hope you keep supporting them.” his tone rimmed with joviality as his eyes wandered from yukhei’s to yours.

“of course! you know i’m your biggest fan!” your best friend chimed with a chirpy tone to compliment.

your features were no longer the stone figure you molded. it broke apart with a similar smile as mark’s. it was a smile that expressed the warmth that oozed throughout your body. dang, his effect on you hasn’t lost any impact. “i’m sure i will.” your voice somehow turned softer than you realized. it was so soft, so quiet that if you were farther, it would have been carried by the wind. but, mark was always good at catching words that weren’t meant to be heard.

donghyuck cleared his throat once the initial shock faded from his system. or well, it wasn’t as overwhelming as it first was because he didn’t sign up to be part of a drama. for all he knew, he signed up to sing his heart out and that’s it.

“y/n,” he called your name with that sweet voice of his. you simply turned your head in response, eyes catching his. “i’m sorry, i misjudged you right there. you see, my boy mark here,” his arm latched beside the other, arm over the shoulder. “he has been through some heartache and i’m just trying to protect him from it.” he knew those words were meant to hurt. they were meant to raise something that was buried. which, it worked.

your eyes twitched slightly, your fingers cramped and you had to reposition your feet to maintain stability. the instigated reaction caused donghyuck to realize that this love you and his best friend had still burned. he confirmed his assumptions as those stories from mark found sense. so, it was time to put his role as the protagonist’s best friend into action. his mind already had several plots on how could this relationship of yours will be executed.

“hey, don’t say that.” mark replied immediately, hand against donghyuck’s chest. “it’s not even true and how is it relevant? hyuck, that’s not nice to assume.”

guilt revolted in the pit of your stomach because of course. they seemed to be close friends. why wouldn’t donghyuck not know about you? or well, more how he caught the hints that were unconsciously dropped.

“it’s okay!” you spoke again, cringed on the inside. “i understand. i wouldn’t want my best friend to be hogged by some random strangers.” you said as your arm wrapped around yukhei. more than this action being meant to brag, it was meant for comfort. you were glad to see how the boy caught the message as his hand reached for yours.

“don’t we have it so tough mark? being handsome is always a hard chore. we are lucky to have people to support us on this journey.” your best friend jested as he tried to lift the mood.

you weren’t exactly mad at donghyuck for saying such a crude statement. it was meant to be raw and you knew it. if someone hurt yukhei like you hurt mark, you would probably react the same way. but little did you know, it was just donghyuck giving you his last judgment before giving you his blessing.

mark laughed at the comment, the joy emitted. “we are lucky! but, hyuck here is more popular than i am. just while ago, renjun called him to claim his spot as his number one best friend! imagine that level of threat.” your ex followed with ease, trying to cause the conversation to rift somewhere else.

“what a relatable struggle! y/n here keeps talking about nana this and nana that. i swear my best friend status keeps getting threatened.” he huffed with fake annoyance as his eye met yours.

you scoffed at his behavior, a sound resembling a snort. “yuki, we went through this. nana is my other half while you are my best friend. totally different titles.” you refute, arms crossed as you stared at him.

“yes! different titles. mark, you are my bro while renjun is my best friend. glad to see y/n has intellect.” donghyuck joined again, the penetrating intent gone from sight as it boiled on the background as it maneuvered a plan.

“that’s the same concept. it’s just having a lot of sidehoes because you can’t commit to one hoe. sounds like someone i very well know.” yukhei said with humor, one you found yourself laughing at.

“that’s not true! i have one sidehoe and it’s not you. it’s chenle. he is the sidehoe who i lie about being my favorite junior when he shares the title with jisung.” you humored back, some of the weight of before removed. but, you see how mark and donghyuck share gazes at the mentioned names. this seemed that it would become a usual thing. the questioning thing.

“wait, you said chenle and jisung?” mark questioned, for the first time speaking to you directly.

“yeah. park jisung and i are roommates as neither of us really wanted to live in the dorms. zhong chenle is nana’s roommate.” you replied back, not sure why you were being very descriptive.

“oh my god, the world is so small. we fucking know jisung park and zhong chenle too. mark and i share hip-hop classes with both.” donghyuck snorted his reply as he saw the evident shock on yours and yukhei’s faces.

“are you serious? how come jisung has never talked-” you said before you stopped mid-sentence where your eyes flashed a flashback where jisung is over in the kitchen telling you about his new seniors. he said one of them looked like a baby lion while the other looked like a monkey. “oh my god! you two are baby lion and donkey! that makes so much sense. yuki, these two are the ones jisung kept using casual language.” you exclaimed, excitement rushing through your words as the two were rather embarrassed by how you used their nicknames so easily.

“oh, baby lion and monkey, huh?” your best friend’s face approached theirs, scanned it. “oh boy, you do look like baby lion and a monkey.”

before either of the two boys could refute back, you see how someone said an loud “hi” at your direction. you see it’s none other than lee jeno with the most gorgeous smile you have seen in your life. god, no wonder you had this big crush on this boy! you started waving, only to realize everyone else is too. jeno arrived at the spot, offered a smile to everyone. only you seemed to be the one who slightly blushed at the sight.

“oh wow, i didn’t know all of you were friends! if i did,  i would have made a bigger goings!” at the sound of his words, it caused your stomach to feel like it broke apart.

so, not only you’re meeting your ex again. you’re working with him again. your best friend is working with his. you both share common friends. but lastly, your crush had to be great friends with your ex! 

what a fucking joke.

“what happened to your shirts?” the newcomer asked, eyes glued to your shirt. the better question would be, what didn’t happen.

“life.”

[royal-writer]

The Adoption

I’m not crying YOU’RE crying....

The heat of the fire crackled warm, but the best part was where she sat; scrunched up and nestled into the familiar scent of oak trees and amber hues. Warmth surrounded her in the huddled blankets. Hugged to her, with an arm around her and the other situated in the folds of one of her lover’s cloaks as he held a hand to hers. Their fingertips gradually warmed, and his breath soft to her nape as they nuzzled lazily against each other. Limbs and bodies folding closer; unable to mold together beneath all the layers of furs and fabrics but the outline of him was still a heaven she knew well.

With his whiskers grown thicker, they felt rougher and wiry in the early brisk of winter. Essätha tried not to snicker at the way her beloved Lord burrowed himself against her upturned collar to inhale the scent of perfume dabbed to her skin. His lips were soft; tracing against the side of her throat.

Sighing, she held her gaze upon the twists and curls of the flames. A thought that had been nagging her brain tugged relentlessly. It had been a seed of a thought; sprouting and soon becoming a destructive weed ensnaring her mind.

They hadn’t had a discussion in baring children in months. Too equally nervous of their ages; Amon more openly concerned for her carrying. The commitment would cut into their travel schedules, their workload, their social requirements. The time it took to raise a child would be monumental at that.

Nobles did this sort of stuff all the time. Amon had done it once before. But it abolished routine, and it came with too much risk. The more time went by, the more danger the physicians warned it would present. The young and beautiful bore their children straight away usually. The old were left to fate and luck if an aging body could handle the strain. Especially for a first child; not used to the imbalance it would cause.

With a faint laugh at the teasing barely-there brush of his beard, Essie turned her face to kiss his forehead. His sigh was magical. Filled with content and joy as he lifted his face for her to lightly peck his charmingly shaped lips. Her eyes grinning with her smile as she looked into his darkened eyes through a collection of small, grazing kisses of sweetness.

“My handsome husband,” she breathed softly.

With a broadening grin, Amon spoke against her mouth as he murmured in reply: “My wonderful wife.”

She hummed a pleasant note at the sound of such endearing words on such a husky voice. Her body shifted; worming through the trap of comforting cloth to release her hand not held from the heat of her layers. Her fingers carded through his coal black locks, slipping around to hold the side of his face as she circled her fingers over the rise of his cheekbone as he smiled. Only the most pure and wholesome version of love in his gaze. Only the gentlest touch to her scaled hand as he slipped his fingers between her spaces to press his palm to hers.

Her nerves tried clamping down upon her mouth. She pushed past the weariness, finding safety and understanding in the searching light of his gaze. Specks of light from the hearth like starlight glistening and moving over his vision as Caesar yawned and stretched upon the floor; curling himself tighter into a ball after flopping closer to the fireplace.

“What do you think about adoption, my love?”

A peculiar lop-sided grin stretched crookedly into place. His features strained, as though trying to hold the position in place rather than frown.

“It’s… always an available option,” he cautioned.

Though the words did not rise up in his throat, she could swear she felt a small twinge of pain strike her form his heartstrings.

“It would eliminate the worry of me carrying,” Essätha reminded him quietly. “We wouldn’t need to get a child very young, either. There are plenty of children looking for loving homes.”

Watching how Amon’s face grew flat, she pressed a kiss to his cheek as she whispered, “You don’t have to hold back your opinion, m’lord Amon. If it makes you unhappy-”

His hand squeezed hers reassuringly beneath her blankets and coats.

“I think it’s worth looking into,” he agreed softly. “But we should not be rash in jumping into parenthood.”

Relief swam through her in the form of a sigh and wide-eyed look of hope. It was better than a ‘no’. It gave her something to aspire for.

Between the creases in his brow with thoughtful worry and the half-smile in place, his eyes were an endless field of thought. Some she came to understand swiftly; a sorrow like so many you could never fully shake. It sat dormant, usually, but it came and went like tides at sea. Some days the memory of his dear Marie were too hard to bear. Some days when the mention of children came up, it clouded his eyes and hung over him like a dreary storm for days.

But there was equally layers of anticipation. A yearning not quite grasped. It burdened her heart, not knowing what it was for. If he held to the idea of children in any way she did; longing and loving and wanting to hold and protect someone so small and innocent. Raise another, where they could lead a life knowing they were loved. They would always have a sense of family; always someone to protect their back, to look after them, to nurture them and be proud to watch them grow and become what they wished.

She did not wish for him to spare his feelings and happiness for her desires. She prayed he would not give in to her, simply because it was something she had always wanted.

“Let’s discuss it tomorrow, when there’s no wine still on our breathes or hazing our decisions,” Amon teased her, releasing her hand to sneak his own out and gather the one against his face. He placed a kiss to the back of her hand, before taking her chilled hand back beneath the huddle of blankets to warm them once more with tender caresses.

Essätha nodded, too overjoyed; and too anxious, for words. Her smile eager all the while, as her beloved leaned in to seal his promise with a kiss so dreamy and gentle it left her breathless for what felt like the entire night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the coming months, they discussed the idea on and off with serious debate. The effects it would hold, both good and bad. How the adoption process played out; what sort of age ranges they might look into.

With still questions to be had, they turned to the church of Pelor for answers.

The priests, priestess, clerics and other training figures under the name of the God of Light were all warmly gracious to their approach, and sought to their inquires with dignity and clear-cut answers like a well-sharpened blade. They were shown the foundling wheel, where sometimes babies and very young were left by parents who left their infants without the repercussion of needing to answer as to why. They met a few adopted children in the town, to speak of their experiences and with their parents.

They were asked their own questions. A few insecure eyes darted over Lord Amon’s locked jaw, chiseled features, and tight eyes. Sometimes standing too stiffly and erect; trying to mask the stench of hurt and sadness that washed over him from time to time.

Unfortunately, Briarton’s residents were all too familiar with the young lady Marie, and of her loss. They stared with pity, or a mix of that and confusion as the word spread throughout the town that they were considering taking in a child.

Some people had their viewpoints, of course. Essie was grateful most of them were offered to her, rather than Amon. Fearing his reaction, no doubt.

She listened with as much grace as she could. Sometimes it was polite; encouraging, understanding. Sometimes it was not so. Judgmental and crude; spitting on race, her values, her stature. Some called her ‘careless’, others said they were too old for such things.

Essätha held on to her faith, but not too strongly. After all, though many years of her life had been spent fondly loving the idea of having kids, she had never thought she’d truly have the chance.

This could very well be that chance.

But she watched, ever loving and always worried, to her Lord Amon. Listening for the cues in his voice that would shape the beginning or end of this journey.

What would come next, she would accept with love and empathy. It was all she could do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Winter was mostly though when they visited the temple again for another meeting with the high-priest. There was frost bleeding into water and snowdrift melting in the streets. Amon held an arm around her; puffy swirls of white smoke like dragons ready to employ their greatest weapon ushering from their mingled breathes interlocked so closely.

Before they came upon the heavy set of doors, a priestess cleaning the steps greeted them. She ushered them inside warmly, offering coffee which they denied.

“Let me go fetch the minister; my Lord and Lady, he’ll be pleased to see you both again.”

“Thank you,” Amon murmured softly, his face appearing tired and worn.

Feeling a clinging sense of agony for him, Essätha held firmly to his hand. She didn’t relax until the pressure was returned to her, with a small smile and affection eyes.

As a robed gentleman greeted them, they were brought into a private wing of the shrine. A cleric and some devote followers were tending to some sickly patients, offering their healing words and last rites to some. Among the assistants were some older teenagers Essie recognized from previous visits. Young but not lost. Some abandoned once; others from family’s who were gone too soon, but they had found sanctuary and teachings in the place of the church.

Amon was engrossed in conversational greetings and tense discussion of their visit, when Essätha slipped away from his side. She greeted the people within the room with politeness. Held the hand of a man losing his final breath as he praised her good work in the town- mumbling something about strange it was for his failing eyes to lay upon an angel one last time (that had been enough to cause her eyes to weep, though she withheld until the widowed man had passed and was offered plenty of handkerchiefs for her runny nose). She passed treats unto the young and those hard at work and god a bit of scolding for doing so by an older priestess (she swore that woman hated her).

Stepping around a draped curtain, Essätha beamed upon the youthful woman’s backside with which she saw. They turned their head to her approach.

“Lady Essätha! Back again I see. May Pelor Light your path, my Lady.”

“Essie or Essätha works just fine, Margret,” she reminded the pale complexion of the woman with a laugh, stepping curious closer.

“Oh,” the woman murmured, turning to show what she had cradled in her arms. “She’s a new arrival. Dropped off at the founding wheel a few days ago.”

Essie stared, mystified. Before she could utter a word, however, a sharp cry jolted her from the right.

“Must be the twins at it again,” Margret sighed, offering the swaddled figure to her. “Would you mind, for just a moment, my Lady?”

“I- I- o-o-of course-”

The baby settled into her awaiting arms couldn’t be more than a few years old. Her skin was dark; much darker than her own, and she had hair black as a raven’s wing. She was large enough to fight against the blanket wrapped around her; grumbling and babbling nonsense as her dark eyes peered up beneath dark lashes.

She had pointy little ears protruding from beneath the depths of her curls. A hand reached up as she fought for her freedom, patting to Essie’s face.

She didn’t even hear the woman leave. There was something about the elf-child; or at least partial elf-child, that felt too deep.

The baby sneezed. She froze, her eyes starting to water as though frightened by the loudness of her own body.

“Oooh no no tears,” Essätha soothed, wiping at her eyes before the wailing could begin as she bounced the tiny figure up and down in her arms. “No tears now, little one. It was only a sneeze.”

“Maaa mamama,” the child mouthed, her wobbly lip disappearing as she went back to patting her face.

Oh no. Oh no oh no, she loved her. Loved the dark little freckles speckling over her nose and cheeks, loved the mostly-toothless smile and gurgling giggles.

“Essätha, my darling,” Amon’s voice carried; a hand parting aside the curtains. “The priest wanted us to…. To…”

He stared down at what was in her arms instantly as she looked up to him. Defensively as the sheet had been parted, she held the youngster tighter to her chest as though fearing someone would snatch it from her.

She studied his blank expression as her arms grew lax to let the child be seen. Her little feet kicked wildly; squirming in her arms.

“Maaama. Mamamama… Maaaa…”

Essätha snorted back laughter as the child grabbed at her mouth and nose. Curiously working her way up as she tried to scale her; prodding at the scales on her face.

Amon stepped closer. The swish of his cloak moving against the floor.

Realizing that a shadow had befallen them, the little girl craned her head back to look up at his face. Essie held her smile; a sense of worry eating at her insides. She looked between the babe’s wondering face, and the lack of expression on her beloved’s.

Tentatively, the elf reached out. Her hand managed to grab a fistful of Amon’s beard, and she yanked.

Amon grunted, teasing the tiny hand free so that it held to his finger instead.

“Strong grip,” he observed; a rasp in his voice and twinkle in his gaze.

“Daaaaa,” the babe responded with passionate excitement; holding to his finger with a white-grip. “Daaaddaaa daaa…”

The smile that stretched across his face held so many countless memories in Essätha’s mind. It softened his eyes, and drew away all signs of aging and agony from his features. Smoothed over into a sense of calm, of joy. So much happiness, that he seemed to forget about the world, forget about everything but the moment.

He moved his hand slowly, grinning wider as the little girl squealed with delight.

With an adoring smile on her face, Essie looked between her husband and the child. His arm moved behind her to the small of her back as they huddled closer, staring down at the curious umber eyes looking back at them. Her quiet babble growing louder; more boisterous as she switched her attention from Amon’s finger that curled against hers and the unique texture of Essätha’s face as she pawed at her.

She was perfect.

And she would be their first.

[thearrangment-phff]

XLIV. Gaelle

August 2017

When Isabella had said she was going Switzerland to visit her brother and sister-in-law she wasn't lying. Though she was also in Switzerland for a different purpose.  Princess Christine had explained that Isabella's eggs had been fertilized and needed to be placed back in Isabella. There were more medical terms and of course a longer explanation that Isabella didn't care for. She only saw it as all she had to do was lay on her back and get pregnant.  

The procedure, or as Gaelle thought of it as "the holy act", was done in the early morning of a Wednesday. Isabella and Adelaide had gone in together in case there were photographs of the day, Isabella, and her ladies-in-waiting would use the excuse of going to see the doctor would be because of Adelaide. Though her sister-in-law wasn’t told of why Isabella was there. 

Isabella was told that she would have another niece within the week and found irony in Isabella's was about to get pregnant and Adelaide was about to have her second daughter.

The small group of women had gone back to Christoph and Adelaide flat in Switzerland by the afternoon. Adelaide and Christoph had a home in France and a small flat in Switzerland where they spent most of their time. Both places had been used equally but the flat was a one bedroom that was bought when Adelaide and Christoph first began their marriage. It reminded Isabella of her flat just a thirty minutes' walk from her brother's place. That place had been sold just hours after her marriage.

Princess Christine, Princess Charlotte, Countess Gaelle, and Countess Olympia had been told to leave Adelaide and Christoph's home to enjoy their time in Switzerland for the time being. All had objected knowing that Isabella wouldn't be in the right state of mind since the morning. Adelaide couldn't handle Isabella if she would happen to go into a depressive state, but she also knew Isabella would rather break down in front of one person than anything else.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," replied Isabella.

"You know you can tell me anything," smiled Adelaide.

There were a couple seconds of silence that worried Adelaide. She was tempted to call Isabella's mother Marie Astrid, "Can you tell me about the first time you realized you were pregnant?" Asked Isabella.

"With Katarina or this little one?"  

"Either."

"With Katarina, I had my suspicions for days but I went to the doctor's and got a blood test done, then everything was confirmed. Christoph and I had been trying for about a year and no child had come. Before I found out that I was pregnant I was sad so I tried to convince myself that it was a good thing. That somehow Christoph and I would be good with more time of just us two," smiled Adelaide.

"I don't know what terrifies me more, being a mother and having to give birth to a child," joked Isabella.

"Giving birth is a small fraction of the fear. You never stop being scared when you have someone to care for, though not everyone is in your position. Not everyone has the eyes of the world upon them, press to hound them, and the whispers of small people that form a louder judgment."

"Sometimes I think about his mother. They killed her and I'm afraid they'll kill one of us too. I don't want my children to face what he did, it nearly destroyed him on separate occasions. He confessed to me that he fears that I'm having an affair and I swore to him I am not. He fears history repeating itself. Marriage, children, cheating, divorce, and death as if it a curse on his family," confessed Isabella.

"Isabella, he has every right to be scared. He lived through all of this and he doesn't want his children to go through the same thing. He's probably twice as scared as you are and you have to understand where he comes from. Your life and his were vastly different and I fear you can't see that."

"Of course, I understand him."

"No, you don't Isabella. You've always been an overdramatic, selfish girl and I mean that with as much love and respect I could possibly give you at this time. You can't see past your own needs because you've never had to in regards to finding a lover. There's a reason you've never had a serious relationship and it's not because you and Joachim have always had something. It's because you are a selfish woman and Joachim was willing to work with your needs. You change your mind so quickly that you never think about the consequences of the people you hurt in the process," stated Adelaide.

"I think it's time for me to leave. I fear I have overstayed my welcome and don’t want to intrude," smiled Isabella as she began to gather her things, "I'll send Olympia for my other things later on. If you will excuse me I have somewhere else to be."

Her ladies-in-waiting were around the city but rather than call all of them back she only called one. She had asked Countess Gaelle to meet her at the Basilica of Our Lady of Geneva. It was the Catholic church that Isabella had gone to with her family and the main Catholic church in Geneva.

Isabella looked up stained glass windows remembering her mother tell her stories about when they were made, who made them, and what story they told. Isabella had felt someone come sit next to her but her eyes never left the glass windows.

The two women sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Isabella finally turned her head towards Gaelle, "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?" Replied Gaelle.

"Do you think I would be a good mother?" Asked Isabella.

"I can't answer that, at least not truthfully. Being a mother is something you learn as the days go by and it's very hard to judge motherhood on a scale of good or bad," answered Gaelle.

"Did you ever think about being a mother? I know you chose to become a religious sister but do you ever think about it sometimes?"

"On some occasions, yes, but I chose God and to serve him. I decided my life but fate knew I would always give myself completely to him."

"I don't think I want this anymore," whispered Isabella.

"Want what Belle?"

"My marriage to Harry. We've only been married about 2 months but I'm not happy Gaelle. Sometimes I am but most of the time I feel this stabbing in my gut as if I will vomit all over the floor. There are simple moments when he looks at me and it's as if we are the only ones in the room. He's always so gentle with me, but I can't get rid of that disgusting feelings sometimes. It's magnified since those eggs were taken out of me and they're worse know that they are inside me again, knowing I may be pregnant. If I can't last these 2 months than how can I last 2 years or 2 decades? I know I agreed to this and I know I won't get a divorce because everyone won't want me to but I feel nothing but sadness," confessed Isabella in tears.

"You know I would never say be this unless it needed to be, but Belle get a divorce."

Isabella shook her head violently, "I know I can because it was my agreement but everyone would be angry. Princess Charlotte may yell at me until I'm dead, Countess Olympia may push me to marry her cousin, Princess Christine would give me a disappointed look that my mother use to give me, and you..." Isabella couldn't continue.

"And me what Belle?"

"With you, I feel as if you are God himself ready to past my judgment and send me to hell every time I look you in the eyes," whispered Isabella.

"Oh my sweet girl, you worry too much."

"You have no idea how our evenings praying means to me now."

"I know you don't believe in God, and you haven't for a while. But, if praying with me helps then I shall be at your service until you tire of me. That is what a lady-in-waiting does and that's why I was chosen to be by your side. You didn't need me in the beginning, you needed Charlotte and Christine, but now that you have sworn yourself to a man in front of the world and God himself, and you need me. I won’t disappoint you Belle."

"Well what if I disappoint you? Or everyone else?"

"You agreed to all of this, you haven't disappointed anyone. Besides, no one should tell you anything otherwise. You have sacrificed a lot, even if you don't know it, for those people."

"Those people are my family. Do you know who is doing all this? The marriages that is," asked Isabella.

"Countess Lydia Holstein til Ledreborg now, but it wasn't always her."

"Henri's mother? Please don't tell me Gabriella's marriage is like mine?" Begged Isabella.

"No, not that I know of, but your sister did have his child before they got married so they should tell you enough your sisters love for Henri," replied Countess Gaelle.

"Who was the first?"

"Your ancestor Princess Adelaide of Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg had the idea, of course, every royal two hundred years ago married into other royal families. Then your great-great-grandmother Infanta Maria Antonia of Portugal continued that with all her Bourbon-Parma children. After her Archduchess Maria Anna took over but in her death, her line died with her. So Madeleine de Bourbon-Busset took the position but it was disputed because Infanta Alicia, Duchess of Calabria was Archduchess Maria Anna's daughter and many thought she should continue to work. In the end, the position should have gone to Princess Irene of the Netherlands but she divorced the Duke of Parma before Madeleine's death," explained Gaelle.

"Prince Carlos married a commoner," interrupted Isabella.

"Yes, so they searched the family tree to go through your great-grandfather Prince Felix's line. Why Countess Lydia was chosen I have no idea considering her mother is alive and well. I don't know much beyond that Belle so I couldn't answer more questions if you had them."

"Thank you... thank you for everything," smiled Isabella.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for june 16 of 2021 with Proverbs 16 and Psalm 16, accompanied by Psalm 89 for the 89th day of Spring and Psalm 17 for day 167 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 16]

People go about making their plans,

but the Eternal has the final word.

Even when you think you have good intentions,

He knows your real motives.

Whatever you do, do it as service to Him,

and He will guarantee your success.

The Eternal made everything for a reason.

Even wrongdoers fit in His plans; troubled times await them.

He abhors arrogant people.

Make no mistake about it! They will be punished!

The penalty of sin is removed by love and loyalty;

and by devotion to the Eternal, evil is avoided.

When people make good choices, He is pleased;

He even causes their enemies to live peacefully near them.

Better to have little and stand for what is right

than to become rich by doing what is wrong.

People do their best making plans for their lives,

but the Eternal guides each step.

The king makes a decision under divine inspiration,

but he must never render an unfair judgment.

The Eternal requires that business be conducted honestly;

He wants fairness in all your dealings.

When kings commit evil, it is despicable,

because their thrones should be built on justice.

Kings admire those who tell the truth;

they adore those who set the record straight.

A king’s rage signals that people will die,

but whoever is wise will pacify him.

If a king is smiling brightly, life will be granted;

his favor is like a cloud swelled with the first spring rain.

How much better it is to receive wisdom than the riches of gold

and to gain understanding over some silver prize!

The highway of the just bypasses evil;

those who watch where they’re going protect their lives from sin.

Pride precedes destruction;

an arrogant spirit gives way to a nasty fall.

It is better to be humble and live among the poor,

than to divide up stolen property with the proud.

Those devoted to instruction will prosper in goodness;

those who trust in the Eternal will experience His favor.

The wise at heart have a reputation for understanding;

pleasant words make the lips more persuasive.

Understanding for those who have it is a spring of life,

but it is pointless to try and instruct a fool.

From a wise heart flow careful words;

wise words make the lips more persuasive.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb:

they drip sweet food for life and bring health to the body.

Before every person lies a road that seems to be right,

but at the end of that road death and destruction wait.

People work to stay alive,

pressed daily by their need to eat.

Good-for-nothings conjure up evil ideas;

their conversations fuel destructive fires.

Perverse people stir up contention;

gossip makes best friends into enemies.

Violent people try to recruit their neighbors,

wanting to lead them down the vile path of evil they have chosen.

Body language can expose a person’s intentions:

whoever winks the eye is planning perversity;

whoever purses his lips is intent on evil.

Gray hair is a crown of honor,

earned by living the right kind of life.

It is better to be a patient man than a mighty warrior,

better to be someone who controls his temper than someone who conquers a city.

We may try to control the roll of the dice,

but actually, the Eternal decides what they will determine.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 16 (The Voice)

[Psalm 16]

The Golden Secret

A precious song, engraved in gold, by David

Keep me safe, O mighty God.

I run to you, my safe place.

I said to Yahweh,

“You are my Maker and my Master.

Any good thing you find in me has come from you.”

And he said to me, “My holy lovers

in the land are my glorious ones,

who fulfill all my desires.”

Yet there are those who yield to their weakness,

and they will have troubles unending.

I never gather with such ones,

nor give them honor in any way.

Yahweh, you alone are my inheritance.

You are my prize, my pleasure, and my portion.

You hold my destiny and its timing in your hands.

Your pleasant path leads me to pleasant places.

I’m overwhelmed by the privileges

that come with following you!

The way you counsel me makes me praise you more,

for your whispers in the night give me wisdom,

showing me what to do next.

Because I set you, Yahweh, always close to me,

my confidence will never be weakened,

for I experience your wraparound presence every moment.

My heart and soul explode with joy—full of glory!

Even my body will rest confident and secure.

For you will not abandon me to the realm of death,

nor will you allow your Faithful One to experience corruption.

Because of you, I know the path of life,

as I taste the fullness of joy in your presence.

At your right side I experience divine pleasures forevermore!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 16 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 89]

Will You Reject Us Forever?

Poems by Ethan the Ezrahite for instruction

[First Poem – God’s Promises to David]

This forever-song I sing of the gentle love of God!

Young and old alike will hear about

your faithful, steadfast love—never failing!

Here’s my chorus: “Your mercy grows through the ages.

Your faithfulness is firm, rising up to the skies.”

I heard the Lord say, “My covenant has been made,

and I’m committed forever to my chosen one, David.

I have made my oath that there will be sons of David forever,

sons that are kings through every generation.”

Pause in his presence

Can you hear it? Heaven is filled with your praises, O Lord!

All the holy ones are praising you for your miracles.

The sons of God are all praising you for your mighty wonders.

We could search the skies forever and never find one like you.

All the mighty angels could not be compared to you.

You are a God who is greatly to be feared

as you preside over the council of holy ones.

You are surrounded by trembling ones

who are overwhelmed with fear and dread,

stunned as they stand in awe of you!

So awesome are you, O Yahweh, Lord God of Angel Armies!

Where could we find anyone as glorious as you?

Your faithfulness shines all around you!

You rule over oceans and the swelling seas.

When their stormy waves rise, you speak, and they lie still.

You crushed the strongholds of Egypt,

and all your enemies were scattered

at the mighty display of your glory-power.

All the heavens and everything on earth belong to you,

for you are the Creator of all that is seen and unseen.

The four corners of the earth were put in place by you.

You made the majestic mountains

that are still shouting their praises to your name.

Breathtaking and awesome is your power!

Astounding and unbelievable

is your might and strength when it goes on display!

Your glorious throne rests on a foundation

of righteousness and just verdicts.

Grace and truth are the attendants who go before you.

O Lord, how blessed are the people

who know the triumphant shout,

for they walk in the radiance of your presence.

We can do nothing but leap for joy all day long,

for we know who you are and what you do,

and you’ve exalted us on high.

The glory of your splendor is our strength,

and your marvelous favor makes us even stronger,

lifting us even higher!

You are our King, the holiest one of all;

your wraparound presence is our protection.

[Second Poem – God Keeps His Promises]

You spoke to your prophets in visions, saying,

“I have found a mighty hero for my people.

I have chosen David as my loving servant and exalted him.

I have anointed him as king with the oil of my holiness.

I will be strength to him, and I will give him

my grace to sustain him no matter what comes.

None of his enemies will get the best of him,

nor will the wicked one overpower him.

For I will crush his every adversary

and do away with all who hate him.

Because I love him and treasure him,

my faithfulness will always protect him.

I will place my great favor upon him,

and I will cause his power and fame to increase.

I will set his hand over the sea

and his right hand over the rivers.

And he will come before me, saying,

‘You truly are my Father, my only God, and my strong deliverer!’

I am setting him apart, favoring him as my firstborn son.

I will make him the most high king in all the earth!

I will love him forever and always show him kindness.

My covenant with him will never be broken.

For I have decreed that he will always have an heir—

a dynasty that will release the days of heaven on earth.

But if his children turn from me and forsake my words,

refusing to walk in my truth, renouncing and violating my laws,

then I will surely punish them for their sins

with my stern discipline until they regret it.

But I will never, no never, lift my faithful love from off their lives.

My kindness will prevail and I will never disown them.

How could I revoke my covenant of love that I promised David?

For I have given him my word, my holy, irrevocable word.

How could I lie to my loving servant David?

Sons of David will continue to reign on his throne,

and their kingdom will endure as long as the sun is in the sky.

This covenant will be an unbreakable promise that

I have established for all time.”

Pause in his presence

[Third Poem – Why Has Our King Been Defeated?]

Why have you rejected me, the one you anointed?

Why would you cast me away?

Why would you lose your temper with me?

You have torn up the contract you made with me, your servant.

You have stripped away my crown and thrown it to the ground.

You have torn down all my walls of defense

and have made my every hiding place into ruins.

All the passersby attack and rob me while my neighbors mock!

Instead of fighting for me, you take the side of my enemies,

even giving them strength to subdue me,

and then watched them celebrate their victory!

You are no longer helping me in battle.

You’ve forsaken me to the swords of those

who would strike me down.

You’ve made my regal splendor to decrease

and allowed my rule to be overthrown.

Because of you, I’ve become old before my time,

and I’m publicly disgraced!

Pause in his presence

[Fourth Poem – Save Us, God]

How long will you hide your love from me?

Have you left me for good?

How long will your anger continue to burn against me?

Remember, Lord, I am nothing but dust,

here today and so soon blown away.

Is this all you’ve created us for? For nothing but this?

Which one of us will live forever?

We are all mortal, terminal, for we will all one day die.

Which one of us would ever escape our appointment with death

and dodge our own funeral?

Pause in his presence

So God, where is all this love and kindness you promised us?

What happened to your covenant with David?

Have you forgotten how your own servants are being slandered?

Lord God, it seems like I’m carrying in my heart

all the pain and abuse of many people.

They have relentlessly insulted and persecuted us,

your anointed ones.

Nevertheless, blessed be our God forever and ever.

Amen! Faithful is our King!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 89 (The Passion Translation)

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