forgive // forget

i'm not a phoenix yet. ( indie / multi-character )

[aeghiaarchive]

reblogs & one-shot inspiration.

for notes, reblogs & inspiration ONLY. no roleplay.

[mageiafotia]

The news had broken late in the night, breaking down what had been built and sending the man into a tailspin. The moment before he hit the ground, Athir had stepped in by invitation and for the past week, he had locked himself away from the world and learned through hunger and misery what made the vessel he inhabited tick. He lived through his memories. Wallowed in the darkness and seeded himself throughout. Finally, the door to his room opened and Once-Whitlock-Now-Athir stepped out, calm and composed with only the barest of tremors in his hands. He could command the mind and settle into the body, but he couldn’t force the body to go against what it wanted to do. Whitlock had fallen. Athir now rose, as invited. He paused and looked around the glass house, wondering where Whitlock’s lover had gone. He knew that he had to tread carefully. Invitations could be revoked.

[aeghiaarchive]

And so, the worst had come to pass.

A lifetime of carefully-kept secrets, of an infinite number of measures and countermeasures put in place to keep them exactly so, and it was all undone in a single moment. The media engulfed the news of Whitlock’s childhood experiences and within moments, the horror was everywhere. Jack had spent the following hours raking through a world gone to shit to salvage anything, to shut down what he could, but the fact that media was pervasive and its resources were inexhaustible meant that he was fighting a losing battle. He hung up the phone for the last time and dragged his hands down his face, grappling with the desire to step out and put an end to anyone and everyone who had once more taken advantage of the man he loved and had promised to protect.

Even in this, he had failed to protect him.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps, and he while knew that the only other person in the house was Whitlock, it was still surprising to hear him out of the room he had locked himself into. “Whitlock,” he called out, to let him know where he was. “I’m in here, I’m trying.” It’s about all he can say, and even in that, it’s too late. Too many people have seen, too many people KNEW. “

[thelastofmeforever]

“I don’t cause trouble, I am trouble.”

[bbcamerica]

Ripper Street, 3x02: “The Beating of Her Wings”

[aeghiaarchive]

astrapimageia:

“No”. Came the immediate reply, as the one who wrote the contracts sat back in his chair. He didn’t bother to offer Malcolm the one that was across from his desk. He’d rather the man see himself out. “It is my job to find contacts in order to make contracts but I don’t care about the shell corporation. I’m very good at following where the ball is. If you don’t have faith in that…” He would have shrugged, had he not been worried about the crease it’d put in his suit. “Why are you looking over my work? Did you stop trusting me between the time Christophe came to visit and now? Worried that I’m not at the top of my game?’’

“If I didn’t have faith, you wouldn’t be working with me,” he retorts, easily and mildly. 

He’s worked with Ansel for years now, and his acidic temperament has neither lessened nor exceeded what he’d come to get used to. Malcolm sighs, waiting for a moment to get a word in edgewise while Ansel unleashes against him. He’s learned not to placate the man, nor even try to. Only to state his piece and leave promptly, when urged to. “The client involved with this corporation contacted me directly, that’s all. I was hoping to schedule a meeting,” Malcolm repeats, “because from my conversation with the, it seems as though they’re looking for an -- extra copy of their contract. I told them we don’t allow extra copies. They informed me of their intention to get it one way or another, and I wanted to relay this to you. Professionally.”

He smiles now, and inclines his head: “But! No more need for a meeting to relay that.    Good evening, Ansel. My sincere apologies.”

[aeghiaarchive]

astrapimageia:

( Can’t he see that there is a time and place for that tie? ) Ansel stood, as his partner entered the room. “Calling hours are between 9 and 11am, then, 5pm to 9pm,” he reminded him. “The time in-between and afterwards are mine.” 

He can, but he elects not to dress himself TOO precisely. He finds it alarms clients when he approaches them looking like a well-sharpened blade, and less like someone they can work with. One of the many strange, but cunning things about Malcolm. “It’s in regards to one of the accounts that you’re billing, Ansel. Kierstaadt Holdings. I’m sure by now you’ve found that it’s a shell and the entire thing is a sham. I wanted to schedule a meeting with you, for tomorrow. In regards to this.” 

[aeghiaarchive]

MALCOLM CHRISTOPHE ALIAS Malcolm MacDonald SPECIES Ffalkyru    Originally from the Aerie, a Northern territory held by the MacDonald clan. He was taken from the Aerie by Christophe at a young age, and brought up under his roof, with the ultimate goal of becoming the Hellion lead when he reached adulthood. Those of the Aerie were pureblooded Ffalkyru, possessed of grand wings that allowed them mastery of the skies and seas. ROLE Heir and CEO of Menoetius Labs, the world’s largest medical research center.    He also owns and runs the two-headed dragon that is Menoetiu’s Labs subsidiary groups: Panacea, the world’s second-largest provider and marketer of pharmaceuticals and Fortia, the world’s fourth-largest health insurance agency. In the grand scheme of things, he is the master and commander of his immediate team, and aspires to the heights Christophe intends him to reach. He works hand-in-hand with Ansel Cavanaugh, his de facto contractor. 

Known for his oppressive, severe silence and sad eyes, Malcolm is a strange blend of Hellion practicality and the innate Ffalkyru warmth, he is a master of the business world -- where people desire someone they can put their faith and their trust in, as much as they desire someone hardened enough to get the work done. Malcolm fears and loves his adoptive father, and works with incredible focus in order to accomplish his goals and designs, building off what he accomplished at his father’s side at a young age, and bringing the business that is Menoetius Labs to the forefront of the medical market. 

Under the Menoetius brand, he kickstarted two subsidiary corporations: Panacea, to market what the Menoetius company created and tested, and Fortia, in order to corner the market on health insurance, and lead people to purchase medicines put out by his own companies. Within years, he’d managed to secure his businesses within the top five international providers.

At a young age, his adoptive father secured him a powerful alliance with Ansel Cavanaugh, a young witch of reputable power and skill. He possesses Ansel’s magic, granted to him by Christophe, as though it were the leash to Ansel’s life, and thus, the advantage he has over current Hellion leader, Ara. All his life he has been groomed to take command when she falters, and the game becomes a question of which nature is stronger in that moment, and how much is riding on his shoulders. 

[and-alexandra-halousek-blog]

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

"You speak plainly, and you don’t see me complaining. The language is such a robust thing and you use words like hate and call me clevertongue as if my tongue is the only thing about me that is clever. Remove it, and you have a bloody muscle. It won’t grow a new me, so how clever can that be?” 

"Wait."

"Maybe if I pull out my tongue and then put it back in, I’ll have two tongues and be twice as clever. Or I’ll tie myself in knots. I’ll be Sir’KnotSpeak, and they’ll think that it’s "Not Speak" and no one would try to talk to me again. Imagine the things I’d hear if people thought I hadn’t a way to repeat them."  He frowned.  "But then they’d cut off my hands so I couldn’t write down their secrets. They’d take my toes so I couldn’t learn that way. In the end, I’d be a knotty-tongue man with a head on a dish and then they’d get my name wrong because words that sound like other words and they’d  think I was Sir Naughty-Tongue and I’d be thrust under dresses or in breeches."

"I think I’d rather just be Lupen. If it’s all the same to you, Mistress Thricepence. Look, I’ve given you a raise already, because I don’t want to start down the road of clever knotted naughty tongues.”

Kaiv preferred conversation that didn't rely on wordplay and games. She had been born among a people who were exceptionally straightforwards, blunt, and thought highly of those who were less inclined to speak on and on at length. The quicker a conversation, the better. It left more room to allow action to express all the minor details, to speak the truth of the individual where word could not convey everything. She stood for action, not word. It showed. However, her experience as a well-traveled businesswoman meant that she had learned that other cultures and peoples did speak at length, and that her taking offense or accusing them of wasting her time was not at all how to exert her influence over them.

Nor how to garner support for her endeavors. So, she let him speak. And speak until, perhaps, she figured he was tired of speaking, before she cut into his conversation.

"You are Lupen," she acknowledged. "So, call me Kaiv. You obviously aren't here to make use of only your tongue, because I certainly didn't request that service from anysoul. I want to do the one thing right, Lupen. Will you explain?" Mostly because doing many things wrong meant she had to multi-task and she preferred the direct path.

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

"Say a name too much and it becomes worthless, so I only say names when they need to be heard. Lady with nary two pennies to her name has come along at a time when she can do many things wrong or one thing right."

"He speaks in riddles. I hate when they speak in riddles." She barely understands common metaphors, let alone riddles and wordgames.

"There's always a chance to do what you say is possible, clevertongue;    what makes this one any different, I ask?" She hooks her fingers into her belt loops, and widens her stance, bracing herself for any sort of answer. Clevertongues tend to be either full of themselves or barking mad, and if he's barking mad she wants to be ready for any violence what may come her way as a result of her inevitably answering him "wrong".

[aeghiaarchive]

   "Someone has said my name. One cannot say my name without mentioning what they want of me."

[claudiablacks]

Requested by marjolaineslittledragon ♥

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

Ignore how horrified he looked at the thought of leaving the flat.

  "No because you ask questions about who said this or why they did that or how unbelievable the gun style is. You have the attention span of a cocker spaniel," he paused. "With all due respect, Master Lords," he added with false contriteness. 

"I can't help it, everything is new now. The weapons, the technology. Far beyond what even I created," he marveled. Alexander crossed the room, rounding the seat so that he could smirk down at Theron, and chuckle. "What if I promise not to do that? Or at least do my best to restrain myself from bouncing about like an unruly child. You, though, need to get out simply because you do."

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

"Because, My Boy, the cord to my tablet broke. I would think that because you literally held your world’s technology in your hands you would be able to make me a cord that wouldn’t break so I can finish my show."  This was why he should have never been allowed to retire as the family caretaker.

Clearly, Theron now has too much time on his hands.

   "No, actually, that's why I never did make a cord that was indestructible. When your current cord frays, it actually gets you out of the flat for a while, even if it is to find a new one." He singsongs, leaning over to kiss Theron's brow. "Come watch it on my laptop with me."

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

"Alexander. I’m going on strike." 

   "And why will you be doing that, darling?"

[moreofmatthewmacfadyen]

[aeghiaarchive]

veiledechoes:

Arthur sighed, as he saw his young ward. He took off his coat and hung it up before he moved over to him, and he sat down next to him on the couch. “You should know, barring any near-impossible circumstance, I will come home to you, My Boy. But now, you’re going to be tired and cranky tomorrow, and what is your mother going to say?” 

He smiled a little, as he moved to wrap an arm around Alexander’s shoulders. “Oh, I know what she’ll say. She’ll fuss and cluck and let you nap and perhaps we’ll have jell-o with whipped cream as a snack before dinner.” 

Slowly, Alexander uncurled himself from the position he'd worked himself into, as Arthur came over to sit besides him. "I always, always make sure everyone's safe and home before I sleep," which is easier most nights, because Arthur doesn't have days off where he ventures out. He usually stays in. The nights that he doesn't are the difficult ones. When Arthur put his arm around his shoulders, his face scrunched and he reaches up to take hold of the man's hand with both of his own.

"I really did try," he promised, "I just couldn't fall asleep. I kept thinking terrible things, like something'd happen to you." Still, he didn't seem all that thrilled by the thought of his mother's fussing. Not when it'd be his own fault that he'd be tired and cranky. "It happens when da' stays out late too." He did lean into Arthur's side, though, taking comfort now that he was finally home safe.