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tannertan36
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@caelistisregina
ℑ𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢 & 𝔖𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔒𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔞 𝔊𝔬𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔞. ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫-𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔡 & 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔲𝔳𝔞 𝔅𝔬𝔰𝔰. ℑ𝔫𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔐𝔦𝔩𝔱𝔬𝔫'𝔰 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔏𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔇𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢'𝔰 ℑ𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔬, 𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔰 𝔍𝔲𝔡𝔢𝔬-ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔬-ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔪𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔶. ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔧𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔗𝔞𝔎.
ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ꜱᴇʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴘʀᴇᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱꜰᴏʀᴍᴇʀꜱ' ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴀʀᴀᴄʜɴɪᴀ. ᴡᴇʙꜱ ꜱᴘᴜɴ ʙʏ: ᴛᴀᴋ.
Christian Dior 1998
“who knew i’d make such a convincing sith lord?” (art credit)
“I hear you.”
The guttural rasp of his distinguishable voice melts away when his tone drops into a whisper. Quietude doesn’t suit him, he thinks—neither does sentimentality, and yet these things did always come quite naturally to him, when he was younger and not as battle hardened.
“I see you.”
A hand rises to brush a single, grey plume away from her majesty’s doleful countenance. His personal experience with parental figures is, regrettably, so far removed from anything that would be considered conventional or appropriate that it is hard to relate to her situation. So, he thinks about Blitzo, and about Barbie, and about the love they shared—the love that they failed to nurture—the love that destroyed his body and shattered his mind beyond any semblance of salvation.
“Sometimes–”
Phizper sighs, clasping his hands together beneath his chin.
“–Sometimes the people who are supposed to care do a shit job of it. You can bend over backwards and do everything right and it just, doesn’t make a difference. And it’s awful, it’s terrible, especially when it’s family…”
He cranes his head to catch a glimpse of the tiara before it sinks too far under the undulant surface to be seen.
“…there comes a point where you’ve exhausted all avenues and at that point, you have to consider that maybe it’s time to–”
A hand comes up to gesture vaguely at the world at large and he hopes she knows what he’s inferring. Her mother would surely have his head if word got around that there was some imprudent imp encouraging her princess to leave the nest.
“–what I’m saying is that there are always going to be people out there that you’ll jive with, darling, and they won’t expect you to be perfect or try to make you fit in some box.”
sable eyelashes flutter against the juvenile regina’s wan cheeks. for a moment, she appears instinctively cowed rather than encouraged, but upon registering that fizz was being genuine, she relaxes again. she isn’t accustomed to being patiently listened to, let alone given advice to. certainly, stolas tries, but he is still a prince of thirty-six legions. he simply can’t be there to wipe away every tear.
but maybe the jester is correct in that there comes a point when she needs to stretch her wings and fly. and she doesn’t know what’s more terrifying. the thought of stepping out into the world, or of potentially leaving her father behind.
she swallows down her discomfort and instead offers fizz a crooked smile. “and is that who you are? someone i ‘jive’ with?” the colloquialism feels funny on her tongue, and she chuckles despite herself. weary of the depressing air of their current conversation, she shifts the focus further onto him. “well, i hope you know that i think of you the same way. i like you just the way you are. you... well, you make everyone else inside seem dull.”
and that is certainly true. stella’s friends only gossip about stolas, and stolas’s ‘friends’ only discuss politics and military budgets. fizz is one of the few individuals who speaks on a level that she can understand.
her ruby-coloured eyes briefly flit over to the party marching steadily on in her absence before she turns back to the imp. “would you like to see something cool?”
‘ You are more capable than you think. ’ The sentiment was one John had told himself throughout his entire life, and one he’d always endeavored to prove to anyone else who questioned it. To hear it in turn with such sincerity from Octavia stoked that pleasant warmth still in his chest.
“I’m usually capable of getting myself into trouble, and others out of it — but maybe not so much getting back out of it myself,” he said, another grin playing along his lips. While John hardly harbored a death wish, ensuring his own safety wasn’t a notion that seemed to harbor a position at the forefront of his mind in such situations.
And yet, she held enough regard for it to come to his aid when he hadn’t even asked ( hadn’t even realized that she was close enough to notice he needed it to begin with ); did she understand what that meant to him? Although he rather wished he could vocalize it, his brain remained mired in a sort of fog that left him certain that he wouldn’t be capable of cobbling together the proper words for now.
Instead, John focused on the gentle weight of her hand on his head and continued, “But you’d do well with the BPRD, y’know.” His cadence was still laced with quiet levity, though it wasn’t untrue. “And not just because you’re daemonic royalty.”
Then, before he spoke any further, he finally decided to accept Octavia’s offer.
“Is there anything for the pain? It kinda — ” was starting to feel like a hot poker was intermittently stabbing his side? “ — hurts.”
“oh.” sable eyelashes rapidly fluttered against the princess’s sharp cheekbones. she appeared chastised, although that was far from john’s intention--- perhaps, it was because she was accustomed to being scolded for having her head in the clouds, or being distracted.
she pressed the call button and remained by john’s side as a nurse shuffled in and asked what was needed. she explained that her friend wasn’t feeling well and was wondering if more pain medication could be administered. the nurse checked a watch with a pink band around her wrist, nodded, and excused herself.
she later returned with a syringe to inject into the IV bag. whilst the nurse flitted to and fro, octavia glanced down at who she considered her patient, running her spidery fingers through his matted hair.
“i’m sorry,” she murmured sheepishly. “here i am, babbling about myself, and i haven’t even asked if you needed anything... i hope that doesn’t cause you to think too ill of me.”
An ear is probably the best thing he can offer her right now—so, he listens, the way he wishes somebody had listened to him when he was unsure of his place and purpose in the world. Phizper, in spite of his veneer, knows how wretched it is to be alone in such dire straits.
His spindly tail swings around the small of her majesty’s back, a silent way of encouraging her to speak her truth—your heart is safe with me, for however long you choose to lay it bare.
It’s the kind of softness he would forever have kept under tight wraps if he weren’t a father himself.
A daughter’s plight is like a skeleton key, even to the most frostbitten of chests.
“Forgive me for being so blunt, your radiance, but it sounds to me like the problem lays with your folks more than it does you.”
He hoists a leg up onto the ledge, rotating his body to properly face the owlette.
“You shouldn’t ever be made to feel sorry for just being. Your existance is something they ought to be celebrating at any given operatunity and if they don’t that is their folly, not yours. Never yours, Octavia.”
Those last three words are distended with a little more insistence than he’d originally intended. After all the time he’s spent in the luxurious lap of royalty he sometimes has to remind himself of his place.
He is only an imp at the end of the day—as such, that sort of boldness is hardly apt of him.
“I don’t know much about being a princess—but I do know that your best bet at finding success in any venue is to stay true to yourself. And the you that you’ve described to me just now—”
A sigh and he musters a kindly smile.
“—well, she sounds just lovely.”
while most other members of her family might have chided fizzarolli for his candor and impertinence, octavia has always found it refreshing. behind the bawdy jokes and ostentatious show persona is an honest and passionate old soul. she supposes that’s why she values what he has to say. that’s also why she chooses to find solace here by his side rather than in the crowded dining hall.
a ghost of a smile haunts her face, but it’s still tinged with her own brand of melancholy. she doesn’t quite believe him when he says that she’s lovely, but she appreciates the sentiment nonetheless.
“tell that to my parents,” she drawls, curling her knees to her chest. she wraps her arms around them and sighs, shoulders drooping. “or to anyone else in there, for that matter. i’m an embarrassment.”
frustrated, she rips the tiara off her head and throws it into the fountain behind them. it slowly sinks and then smiles back at her sadly from beneath the frigid water line. “most of the time, i’m all alone. i’ve never had any friends. my family barely pays attention to me. my mother just views me as a pawn... and father hates her more than he loves me.”
sniffling, she buries her head into her folded arms. “if i’m so lovely, then why do i feel sorry for just existing? why can’t anyone see or hear me?”
Oureas Oddities
i’m strange but friendly so people tell me things
SHE CAN SENSE THE INSECURITY coming off of her, hell she could SMELL it on the teen but Lonna wasn’t going to judge her. She remembered having similar feelings when she was younger. Trying a LITTLE too hard to seem cool was another thing- but she couldn’t deny that she had also done the same in the past.
“You work on projects? Sick. What’s your latest, then?”
encouraged by the hellhound’s seeming interest, ‘via whips out her phone and begins scrolling through her photo archive until she finds what she’s looking for. when she offers it back to loona, a photo of a half-stuffed passenger pigeon can be seen. “i’m almost finished restoring it... and it was pretty lucky that i found it, too, since they’re extinct on earth. can you believe it? it was just sitting in the back of an antique store, rotting.” she nervously picks at a sweater sleeve. “i study botany and astronomy like my father, but taxidermy is my favourite hobby. my room is full of them... i even have a human cadaver that i purchased in cannibal row in the sixth circle.”
“Here/take the space where my heart goes/I give that to you too.”
— Henry Dumas
@myersbprd
“Huh. Fancy that.”
Fizzarolli touches his cold, unfeeling carbon fingers to the knot of his necktie, intricately embroidered in gold thread which glimmers under the light of the celestial objects overhead.
Thousands of years.
What a horrifying prospect.
Thirty plus change and he already feels he’s lived well past his expiration date.
“You Goetias carry the years with more grace than most of us.”
He flicks the cherry off the crest of his joint, crushing the embers beneath the heel of one ornate, lace-up boot. Thousands of years, maybe—there’s something that compels him to try and set something of a presentable example regardless. Recognition, perhaps—something in her that is also in him.
Or was.
Let him be the first to admit that there isn’t much in terms of substance left behind the carefully crafted stage persona of Fizzarolli.
The last thing she needs is his advice.
And yet–
“Alright, alright, come here, sit with me–”
He skims a hand over his pallid countenance, then, he uses that same hand to pat the short, brick wall he’s perched himself atop.
“–tell me what you think is wrong with you.”
‘you goetias carry the years with more grace than most of us.’ octavia cracks a smile at that, snorting as she throws her head back and hides a laugh on the other side of a splayed hand. she’s glad that fizzarolli thinks so, and she supposes that to an imp, she would be aging gracefully. however, to her kind, she probably seems like she’s aging like milk. not even twenty, and she has her father’s grey hairs and her mother’s bitterness.
she pauses, quirking a brow at his offer. she wasn’t expecting him to appear so concerned, or act so fatherly, for lack of a better term. he’s staring at her like a child in need of guidance--- well, she thinks with another wry expression, perhaps that’s what i am.
she gathers her skirts in her hands and lowers herself next to the imp jester. her hands remain bunched and she looks down, deep in thought, before she answers, “i’m too quiet. i’m too soft and studious and distracted.”
before she realises what’s happening, admittances are spilling past her lips. “i’m not charming. i’m AWFUL at dinners and events and meetings. i’m terrible at being a princess and, quite frankly, i’m terrible at being a daughter. my existence is why stella and father are so at odds with each other.” she sighs, hands spread in surrender. “and i don’t know how to... to FIX me to please everyone.”
@restinjest
“there’s something wrong with me.”
"oh, sweetheart, you're too young for that. cut yourself some slack, hmm? there'll be plenty of time for self-deprication later down the line."
a wry smile twists the features of the princess. down the line? “i’m already thousands of years old,” she huffs, twisting in a rather uncomfortable gown. she hates events like these, but as her father’s heir, it simply wouldn’t do to remain locked away in her orrery. so, she enacts a sort of compromise. she makes a few appearances. says her “please”s and “thank you”s and then goes outside to contemplate the stars above the frigid landscape of the ninth circle or journal.
it was sheer luck that she came across fizzarolli, but she isn’t exactly complaining. he was honest and made for good company.
“how much longer do you think i have?”
HER EXPRESSION IS ONE OF GENTLE AMUSEMENT, rather than any judgement directed at the owl princess. The embarrassment emanating from her was a feeling she could relate to, and to save her the discomfort she lets out a small chuckle. “Don’t think so, but I doubt he’d be much longer. Wanna do something ‘til he gets here?”
‘wanna do something ‘til he gets here?’ octavia allows the implication behind the other’s words to sink in. loona really wanted to spend time with her? does that mean that she enjoyed her company? {𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓾𝓹𝓼𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓻𝓸𝔂𝓪𝓵 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻?}
she tucks a stray feather back behind her beanie and shrugs, putting on a show of nonchalance. that’s what cool people do, right? “oh, uh, yeah. i mean, if you don’t have anything else to do. i could... show you the new project i’m working on?”
“ha! nah, c’mon. i meant the killing shit. he’d probably take it seriously.” idly, the jester swipes through their own phone. they’ve got at least an inkling of what went down, thanks to asmodeus pointing out the peculiar series of posts on his… niece’s? sinsta.
fuck if fizz knows how these royal families work.
“first time up top, kid?”
she’s basically using her own electronic device as a shield of sorts. the endless scroll of at-home taxidermy projects and dark academia aesthetic posts is paused as she listens to them speak. finally, she answers in her own rasped accents, “not hardly. father has been taking me topside since the golden age of kemet. i just wasn’t expecting to land in the middle of the mires of los angeles of all places.” city of angels, her arse.
she rakes a hand backwards through blue-grey feathers. “it was my own fault for attempting a spell when i wasn’t able to concentrate. instead of seeing azathoth’s tears, all i got was city smog and cheap fireworks. figures.”
how did you learn to write well?
well first you have to be a very sad child
I couldn’t be with people and I didn’t want to be alone.
-Marian Keyes, Anybody Out There?
