[compunctions-a]

hellooo. i'm moving to a fresh blog. ( @compunctions ) everything is the same over there. i'll carry my delicious threads over, but if any of you want to drop something, go ahead! ^_^

[compunctions-a]

hellooo. i'm moving to a fresh blog. ( @compunctions ) everything is the same over there. i'll carry my delicious threads over, but if any of you want to drop something, go ahead! ^_^

[compunctions-a]

hellooo. i'm moving to a fresh blog. ( @compunctions ) everything is the same over there. i'll carry my delicious threads over, but if any of you want to drop something, go ahead! ^_^

[compunctions-a]

hellooo. i'm moving to a fresh blog. ( @compunctions ) everything is the same over there. i'll carry my delicious threads over, but if any of you want to drop something, go ahead! ^_^

[fospherus]

like a wretch discarded, the cold seemed to cling to him from the nights he had spent blacked out against the alleyway. he had dreamt feverishly of the glade and woods beside dellecher, wandering aimlessly and calling out to the troupe as he went. at first there was laughter, light on his tongue. he called to pip, told alexander to knock it off. where was everyone? and then, more fearfully : had they left him behind? but at the turn of his head in these dreams, he would see the eerily pretty glow of fire in the distance, of encroaching shadows on the hunt. it was a play, he would tell himself.

they were practicing for the play as he did, covered in fake blood by the shed. they were hunting something. yes, they were hunting something, which had to mean they were not hunting him. they couldn't be. he was their friend.

he would wake with a start, a pain in his lungs where a knife had been driven through by richard stirling, only to find his shirt dirtied with hopelessness rather than blood. by the settee of james farrow's clean home, he looked at the fire mantle with dull eyes.

❛  got the shit kicked out of me. sorry that's not romantic.  ❜  he put the tea cup down with irritation, wished it were a bottle of rum instead. his eyes refused to meet james', but that was nothing new. at the question of whether he missed him, oliver laughed bitterly. what had he done at all but miss him with a loathing for himself so sharp in his lungs? he had wanted james, and wanted to be away from him. wanted to curl up like used goods at the foot of his bed, and wanted to banish him from ever seeing him this low to the ground. his face was more angular now too, the muscles from strength training thinned. his face was unshaven and his hair a tousled mess. he was everything he feared, someone like james would see and detest. he knew richard had.

❛  does that still mean something to you?  ❜  it was a cruel thing to say. he had once clawed for james' affections, and now that he was given them freely, without effort, he seemed to think there was a catch. ❛  that i missed you. i did miss you. i'm a mess, why would you let me stay at all?  ❜

[compunctions-a]

❛ that's— ❜ james, lost for words suddenly, felt his cheeks flush, his old confidence failing him in this taut reunion of theirs. his eyes dropped to the clean floors, avoidant, and he worked a slow breath in and out of his lungs in a clumsy attempt at recovering his mind. how could he fix this? oliver hadn't taken well to his words; his bitter laughter cut into the warmth of the study. made james's stomach sink. what'd he need? they were matched for doubt here, neither sure of how much the other wanted them, james on equally unsteady footing... but his longing was fierce, and he forced himself to his feet, setting his own teacup down. came to a hovering stand by oliver's side, his light eyes sweeping him over in rapid strokes. before he could think much of what he was doing, the young man leaned down, invading his best friend's space, fingers clasping that angular chin, forcing eye contact.

it was a play at sternness, nothing more.... still, it distracted him from his own insecurities, his own slashed, bleeding pride at having to wait all this time for acknowledgement. for any sign that oliver still thought of him. that he was safe. james's fingers shook for the barest second against the other man's skin, but he stilled them quickly, his grip tender, unwilling to harm him. so much had been done to oliver already. it twisted him to see. flushed pink with the blazing fire at his back: ❛ i love you. ❜ a long beat of silence.

private school boy propriety told him he ought to let go; he didn't. his mouth — bottom lip raw from nervous chewing — twisted into a scowl. if sweet words wouldn't convince oliver that he was wanted here, he'd tell him the rotten truth instead, and let him see how close to cracking he was. ❛ how can you sit here and doubt that? you, who left me. you, who wanted nothing to do with me. graduation came around, ollie, and you dropped me like a one-night stand. like we were nothing at all. i am your best friend. that wasn't fair. ❜ he was more than that, really. convinced that this approach would at least get the fire between them going again, james stared for a long moment at the object of his affection, his face still warm. then, he straightened, hand falling, a contradiction from head to toe. uncertain and scrambling, yet as imperious as a scorned prince as he said: ❛ you will stay here. you will. i'd be a fool to let you go again. ❜ and softer, quieter, because he couldn't help but add, ❛ if you are a mess, then so am i. ❜

[compunctions-a]

little meme call as i bounce between blogs 🫶🏼

[compunctions-a]

narratively speaking, characters who aren't perfect victims really slap... trauma is raw, it's nasty, not everyone will be soft about it. some get toxic and even behave in villainous ways! james was tormented by richard, his character foil. guess who he started acting like toward the end, when he was slipping? richard.

[exitvelo-a]

could you tell from the moment we met ? (syddd♥️)

the night is quiet, as quiet as it can be in a place like chicago anyway, and it's the one evening the restaurant is closed. the days have gotten long again, so far that she nearly forgot about the changing of the seasons until it was 10 at night regularly and the air was still mucky and the sky was bright outside, and now they are so close to the summer temperatures that make her want to crawl out of her skin. it's alright in the evenings, the tall buildings shielding the heat of the sunlight from escaping into the night, and yet she needs at least two fans to survive in her few hours of sleep due to her apartment being real cryptic about a functioning ac unit. overall it's more or less a nightmare, and still sydney's been glad ever since she noticed summer arrived, the endless trek of winter finally, finally over. the whole city feels different now - she can hear people on the curb at night more than usual and tonight she's got twinkling lights over her head and some version of shakespeare in the city in front of her.

it's intermission now, between two acts and another still to go, and james has been immersed in the scenes on stage for most of their time here. sydney's been happy to sit shoulder to shoulder with him, more prone to glance over at him and see him speak along with the words or show a gut reaction to something happening on stage; she's glad she went with a comedy. yet now they're both to the side of the benched rows, drinks in hand, and passing the time until they'll be ushered to sit down. sydney's been telling him about the different performance spot, the things she knows because marcus caught a lot of it last summer and told her about it, as james interrupts her to ask - something that renders her first still, then to talk in fits and starts, ten different sentences in her mind. " what? that you liked that? the acting kind of stuff? or, you know - " here she carefully grabs his hand and squeezes it, fingers between his. " fifty-fity. you're too pretty to ignore, but i also don't really care for that. you know what i mean? then you talked, and you were much more than you looked, hamlet. "

[compunctions-a]

strange how sydney — her presence, her commentary, her smiles and mannerisms — could make theatre feel lovely again. james's preference for the tragedies had caused him violent, bloody grief over the last several months, so much so that he'd dreaded even stage lights. or took to them with all the wrong passions stirring in his gut, anger boiling, spilling, everything horrible. but syd? she was a breath of fresh air, a drink of cold water; in short, he was having a good night. nothing could mar it.

that he was an audience member this time around made all the difference. a performer demoted to mere spectator. smiling, sipping intermittently at his drink and letting it cool him, james listened to his company speak. listened to her ramble. content to be a passive participant for the most part. there was something deeply endearing about this: sydney's stumbling passion for anything and everything that happened to capture her attention. she was vibrant, and undoubtedly alive, chained to something bustling day by day. not dead words and still pages. james admired her. she was smart, as well, soaking up tidbits with rapidity, and he liked that.

fingers laced, he returned her palm squeeze without much thought, the act instinctual now, touch between them frequent. his skin tingly, a faint blush painting his cheeks. hardly the humble sort, but compliments from syd tended to take root.

someone with a rotten amount of cologne walked past, and james wrinkled his nose, then smiled, caught in his expression of disgust, and said, ❛ you thought i was spoiled, then. ❜ he observed with tenderness, his amusement tinged with wry, quiet charm. mouth quirked. he was spoiled, though, and that was the joke between them. james brought their joined hands to his mouth, gave her knuckles a peck, and continued. unhurried in his speech, slow and melodic. they differed here.

❛ i'm glad i proved worthwhile. and you didn't ask, but i thought you were lovely from the start, syd. but you knew this, surely? why else would i have returned, going out of my way every couple days to order sandwiches and lemonade? i'm not that passionate about lunch. i must admit, i was little obsessed. ❜ here, he leaned in closer, head tipped in her direction. his voice went lower, becoming more private, barely above a whisper. ❛ do you take many trust fund babies here, or am i your first? ❜ more teasing, elevated by the humor of the play, the natural mischief between them.

[compunctions-a]

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

<3 !!!

[lady-arryn]

George MacKay as Hamlet OPHELIA (2018) dir. Claire McCarthy

[compunctions-a]

[ PINE ] ( from dar <3 )

he didn't know what he'd expected; his mind fixed solely on one purpose and one purpose alone as he drove the lengthy distance from his own estate to darlington's. weeks of no contact had raised alarm — the fool couldn't break the pattern of visits they'd set, it just wasn't right. night was creeping dreadfully close now, dusk making the windows at his back glow a lovely orange. the shadows lengthening and the wind blowing crisp. darlington was clearly unwell, something in the air about him all wrong, twisted. swollen with tension, his shoulders taut and brooding. but he didn't want to be comforted nor prodded. that much was obvious. james's pride felt scraped raw, rejection making him sour, but he wouldn't leave. not yet.

❛ you... ❜ but the actor shut his mouth as soon as he'd opened it. nothing else uttered, nothing else said, a lover of words suddenly at a loss for them. without permission, he drifted into the other man's kitchen to put the clear container of cut fruit into his fridge, frowning all the while. he'd plucked nearly everything from his garden that evenining: bananas, oranges, apples, plums, and washed them. this was new, strange. they did better when they were at each other's throats. and though even their concern manifested in slightly acidic ways, bossy rather than coaxing, it was difficult to navigate. james's stomach twisted as he, sighing, trudged back to darlington's side, peering down at him where he remained sitting like a coiled thing. sharp and tense.

speaking without taking his eyes off his face, his tone deliberately slight: ❛ well, i'm not leaving without proof that you're alive, and not just a corpse that looks like my friend. ❜ they weren't friends, not really, but the word slipped from his tongue, anyway, and he dropped down beside him without much thought, his eyes flicking to the ceiling, prepared to wait it out 'til the dark of night. arms loosely crossed. sometimes he thought @disvelocitys liked him better when he was terrible. ❛ aren't you going to chide me for coming over uninvited? ❜ trying for a reaction after another beat of silence.

[daylighter-gone]

⋆˙ ⟡ ˙⋆    iris message from @compunctions, location : the pantry of the farrow manor.

his patient thinned more quickly than ordinary, which wasn't saying much when he had little to begin with. james farrow was no stranger to his ire and kenneth was no stranger to james' stubborn curiosity, but where he sprawled on the single seat of a worn leather couch, he nursed a cold glass of scotch that had since lost its chill. here he listened by the fire as james spoke, but no attempt at teasing or provoking had gentled his sentiments towards the vampire and his lot. one particular lot in fact, the subject of james' teasing.

james : when was it that you lost your imagination?

it would have been easy enough to argue that it had nothing to do with infatuation but survival. sprees on courtships and marvellous banquets were fever-dreams afforded by the wealthy. one girl, black hair and dark eyes, had been spurned by his rudeness; another had nearly slapped him. james had laughed then before his eyes had found humour in some delusion, that another had already caught his friend's attention. ❛ when your voice drilled a fucking pit in my skull. would you back off? ❜  legs kicked up on the arm rests, he glared dully at the vampire hovering from behind his seat to stare down at him. he held up his near empty glass. ❛ i'm not attending your banquet if you invite him. ❜ 

[compunctions-a]

❛ fuck. enough, ❜ james spat suddenly, his own face souring in irritation, his mood swinging between extremes like a pendulum. he was beginning to grow tired of these quarrels, of these back-and-forths, but he clung still, and kept the cycle going, so used was he to the fae's general presence. fond despite everything. ❛ handle the guest list yourself, if you must. i am not in the mood to duel with you today. it only leaves me famished, so unless you plan to open up a vein, leave it alone. ❜ the vampire had acquiesced, though. he had granted kenneth the power to do what he liked, acidic or no.

in the blond's hand was a near empty glass, waiting to be filled; james stared at it, jaw working, feeling like a servant, and snatched it before vanishing into the kitchen beyond, his feet padding along the floors. silence, save for the foyer's ticking clock and the rain beating down on the windows. when he returned, his face was blank, and the glass he held out for kenneth was filled with plain, spiteful water. ❛ if you're serious about courtship, i will find you someone hardy... or someone sheltered, perhaps, who wants a little excitement. ❜

[compunctions-a]

james will always be hamlet's son. the cleverness, the ease, the subtle charm. but also, later, the paranoia, resentment, and general bitchy behavior towards his beloveds when things get tough. some baddies just do not suffer gracefully. they're mean and have creepy candle scenes.

[cassolotl]

Trans Rights petitions in the UK

Following the ridiculous and inhumane news out of the UK yesterday, two out of the top 3 petitions on the UK parliament petition site relate to trans rights:

Let me point you in the right direction!

1. Legally enshrine the right of adults to physically transition using NHS services

Sign here

See graph of signatures here

Deadline: 28 July 2025

Signatures so far: 24,709 of 100,000

2. Allow transgender people to self-identify their legal gender

Sign here

See graph of signatures here

Deadline: 12 June 2025

Signatures so far: 22,107 of 100,000

Who can sign?

Anyone living in the UK, regardless of citizenship

UK citizens living anywhere in the world

[dvaurga-byebye]

            ⊹ ,  word got around in such an interconnected web.   a fly situated itself in the weaving and she can feel the vibrations from here,    all the way in the town's outskirts.    her business is not entirely underground but it does operate under the assumption that many found magic to be frivolity as opposed to a danger   (    it could be both and she served both from behind her counter    )    although there is an air of indifference behind her accusations she is not without intrigue.    by circumstance they were solitary creatures,    but certainly not by nature.   

       ❛   a survivor then,    is that what you make of yourself ?   you don't strike me as the type,    not at all.   but i know what they say...    books,    covers,    and all that.   ❜   she delivers,    wrapped in bramble a bouquet of words heavy with implication.    CLAIMING LACK OF JUDGEMENT WHILE ALREADY HAVING HER MIND MADE UP ABOUT THE NIGHT WALKER.    

       ❛   and i'm no hero so if you were to drink more than your fill i wouldn't be running to save any neck other than my own.   ❜   catching the withered head of a tulip in her outstretched palm.    she feeds the offering to the dirt and it absorbs the color with an enhanced efficiency    (    as if the whole garden were an eater and perhaps it was    )    the pale fire of her gaze regards him then,    a threat nestled in those glacial depths.   ❛   they don't distinguish between us,    you know that,    or you should start to.   ❜   simple,    they saw a creature with teeth and didn't bother to measure the width.    IF IT BITES IT'S GUILTY.    just like that they would send her off into the hills.   

       ❛   no,    a freeloader more like it.   ❜   someone who need not ask but takes without recompense and is allowed simply because he did so sweetly.    it would have been an admirable tactic if he weren't attempting to use it on her in this very instant.   ❛    sage for wisdom.    ❜    trimming the spindly plant,    it spills its fragrance into the room generously with the fresh cut.   ❛   angelica for inspiration.   ❜   leafy and aromatic,    like a wood after rain.    she gathers it into the bushel.   ❛   and violet for humility   —    you could use some of it.   ❜    a single somber color in all the viridity with its perfumed presence it is an outlier amongst the rest of her selections.    tying the herbs together neatly with a silver string it dangles in her hold before him.   

[compunctions-a]

❛ no? ❜ a lifted brow. ❛ what do i strike you as, then? don't tell me you're driven by superficialities. i'd hoped you'd be more interesting than that. ❜ but she was, and they both knew it; this was just play. if the witch weren't intriguing, james wouldn't be standing there, persisting, his plan to flee no longer at the forefront of his mind. departure could wait. civilization would still be there after their chat, and he'd go to it, practiced just barely. the faces and the names of the people he'd met here, drank from, spoken to, forgotten.

zoya fed bloom to the soil; james's thoughts split as he watched, an appreciative, almost admirable smile tugging at his mouth all the while. but in the context of their conversation, it just looked smug. it just looked like ego. better, perhaps, for her to see only that. james farrow was a rotten companion these days. it was easier on the heart to interact with him at a distance. he sniffed, and dutifully, pridefully, kept his eyes from resting on her throat. it was a pretty beacon now, a blaze, and he blamed her for it.

❛ that makes two of us. ❜ not a hero in sight, then. ❛ but as i said, i have no intention to... drain or slaughter anyone here. i'm well-behaved. ❜ who was he trying to convince? he looked at his surroundings again, gaze dragging over the vibrant petals and the curling vines, the aroma of it all covering him like a soft, warm blanket. how he'd love to sit in a place like this for hours and stare at nothing, empty his head of everything. let the peace of it all consume him. ❛ well, you can't expect much from small-minded people. ❜ the observation was snooty but casual, free of active malice. she called him a freeloader, then, and he said nothing, only exhaled (habit), and crossed his arms, waiting instead for his precious recommendations.

his manner was a strange one now; it was half-defiant and half-sweet, like he wasn't sure what to be, like he wasn't sure which side of himself to show, a walking contradiction with a world of emotions in his bones.

in the end, zoya's choices were swift, unflinching, and horribly needed, each herb stabbing at something he lacked nowadays. the vampire fought the urge to roll his eyes as he reached over and grabbed the bundle with gentle, almost reverent fingers. ❛ how sweet of you to notice my faults. do you always treat your customers this way? ❜ his unoccupied hand fished into his coat pocket for his wallet. unhurried, thumbing through cash, lip chewed in concentration: ❛ what do i owe you? ❜ eyes flicking up to hold hers, light versus light.

[compunctions-a]

poplar, oliver mentors james through learning a new skill: fixing a tire.

❛ oliver, can you... ❜ the thespian tried to hide the mischievous way his mouth curled by suddenly breaking off to take a sip of his water. cold, crisp, refreshing. it was a warm sunday morning, the sun was kissing their cheeks, and oliver was beautiful, brighter and lovelier than the vibrant flowers they'd planted along the house; a clumsy attempt to add color to the otherwise muted property. clearing his throat and licking his lips: ❛ repeat yourself, please? and perhaps show me how to remove the other tire while you're at it? thank you. ❜ prompted by @fospherus then to fetch the wrench he needed to do exactly that, james finally rose from his chair on the veranda, where he'd been sitting with legs crossed, stress-free in a borrowed shirt and shorts. glass in one hand, and the other empty for the task.

he took the thing from the toolbox, and passed it over. set his water on the bottom step of the veranda to gently curl oliver's fingers around the metal, and pecked his knuckles before stepping away. that his lover's skin was sweaty and perhaps streaked with dirt or oil was no bother to him at all. not missing a beat, he snatched up his glass next, which was half-full, and knocked the rim insistently against oliver's mouth. voice sweet even as it commanded: ❛ drink. ❜ another indulgent sweep of his eyes, here. he was happy. ❛ i'll get you a snack after this. would you like that? ❜

[fospherus]

𓆩 ✶ 𓆪  starter : alice entreats james farrow. . . . @compunctions. location, outside broadway theatre on a snowy night.

a thick and overused coat hangs darkly on her shoulders, a size or dozen too big for her body. still, she takes a sweet comfort from it, as if it could embrace her tightly when the wind blew too harshly. her hair is undone, shabby and dark fluttering above her eyes, while the women on the wayside of the road waiting for their taxis sported far fancier hairdos. they were gushing of course, their maroon lips fixed in an enchanted smile. she felt herself roll her eyes, and waited for the exit crowd to disperse much better before she made a move. flicking her cigarette to the ground, she crushed it with her short heel and straightened. just then, the superstar arrived conspicuously with a smart hat on his head, a long scarf and coat, laughing at something oliver had said. he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw alice, and she fought down a smile. ❛  hello you, dream-robber.  ❜  it had been six months since she had last seen james. after her training had concluded at the royal albert, she had decided to spring him a visit. ❛  did you miss me?  ❜

[compunctions-a]

❛ i certainly did. come, and tell me what i've missed. your nicknames have softened, haven't they... you must be happy. ❜ with only a brief warning on his tongue, james stepped forward suddenly and enveloped her in a warm, snug hug, his cheeks aching from the smile splitting his face, his grip tight. eyes closed. he rocked her a little, too, free with his affection (oliver was back in his life now, things were blooming for the selfish thespian—) then, he released the small woman, and flashed her a grin both wider and toothier than usual. slid respectfully back. slight color had crept into his face since they saw each other last.

there was a spring in his step, energy coiling around his bones. alive— finally. he hoped she was as proud of him for holding on as he was of her. oliver was still near, endearing even in his beaming silence. licking his lips, james gestured between sister and lover with a gloved hand and brought his palms together in a clap. the smile on his chilled mouth now was slight and full of dazzled anticipation. ❛ you must remember each other. alice, meet your brother-in-law. ❜ rules and regulations would not prevent him from referring to oliver as what he ought to be. ❛ join us for dinner? we were just leaving. ❜