lucem nosce

{ Rumored to have been the plaything of Kings . Elena Darrell, currently the muse of Thomas Wyatt. A house shared. A bed that subverts all willpower.

[elenadcr]

henry-carey‌:

There were two reasons Hal seldom attended these events, despite being able to engage in conversation easily. He preferred to study, and he was an absolute lightweight. On top of that he always had to prove his point when he was tipsy. And the Carey boy was far past tipsy. “Is it not though, m’lady ? It is a topic that has long since been argued by even the most notable of scholars,” the young man continued to try and argue his point and was about to take another swig of his wine when he noted his hand was now empty. He blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe you’d prefer to argue the legitimacy of Alexander the Great’s reign?”

She could not suppress the shrill of laughter that tumbled from her lips. Elena decreased from their distance, but her arms - crossed, mild scandal showing through her posture - kept a blockade of their own. Her words carried a particular sound of soft indignation. “Why, what might a woman of my education know from all that bother?” It was partly indulgence, but not only a pose. She could recall some scarce glory to the name, of course, scattered information that might be attached to it, but little above that. Wyatt, yes, he would’ve made his case. And his two other paramours too, though she would’ve preferred to let that realization dormant. “Any reign other than our Majesty’s is of trifling importance to me. But I’ll leave it to other great men to spar over it. Will you pluck out a sword, my liege?”

[elenadcr]

cfboleyn‌:

    -    The woman unknowingly captured within Anne’s gaze was a true vision, one need not wonder what was so alluring about her when even Mistress Boleyn’s envy was not enough to cast a dark cloud over the beauty as she drew closer to the gaggle of women whom had flanked her sides in search of gossip. “ Forgive us, it is extremely that we would block your path in this way. These ladies were simply discussing the recent festivities and the great impression left amongst courtiers and foreigners alike. Please, ” wordlessly Anne stepped aside whilst always taking a step back in a bid to both let Elena pass and to also move in the direction of retrieving a cup of her own. Knowing looks were exchanged amongst the gaggle of ladies before they began to disperse, eyes trailed heavily on the two heavenly brunettes but mourning clad Anne had no intention of giving the performance they no doubt anticipated. “ Has though sought as much pleasure as the majority during the Saint’s feast? ”

Beauty was not distressing - no injury cracked like mother-of-pearl under her skin, not even when she got the chance to dissect the woman up close. What did hurt Elena, and to an extent where air itself throbbed and leaked our of her wineskin lungs, was similitude. The Boleyn was a more refined, more stately detailed version of herself. As if a supreme engraver took more time at the task. Where her nails were chipped short, Elena’s jutted out, useful in the myriad mundane duties which littered her days. Where Anne’s hair seemed framed, bordered by the gable hood like theater indications, her own was too ornately braided. But the common points were there. Inescapably so; it would’ve burned even if she hadn’t scored second place in this battle of reflections. So, Wyatt was not conquering - he was replicating. And Elena herself was the tambour upon which a more delicate picture, one remembered from years ago, is to be embroidered. She looked aside. She did work her way through a smile, too wan even for coldness, but leeward her eyes remained. “Not in the least, madame. I spent it rather stranded, and rather poorly.” The former courtier - though they both were that, wasn’t it so? - could almost hear the tattletalk taking shape in the fringes of the room. She would not fan it; or, better said, she wouldn’t have fanned it, had she been the woman she wanted herself to be.

[elenadcr]

henry-carey‌:

~|~ OPEN ~|~

The night’s festivities were well under way, hours had passed, as had several goblets of wine. Spiced wine, foreign wine, traditional wine. And Hal had had some of each. “I do protest, m’good sir ! There is no way such a plan of attack could ever have succeed in conquering Atlantis ! It was supposed to be a sea culture surrounded by water, how would you have gotten catapults all the way out there ? ”

She was sent into a tittering laughter, chastisement as much as revelry making up for her immediate reactions. They were a twin-fold set: grab the nobleman’s underarm, for once, and then pry the cup away, all with the artifice and deftness which accompanied training. Then, she found it fit to reassure him, tailoring her tone to be slightly more hushed: “It was not a factual happening, milord. Merely a story I had read to me, a trifle.”

[elenadcr]

She did not so much walk, but loitered through the antechambers and the alcoves, an adrift light fretting on her cheekbones. The day had followed its order: dawn in her own lodgings, alone, and dusk witnessed among an opulence which felt all the more foreign. It was not that the court changed, or that she had, but rather as though they both inverted themselves with alchemical proportions. Elena’s lips, instead of broaching open as she passed all those she’d known throughout adulthood, priming in jest or invitation, were pinned flatly instead. Her eyes cornered on details which they then discarded in profligate abandon. She was aimless. And it was a bizarre mouthful too, for a woman who never did have a mooring to begin with. Only when a silhouette interposed with her steps, damming their course like a weir, did the woman falter. She loomed before that half-moon circle of courtiers and drew in the empty space between. Then, with a smile not fully born, she interjected: “If I may either pass, or else be offered a cup, I should be most fortunate.”

[elenadcr]

monsieurwyatt‌:

@elenadcr

  The light, disconnected prattle which filled their washing room, laid ownership onto Elena alone; Wyatt’s eyes were trained on the mirror before his face, utilizing its reflection to admire her figure, under the guise of watching his own. His humor left him disinclined to converse; rather he wished to observe Elena’s countenance, which had been withdraw to him as of late. She did not yield to effervescent glee or tepid moods of solitude, peppered with bouts of anger - whether to spite him (or feed her own fancies, the pair often coexisted merrily) Elena fell into her own dalliances; she danced without he by her side, cheered from the stands for whomever she pleased - it was until now, that they were sequestered in their normal fashion. Love-making had become a routine pleasure - forever how much he relished the sensation of her warmth flush against him, or the sweetness of her kisses; he found a stranger in her sleeping form, once their carnal needs have been satisfied. Instantly Wyatt gave way to paranoia - his ambivalence as a lover, and wayward mind of late, would earn him her ire. But he could not withstand the overarching power of her silence, nor the anxiety inducing pleasantries she bestowed upon him; rubbing his neck in an absentminded fashion, his neck curled to the left, allowing his intrusive, steely gaze, better access to the crown of brown hair which moved as its mistress wished. There was no sanctioned silence to break, yet his heart still raced with trepidation as he offered simple words of conversation. “We’ve both been rather preoccupied with endeavors as of late - part of me believes you now harbor an inner world unknown to me. Convince me otherwise darling, or I shall pluck each hair from my head as I fret over the state of our intimacy.” 

She sprawled across their carpeted seats as if she were a tableau vivant, inhabiting the knowledge of that fact like a second skin, a layer of awareness and delight in a pose she never relinquished. There was no herself to Elena - no inner core which brought all her dainty ploys together, all the acts she hoisted and dismantled like an architect of womanhood. She was everything she pretended to be, just smaller slivers of it, light dulling the more you reflect it. She could be careless, disheveled, propped in her bead and eating Turkish sweets with no regard for the linens - but she could also startle awake, in the midst of a fever, and fix the intricate braid of her hair. These were all true at the same time, none with more verity than the other. And it never caught her inadvertent, or inopportune, when men looked. The reality of having a body and easing that body into being seen were no different for her. Even now, as Thomas talked, as her fingers toyed with the torque of a cup, as she sluiced lemongrass tea in her mouth to smother the words huddling there, she knew her lover saw her pose. And she knew he knew, too. And it was this matter of intimacy that weighed above all the others. At last, Elena drawled out a sigh, barb-edged irritation sending her eyes rolling skyward. “That would really thwart your peace, would it not? Make a plaything of it. Me having an inner world whatsoever. You best leave your tirelessly coveted hair alone: it is half your charm, after all.” What did incense her? She was prodigal with her emotions, squandering them like a banker’s son, rage and yearning and apprehension blending with oil’s fluidity, and its resilience too. So it was a treacherous matter for her to measure up, this distance that had wedged itself between them as though acting on its own volition. Oh, she was up to date with his dalliances: a re-lit fuse with the Boleyn woman, smoldering as only old coals can do, and some intellectual sparring with another one, a duchess or a widow or both those at once. Was that what she feared? That a woman might shroud herself before him as not only a novelty, or a challenge, or a view that reaps your breath from the pit of your lungs, spilling lust where air had once been - but as a companion? As someone who could help him in his work not as inspiration, but as partner? Read the old Greeks with him, and the sodden easterners too, sharped her quill with the same dexterity she waived her ribbons? Elena had dwelt a long time before answering it, even silently. She was not altogether sure she answered it at all, but rather confessed the nameless, gave it a shape like a child’s night terrors. Or was it something far more petty - the fact that Tommy had so much to keep him occupied, and ever since the death of that awful, riveting, raw-carved man, and the affair they had kept at intemperate intervals, she had had so little? How were the months spent? Being locked in with a frenchman at the siege, when her heart was so far up in her throat she felt its veins grinding, and she all but shook with unexpected, uncharacteristic anxiety - so fretful for Tomas that she hadn’t even seen the man properly. And he might’ve been a good score, too. Following that were the jousts, when she clapped and pirouetted and even strayed from the Boleyn woman’s path, so as not to cause what she so dearly depicted in her head, but after which she had to retire early, uncourted in the least. And now, the days of Saint Valentine, where all lovers flared up, with the violence and predictability of the tide. And on which Thomas had scarcely said a word. “You look half on your way out, Thomas, and lateness is not favored upon in this new court of ours.”

[centuriesbehind]

The Hostage, Edmund Blair Leighton

[elenadcr]

ofmantua‌:

{ @elenadcr }

the now-duke and his wife had been married barely over two years when he met elena, although he was not quite seven and ten at the time. they had become fast friends during the short time they had shared, and vince was fond of her. perhaps more fond of her than a newlywed should be. she was the opposite of his wife. she was kind and gentle and fun, a welcome reprieve during the early years of his wife’s torment. he had cared for her deeply, even wondering what would have happened if he had not wed his wife when he did. her friendship got him through the beginning of a difficult change in his marriage, though it cumulated in the most traumatic, horrific experience of his life. his wife’s jealousy had exploded in response to the friendship, and vince’s likely-obvious feelings, and even now, nearly ten years later, he still had yet to recover. 

the friendship with elena had ended after that night, and he never dreamed that their paths would cross again, certainly not after his wife’s passing. he was a mere shadow of the man he used to be, once lively and youthful, now aged far beyond his years by a darkness he could not shake. a mask could not hide her features from him, her face so ingrained in his mind that it still floated through his dreams. his feet moved towards her before he could stop himself and he felt…fearful. what if she didn’t remember him? what if she loathed him? he was behind her now, and he could smell her perfume, he’d recognize it anywhere. upon seeing him, her companion drifted away. “elena.” he breathed a note of reverence, holding more aged worship than his daily prayers, and he reached out a hand, aching to brush it against hers but instead letting it fall to his side once more.

It was precisely this reverence she heard, coming on to her as if on a gust of wind. As if the air itself grew breath and carried the past with it - back when men had the novelty to address her like that, and she the freedom to answer. Were it not for the awed tone, mingled with devotion and sweet, small reluctance, she wouldn’t have stopped. What cause was there for it? Elena was on her way to her friend’s quarters, one of the only that still had lodgings in the castle, when she saw the woman fade away with intimate tact. As if she came all the way for a lover’s meeting! Roused, in both interest and indignation, she turned to face the stranger.

“Duke?” The words were incredulous. They tinkled on the floor like coins into fountains. Not a stranger, then - memory slivers huddled together, crashing into each other. A feast held for foreigners, a night sky barren of stars, a slim-sliced moon obscuring their movements. She both remembered and didn’t. “Your Grace, what could you possibly be doing here? Aren’t you a ghost on this day!” Her hands found a way to her hips in an awfully common gesture, betraying what she herself never bothered to hide: that she was a woman of scant culture and momentous impulses.

[elenadcr]

lepetitserge‌:

  He hoped vehemently his request had not ruined his chances of them enjoying an amiable conversation. To be disliked by any was a blow to Serge’ person, but his insistence had rendered him a brute, among a fellow prisoner. “If we should be freed from this chapel with our persons entirely intact, I hope to be graced with the full weight of your good humor sometime. Forgive me, for the insistence of you being otherwise.” Sheepishly he withdrew inwards, turning back towards the sparse altar, his dark eyes resting upon a gilded statue of the virgin mother. There were certainly worse locations to be confined; perhaps by mere proximity, a deep devotion would be reawakened. They were bound in a common feeling of distress over the status of loved ones; whichever man lay in wait for her, Serge hoped surely that he was in as good in health as his Marguerite. “We share a common loss; my beloved charge was there as well. My anxious mood is owed entirely to the drudge of waiting for to be released, to find her out. The attack coincides with the abundance of royalty grouped within a single location - I cannot help but fear the worst.” 

Though she tried her utmost to sketch a faded smile, to brave his words with the warmth and comfort they begged for, Elena fell short of the task. She was not feminine, not in that alleviating, empathic way, all ample bosom and robe folds ready to enshroud you in their protection. She was not motherly, could not even play the part when men demanded it of her, in the confines of the bedchamber, in the half-imploring whispers of lust. She could play almost every other part but that. It was what some nobles wanted, though not Wyatt. Not the king, either, a malignant voice slithered, like serpent spit drooling in her ears. But comfort was not something she found easy to bestow: it unnerved her, put her at odds, tongue lacing through possible cajoles she might impart. When her beloved was sick (rarely, for Thomas was reputed for surviving hell itself, and all its circles too) she merely nestled against his body like a defense cuirass or a dove, her frame curling before all the harm that might cross him over. So even now, to this towering man, English voice clotted and gluing with its French nuances, she did not know what to respond. But the smile broke through at last, not luminous, not reassuring, simply hers.

“Your charge? She is from the French convoy, then?” Elena’s hands hovered above her lap, as the two of them seized their hallowed places on the chapel’s front row. Carefully, one arm waded forward and touched his leg - a breach of propriety that few could mind at such a moment. Shaking, errant fingers dappled just above the man’s knee. “She must be a wonderful person to elicit such concern. And all would be...-”, the purported word lodged in the woman’s throat. Well, she had meant to say, but it wouldn’t break past the rampart. “Better men than you or I will see that she is safe.” 

[elenadcr]

lepetitserge‌:

@elenadcr

   A snug, small room ; a gentle, inviting fire featured at its heart. Why had the fair lady sought the chapel in the heart of festivities, which had consumed even his beloved Marguerite into the foils of song and dance. Upon entering the muted chapel, he had been struck by the woman who sought discourse with God over the pleasures of dance. The chapel was squared away within the castle, open to visitors but un-primed for the company of royalty. Despite the velvet cloak that once lay draped across shoulders of marble white, Serge knew her to be no princess, nor a queen ; her noble brow lacked the pompous arch of monarchy. Her beauty invested in her a deep imperial dignity found within a statue of Persephone of Diana. From this beauty sprung an eerie familiarity with his cellmate (for lack of a better phrase) which settled a chill across his body, while eliciting a fevarous desire to unravel the mystery which lay behind unyielding dark eyes. Candlelight gleamed from candlesticks positioned in their single window, which now existed as their only avenue to access the outside world. He feared the days were numerous, and he would soon become dependent on the sliver of reality that lay within their grasp, if only to affirm his own sanity. Marguerite, Marguerite; over and over he relished the sound of her name, wishing she had abandoned all interests to cling to his side at all times, like she had as a child. For whom did the dark lady pine for in this chapel, sealed within four walls. For all his virtues, he lacked sorely in the art of patience. A waiting game was afoot; Serge found himself immediately strewn to the wayside with the losers. “Forgive me if I offend your sensibilities- but sweet woman, please offer me all you possess within your confidence to make amusing conversation. I shall crumble within seconds if my mind does not become occupied with your company.” 

Oh, there was nothing there; only breaths which would not yield, lungs that did not inflate properly, bird-ribs unwilling to cage the air. Peace yourself, woman, she cautioned, a feat more vainly sought than if she had uttered them to stones and wax. Tom is not in the king’s inner circle. Blasted hell, he’s not even in the king’s fourteenth circle, there’s no threat, he’s on the fringes - and oh how she longed for the first time that her partner was even less renowned, even less ascended to power, that he was a nobody, a weed stealing sunlight in the outskirts of court ! It assuaged little. Whatever perils loomed over Hampton included him as well, and that realization alone was enough to grapple her heart and pump it like a machinery that lost its helm. When the other man addressed her, she scantily registered his imposing stature, his pale-gold hair streaked with intermittent grey, his rich-clad vest that only alluded to what the underneath was like - all the traits that would’ve made her interest surge up, her pulse quicken, her lips soften in calculated anticipation, now fell as flat as the dead. “You caught me on an ill-timed day, Monsieur. I’d dare say the only one in a decade when amusing is the last request I could oblige. The last one on heaven and earth indeed.” A rustle of skirts, of muslin and organdy, as her hands pressed against her abdomen to quell a sob. It was withheld with some success, but she knew the victory to be temporary. The chapel vaulted above them with the unapologetic fortitude of a tomb. Candles sizzled like flesh dropped in oil in their trivets on the walls.  “A man I--... a man that is very dear to me was in the banquet hall.” Her voice flitted in and out of power, carried above them short of a tremble, short of a spell. She hoped the explanation would suffice; truly, for she could not trust herself to elaborate without breaking into hysterics.  

[elenadcr]

dukexfclarence‌:

He was to present himself a noble bachelor of the most suitable sorts. Fine family name, honorable brother of the most convincing political influence, and never to mention the blond locks—- the duke was a primrose blooming with all force that evening in attempts to attract even the most irrelevant of courtiers. Or so, that was the discord in the early evening when Owen knew his objective to be the attraction of a potential suitor. Now, with a few cups of fine mead, his ankles stretched before him upon the the green velvet chaise with his expensive suede boots in full show, the Duke of Clarence laughed and twinkled with irrelevance to the loose appearance he was curating. 

“…but of course, I would never leave a fellow Sir so helpless on the field of battle!” Owen exclaimed. “You see, duchess. I carried him through ash and stone back to our dear king and only then did I return to battle!.” His words came swiftly and with a hinge of sarcastic arrogance as if he knew how ridiculous his story sounded, yet persuasive of his heroism upon the battlefield nonetheless. However, before this tale of valor could continue a whisper interrupted imaginative train of thought. He had earlier snuck a bottle of fine Burgundy wine beneath his pelt. A prize he was to award to the conquest of choice that night. and it’s whereabouts had seemingly come aware by a brune beauty now leaning his way. 

“Perhaps it begs mi’lady…but tis a dangerous game to always receive what one awfully desires.”

Like a marketplace appraiser (or perhaps a collector, one which had dabbled in their trade’s demimonde corners long enough to ascertain?) Elena studied the other in close detail. From his sprawling posture - which might had revealed mud caked in layers on the soles, had the riding boots not been polished spotless - to his chipping laughter, the boy was a treat. Who could he be? Several years younger, he cast off some familiarity, some erring habits and mistimed pleasures. For all her expertise - and it was not easily discarded - he embodied the part of the younger son. Virile, but frail as far as expectations stretched, those of the battlefield or of the law courts. So what was his place? Nestling under God’s sun and tasting whatever mouth and heart saw fit to yearn? It seemed just so. His long arms lined under the shirt as though awaiting a gauntlet, a grip, a talon of claws. His unblemished countenance alighted or dimmed according to his moods, like water surface rippling, like velvet wrinkling under a fist that closes. The smile she returned was just as infallible.

“Bold of you to presume my desires are awful... or that they are always fulfilled, for that matter.”

[elenadcr]

♡ ~ from anne :*

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable /  falling apart  / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits (i.e fooling around?)  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  none on this one .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to my muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable / passionate /  rivals (reconciled) /  petty / developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension (stable platonic bond)  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other

[elenadcr]

♡ from all my chars xo claw

JOANNA OF YORK

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  / friendship of need /  friendship of circumstance  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other ???

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  / passionate /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional (political) matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

EDWARD SEYMOUR

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  (i reconciled myself to the fact that i’ll get edward for none of my characters)

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  / older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  / dangerous to others  /  unpredictable / passionate /  rivals  /  petty  / developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /

HENNERS FITZROY

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  none on this one .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  / older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  / dangerous to others  /  unpredictable / passionate /  rivals  /  petty / developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

MARGUERITE DE VALOIS

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  / stable /  falling apart  / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits (i.e fooling around?)  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  none on this one .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable / passionate /  rivals  /  petty / developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other

CATHERINE PARR

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  (literary circles)  /  family friends  /  recently friends / turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable /  falling apart  / friendship of need / friendship of circumstance   /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits (i.e fooling around?)  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  none on this one .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to my muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable / passionate /  rivals  /  petty / developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

I feel her presence in the common day, In that slow dark that widens every eye. She moves as water moves, and comes to me, Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be.

Theodore Roethke, from “She,” Words for the Wind: The Collected Verse of Theodore Roethke (Indiana University Press, 1964)

[eviefyres]

PRE - ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME .

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance  pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[elenadcr]

Though occupying this seat on a whim, brought to the coveted, under-wraps alehouse only by Wyatt’s good grace, Elena felt entirely within herself. It counted for so little that this was not where she should’ve gathered, enthroned on a velvet-backed chaise like a matron; it amounted to such meager quantities, that it barely topped the scales. There was no out of place, no disjointedness from what she desired and what she believed she could possess. If it nipped her fancy to dine with a comte, even if she knew reality could seldom secure it, she would’ve taken the chance and forfeited any hesitations. Never you mind the status, never you mind the garments; days were too fleeting for self-consciousness, for propriety. It was in this vein that she leaned towards the nearest stranger, a playbill encased in her fingers, and spoke whatever assorted with the moment: “You may be dismayed to find out that bottle you’d hidden is nowhere as concealed as you hope, Sir. And it rather begs to be uncorked.” 

@dukexfclarence

[elenadcr]

monsieurwyatt:

She annulled all vows to abstain from receiving pleasure from his physical affections; Elena folded beneath him so gently, assuming her rightful place beside his breast. Her pleased silence accompanied the wandering of her hands, seeking desperately an avenue towards his naked body - to match each and every caress he laid upon her skin, with those of her own. Intertwined, encapsulated in the warmth of the fire, whose crackling supplied the only noise within the room when their raised voices did not occupy said space. Without thinking much about it, Thomas registered every freckle that fell across the small of her nose. The smattering of brown that encroached upon her porcelain skin created the rarity of a beatific smile on Thomas’ face. Although his features grew only more pronounced and angular with his passing years, the glow of the smile lifted at least a decade from his skin - rendering him a young man once more. “Elena, Elena, Elena.” Her name was the culmination of a single breath from his lips, the warmth of his words tickling the light hairs sprinkled across the base of her neck. With a vibrant and fervent truth, he reaffirmed his life long hymnal to remain by Elena until death. Whatever splintered part of his heart rendered him susceptible to a thousand loves of his life, it allowed him the capability to revere Elena  in a manor  : idiosyncratic to all others. So easily his heart found ownership in the hands of lady riddled with golden curls, or blackened with desire for a woman with skin a fine shade of porcelain, and eyes blue as his own. Thomas submitted himself to the endless cycle of love when he was a mere fifteen, and as much as he became nauseous, longing for reprise from his torment and anguish, if door to freedom were to materialize in an instance, he would fail to regard it with the slightest interest. Delirious with delight over their delicate existence, careless words of love sickness fell across Elena’s skin like drops of rain. “As deeply I am in need of our bed, I wish for a quill, to document moment. When sun light breaks tomorrow, I shall be entirely incapable of believing such a time existed.” 

    His index finger caressed her collarbone, finding the skin balanced across proud structure to be as pleasantly smooth as the cuffs of her gown. The visceral need to paw against her naked skin, unburden her of a material trappings, left his pulse so quickened that he could hardly hear a word she spoke, for the overwhelming sound of blood-bumping overtaking his eardrums. Years of companionship had yet to break the enchantment Elena had laid upon him. He tried to convince himself the purpose of his cohabiting the beds of other women was to ensure the flames of passion between them burned eternally. To taste her in the wake of a fight or affair with a Lord’s wife, was to enjoy pleasures beyond comprehension. But should he suggest such a notion to Elena, Thomas would be met with a wall of unavoidable verity; his dalliances were the rendering of his own ego-maniacal tendencies. His lips itched to ghost across her skin, but he was denied such pleasures of the flesh as she spun from his grasp. Thomas hands fettered against his waist as he awaited her return; Elena’s gaze was wild with marriage between excitement and arousal. Her eyes forever remained an abyss of amber, were darkened with a burden of unfulfilled desire. His arresting blue eyes were suffused and glistening beneath a shadow of dark lashes, a feature that earned him the jealousy of many a court lady. Thomas’ mouth parted as she reached for his shirt, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips, which grew dry under each sharp intake of breath he took. His body stiffened, curdled, and crumbled as her warmth of her hand pressed flank against his skin. Thomas’ brown dampened the smile which once brightened his features; the sting of her nails was a welcomed pain, but he could not partake in its pleasures without the charade of annoyance. Both his mind and person heisted a moment, before embarking on a renewed venture of  horse-play. "You confess to seeking a pleasure I have failed to provide ? Shall I bestow the power of my renowned tongue upon your person, and earn the truth of my superiority at last? I do not have faith in your ability to handle my unbridled affections.” 

Though fear was the last element designed by God that Thomas could be accused of, there was still an undue intensity in his features, into the set lines which so seldom softened. An excitement out of balance with the present task at their hand. It startled her, really. If anyone unacquainted to Wyatt’s mettle would shed light on this exchange, they might almost outline the edges of an inner battlefield. A longing to preserve what he had and a conflict that domineered both those things. Could it be possible, that he was so stricken at the thought of falling short? Of insufficiency? Her having sought something in another string of knotted bedsheets, another grip seizing her above a windowsill? No, that could not do. Above all, his ego sustained him, buoyed him across ages and better men, seeing them all diminish on the grounds he’d left behind. Thomas might rail about losing her, gnash teeth and pride together, he might resent or deride it, but never dread the thing. He never dreaded any.

Elena’s own features curled around a grin. It concentrated her face like a belfry on a church’s heights, bringing wiling flesh and sarcastic spirit to the same zenith.  On his skin, dainty fingers lingered, speckles upon a creature’s flesh. On her skin, his hands had ceased their ambling. “Do you not tire of rutting with that superiority of yours? You plough your manhood in it with more devotion than a woman ever claimed. Surely not me, for that matter. As if anyone had ever challenged it, really - next to Charlemagne’s statue they should write Ressurexit. Would that placate you?” In stark contrast with what she’d just imparted - but then that was always how it was done, one paradox toppling over another - Elena leaned her forehead against him. Lips ghosted over a birthmark, over his tunic’s hem, which was already untied and ready for the taking. “You do not have faith, period, Thomas. Only the unbridled.”

[angstmemes]

Ask me two questions. One I will answer truthfully and one with a lie. It's up to you to figure out which is which.