conscience makes a cruel companion. // ind. priv. sel. milady de winter // written by dory // highly book-based with influences from bbc’s the musketeers // semi-active

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@jxzabel
conscience makes a cruel companion. // ind. priv. sel. milady de winter // written by dory // highly book-based with influences from bbc’s the musketeers // semi-active
*drops this here*
announcement - ; after much thought, i’ve come to the conclusion that with my mental health issues, the abusive but conflicting environment i’m living in, and the constant stress due to university chaos, i can’t keep my creativity up nor do i have the energy to keep any blogs other than my personal updated. my communication skills have plummeted to near non-existent, and i’m avoiding everything that may put a strain on me. if anyone wants to stay in touch, feel free to follow me on my personal blog. i’m not going to be very active on skype. i want to thank those who’ve spoken to me, and for being amazing, and making me so happy. you really mean a lot and i often think of you & carry you in my heart. ( personal )
This is already wild
BASED ON THE BOOKS BY ROBERT GALBRAITH // INDEX
ok but on another note; milady, the Assassin™, leaving clues to taunt whoever’s pursuing her because she’s Egotistical™ & she’s p much daring her/him/them to delve deeper & try to figure out who she is, little truths dropped inside lies -- like rlly just give me a good crime story
outofcharacter; honestly, i’m so surprised to find out that i’ve been using roleplaying as a coping mechanism, esp when it comes to some characters, including milady, & how much of my mental health i’ve transferred onto the characters i play --- like .... it’s odd but at the same time ??? nice ??? like writing things down is really eye-opening, idk does anybody else do that?
psa; okay, but just a heads up that if i suddenly disappear into oblivion & stop replying to IM / skype, it’s nothing personal. most of the time, i really, really, really want to talk to people & shower them with love, but my mind is Actual Trash™ & it does this thing when even the slightest change at home, or my inability to focus, or any sort of struggle i may be facing causes it to shut down. it has nothing to do with how much i enjoy talking to people, it’s just how my mind works. i swear that if i follow you then i really want us to talk, & i’m hearty-eyeing your blog hard. please be patient with me, i know it sucks being left hanging, but i can’t control these mood swings & the way my mind reacts, i’m extremely sorry for causing such inconveniences & just :/
‘ i take it you’re not here for games, ezio mine ’ there was something undeniably playful, beguilingly innocent to her voice -- a perfectly charming act. & yet , beneath the raspberry blush tainting her cheeks, the veneer of feminine meekness, there lay concealed a predator: a creature of dark & humid places, of gluttonous appetites & devouring temptations; there, in the wreckage of a wasted lifetime, there between the shreds of a past she had sworn to never forget, there it flourished. ‘ how may i be of service, then? ’ what sweet deception! a voice that spelled surrender, a smile that painted a spectacle of coyness.
@invictusmanet // starter call*
outofcharacter; i’ve noticed something really interesting, but every person called ‘hannah’ is an actual gem ?? like all the hannahs in my life bring me so much joy?? i don’t know how but this name is blessed & the people carrying it are angels personified
Aesthetic
i appear in s3
character development: perfected
redemption arc: completed
husband: dead
i am poorly removed from the narrative
Black Mambo | Glass Animals
paperback dreams in their deep doze
twitch their toes to black mambo
(<3) "Remember who you are."
meme ; accepting ; @invictusmanet
there was something detestable about the man-wrought notion of virtue, something putrid about the waft of arrogance that came after every heroic deed. how many men had she seen covered in sheen of pride? sweltering beneath the gilded satisfaction their own egotistic chivalry brought, drenched in their own importance. sweat & blood – their ink, their muse, their inspiration. & how they wrote – tales ( a mock! ) of gallantry, how they spelled – phrases like the one he had just uttered. as if he knew —- what did he know of the sharp hiss of her anger, of the cauterized cavity left after the ruins of love. what did he know of venom-soaked slang after restless nights, of the wasp buzz of thoughts – the madness, the fury, the feverish delirium emptiness conjured. how astonishing it was – for a man like him to claim to know HER. to know how to create a glistening masterpiece of darkness from a piece of wood & a single rope . she, in her most human form; she, in her most primitive form – half-tigress, half-woman, a leash of memories around her throat.
she knew what most men expected from a situation such as theirs. & yet – ❛ i never forget ❜ it was instant; the flick of a gloved finger, the blinding blast that followed, the splash of red across cobblestone. this was who she was — white, deafening rage.
sneaky starter call -- length, selectivity, etc may vary!
❝ would you change who you are, if you could? ❞
meme ; @aandcuriouser ; accepting !
there was an odd sort of comfort in decadence – the slow but certain corruption of all that was once innocent. there was no action more wholesome, truer than the betrayal of a past – that smirking destruction of all that was once held dear by the heart. & what a perfidious organ that was – glaringly red with anger, swollen by its bloated appetite for revenge. was there truly anything more rotten than the human heart? a cardiac sack of squirming maggots. was there anything more perverse than it? more eulogized for its feigned warmth? & how could she – she whose meticulous schemes revealed a sublimated mind, whose very nature defied any caprice of the heart – how could she fall prey to it? to the childish yearnings for an illusion she, herself, had created? of all men she had played, of all fools she had deceived with powdered blushes & extravagant acts – her games had fooled her. the feverish desire to return, to a time that never was, to replicate a mirrored reflection of silly dreams – out of reach, false, right cast as wrong. had she not learnt? she will never be anne de breuil, nor the comtesse de la fere. change was her salvation, change was her damnation.
so she smiled at the question – sharp teeth concealed behind painted lips. there’s a certain fragility to silence; a moment of almost-revelations, of tender intimacy, a moment that spliced together thoughts & voice. gloved digits traced the ribbon across her throat – a habit most deemed coquettish (which suited the well-wrought façade she wore ), yet held a far deeper meaning than that. ❛ what a peculiar question ❜ a hum, a deliberate pause – silence ricocheting off the spillage of words. ❛ & yet i can’t help but answer it with one of my own – do we not undergo constant change? ❜ evasion – smooth, purposeful, nonchalant.
outofcharacter; i’m only here for a couple of minutes, but everyone please go read @simply-milady‘s drabble that killed me & follow courtney because she’s actually Milady de Winter, and I will be forever in awe by her understanding of Milady & her connection with her --- it’s the highest form of mun/muse connection i’ve ever seen, and everything she writes makes me want to cry; i’ve never been hit so hard by someone’s writing as i am by hers, so yes, pls go appreciate courtney & her bond with Milady while I actually lie down & sob