Hell Followed With Us, Andrew Joseph White
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@kingconquers
Hell Followed With Us, Andrew Joseph White
NOW IN THE STREET THERE IS VIOLENCE AND LOTS OF WORK TO BE DONE
THEODOR LUNDIN, a Swedish advisor. knees scraped raw, a heart like an open wound, old parchment that crumbles at your touch, the realization that love is not enough for anything at all.
svnshone.
@kingconquers
“King Augustine.” The Dane gave a short bow of her head to the king. “May I extend my congratulations on the betrothals of your children?” The festivities had been large, nearly overwhelming. Dagmar had tried not to think of her own engagement celebrations- it seemed everything these days brought up memories. “I look forward to seeing our families joined together.”
“Queen Dagmar, thank you kindly.” He gave her a friendly smile that was very nearly genuine. Of the foreigners that Josephine had betrothed their children to, he found he liked the Danes best. They were a fierce family, and he thought Clara would lead well. “As do I, of course. I’m certain my wife will reach out to you to plan the wedding.”
crownedcrls.
closed starter for: @kingconquers
location: near the kitchens
It wasn’t Marcelo’s choice to be here, it would never be his choice unless he had his own crown on his head. But he didn’t, he had the title of bastard son and celebrated general. He’d placed himself closer to the kitchens and servants, less of a chance that he’d find anyone of the royals hanging around there. But to his surprise and… distaste, he found himself in front of the King of England himself. “King Augustine.” He bowed, “I’m afraid I hadn’t expected you here, I would have been more presentable if I had.” He’d been leaning against the wall and probably looked a mess. As much as he didn’t care for the man, he still had to keep up appearances.
Of course, someone was here. There was always someone here. Augustine wasn’t a man who often preferred solitude, but that familiar nervous energy, his urge to step outside and break into a run, was rising up in him again, and he resented the work he’d have to put in to maintain his composure in front of an audience today. “Ah, it’s quite alright, General,” for even half distracted he wouldn’t forget the list of names and faces he and Anne had so carefully practiced. He didn’t like to be caught unawares. “How are you faring?”
LOVE IS THE DISTANCE
BETWEEN YOU AND WHAT YOU LOVE
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE
...
WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE
- Guilty of Dust, Frank Bidart
LOVECRAFT COUNTRY | Atticus Freeman
We’ve both done monstrous things. But that does not make us monsters.
“Is there tenderness at the end of our undoing? I hope so.”
— — Dodie Bellamy, from “On Becoming Undone,” Bee Reaved
JONATHAN MAJORS the last black man in san francisco (2019)
In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy–as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh–as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege–as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover–as long as he is riddled with bullets. Violence makes the homoeroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.
Brintnall, Kent L.; Tarantino’s incarnational theology: Reservoir Dogs, crucifixions and spectacular violence (via ramsayosbolton)
tcmpestas.
one moment of much-needed reprieve from the madness was all clara had wanted — a corner of one’s own to breathe in peace. as a princess she was no stranger to the limelight, but as an individual, courtiers clamouring for her attention when her betrothed hadn’t even been able to entertain one civil conversation with her thus far only frazzled her nerves, making her wish for the ground to open and swallow her whole. it was beginning to dawn on her that perhaps, she wasn’t cut out for this. perhaps it would take far more than she’d realised to live with the disappointment seething in her veins. augustus’ words still rang in her ears, words she couldn’t seem to push aside no matter how hard she tried. the unmistakable look of sorrow written across tyr’s features crossed her mind next, thinking then of hagen and she wondered if they would all simply run out of time to speak of the unspeakable. she knew only then could they learn to live with their brother’s death, only then might they find a way to move forward — and still, clara felt almost outside herself, as if she was looking upon a shipwreck in half-time.
she pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed her eyes firmly shut, willing all this nonsense away for she had no room for it tonight. her gaze fluttered open once more and widened when a voice resonated, none other than the king of england himself. after the initial twinge of panic, the danish princess greeted him with a dazzling smile. “your majesty. are the festivities to your liking?”
He watched her expression shift, pinched nose turning into a brilliant smile, and raised a hand as if to stop her in her tracks. “Please, call me Augustine. We’re to be family, are we not?” It had been quite some time since he had attended an engagement party within his family. The last - had been his own, more than three decades ago now. He had been a different man entirely. Josephine had been a different woman. She had been ever at his side, blonde curls pulled from her face in a delicate little updo, and he had been glad to twirl her around the floor rather than chat with her nightmarish brothers. It was a surprisingly happy day. Now, they had uninvited Swedes and missing betrothed princes, and his smile was somewhat strained as he returned hers. “Certainly, but your opinion on them must matter more - it’s your night, after all.”
Lord above, what nonsense this all was. Your night. It wasn’t as if she was marrying for love. He remembered Anne’s betrothal celebration, his clever twin dazzling the crowds in the arms of an undeserving duke, looking so young and utterly gutted when none but him could see her. He shook his head slightly, settled his sharp gray eyes on her. “I should let you have a moment for yourself.”
ofdevotiions.
maude bid her partner goodbye as she settled to the sidelines of the ballroom. she was rather fond of dancing so she was perfectly content to be waltzed around for the evening, even if it was exhausting. she knew not everyone was in good spirits tonight, but hopefully that would change. she inhaled and exhaled to catch her breath, her cheeks red and warm from exertion. maude settled besides someone and offered them a smile. “have you done much dancing tonight?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled as Augustine glanced over at the Scottish princess and smiled in return; there had been plenty of dissatisfactions throughout the night, but the father-in-law to be must surely still be proud, no? He could not publicly behead the Swedes or any of the rumormongers who thought he could not hear them, so there was little to do but maintain appearances. “I fear I’m growing too old for dancing,” he replied, amused if only with himself. “Have you enjoyed it?”
it’s about grief alright it’s about LONGING.
8/31/22
transcript below:
tcmpestas.
@1642hqzstarters ⸻ OPEN STARTER (¾).
it was a silly thought, given the privilege to live amid such splendour and pomp — intruding upon her mind as she looked at the throng with a polished smile. she would’ve liked sunshine. clara had never thirsted for power, much less desired a crown, though she possessed the steadfastness and integrity to wear one with aplomb. she didn’t expect to find love either (had caught hold of it once in the most unexpected circumstances and lost it; though she believed it made her a person far richer than most), hoped only for mutual respect. but if she was to leave denmark, she would’ve preferred to trade it for some place warm. for the opportunity to bask in the sun’s heat all year round, taste it in her food, watch her locks lighten yet under its gaze. indeed, it was a senseless wish, a request never uttered for it wouldn’t have made a difference. this was duty. duty to act as though a betrothal to a crown prince was a golden opportunity, a dream come true even. to pretend the notion wasn’t one of youthful foolishness, as if clara wasn’t entirely too jaded to buy into that.
marriage was the best way to cement alliances whether she was enthused by the prospect of marrying into england or not — and as a daughter of denmark, she would stand tall and show no signs of tumbling. the princess greeted guests, invited or otherwise, with an affable gleam in her blue eyes, only allowing fatigue to slump her shoulders when she found a moment of peace. clara stood by a window, a chalice of wine in her hands she’d nearly forgotten about as she stared into the distance.
This was Josephine’s crowning glory, not Augustine’s, though of course no alliance could be made without the King’s approval. He made his rounds, charmed and shook hands, ensured everyone was content with food and drink, and watched the Swedish interlopers with a gleam in his eye that could only be called dangerous - but today was Josephine’s day in the sun, and he let it be so, let her run the show. She needed him for very little. His eldest sons did, too - grown, ready to start families of their own. Though all three had been old enough for marriage for years now, tonight was the night it sunk in. It was a good thing. It was a good thing. Besides, Peter was still safely at home, at his side for most of the party. They weren’t all gone yet. But he drew away from cheery conversation with his youngest, making for a moments peace at the windows. Wished, as he always did, for a rainstorm.
His chest tightened as he realized that he was far too close to back away now, and that the person who’d beaten him to the view was not dismissable company, not tonight. Another future daughter in law. One of the foreign ones he kept getting mixed up. But she was older, had a shade to her eyes that reminded him of her brother, the King - the Dane. Clara. He cleared his throat lightly, regretful of disturbing her. “Princess.”
& in the end, isn’t that what we all want? To not feel so split? To carry an image of ourselves inside ourselves & know exactly what we mean when we say I— I—
Cameron Awkward-Rich, excerpt of “The Child Formerly Known As—”, in Transit (via antigonick)
cftragedy:
“I’ll add it to my list, then.” They unintentionally mimic, nodding. Perhaps it’s the hour, or the solitude, the way this almost feels less like speaking to the king and more like speaking to their father. Maybe it has to do with cracking under the weight of everything they have not spoken to this point. For whatever reason, it slips. A flash of vulnerability. “I– we won’t lose another. It will be fine this time.” They correct their mistake quickly, shaking it off. They couldn’t guarantee it, but that wouldn’t stop them.
He paused. England had lost much, in recent years. To plague, to flooding. But this sounded...personal, and he could not think of a loss in the household he knew of that would strike such a chord. John’s loss was his grief, his and Anne’s, but that was one thing, and this seemed another. “You won’t lose another?” he asked, voice quiet, utterly careful in the lack of force behind it, attempting to offer rather than pry. “Auggie...” And for once, he did not flinch when he said their name, did not allow it.
crownedcrls.
open starter
location: any
It was quiet around the castle, but there were enough whispers around for Amitis to have plenty to do. People loved to talk when they thought no one was listening. She’d never blend in, but when she spoke, people heard strange words in a strange voice. So some felt they could talk more freely. Things outside were anything but quiet, “I’ve heard things from the servants… outside these walls there is apparently an abundance of rumors.” @1642hqzstarters
They watched the other monarch carefully, wary as they always were, these days. “Of plague or of assassins?” they wondered, unsure which was truly worse. Assassins, at least, they were well versed in surviving. Danger lurked around every corner. Danger that could be beheaded. Plague, though, had little such weakness. They had lost much to it. They all had.
martinaalexandra.
THE ITALIAN princess was sitting on the window closed, with a dish of cookies on her lap, and drinking wine. Small things makes her happy, like watching the snow falling outside, the weather wasn’t good to stay on the gardens, at least not today. God, she was bored again. Normally, when she is bored she’d play some instruments or read, but she does not feel like doing neither of these things. She noticed a presence near her so… ❛ Do you want some cookies?! ❜ The Italian princess was timid, so her face automatically blushed for interact with anyone who isn’t her family, but she was making effort to be less ’anti-social’.
location: inside of the palace | @1642hqzstarters
Augustine pondered the snow as he left yet another meeting solidifying the betrothals Josephine had relentlessly worked to secure for their children, wondering if it was worth going out into. It wasn’t one of his beloved rainstorms, but it was close as he was likely to get here. He paused, though, to see one of the subjects of that very meeting - it took him a moment to place which one. John’s bride to be, wasn’t she? Italian. Martina. “If you don’t mind sharing,” he said with a small, surprised smile. Best to be friendly to future family.