INFAMIA @lcvesque - Tumblr Blog

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄

the sun at 5 o’clock, a canyon which yawns the echo of a scream, a deity without a face looking at its creation and sobbing, gospel being sung to the heavens, paintings that seem to follow you, a statue cleaned routinely, a bible half read - half torn apart, woods which whisper strange pleas, mind-body dualism

august lévesque — as written by annie

full application

dynamics

timeline — updated: march 2, 2022

#welcome to my twisted mind

BELLAMY:

They wanted to cry. Did they truly believe they’d formed a true sense of self outside of their relationship with August? How foolish. They are truly useless without him, and even now they useless to him. So was there any point to them existing, to them being?

“Nothing. They didn’t tell me anything, you know… it wasn’t them,” they deny, desperation leaking from each word, pleading. What exactly they were pleading for, they couldn’t tell. “It was me. Julian got to my head. It’s all my fault.” They choke on the words, trying to suppress impending tears. What would August say if they cry now? They have to hold it in. “I simply wanted to know if you would fight to keep me, to stop me from leaving,” they whisper in shame, “but you let me go, and that made me think maybe Julian was right, that you don’t need me, and I was only dragging you down. I thought maybe you realized it too.” A shiver runs through their entire body when he tucks the stray hair behind their ear, waiting for the insult that normally follows. The insult doesn’t come, but the demand that replaces it is just as devastating. “Just tell me why you did it. Why I found you and [redacted] fucking last night.” Their head whips up to see his face, to gauge the extent of their former lover’s rage. A part of them knows he has no right to ask them anymore, but in truth, they will never truly escape the chains August had on their heart, their very soul. “I didn’t fuck anyone last night,” another denial. Please, believe me. “I promise, August.” The tears start falling now, and there’s no way to stop them. They desperately reach for his face, trembling hand holding his cheek gently, like they were afraid he’d explode if they weren’t careful. “I know I’m yours.”

The truth of the matter is this: August believes them.

August brings their slender fingers up to his lips. Their hand is warm and Bellamy smell of some perfume or other, and just for a second he allows himself to indulge in all that they were before.

He remembers the summers surrounded by concrete skyscrapers that swelled with an oppressive heat; the way droplets of sweat would roll down the side of Bellamy’s neck like freshwater pearls ( the saltiness of their skin on his tongue ). He remembers the stifling smell of vintage curtains being drawn apart; the perverse way a spotlight could follow his fae’s every movement ( like the earth which revolves around the sun, endless and in constant motion ). Most importantly he remembers their wit, their defiance, that kept him enchanted. A mythical being of silk and gossamer dreams, Bellamy was a vision that eluded him — made him believe he could be more than a man lost in an endless, labyrinth, forest. They were different people then, and perhaps in some other story August would have remained, beguiled, in this reverie.

Things could have been different had Julian not been murdered died.

August pulls away from Bellamy, but keeps their hands intimately intertwined, moulded together like marble carved from nothing. He does not loosen his grip even against the silent questioning of his fairytale.

“I don’t love you.”

Cruelty never made sense to August, but the look on Bellamy’s face reminds him that the depth of one’s love can only be measured by the hole of its absence. What is pain if not the force of one’s devotion? He levels a stare with the other, forgetting for a moment the way he would rather drown in their softness.

The truth doesn’t matter anyway, they will never be the same.

“The difference between you and I is that I have never needed you. You could change that, you could change everything. All you need to do is trust me.”

He’ll kill them both if he has to.

#ft ... bellamy #desidia 003.#act 2: scene 2 #date » july 1

AMIRAH

GENEVIEVE

Geneviève almost laughed when the text sounded its distinctive “ping!” in her pocket. They were becoming almost ritualistic, these things. Fear for your life a bit, escape a room with Amirah and August –then, just like clockwork, have one or the other of them light up your phone for a secret meeting.

At least this time, the setting was a little nicer.

She scans everyone’s faces, waiting with bated breath for Amirah to explain herself. She’s pleased to find that she almost feels comfortable with them all now – August the pious, Amirah, the queen of snakes, and Nikhil, her old rival.

“Sorry, August,” she says, looking down at her feet. “Your guess is as good as mine. At this point, it could be anything. She could tell us that Nik here has been faking his language prowess this whole time and is pre-literate. Or she could be about to say that I had a three-month affair with Stephen Fry back in junior year. Who the hell knows what she’d have to say about you.”

“Whatever it is, Amirah, it better be good, all right? You’ve got a willing audience, but come on. You’re …you. It better be ruthless and dripping with intrigue, or we’ll be gravely disappointed, got it?”

She’s almost at the point of smiling, before genuine fear stops her.

“I have something of pertinent interest to everyone–but you all, in particular.” Her dark brown gaze moves to appraise them all–August and Geneviève, her tentative comrades despite the secrets that shackle them together, and Nikhil, the whip-quick mind that commandeered even Julian’s tempestuous adoration. It was quite a crew the viper had assembled– the last prodigal son, the art dealer, and the chess-master–and they waited now for her word to set them alight. Would she deign to give a spark, or damn them to ignorance and darkness? She likes to think Julian would have been proud.

Were the matters not so grave, she thinks she’d have held them in suspension just a bit longer, but she knows of the target etched on her back after her interview with Detective Domingo.

Amirah clears her throat, stilettoed-nails clicking the iPad’s screen off as she allows it to fall in view of the three–without information, and yet…“I have access to his original autopsy report.” She doesn’t elaborate beyond that–no clues as to how, or why, or for how long she’s had it. None of it’s important, nor is it being offered. “…I want to share it with you, because there’s more in it than has been released and I think it would be better for you all to know then myself and Domingo in light of these last few days, but I can’t do so without some sort of assurance.

“Geneviève, August–I know the detective wasn’t so kind as to only offer me the chance to say something off the record. I want to know what you told him, if anything.” She smiles, and it’s nearly genuine. This is, perhaps, the kindest thing she’s done for them yet. “Anything you say to me will be off the record and protected under the highest level of confidentiality. I don’t take well to liars, either.” She will not hesitate to throw them to the wolves, should she find out she was duped in a moment of her generosity.

“And, Nikhil,” Amirah says, turning to him, “I understand that you’ve not yet spoken to the determined detective, leaving you the opportunity to offer him something off-of-the-record.” It is clear she believes that anything is off-the-record for as far as she can throw Rafael–which is to say, not even an inch. “I want something to assure that our knowledge of this won’t find its way to the investigation. And if it does, well, I want something with which I can ensure I can return the favor. You know, collateral damage.” Reassurance, at its finest: assured destruction.

“So, what is it?”

There’s a certain truth in all that Amirah says. He admires her for that, the way that she weaves words like spun gold and turns patchwork half-lies into beautiful tapestries. It’s an art form and Amirah has perfected the delicate nuances of such an intricate craft. Yes, he admires her, but in the same breath he fears her.

She turns to him, a look of knowing caught in the center of her gaze.

"For what my word is worth, I am an attorney, and I’m not in the habit of incriminating myself, nor others when none of us are legally being charged with a crime.” It’s the truth, he didn’t say much to the detective, but he wonders if anyone else would have. He looks at Genevieve and wonders if their shared bond among the immortal made a difference in her reply.

“I do, however, have something I wish to speak with you about in private. A quid pro quo so to speak. This is not to say however that I do not trust, or wish for the rest of you to be involved, but as this is a rather personal matter,” his attention is drawn to the doorway, a look of faux longing settles neatly onto his countenance, “I believe the other party would be more comfortable with someone they know.”

#g: sticky ipad kids #ft ... amirah #ft ... genevieve #ft ... nikhil #proditio 001.#violentia 001.#vindicta 002.

JAYA:

AMIRAH:

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: castilo de cervantes (idk where specifically<3) 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 28th of june, after the cavalcade of suvs and lawyers descend upon the castilo 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: @andlilith / @lcvesque

“FOR SOMEONE WHO I ASSUMED ‘wanted to let bygones be bygones,’” Amirah says, a well-manicured brow arching unkindly as she strikes a conversation with Jaya before the other can once again be bogged down by yet another conversation with another lawyer, “you’re failing. Spectacularly, at that.” Not a hello, but a quip. Not a smile, but a scowl. Not a friend, but a decided enemy. There is an intimate cruelty that coats her words–a sort of sickly closeness of someone who witnessed the fall of a comrade without stopping it. But what was Amirah to do, when Verdamme’s own god decided his favorite creation no longer held any merit? What was she to do, when her strained and outstretched hand was all but bitten by the ousted ex-queen?

Amirah was once a weapon in Julian’s arsenal–they all were–and no one should have been more intimate the knowledge of weaponry than the daughter of the Dalvi empire. It follows, then, that Amirah’s pointed coldness is nothing short of expected; she is, after all, the knife gripped in a once-outstretched hand–jagged and sharp and unforgiving. She will not make the same mistake of offering a kindness to a person who is not deserving; she will not be merciful. A hum rises in her chest, and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes curls her glossed lips. Her head cants innocuously.

“You never struck me as a coward, Jaya, and yet, it’s taken five years for you to build the courage to face us all again–with quite an entourage, I might add.” Amirah gives her a withering once-over. “Abandonment’s softened you, I see.”

There were several people that Jaya was going to dedicate a fair amount of time to during her stay at the Castilo de Cervantes. Nazrin was at the top of the list, naturally. Hector and Carina were close behind, for reasons both personal and legitimate, but you would have to cast your eye fairly far down before you came to Amirah Botros’ name. And yet she had barely stepped foot in the lobby before she was bombarded by the sights and sounds of the other woman, as though she knew she were not a priority and was desperate to make herself one. Frankly, from what she remembered, Jaya wouldn’t put it past her.

“Mimi,” she says, barely glancing up from the email she was reading on her phone. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to make assumptions? They make you look moronic.” She taps out a quick response, thoroughly unconcerned with the presence of another person until she locks the phone and slips it into her bag, only then deigning to make eye contact with her once-friend. “Still, it’s nice to see that your talent for getting things wrong hasn’t waned over the years. Charming, really.”

One of the many things Jaya had prepared herself for in returning to her old friends was the litany of jibes that would likely be thrown her way the second she stepped into the old house. Yet perhaps she had misremembered just how witty the group had been. An exasperated sigh escapes her, eyebrows raised in response to the predictable comments about her five year absence. They could have at least let her unpack first before boring her to tears. “Do you have anything worthwhile to say? Only I have a lot of work to do and I’d like to speak to Viviana before I begin. I don’t have time to be held up by whatever this—” She gestures vaguely at her. “—is.”

The Gay Science begins with a positive view of nihilism.

It starts with an affirmation of the damned, a poignant statement that demands the attention of its audience but leaves them at a loss for words. It’s aphorisms exceed well beyond casual thought, plebeian discussion, and yet August cannot help but compare the two women before him to the hyperbolic state that, God is indeed dead.

He interferes in their tête only by virtue of circumstance and a keen sense of protectionism. There is a blasé quality about it all, the verbal spar that occurs between two women. August wonders if there there ever was a good reason for their dislike, their mutual distaste for one another’s company, but he finds himself without an answer — or at least, a good response anyway.

“And by this you mean the reconvening of old friends?” August stands next to Amirah, a boundary has been made — a side has been chosen. “You know we could never bare to part from you.”

Jaya stands in opposition to their goals, a relic to lost time that conjures a vision of something sad and regretful. There is mystery in what she had become after her fall from grace, but August had never been particularly fond of those who wept at the feet of the their fake God.

“I do wonder, what is your role is in this mess, Ms. Dalvi. Would you care to enlighten us on the specifics?”

#ft ... amirah #proditio 002.#ft ... jaya #lilith 001.#ooc: i want to try and do the persuading stat (?) maybe

BELLAMY:

The infernal clicking of August’s parked car comes in time with their thudding heartbeat. Tick, tick, tick. Time passes by as his demand for an explanation hangs heavy in the suffocating, cold air. They identify what they feel as… fear? It must be, what with the chill that kept running down their spine anytime they catch a glimpse of his clenched jaw, of his grip on the steering wheel. But try as they might, they cannot fathom what it was August wanted them to explain. With pleading eyes, they brave a look towards him, gaze lowering immediately in instinctive submission. “My lov—August, please. I do not understand what you mean…”, they begin, throat tightening. Their voice is sweet, low, placating. A twisted part of them is glad to have him breathing down their neck again, glad to feel this familiar fear of him. Want to be owned by him again, pinned down, kept hidden from everything and everyone. He could strangle them right then and there, and they might beg to die by his hands. “Are you angry? What did I do?”

He’s silent, severely so.

There’s an accusation, a confession, a witness statement to machiavellian misdeeds that’s lodged in the back of his throat — threatening to destroy their peace. August almost professes it, almost ruins his chance at redemption, but he holds it for the sun strikes Bellamy’s face just right, and it reminds him of an abandoned statue in an English garden. He forgets to think, forgets to breathe.

It’s easy to remember why August adored them.

“Are you angry? What did I do?”

It’s just as simple to remember why they deserve their fate.

“I ask of you something simple, and yet you fail to do even that,” August places his hand at the back of Bellamy’s headrest, leans in, and catches their gaze with something dark in return. “It’s no wonder you left me. You’re so easily influenced, so naive. Who was it, Dante? Hector? Sutton? What did they tell you to make you believe you would be better off? Did they say you deserved better? Did they offer to do better?”

The car is suffocating. He locks the door.

“Why did you do it Bellamy? If you wanted my attention you could have asked for it. That’s all you ever need to do. I admit I was cold, but remember that it was you who left me devastated, not the other way around.”

It’s a game of push and pull with Bellamy, a dangerous endeavor that breaks any semblance of decorum. August tucks a stray piece of hair behind their ear. He pushes down the urge to comment on its appearance.

“Just tell me why you did it. Why I found you and [redacted] fucking last night.”

It’s oppressive, the space between them. He wants to close the gap, but it’ll be Bellamy who has to succumb first.

“Don’t you remember what I promised? You’ll always be mine, and I, yours.”

#ft ... bellamy #desidia 003.#date » july 1 #act 2: scene 2 #don't match im just a dumb whore #and august has too much to say #gaslighting tw #emotional manipulation tw #im so sorry august is this way #bell deserves better

theskywaspunk

#lévesque … mirror » i was unrecognizable to myself #hmm ... hot

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Nearby restaurant 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: July 1, 2021 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: @saintbelleamy

There is an ode to sorrow that swells in the image of Bellamy, and it has created a martyr. They’ve become an iridescent light that moths flutter toward, a beacon of despair that insects finds solace in, as though they could touch the untouchable. Attain the unattainable. At once, Bellamy has become the center of their world, their devotion, their love — and at the core of this fantasy is a spire who holds nothing but their own melancholy in the palms of their hands. They could drown the world with tears.

“Come with me,” he whispers it into the ear of his beloved. At some other time, in some other world, it would have been a request, a sigh of earnesty, but time is cruel and has morphed it into something of a command. August moves without looking back, holds tight to the hand that would have otherwise vanished. He does not speak again until they have left the Castillo, does not dare look at the betrayal wearing last nights clothing.

—

He parks them at the edge of a cliff.

“Explain,” it’s cold, calculated, “Don’t act stupid, you know what I’m talking about.”

What objects of devotion tend to forget is this: all things must succumb to nothingness after a time. It is only the illusion of time that creates immortality.

#ft ... bellamy #desidia 003.#date » july 1 #act 2: scene 2

AMIRAH:

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: the greenhouse 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: 30th of june, a bit after noon 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: @demoisellesombre / @nikhilvirani / @lcvesque

[TEXT TO: August, Geneviève, & Nikhil] 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗.

THE ENCRYPTED CORRESPONDENCE IS SENT soon after her own questioning in the midst of sending a slew of emails and proofreading documents for work, so as to not draw attention to herself. Locked in a battle with war hounds with everything and nothing to lose, the chameleon that is Amirah must adapt; she will appear as she should, she will wait, and when the moment is right, she will strike swiftly and accordingly.

The iPad weighs heavily in her purse, the knowledge contained on it enough to make the Queen of Whispers truly consider keeping it to herself, bearing the brunt of it all on her own shoulders like Atlas did on his. And yet, even Amirah cannot deny the tentative bit of camaraderie that’s blossomed between them all in the presence of a common threat. It is this tender allegiance that pulls a soft, guarded half-smile in greeting at the first to meet at her place in the greenhouse where she and her purse sit on one of the benches, waiting.

“Would you believe me if I said we’re here simply for a change in scenery?” she casually says by way of greeting, attention flitting to the flora that grow at the bench’s base – freshly budding flowers of purples, blues, and white.

In the Garden of Eden, man was doomed to tragedy. It was God’s divine love that gave human’s the ability to sin, to freely choose the hell of their own making, and in doing so man was fated to perdition. St. Augstine foretold that it is not evil which plagues man’s mind, but it is the absence of good which condemns man.

August bites into a pear and lets the sweet sticky residue fall to his chin. It glistens under the eternal sunshine of the world’s spotlight, and drips onto his shirt. He’s reminded of the saint’s first sinful act: the stealing of a fruit.

“I could if you said it convincingly enough. Unfortunately, I do not believe you were gifted the same talent our former friends were given,” the pear hangs loosely in his hand, “But then again, I’ve been wrong before. I don’t suppose any of you know why Ms. Botros has gathered us here?”

#ft ... amirah #ft ... genevieve #ft ... nikhil #act 2: scene 2 #vindicta 002.#violentia 001.#proditio 001.#g: sticky ipad kids

HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE

temptation v: confession — uninformative but polite.

#pg.tempt #pg … tasks » change is the law of life

WHAT IS THIS SPACE BETWEEN MYSELF AND MYSELF?

atlas and the hesperides, john singer sargent / According to Hesiod’s Theogony, Atlas was one of the Titans who took part in their war against Zeus, for which as a punishment he was condemned to hold aloft the heavens. Atlas was said to have been skilled in philosophy, mathematics, and astronomy. — “Is maintaining an empire the same thing as building one?”

delusion’s master, tanith lee / The unspeakable, abominable truth is, they remind you of the boy you killed that night of the accident. The lie is that you never told them. For all your rhetorical prowess, you never had their gift for speaking honesty. You should have never told them you loved them. You should have lied. — “We may be strangers, but we are both still trapped in this web of lies. You need me more than I need you, Bellamy, did you really think you would be able to get out of this mess without my help?”

lelouch vi britannia, code geass / Lelouch wore a mask to live in japan as he lived with the identity of Lelouch Lamperouge, he showcased a mask in front of his schoolmates, a different mask in front of the members of the Black Knights and a different mask in front of the world as Zero. [x] — “He does not point to the painting in the left hand corner, he knows they'll find it eventually. But even as they draw closer to his spot, August does no move. As though he had been turned to stone, Infamia cannot pry his eyes away from the image of himself.”

upstream, mary oliver / You found him floating beneath the moonlight. He was an angel, and as he stared into that starless sky, you wondered what it was he saw. — “Why did it take thirteen minutes to find his body. The dock was only four minutes away. Why wasn’t anyone watching him. / He snuck into the lake, dear. The employees didn’t realize they had to keep an eye on someone. / You’re lying to me.”

12 angry men (1957) / The jury in a New York City murder trial is frustrated by a single member whose skeptical caution forces them to more carefully consider the evidence before jumping to a hasty verdict. — “I say this as a friend and not as your lawyer. No one has been criminally charged. Be polite, be cooperative, but do not offer more information than necessary — not even if they give you a plea deal. Anything you say will be held against you. I also recommend hiring an attorney and having them with you for your interview."

#pg.tempt #pg … tasks » change is the law of life #knife tw

THE SUN WILL NEVER RISE AGAIN

by chinchilla109

tw: Death, Drowning, Violence, Graphic Violence, BDSM, Drugs, Car Crash, Suicidal ideation, Depression, Eating Disorder

A rapid fan who had been stalking the Verdamme group through their time in College has gained Notoriety. Known as Chinchilla019, the students at Verdamme have tried ordering a cease and desist to this fan, but every time the fanfiction keeps re-uploading itself, but with different names. They decided to give up due to the poor characterization of themselves that they didn’t even know who was whom in the grand scheme of things.

Uncannily, they seem to know a lot about the truth for an onlooker.

#pg.edit #literally the worst thing I ever ever written #i wrote it and never looked back so if you see errors #that's the real me #tags are real

⊙

ooc: you know he wants to crush you like a lil mouse <3 but in the best way possible

#ft ... bellamy #ask … memes » am i you or are you me?

⊙ tell hector how hot and smart u think he is

ooc: he thinks you're a pain in the asshole and he hopes your fiance gets everything in the divorce

#ft ... hector #ask … memes » am i you or are you me?

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

they had to write the article in such a rush that they didn’t even spell antichrist right. this is journalism at its finest, and everything printed on paper must be true right? who even reads anymore though, not us that’s for sure. losers, academics, stuck up snobs. watch tik tok like the rest of us, stop being so pompous. TMZ just isn’t the same anymore.

template credit

#pg.tempt

⊙

ooc: girl boss whose toxic trait is being into ugly and sinister men

#ft ... verity #ask … memes » am I you or are you me?

⊙ :)

ooc: he hates you so much but also you're a lil sexy so you can have a rivalry ... as a treat

#ask … memes » am I you or are you me?#ft ... saint

⊙ hehe

ooc: it's because you're bffs with bells and august knows you'd cut him open like a fillet-o-fish given the chance 😔

#ft. ... dante #ask … memes » am I you or are you me?

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