body dipped in silver/ shaped like beauty

❝ compare me not to stars, but to hurricanes and typhoons; see me not for my beauty and fire, but for the natural disaster i am. i am not soft: look to your kingdoms, i am coming for them all.❞ louisa von allmen. 18. princen of switzerland. part of regentshq

[lowiisa-blog1]

like this post for a closed starter from louisa !! comment if you have specifications for the setting/topic

[hellishsuggestion]

decorate yourself with flowers, with gold, with bones

[cats-on-cocaine]

[liminalhorror-deactivated201812]

A man’s appetite can be hearty, but a woman with an appetite is always voracious: her hunger always overreaches, because it is not supposed to exist. If she wants food, she is a glutton. If she wants sex, she is a slut. If she wants emotional care-taking, she is a high-maintenance bitch or, worse, an “attention whore”: an amalgam of sex-hunger and care-hunger, greedy not only to be fucked and paid but, most unforgivably of all, to be noticed.

Hunger Makes Me by Jess Zimmerman (via soracities)

[lowiisa-blog1]

@scvoy

Sometimes, they could feel a person without having to look at them-- not in the way you burned under someone’s gaze, but more like an all-over sensation of a different movement advancing towards their body; an energy speared towards theirs; Louisa had always credited a certain amount of their survival to this kind of knowing. Without turning from the portrait they’d been studying, they said, clear and cold, “Stop.” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

“it is a very good thing that germany and belgium are so close together,” he muses as he tugs the oversized beanie onto his head, making sure to cover his ears. “i need not worry about adjusting to a whole new climate with this move and my wardrobe is perfectly suited for the day to day weather.” he’s making small talk about the weather of all things, how cliche. “how about yourself? do you hail from very far away?” henri is on his best behavior for perhaps once in his life. maybe he’s trying to make friends or maybe there’s something else up his sleeve. either way, there’s an amiable smile forced upon his lips as he turns to the other person in the room.

Courtesies have never seemed forced with Louisa, but have never come otherwise; their diplomacy was perhaps the biggest reason the Commander had sent them to Füssenberg over their four brothers, after all. With slight hesitation, they respond cooly, “Switzerland is not so far away. It took nearly no time to arrive here. And the climate is similar.” They wrap their arms loosely around themself-- a gesture to the cold, more than anything-- opposite hand gently cupping opposite elbow. “Belgium is small,” They muse, their mouth ghosting a smile. “But historically strong. Do you share your country’s fearlessness?” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

      IN their previous exchanges, louisa had always been cordial and nothing more. giselle, in return, unwaveringly polite and warm, radiating genuine interest and curiosity as always. and though most took her to be unobservant she was quite the opposite, blatantly aware of louisa’s disinterest or even dislike. and although it was not giselle’s job to be liked by neighboring royals, if she didn’t find a logical or calculated reason for a sour relationship, she avoided it. so, even though it’s quite clear, even now, that louisa lacks the friendliness giselle equips so easily, all she can do is smile in response. in giselle’s book, there’s no legitimate reason to categorize louisa as an enemy and so she doesn’t, just remains as optimistic as possible, body language calm and open.

      “ it is a work of art, i’d say. beautiful – just difficult to navigate off the bat. ” she ignores the gaze hovering on the apron, unfazed by critical eyes. “ if you could show me, i’d greatly appreciate it. but i don’t want to impose, of course, if you were on your way to do something. ” there’s just a glint of amusement in her features, watching louisa conjure the energy for niceties, both of them ignoring the elephant in the room. “ how do you feel about apple strudel ? ”

After a long pause, Louisa shakes their head, loosening the strands of pale hair close by their face from their tight french braid. “No,” They decide, lacking any real color in their tone. “It’s not an imposition.” They turn back towards the way they’d come-- the way towards the kitchen, if they did a little backtracking-- and start walking, and that’s about as much encouragement as they offer for Giselle to follow them. 

“I’m actually just becoming acquainted with the castle, myself,” They admit, deciding that that’s a safe and small enough thing to admit; all the new-come royals were doing something along the same lines; it was neither uncommon nor an interesting enough thing for Giselle to log away about them, they figured. “I’ve never been in the kitchens, though,” They add, much more pointedly. 

“Apple strudel...” Louisa trails, thinking back to their ascension night. A million things had been prepared for them and their four co-ascenders to eat, then: dusted gold leaf truffles, venison and cream, the tallest towers of cheese and chocolate fondues with cubes of bread and fruit to dip and dip and dip; all of it spread like riches on ornate tables with thick, metallic cloths and plates twice the size of their head; with jeweled goblets and red wine with shavings of silver. The celebration had been equal parts honoring and feasting, and they’d soaked it all up. Apple strudel had been piled onto the dessert tables, along with one-hundred-thousand other treats Louisa had allowed themself to indulge in; but there was something particularly nostalgic about apples and cinnamon. They couldn’t help but adore it. “...Is very good.” They decide, unwilling to admit a weakness as embarrassing as sweet treats to their companion. “I haven’t had it in awhile.” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

iggy.:

Gnawing on his lip, probably hard enough to draw blood, Iggy struggled with the pressures of being intently stared at. Obviously he’d said the wrong thing, but he wasn’t brave enough to ask. And at the end of the day, it wasn’t his business, anyway. He swallowed the social anxiety along with the rest of his pride, and tried his best to seem like he didn’t want to run at the first given opportunity. “ It would explain the chill, the overcast clouds.. ” Iggy began, also aiming his focus to the sky. “ Do you.. do you like the snow? ”

“Yes,” And there was no hesitation this time, intentional or otherwise; their eyes were still drawn up, but the lack of courtesy was only second to a genuine interest in that brooding sky; the way the clouds were gathering low and heavy; swelling and frigid. “I prefer the winter in general,” they admitted. It was a disclosure Louisa was a little bit loathe to make this soon in a conversation-- they always tried to reveal as little as possible, especially on first encounters-- but it was also harmless, in terms of personal information. There was nothing useful Iggy could do with that fact, which is the only reason they had let it slide at all. “The snow on les Alpes is a constant, but when they’re entirely blanketed...” Louisa trailed off, not quite dreamily, but pensively; the way those mountains rose like teeth on every side of Königsmark gave them the best kind of chills. They shook themself out of it without being obvious about it, and fixed their steely eyes back on Iggy’s face. “And you?”

[driflloon]

valentino ss17

[lowiisa-blog1]

Cattell 16 Factor Test.

rules.  take this test for your muse and post the results.

REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

louisa.

warmth.    26%    /    cold, selfish.   intellect.    78%    /    cerebral, analytical. emotional stability.    30%    /    irritable, moody. aggressiveness. 86%     / controlling, tough. liveliness.     42% /     somber, restrained. dutifulness. 66%     / conforming, traditional. social assertiveness.     62% /     uninhibited, bold. sensitivity.      50%     / touchy, soft. paranoia.     50% /     wary, suspicious. abstractness.      38%     / practical, regular. introversion.     74% /     private, quiet. anxiety.       58%     / fearful, self-doubting open-mindedness.     46% /     close-minded, set-in-ways. independence.      58%     / loner, craves solitude. perfectionism.     74% /     orderly, thorough. tension.      74%     / stressed, unsatisfied

[lowiisa-blog1]

formal apologies for being m.i.a the past ~4 days; this week is sort of like the beginning of the end of the semester for me, which means in a nutshell, i got a lot of paper assignments all at once and am stressed beYOND belief, and also i’m PMSing (¿tmi?) so it’s been weird

[lowiisa-blog1]

alek.:

  a hand covered his mouth to still the spread of a sharp smile.    ❝     ah. it’s not a suggestion, but a statement. surely, not a personal attack towards you—— but,  oh well, if the shoe fits. time to grow up, stupid child.    ❞

They were far more aware than anyone else that they were the youngest in any room they entered here-- to have that equated with weakness and inability was infuriating. Their visceral reaction was another reaffirmation of his insults: the way their hands shook with rage, the way their jaw worked as they tried to keep themself still and composed and controlled. After a long moment, they responded, with much more steadiness than they had expected, “I hope you choke on your own dick.” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

@lowiisa

⊰ &&; ⊱ – the daunting prying glare, one she received on a daily base made a burn feel lingering upon her skin. not the one to stand up for herself, the words spilled from her spiked tongue.  ❛ your momma should have taught you better. ❜ 

“Where I come from, there’s more at stake than family values.” Louisa shot back, uncharacteristically impulsive. They pressed their lips together, smoothed the fly-aways from their thick braid, and added, low and without inflection, recontrolled; “Where do you come from, princess, that you know how to address someone so kindly?” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

     MOST of the new friends giselle has managed have been the workers in the castle – there’s something about the coolness of many royals that drives a wedge there. it’s generally not on giselle’s part; she’s quite aware that not everyone is capable or even willing to be so optimistic. she knows very well that being sociable isn’t something everyone values – hell, even she has her limits. instead of the aloofness, giselle has branded a false sense openness. she talks, she shows emotion, she even offers to make friends she knows have no sense of loyalty. all of it; however, is calculated. she shows emotion where it matters, where it’s going to benefit her, make her look good. and she can do this because it’s not fake, just controlled. anything that doesn’t work gets chucked to the side, left to deal with when she’s alone and there’s no vicious eyes. but many people choose to opt for nothing instead, and so she’s pleasantly surprised when she actually gets a response. a french one, at that. “ bonjour, princen louisa. i was wondering if you could direct me to the kitchens? i’ve only just arrived a couple of days ago and seem a bit lost already. ”

They could tell by the apron that Giselle didn’t mean the dining hall-- she meant the honest-to-god kitchens. It took a lot for Louisa not to wrinkle their nose or let their disdain show: they’d only met a few times, in large rooms with decorous agendas, and every time Giselle had been sweet enough to rot their teeth, and every time the Commander had breathed down their neck while they returned the niceties. And it was so something Giselle would do, of course-- go to the kitchen to cook with the staff. Louisa hadn’t spent much time, ever, thinking about what Giselle would or wouldn’t do with her time, but now it felt blatantly obvious. So they took a moment to respond, debating the ways they could answer. There was no one breathing down their neck this time, no one to stop them from being blunt and forceful, but that put all the more pressure on them: the choice they made about what they said right now could reap its consequences in any given future. 

“This place is huge,” Louisa tried, and the friendliness didn’t take to their tone at all (although it felt nicer than they had anticipated, to speak French with someone again). “So of course you haven’t figured it out. The kitchens are across from the main dining hall--” They paused, forced it up, “--I could show you.”  Ugh. 

[lowiisa-blog1]

maddox.:

“There have only been two constant people in my life, the bastard that gets to call himself my father and the maid that raised me because he was too drunk to do so. I tend to avoid people due to the fact I have a very, very short temper.” He responded, his brow raising at them as to tell them to continue not believing his stories. He didn’t care, people had probably heard the rumors about him anyways, that he always had some random commoners follow him around like they were his groupies. But he didn’t care about any of it, he wasn’t going to change who he was, not for anyone. He knew their game too, trying to psyche him out or trying to delve past the barrier he kept between himself and everyone else that walked the Earth. It was easier than letting people in and honestly, Maddox had horrible trust issues and knew getting close to people would make him look weak. Something he needed to avoid if he wanted the throne. “Believe me or not, I don’t care. I’m telling you the truth though, why would I lie about something like that?”

“Perception? Self-preservation?” Louisa suggested, mirroring his eyebrow arch. “Just to be a dick?” they added, a hint mockingly. They shrugged, then, looking at Maddox doubtfully. They knew a lot about what was right to say and what wasn’t; when to divulge which thing for what ends; how to use words like a weapon: to cut or inspire fear, to smoke the glass of self-perception. Actions don’t always speak louder than words. Sometimes it’s entirely about what you say. 

And what he was saying was far too personal for a introductory conversation. There had to be an edge to it, although they couldn’t pin it down. Louisa let their eyes scan his face again, scrutinizing him. “And why would you tell the truth?” they pressed, and not all too sincerely.

[lowiisa-blog1]

nova.:

“hey don’t curse at me! that’s rude.” it was about as rude as laying in someone’s lap, but nova ignored that part. they weren’t even sure if the words were curses, but it sure sounded like it. nova stood, arms crossed like they hadn’t just affronted the other royal. “no, I don’t need help. I just wanted attention.” they were always so straightforward about these things, completely skipping the social niceties that insisted they pretend they were fine without constant attention. that wasn’t nova’s style at all. “obviously I looked for it in the wrong place. I can’t believe you just pushed me! the nerve.”

“My nerve?” Louisa spat, incredulous. “You’ve just violated a host of societal and personal norms, not to mention the basic principles of respect. How dare you disrespect me?” In a breath, they had reigned themself back in: shoulders back, lips pressed shut. They took in Nova’s shamelessness, and bit their tongue to keep their expression-- and their words-- in check. “Honestly, Nova,” They started, their voice controlled again. “Tell me again about how good a temperamental leader like you is?” They scoffed, then added, “Seriously.” 

[lowiisa-blog1]

                sleek,  polished leather shoes tapped along the hallway,  they were onyx – like the rest of his clothing.  he donned finer quality garments most of the time,  a habit he had developed back at home.  his parents were very funny,  extravagant people.  they were always showing off,  always flaunting their golden items and old fashioned royal merchandise – yet in such a way that everybody still loved them;  didn’t resent their wealth and positions of power.  it was something he’d learned to miss after yasir died – the happy aura,  the beauty and extravagance of life.  the promise of his parents passing shortly after was lingering in his mind,  the anxiety of being alone creeping on him and grabbing him by the throat.  the gilded age of his existence was over,  replaced with sickness and cold. he kept his appearances up because there wasn’t much else to control.  for now.  he exercised grace with his strides,  one hand in the pocket of black slacks,  the other choking the neck of an expensive wine bottle.   he was planning to open it up in a room,  entertain himself with a drunken night.  he wasn’t too much in the mood to socialize regardless of being a rather social person before,  because he had reservations about becoming close with someone he might have to eventually behead.  still, he didn’t want to drink alone.  when he hears footsteps approaching from around the corner,  he’s prepared to put on a friendly face  – though he isn’t going to ask for them to join unless the person inquires about the wine in his grip. 

It had taken awhile, though they wouldn’t admit it-- it was their fourth week here, and, save for those trips to necessary places and the ways to get there, Louisa wasn’t very oriented in Neuschwanstein Castle. In truth, they hadn’t totally had the heart to try and know someplace that wasn’t Königsmark; although they’d only lived in the central castle of Switzerland for three years, it had been more of a home to them than anywhere they’d ever occupied. But it was time to recognize that for what it was: weakness. They didn’t have the time to sit around in their chambers and pretend that was enough for them. They needed to know everything. If they were going to boast their strategy, they needed the lay-out. And that meant getting their ass in gear: not moping.

It was late, but Louisa still accredited not running into anyone as pure luck. They’d been all over most of the west wing and were starting in on the south, certain they had missed a room or two already and angry at their lack of vigilence, when they rounded a corner to the left and were forced fairly abruptly into a halt. By another person. He was tall, dark and handsome-- or was it stormy?-- with a bottle of wine clasped in one hand and the other shoved into his pocket. Louisa took in his stance in one heartbeat and adjusted her own in the second: shoulders back, weight shifted to the left, a hand on the narrow curve of her waist. She arched an eyebrow, but other than that, made herself unreadable. 

“How is it that someone as regular as you can take up a whole hallway?”