OF CREATION

ind. multimuse. selective. lovingly penned by aram.

[wxrtorn]

Suns and Swords

[wxrtorn]

Reima began to understand some of Maia’s view then. She did not look down on him as a guard, she looked down on her own position as well. He knew nothing of her betrayal, of course, of her not only being married off in secret, but of her true parentage only just being revealed as well. Had he known that, he may have been more understanding. Instead, all he saw was a woman desperate to remain unwed, and making a fool of herself in the process. Reima reached forward to grab her arm without properly thinking, forgetting that a simple guard would never dare to touch a person of royal standing in such an intimate manner. “Are you really so disgusted by a man you have never met as to run away like a screeching toddler? And to show everyone in the castle your knickers in the process? I would encourage you to show more restraint in public.” His tone was firm, but not unkind or cruel, and he let go of her arm again as quickly as he had grabbed it.

[nxvelties]

                                                 ❝    DON’T –––––    ❞

Instinct brought a stalwart arm to his chest, forcing him back against a cool marble pillar with a strength not often attuned to that of a princess.  Eyes of gold      – – –    chaotic    – – –    took one critical analysis, calloused fingertips wrapping firmly around the dirk sheathed in his belt;  she drew it forward   ,   pressed the sharp tip against his belly.  

                ❝  Y O U.  You know nothing of me.  You would encourage me to show more restraint?  

               You are a foreign soldier who hardly knows the difference between his cock & his head.  

                Did your prince tell you the king is lacking in an heir?  Did your prince tell you the king of

               Lilac chose a bastard girl so that he could marry her off like fodder to cattle? ❞ 

Here, the knife twisted, the point threatening to pry apart the threads of his shirt.

❝   Touch me again & I will be sure to have your hand chopped off.   ❞

[nxvelties]

t r a c k e r

[ x ]  complete             [ - ]  incomplete

[ x ] suns + swords ––––– wxrtorn

[ x ] untitled w/ maia and manuel –––––heartxshaped-bruises

[ x ] host ––––– virucides 

currently … revamping all character bios accepting … plotting ideas

[nordiixa-blog]

Reblog if you don’t mind Slice-of-Life threads that don’t necessarily go anywhere.

✕  there is so much development to be made from people just… being together. there’s no need for a whole huge big plot for muses to make memories. just conversation and doing mundane things together is enough sometimes.

[nxvelties]

☽ ✧ ✵ out of gears

no one:

absolutely no one:

me: i’m going to revamp all of my bios - evil cackle -

[nxvelties]

☽ ✧ ✵ out of gears

like this for a starter xx

[nxvelties]

WHOEVER HAD DONE THIS TO HIS CAR  knew the mechanics of the engine about as well as Maia did, which meant that this could only be described as a very     d e l i b e r a t e     action.  At first examination, it would have been very difficult to tell that there was anything wrong with his car at all – – – particularly when the engine seemed on the cusp of  PRISTINE.

❝ You’ve kept the car in good condition, ❞she shrugged, hard voice   softening   in sympathy.  ❝ These parts have years on them, but not enough to break down the engine this way.  Someone had to have manipulated your car. ❞ ❝ I’ll do what I can, but it’s going to take at least a couple of weeks.  That all right with you? ❞

[wxrtorn]

Suns and Swords

[nxvelties]

G R A C E L E S S – – – she moved like a child in a   tantrum,  one heel   f l y i n g,then the next.  The shoes left carelessly behind, Maia worked impatiently at her dress, pulling loose the knots at her waist.  Blue & gold damask collapsed in a heavy heap, leaving her in nothing but a slip ( she had politely declined the corset ) that clung to her frame.

❛Princessa ❜ he had called, as if the word were    liberating, as if it did not form a lump in her throat – – – as if she did not CHOKE.  

❝If it is a princess you are looking for, I am not her.  Go back,   REIMA OF HEMERA. ❞ ❝There is nothing for you here. ❞

[nxvelties]

✂ h o s t | @virucides

ABOVE HER HEAD, the lights flickered persistently ———  s p o r a d i c a l l y.  Inessa’s fingers, tapered to fine, rounded tips, delicately placed a sample beneath the microscope.  The cells in the blood sample had multiplied generously, &  with a steady hand, she carefully inserted the manufactured virus into the sample.  With a pleased sigh, she set her glasses down on the lab bench, stripped off blue latex gloves.  She pushed back the loose wisps of hair that had annoyingly slipped from her bun and reached for the manila folder labeled ❛ confidential. ❜  The federal grant that had funded Cloverdale’s project promised monthly check-ins, & the next was approaching sooner than she would have liked. This necessitated a smoke break.  She shrugged off the clean white lab coat & draped it over the back of her chair, her heels clicking rhythmically as she stepped out onto the balcony.  The cigarettes rattled  l o o s e l y  in their cardboard box, and she lifted one out and brought it to painted lips, the lighter clicking once, twice — — —  lit.

@virucides

[wxrtorn]

Suns and Swords

[nxvelties]

My prince, your husband.

She had been foolish to believe that her position was not transactional.  Gullible enough to fall for the fallacy of fatherly affection, Maia felt a rise of heated rage, fire blossoming from the center of her sternum.  ❛ My husband? ❜ Who does she direct her anger towards?  The king, willing to sell her body and soul for the promise of an heir?  The commander, for his lack of a spine?  Or this man who promised his sword, his fealty for who he imagined would be the loving, doting wife of his master? He was a sold soul too.  

Calloused fingers belonging to the hands of a soldier, not a queen, gripped the arms of the intricate throne.  She stood unsteadily, then lifted her chin proudly.  ❛ I am not to be married, not to your prince, not to anyone, ❜ she announced, as if this simple claim would suffice, as if she had any autonomy at all. 

She stepped down from the platform and swept past the promised soldier, ignoring the crescendoing cacophony of the court behind her.

[wxrtorn]

Suns and Swords

[wxrtorn]

The walls he passed were stone and seeped in blood and history. They had seen kings and queens rise and fall into ash and dust, leaving behind only dusty portraits and an enduring legacy.  Reima entered the Great Hall in respectful silence once the guards welcomed him in. He had studied the ways of the Lilacan court in preparation for this. He would be the first Hemeran to enter the palace in generations, and he would enter it alone. The impression he left behind would be the impression that endured for years. And so, once he was welcomed forward, he immediately took one knee in deference to the monarch.  His name was announced as only Reima. In Hemera, last names were only saved for the elite, so it wasn’t unheard of to only have one, and he was announced as a personal guard to the prince.  He was listed as a gift to the new wife, to safeguard her until the prince could arrive himself. Reima waited for his signal to stand. 

[nxvelties]

🆂he was seated beside the king, in a chair that was clearly not meant for comfort.  It was tempting to slouch, but one look from the head court lady kept her as straight as her sword.  The skirts of her dress, gilded in braided gold, spilled over the steps leading up to the two thrones.                                           Daughter.  Daughter of the king.

The words still coiled uncomfortably in her core, and her fingers drifted up to the hollow of her throat.  The necklace that her father - the commander - had gifted her as a babe rested on the smooth vanity in her room.  She felt untethered without it, the missing weight a foreign depression against her collarbone.  You must leave such things of your previous life behind, Lady Una had stated.  You are a princess now.  Perhaps a queen.

Her eyes critically analyzed the soldier before her.  A gift, her father had promised.  A gift she did not want or need.  It felt almost an insult, to have her father suggest an inability to take care of herself.  She entertained the idea of drawing her sword, sweeping it downward in an elegant arc to lop off this stranger’s head. A scoff caught in her throat.  The king was waiting for her to respond.

❝Rise, then, Reima of Hemera,❞ she answered, the formality tasting bitter on her tongue.

[fashion-runways]

Elie Saab at Couture Fall 2019

[thronescastdaily]

Natalie Dormer Photographed for L'Officiel Italia

[wxrtorn]

Suns and Swords

[nxvelties]

The king was dying.  The rumors had spread quickly, creating spider-vein cracks in the kingdom.  Lilac was still recovering from a two-year drought, and the edges of the kingdom were set in a poverty that reeked of sickness and starvation.   He needed an heir.  His wife had been unable to give him any children, and he knew of only one bastard child.

He had wanted to keep her close, even after all these years.  Commander Garick, upon receiving the babe in his arms, had promised to fulfill her every need.

He had not failed, though perhaps his parenting was unconventional.  Maia never wanted for anything except to be by the man she believed to be her father.  She learned each and every one of Lilac’s military tactics, rose in the ranks not because of nepotism, but because she was skilled. Now, she stood before the king in an awkward curtsy, her feet misplaced, leaving her unbalanced.  She felt a fool in this low-cutting dress the color of lavender, dainty shoes softly molded for her feet. She missed her worn leather boots.

[nxvelties]

Maia shifted her weight to the back of her heels, the pads of her fingers digging into the elastic waist of her jumpsuit.  She glanced once at Manuel, then back at the car.  ❝May I…?❞ A moment later she rested in the seat of his car, turning the key once, then twice.  The car sputtered to life, as if it were trying to catch a breath, before dying again.

One arm rested casually, familiarly, out of the window.  She cocked a brow, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  ❝Who did you piss off?❞

[28283848494959]

[heireating]

   BOOK STARTERS VOL.37    THE HANDMAID’S TALE    MARGARET ATWOOD

❛ Don’t let the bastards grind you down. ❜

❛ Who can remember pain, once it’s over? Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind. ❜

❛ Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse, for some. ❜

❛ There is more than one kind of freedom. Freedom to and freedom from. ❜

❛ Remember that forgiveness too is a power. ❜

❛ I am not your justification for existence. ❜

❛ I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. ❜

❛ If it’s a story I’m telling, then I have control over the ending. ❜

❛ All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and look stupid. It shouldn’t be that hard. ❜

❛ Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations. ❜

❛ I want everything back, the way it was. ❜

❛ You can’t help what you feel, but you can help how you behave. ❜

❛ Nothing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you’d be boiled to death before you knew it. ❜

❛ To want is to have a weakness. ❜

❛ There isn’t even an enemy you could put your finger on. ❜

❛ The past is a great darkness, filled with echoes. ❜

❛ Ordinary is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will. It will become ordinary. ❜

❛ I wish this story were different. I wish it were more civilised. I wish it showed me in a better light. ❜

❛ The night is mine, my own time, to do with it as I will, as long as I am quiet. As long as I don’t move. As long as I lie still. ❜

❛ By telling you anything at all I’m at least believing in you. ❜

❛ Whatever is silenced will clamour to be heard. ❜

❛ Don’t worry about forgiving me right now. There are more important things. ❜

❛ Keep the others safe. Don’t let them suffer too much. If they have to die, let it be fast. ❜

❛ The body is so easily damaged, so easily disposed of, water and chemicals is all it is, hardly more to it than a jellyfish, drying on sand. ❜

❛ The world is full of weapons if you’re looking for them. ❜

❛ Nobody’s heart is perfect. ❜

❛ One false move and I’m dead. ❜

❛ Watch out. I’ve got my eye on you. ❜

❛ Fear is a powerful stimulant. ❜

❛ I couldn’t afford to lose you. ❜

[nxvelties]

untraceable | neverparted

The manila folder rested temptingly on the corner of the desk.  Tapered fingers drew to rounded, well-manicured tips, the markings of a pianist, perhaps, or some semblance of an artist.  Wren tapped them erratically on her thighs, a disjointed rhythm, imperceptible.

Four months prior, she had withdrawn from the residency ballet program in Paris, citing severe health concerns.  Only a month after, she had qualified for the experimental trial that brought an end to the scattered hallucinations, those of which doctors promised were the result of the innate streak of perfectionism she carried and the stress from such a competitive program.  ❛Cutthroat,❜ they had called it.

Wren believed in its success.  She had attained a clear mind once more, and Blue Genetics had garnered attention from every corner of the world for its innovative advances in science and engineering.  There was no reason to believe that there were ill intentions behind the trials or that she would be brought any significant harm.

Naturally, that changed when she saw the name of her dead sister printed neatly on a report dated exactly one year prior to Wren’s arrival at Blue Genetics.

The experimental trial was no accident, Wren had quickly realized, and though she couldn’t quite ascertain the exact elements of Blue Genetics’ intentions, it became obvious that the company was using patient data for far more than health interventions.

She became devoted to following the trail.  Private donations, exorbitant sponsorships ––– the evidence indicated funds diverted to dead ends.  Where had all the money gone?

The doorknob rattled, interrupting her thoughts.  Eyes the color of sea glass, as varied and frosty, turned away from the folder on the desk towards the door, and Wren stood, already offering her hand.

❝Mr. Sharpe?  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  My name is Wren Beckham.❞

@neverparted