VARIOUS POSITIONS.

silent, fawn-eyed. clever. princess adelaide. half mad, half magic. princess marguerite. exquisitely performed daydream. lady perdita.

[outgrvwn]

“what?” the word snaps out before she can stop it, irritated thoughts pulling to the surface the general unhappiness that she usually keeps buried beneath her pink lipstick. quick as the word comes, however, violet catches herself and annoyance fades to manufactured shame and embarrassment. “i’m so sorry! that - i’m so sorry! you startled me and i…well, i’m sorry either way. what, er, what exactly did you want?”

@genoviastarters​

[scvereignty]

marguerite, that fantastically quick-moving and shiny thing, was much like a coin set on edge and put to spinning -- she whirred and whirred and whirred until she either fell or someone slammed her down. such was the case was the girl she’d tapped spun on her with a hard brick of a word. marguerite’s face froze in her confusion before melting off. “well.” she shakes her head, eyebrows raising. “you’re either very distracted, or it’s been a very long time since you’ve gotten laid -- - though i suppose those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” she hums the amendment to herself. “i only meant to tell you your coat tie is dragging, darling.”

[scvereignty]

ofcrwns‌:

“unfortunately not. the company director would rather i observe for this show, as i haven’t been here for the entirety of the rehearsal period. although i do wish you a good show, perdita.”

“ah, of course.” a call that, if perdita straightened out her truths with an iron, she would find for the best. interest presses inward on her sides, prompting her to speak. “if i may ask -- what was your last role?” her tone is convivial, roped with a smile, as dita begins her warm-up.

[driflloon]

jenny packham ss10

[scvereignty]

rellinquish‌:

justice faces her with raised eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. so the english rose isn’t quite all perfume – isn’t that useful to know. her smile remains pleasant and placating as she settles back into the chair, arms loose at her sides. “i guess – sometimes i am a words a person, but not in the eloquent way? if that makes sense. for sure my one thing is skating.” 

she makes eyes at the notebook across the table. “am i allowed to ask what we’re describing as a fucking joke?”

“a skater.” there is another pause, an hourglass turned on its side. england’s princess royal looks at this new girl with a momentary fleck of darwinism: observing a creature she knows some, but not entirely. “mm.” the moment is gone. “are you here to train, then?”

“there are no dictations of convention here. in a coffee shop. do what you will.” the tone is so dry it nearly crumbles, but there’s humour in it yet. and what was the fucking joke? “an individual. a circumstance. a lie, almost certainly. all of that and more, i’m sure.”

[renownedhq]

          DANTE’S INFERNO — the book is tattered, beaten up, withered. there are obvious tears in it & if anyone were to glance inside the book they would see that there were different colored highlights on every single page. each color meant something different to sunwoo. the male’s getaway from his own brain  (  & his own memories  )  was through reading. it’s when someone walked into the room that his eyes flickered up to meet theirs,  “   can i help you ?   ”

[scvereignty]

“oh, no --” it’s the nature of a girl made to fit into small places to brush off the sharp points of implied intrusion. oh, no, not me sir; i’m not a bother sir; i’m only here when convenient, sir. as she shakes her head, perdita smiles, and that too is a learned instinct. after a quick survey of the room, she shifts her body weight. “except -- i am supposed to meet someone here. i thought he’d be here... was there a rather - tall - man in here earlier? over six foot, slender, dark hair?” 

[scvereignty]

rellinquish‌:

arthur doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. he reaches for her, but doesn’t touch either. he lets the inches hang between them, careful to touch, careful to break. careful around adelaide, indeed. he stared at the broken glass with a hard jaw. 

“adelaide,” he began, unsure yet where or how to end. a sigh. “adelaide, stop. it might not have been him. odds are against it, even.”

he doesn’t touch her, and maybe he knows she’s not dissimilar to the broken shards left beneath the table: slim, slick to the touch, sharp on the sides. something you put gloves on for before before handling.

“but it’s one of them.” if it was anyone else, she would have cut him. despite the quiet of it, there’s a solidity to the tone that is concerning. where does a girl get that weight? “she said its one of them.” her hands are in fists, but it doesn’t fight the shakes. “she fucked --” 

she’s out the nearest door before she can decide how to finish the sentence.

[scvereignty]

IN THE END, THEY —

SCENARIO: when you are very young, you meet a boy. he is two years older than you, an equidistant age between him and the older brother (the one you spend tender years wishing for). he will be: tall, dark-haired, fast and silent enough to run from the dark and press your sides to make you scream, and get his first black eye fighting on the lawn of a party you are at. your mother despises him and his father will never like you. this is to be your best friend. you will love him.

knowing what you do, chose what is most likely to occur in the length of this story. you have thirty seconds to make your choice.

( A ) — a wedding. EG. “if we do it,” one of you says, and it doesn’t matter which. that’s not the important part of this story. when you recount it back years later, both will have a different idea of who started it. “they can’t make us marry one of those rich people when we grow up. we can be friends forever.” you make rings out of twine and waxy yellow buttercups, not knowing they are technically weeds, and slide them on each other’s fingers at the same time in silence next to a mossy stump because that’s what children imagine solemn ceremony is. they are broken when you go home hand in hand to proclaim this immature rebellion to your parents, and its slapped out of you. 

( B ) — revolt & uprising. EG. he is below you making a basket of his body, and when you drop from the window in practiced fashion he catches you in it, shushing your giggle as he sets you on your feet. you fly down the gravel path and into dark, unafraid. he crows from atop a log like an outgrown peter pan and you laugh, dancing in the starlight. it’s never spoken aloud why the pair of you are drawn to forests, but it’s understood nonetheless: nature has no kings.

( C ) — fighting. EG. you stand with her hair tied back and feet bare, white dress blowing out towards him in the wind like the hands clenched at your side won’t. “dot, please -” the moon is out above and you look ready to haunt these woods. the look of rage and loss is already there. he has his hands outstretched palm-up, the way one approaches an animal that is wild or has run away from home. “you promised. you promised you wouldn’t leave.”

( D ) — kissing. EG. he’s at the airport, and you’re driven out in the rickety car of a farmer who doesn’t mind doing favours. he’s about to leave for longer than he’ll ever tell you and you throw yourself on him after running a great distance, the same way you will when he comes back. he catches you and — We’re sorry. There’s been an error in our system. Selection D is meant to read PARTING. Please omit.

( D ) — aching. EG. you are alone in the bed of a man too old for you with no clothes on, laying on your stomach. there is a bruise on the back of your shoulder that you don’t understand, and as you press into it a tear runs down your cheek. you don’t realize it’s for him at first, but eventually you will.

( E ) — all of the above.

[purplehalsey]

[scvereignty]

PERDITA DE HAVILLAND ↣ AESTHETIC.

pretty as she was, she could have been the most beautiful thing in any forest. and that was cause for wonder: at a certain point, why does a flower wear such colours, unless it is trying to be picked? and if that was the truth -- why?

[scvereignty]

rellinquish‌:

justice braces her hands along the back of the chair for as long as it takes her to come up with an answer. she’s far from preternaturally well-spoken, and it takes a few minutes to mutter, “gross? as in, gross miscarriage of justice?” her stomach twists. she’s familiar with that phrase. 

“appalling, maybe?” she’s already slipping into the seat, bag dropped unceremoniously beside her on the floor. “dunno, not a words person, to be honest.”

“as in a fucking joke.” it’s spoken so smoothly, one could almost forget the expletives in it. almost. adelaide looks up, realizing she’d slipped a thorn from the side of the rose. she smiles, and it’s hung with royal intention. “sorry.” 

her head dips once more towards her notebook. “mm.” the pen stalls at the suggestion; she seems to consider the substitute before continuing in her scrawling. “no? then what sort of person are you?  i’m of the opinion everyone gets one thing -- more than one, if they’re lucky.”

[nostalgiabby]

Valley of the Dolls (1967)

[scvereignty]

ofcrwns‌:

honora snickered. “i never mind a well-aimed barb at my cousins. and i agree– they could all do with a bit of a break from said recreational activity.” she paused. “are you preparing for the christmas show with the company? i’m sure it’ll be lovely.”

good humour or otherwise, perdita lets the jest lay there. irritating a princess was not worth the joke. “i am, yes.” she goes quiet, considering something before leaning in. “forgive me, i’m not quite sure i know the terms of your engagement with us -- are you merely here for study, or will you be joining us in the performance...?”

[scvereignty]

dsappointments‌:

if sam were an honest man, he’d tell her that he dreamed of her every single day he was away. he dreamed of catching her in his arms and setting her down outside her window most nights, their midnight rendezvous the best part of his day. he dreamed of cold nights, huddled together somewhere outside in the cold because they never wanted the sun to come up and to be apart once again. he dreamed of telling her the story of each part of his scarred, mangled body to explain how none of those things felt as inexplicably painful as being apart from her.

but he doesn’t tell her anything at all and he just lets her sob into him like he’s the only pillar that’s keeping her from collapsing and it’s hauntingly familiar in ways that cause the dam to break further. his own throat betrays him too, choking on emotions that he thought he had long buried underneath the sins of his past.

so he weeps, his own chest heaving as he struggles to find some purchase in himself to hold it together for her. he knows he’s the one that left, the one that’s supposed to be more put together in this case, but leaving dita was one of the hardest things he had ever done and feeling her around him again just reminds him that he’s never felt a place like home other than in her arms. he’s never felt as needed and loved as he has with her, it almost breaks his heart all over again.

“are you still my girl?” he finally asks the one question that’s been on his mind since he discovered he would return again. he’s never stopped calling her that, never stopped loving her for one second, and a part of him believes he never will. she’s his girl, his dita, no matter how much they’ve changed or how far apart they are. she’s a part of him in ways no one would ever understand, a piece of his soul, in the very essence that made him who he was. he can bear knowing that she isn’t, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover.

if dita was an honest woman, she would have said the body you’re touching now is not the one you left before. she might have told him there had been hands on her between the last time he’d put a palm on her and now that hadn’t done her any favours. she probably would have told him mama made me do bad things. and then added, again. in the end she might have even told the last truth: sometimes i wander into the cold with my shoes off and hands uncovered, as if to burn off a kind of germ that heat can’t kill. 

but it doesn’t matter if perdita de havilland is an honest woman or not. because what she is -- definitively, wholly, undeniably -- is in the arms of the only boy that never made her cry. and there’s no time for truth when you and that man shed your first tears for each other. all she does is hold and hold tighter until there’s enough pressure to turn coal to diamonds. (perhaps, if her mother and his father had applied force like this, as opposed to the anvil they’d laid over their heads, sam and dita would have come out as the shiny thing they’d always wanted anyway).

dita cries and cries and thanks nameless gods for getting him out of all the battles she does not know. she doesn’t even spare a thought to the ways her own war stories would disappoint him. it’s only when he asks that she picks her head up.

“i’m always your girl.”

there’s a smile there, trembling as it is as she reaches to cup his jaw. she feels like a silk balloon filled to the point of bursting. “i can’t believe you did this. i can’t believe you’re back and you didn’t tell me -- h-how long are you here for? are you alright? are you hurt?”

[scvereignty]

gldenthorns‌:

it’s odd being around her. how easy she makes him feel like a teenager again — despite those years being long behind. but here she was and those feelings rushed back to him. almost like they had never truly left him.

keeping his eyes off of her was impossible; he gravitated towards her, towards her every movement and when her hand started playing with his tie, it was hard to stop his hand from landing on her’s — covering it as he did years ago, but he somehow resisted, unsure of how she would have felt about that. didn’t stop the all too wide grin on his face. “ are you sure time has passed at all? you look just as you did. ” bright, glimmering. beautiful. how was it possible that time passed when it seemed nothing has changed? “ i don’t know — i hope he is. he did retire after i joined the service. perhaps he figured that only one liu would be enough. ”

the sound of a familiar nickname was enough for a light chuckle, running a hand through his hair, as if he just needed to move it — too stiff from trying not to reach out and hold her. “ i am well, dots. i’m doing well. ” was that true? he liked to think so. and the next three words was enough for his heart to skip a beat, teenage butterflies waking up and flutter around in his stomach. “ i missed you too, dots. this place hasn’t been the same without you, ” and that was true. but one problem — one question on his mind. “ enough about me, how have you been? how’s — uh — that guy, nick? is it nick? ” a strange, familiar spark of jealousy quickly appeared, just of the thought of that guy.

he says you look just as you did, and dita cannot tell if its the blushing girl in her that stretches towards the compliment from a boy she once worshipped, or a vain woman clinging to the idea that maybe she’s as beautiful now as she was then. “do i?” her eyes are bright and shy and earnest, cautiously extending her hands towards the idea, seeking something dita is ashamed of because mother spends every night reminding her of the time she’ll have lost by morning. “of course he is.” there -- the confidence she lost a moment ago. it’s back, aimed right at him. “why, i bet he only left because it would have been too confusing on those --” she points to his ear, where a plastic piece sits. her nose crumples playfully. “things.”

“dots.” she laughs. “you know, i haven’t heard that in ages.” perdita tucks hair behind her ear and wonders, absently and with warm-blood, if the gown is too much -- more specifically, she wonders if edward thinks so. there’s an urge to cross her arm over her torso to hide some of that slender-muscle body, but she resists. “oh, i’m --” instead, her head drops down, and she turns the toe of her shoe into the marbled floor as if stubbing out something burning. “i’m quite alright. life just seems as if it’s picking up pace lately. don’t you think it feels like it’s going so fast now that we’re older?” it’s terribly honest. she looks to him for the truth because edward has always given her as much -- but then she pulls back by half a measure. “or maybe that’s just me.” better to isolate oneself first then have it done for you. “we should -- teddy, we should get together.”

that, it would seem, was the girl and the woman speaking.

“ -- you’re thinking of nikolai.” there’s faraway recognition in the name. nikolai had been a russian count with a jaw as sharp as his temper; he’d been terribly fond of opiates, the curve of her waist, and treating her like a street cat that had wandered into a kitchen. even when other were around. “oh, we’re not -- we haven’t been together in some time.”

[scvereignty]

ofcrwns‌:

honora nods. “yeah, some ice skater from england. i can’t believe they all got involved in something like that. you’d think boys that boring would be better at laying low.”

“-- if you don’t take offense to a little joke, your highness,” her mouth is a tight comma, curling at the edge and attempting not to blow out. dita looks over coyly. “it seems laying low is what got them into this predicament.”

prince or otherwise, a horizontal man was a troublesome one.

[scvereignty]

rellinquish‌:

arthur tries to swallow, but it sticks at the back of his throat. yes, the girlfriend. ella. the one they all thought james would give everything up for, if he had to. and, now, well – a different legacy. arthur hadn’t pressed, didn’t want to know the details, and so was scant on them here, too.

“i’m sorry,” he says, as if it’s his fault. as if it’ll ease the hurt pressing down on her any more. “i – i know, it’s difficult. to imagine. but that’s what she said.”

the funny thing about glass is that no matter the type, it breaks the same. church windows and  handmade jars shatter the same way. 

so, the glass breaks. she pitches it forward and down, into the leg of an abandoned table, with the sudden fury of a girl who knows something about spontaneous combustion. the pieces go as far as the smell of gin. adelaide looks only forward, her jaw set tight and hard.

it’s her teeth that will scatter next.

[scvereignty]

village main street marguerite with @noteliamartine 

growth after adulthood, it would seem, was less like stretching taller and a great deal more like little fists pushing at the inside of ones ribcage: at times painful, at others merely an annoyance. the resistance of old vices and patterns since arriving at genovia hadn’t been entirely seamless, but for all the things she’d resisted, she allowed herself indulgence in the boutiques. shopping, surely, no political advisor or peer could fault her for. returning to the nondescript black town car parked on the side of the street, marguerite instructs the shop attendants to place the bags in the trunk before removing her phone from her pocket. the screen prevents her from early recognition -- it isn’t until she’s slid inside and had the door closed after her that the princess realizes she’s joined a man rather than solitude. “oh --”