#dayim

[stay-the-knight]

12.5% alcohol content wine

[lostsovl]

[position] - Sender catches receiver in a compromising position. ( @dayim )

& games // @dayim

[position] - Sender catches receiver in a compromising position.

She’s been scheming, and everyone in the house has noticed but Armandine. The old spinster is busy with grand projects of her own, getting herself and her niece invited to more fêtes and teas and all sorts of promising social events. Another season is approaching and this time they’re bound for London, or so Valerie is told. A suitor is all she speaks of, one of good blood and good health, who won’t keel over too soon — at least not before an heir is produced, and only Lord can tell when that will be. There is that on the girl’s side, at the very least: Armandine is in a hurry (that cough has been getting worse…), but she is not desperate.

Not yet.

Valerie, while circling the building site her own future with the kind of fury and restlessness only youth can generate, has now more seriously begun considering her possibilities, though she detests every second spent entertaining the idea that marriage is, in fact, inevitable. Still, there ought to be a way to bend the system, even if she feels disinclined to beat it (and give up all the comforts?!). Most mornings of the past week, before the sun is even up, the young woman sneaks out from the cradle of her bed and takes the car to the corner of Silver Street where a girl will be waiting for her with the gossips the night brought. They’re not friends — Valerie is paying for her indiscretion in freshly baked goods and coins — but she believes she would like to call someone like her a friend, if the chasm between their worlds and the scandal of being spotted with a nightwalker wouldn’t immediately buy her a one-way ticket to a convent in the Isle of Man.

Today is not a day when she heads home immediately after their chat is over, straight to bed, and waits for the maid to come dress her in time for breakfast. Today, Armandine has scheduled afternoon tea with some eligible bachelor on the list. This is a carefully synchronised choreography, you see, because the old woman is the one the poor fella should impress, and the five ‘accidentally’ unchaperoned minutes he gets with her niece will be nothing but a trap. Armandine claims this sliver of freedom constitutes as accommodating Valerie’s interests, but instead of giving it a genuine shot, the young lady uses it to her advantage: to either give him a good spook so he will never call again, or play all his hidden cards. Or both. This is where Harriett from Silver Street comes in handy. 

Dreading the thought of having to sit through yet another stuffy tea with Lord Whatshisname, she asks to get off a good four miles away from home, right in the middle of the deserted, autumnal countryside, with its trees erupting in kaleidoscopic, fiery colours from the morning mist that rolls along fields of green. Valerie takes her time walking home, cutting through parcels of land, chirping back at cawing crows that had spotted her figure in the fog. She arrives over two hours later, the hems of her dress soaked a deep ochre and grass stained, blades of hay and mud clinging in clusters to her brown leather boots. She takes the back door where the help are quick to assist her with the soiled outerwear, no questions asked. She climbs up to the parlour in her socks, wavy umber locks having come loose from the intricate maze of her braided do. Armandine would be finishing her breakfast and have been informed that her niece had gone on one of her usual early morning walks, so even though there was always the risk of running into the woman in such a state, there was no real trouble she could get into. 

In the powder blue sitting room, the wood burner has been lit, unlike the one in her bedroom that would have been left to die through the night. She heads there immediately, zig-zagging through the settees to plop herself right within the reach of its warming hug, urging her hands and cheeks to defrost first. Time slows to a crawling daze, her thoughts evaporating along with the cold, awareness fading into pleasant dissociation (a doorbell sounds in the distant background…). Once her front has regained its lively, lovely hues, Valerie turns around and hikes the back of her skirts right up to her waistline, baring the slender glory of her buttocks to the fire, bare if not for the woollen stockings hugging her calves. Perhaps she should start dressing more gentlemanly on her dawn excursions, especially as November fast approached and so did the first signs of snow. Exhaling a deep sigh of relief from having such a primordial need met, her eyelids droopy with fatigue, the lady altogether misses the muffled sound of steps on the carpet outside in the hall, only looking up when the distinct, unsettling feeling of being watched causes her to snap back to the present moment. 

Anticipating her shock, Mr. Darwish, who’d been standing by the door for God knows how long, politely turns away to face the wallpaper instead, though amusement is unequivocally printed on his jovial face. 

Valerie practically squeaks out the man’s first name (decorum evades her), immediately dropping her skirts and shuffling away from the fire, hands awkwardly flexing at her sides. Her face heats up a bright shade of crimson. She might have, in other occasions, been happy to play this sort of prank for the sake of discomposing her friend. This time, however, he had caught her entirely by surprise and glimpsed the sheepish, innocent creature lurking beneath the mask of an imp. Her best kept secret.

“Mr. Darwish. I didn’t know we were expecting you.”

[k4rind3s3n]

geldi huyunu suyunu siktigim

[lostsovl]

[ Nour + tarot ]

& tarot readings

@dayim // Nour

"You're the only salvageable one in this bunch of broken-hearted cats and war criminals, did you know that?" Valerie pinches her major arcana card of choice between a thumb and middle finger, holding it up for clear view as she speaks. "Number seventeen, The Star (x). Wish fulfilled, guiding light, the embodiment of hope. The only reason you shine is because you have known how dark the night gets. You shine out of self-preservation, but also in an effort to guide all these drunken sailors home. This is your only choice. You can't not care for the world around you, or the people you may influence. Your intuition is out of this world and you strike an enviable balance between the spiritual and the physical realm. It is a card about renewal, healing, restoration. And, like the sun that kisses the earth, your light does not run out, even when death visits you." Clearing her throat following the last handful of words in a self-conscious display of guilt, some of Valerie's playfulness ebbs as she replaces said card with another.

"Our Knight of Cups (x). There aren't that many cups in this group, but you certainly lead the way here. The reason why I wouldn't pick King is because Kings always have a tendency to be cold and detached to some degree, whereas you present your overflowing cup with all the effervescent brightness of a summer afternoon. You are idealistic, a romantic, hopelessly so. You follow your heart where it pulls you to, and move calmly, with grace. Other knights might charge towards their goals, but you know the importance of pacing yourself and enjoying the journey. That said, being so pumped full of emotion tips you towards the occasional moodiness -- but you are a treat to look at, and we forgive your one fault.

Frankly, I don't know why you still sit with us, but we appreciate that you do."

[amnerise]

@dayim speaks,   ❝You don’t think we’ll get in trouble for this, do you?❞

—   “nour,”  the princess gestures as she speaks, as if offering to him his own name in the palm of her hand. her tone is cool, calm, as if the embodiment of the nile lapping against the banks of her late mother’s garden.  “the pharoah’s daughter does not get in trouble,”  there is a twinge of mischief to her otherwise serene smile, as if amneris were a little girl at play again.

“i have the right to go where and whenever i please. and you are my guest,”  she gestures once more, this time ushering him to his side.  “now, why are you so worried, hm?”

[amnerise]

@dayim​ speaks,   ♡

oh my GOD i just realized i had a dm from you i never answered, i’m so so sorry!!!!!

PRE - ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME .

send a ♡ and i’ll fill this out for our muses !  i’ll bold what i want for their relationship, italic what i could see and strike out what i don’t .

FRIENDS.   childhood friends  /  work friends  /  family friends  /  recently friends  /  turning antagonistic  /  turning into something romantic  /  stable  /  falling apart  /  friendship of need  /  friendship of circumstance  /  pen - pals or internet friends  /  coworkers  /  partners  /  other .

ROMANCE.   childhood sweethearts  /  newly entered  /  soulmates  /  skinny love  /  unrequited from my muses side  /  unrequited from your muses side  /  friends with benefits  /  awkward  /  fading  /  turning  toxic  /  toxic  and  destructive  /  other .

FAMILIAL BOND.   sibling bond  /  older sibling figure to your muse  /  younger sibling figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  parental figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal  guardian  /  other .

ENEMIES.   dangerous to themselves  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  passionate  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into a sexual tension  /  developing into a romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based of misunderstandings or lies  /  other .

[lostsovl]

[ SORRY ]: the writer delivers a letter of apology to the recipient ( from @dayim )

& letter prompts — accepting!

@dayim // Nour

                                                                                                London, 2nd May, 1809.

    Dearest Mr. Darwish,

You will notice that I am not writing to you from my regular address, and that is because I am escorting my aunt on a trip to the capital to visit a friend. It is no coincidence that she insisted I come precisely when the friend's bachelor son is in town following his trip to India. I believe you already know where I am going with this and I must confess to you that I am dreadfully bored of dull gentlemen whose only conducting topic of conversation revolves around their assets and achievements. I envy you horrendously. How can I convince you to whisk me away on your next journey out of this island? Smuggle me in your suitcase. Anything.

My dear aunt wants to know why you have not blessed us with your visit as of late and insisted that I apologise yet again for accidentally hitting you on the shin during our game of pall-mall when you last came to see us. I told her I had already pled for forgiveness and that it was granted, omitting the part where I did not offer you the choice to refuse it, but for the sake of pleasing the old crow I am hereby requesting it again.

I suppose I should also apologise for stealing keeping your copy of Mary: A Fiction. Yes, in case you were wondering (probably not, easily deduced), I kept it and have read it twice already. I am certain you can understand why my aunt would rather have me locked in a tower before letting me read it, but when I saw you so engulfed in it during breakfast, my curiosity took over me. I promise to return it when you do come to see us next. I keep it hidden to avoid chastisement.

Speaking of, when are you coming back again? You can not possibly still be upset that I beat you (unfortunately quite literally...) at pall-mall, you do not strike me as the kind of person who holds grudges for longer than a couple of hours. I do miss your refreshing presence in that decrepit gloomy house.

It must also be fairly clear why, other than you being a stellar individual, my dear aunt enjoys keeping you near. She is hoping you might take a liking to me and claim me for yourself — something we both know would be a ridiculous turn of events. It is not that I believe you would be a horrible husband (quite on the contrary), or that we would not have an ounce of fun together (already proven to be untrue)— I do not know what I am saying other than you deserve to be with someone who wishes to be in a marriage too, and you are too old for us to be in union, the way I see it. Do not take offence in my words, you look exceptional. If you ever wish to take a mistress once I find a way out of this situation, I will consider it.

Jokes aside, I am afraid I really am slowly deteriorating, perishing from lack of stimuli, good reads and good company here. I only wish you were in London yourself to spare me from this misery.

For what it is worth, I am sorry. I hope your shin has fully recovered. Write to me on our usual address. Do not get married and disappear off the face of the Earth without telling me.

Yours,

   — Valerie

[survivics]

“ it’s not a question of if , but when . ” (from @dayim - for Hasina, Aker or Asra as I'm terrible at making decisions!)

ALICE : MADNESS RETURNS  –––– ✦ collection of dialogue by the cheshire cat . feel free to adjust to fit your muse ! @dayim

A short laugh leaves the goddess, the scented steam from the delicate cup before her stopping its upward diffusion for the briefest of moments. Her voice is rich and low as a lovers song.

"Have the years not been kind to you since we last met? Our kind is not all that different from mortals. We have our own patterns, as they do. All living things repeat themselves, making and unmaking over and over."

Some things change, but not much from year to year, century to century.