#ignominiy

[starbyrd]

❝  did  you  ever  love  me?  ❞

↳   ♡     /     @ignominiy​  !

[halchron]

i would have lied, but at least i would have made up a great story. / to prompto!

before sunrise ━ accepting ( @ignominiy )

❝ i mean, you could be lying right now, to be honest. ❞

after all, ardyn didn't exactly inspire confidence nor trust. hell, half the things he said already sound like something he made up, though the jargon and life of royalty and politicians were still largely unknown to him. at least the rest of his friends seemed just as hesitant of the older man, though that didn't exactly make prompto feel any better. he kicks his boot into the cobblestone beneath them, already wishing for the other to disappear or... do whatever it is that he came here to do.

❝ what exactly is your criteria for a great story, anyway ? ❞

[honghuas]

‘ By nature, not by choice. ‘

TALES OF THE PECULIAR

         SO HE SAYS. A curl lifts upon the corner of Hua Cheng’s thin mouth from behind the long red curtain, yet elegant is the raise of his red arm as he motions for the other to come closer -- please come in and play a round. The gambler den seems to quiet, the demons and ghosts and wanderers equally stunned and for once, united in the same spirit to this shocking display. It would seem there were more and more strange visitors to see the City Master each coming night !

❝  Very well. I’d like to hear more, but first . . . Many in my halls are willing to pay a hefty sum, even a limb away from their life, just to gain fortune and learn secrets only we know.  ❞

The building returns to a cacophony of praises and cheers and gilded monstresses letting out tinkling laughter. It seems just as it was before, but there’s no doubt that one might notice them all eyeing the exchange form the corner of their eyes. After all, what was more interesting than the City Master suddenly getting involved in gambling ? A small jingle resounds from the silver on his boots as he shifts, then picks up the die and puts it in the cup, waiting for the other to join him. His voice is curiously deadpan, only tinged with a note of mischievousness when he continues, pointedly, ❝  So . . . what will you bet on ?  ❞

[morsluminis-blog]

@ignominiy

what good is a king who cannot rule his people? who cannot command their respect, the love and devotion which should be rightly accorded to the gods’ chosen? yet ‘rule’ and ‘command’ are not synonymous with ‘control’; to exert such power would render them deserving of a revolution such as this. but his brother is innocent, is he not? a vaunted champion of the people, the one all found in order to be healed of the great affliction. for them to turn against him seemingly on a whim is troubling and not a slight to be taken lightly. somnus will not allow it to go unpunished.

or so he tells himself in the watches of the night, finding himself alone in the halls of lucis with nought but his own musings. the view of the city is as silent as any other evening yet the sight of his brother being carried away is still beholden in his mind; struggling amidst a raging mob of hearts gripped with wild and untamed fear. it’s a sickening image, one that love and duty compels him to dispel and rectify with hunting down those that stole away their saviour. but he pauses, patient, telling those awaiting his word that he’s contemplating every course of action. in his heart he wonders if no course may be the path to take. for has he not desired this? a chance to gain but a shred of the adoration heaped upon his messianic sibling. what use does he have for it? what good will it do for the blight upon his soul? a doomed and dead man walking, they say, and perhaps they have the right of it.

but no. they both are the first in a long line that history will stand upon for ages hence; somnus will not see it fall because he could not resist urges which would corrupt a lesser soul (and if he were, he would not leave it to the common rabble to make the mistake of giving the victim a chance to slip away). and so come the dawn he rides out at the head of a great host, speeding on until he comes to the place where they’ve tied ardyn to endure his suffering. he ignores how the spilled blood looks more black than red as he dismounts, the guards chasing off the breaking crowd turned cowards. his eyes are alight with worry and he quickly cuts through the rope around ardyn’s wrists but doesn’t quite manage to catch him.

leaning down (leaning over, above him for once), he places a gentle hand on fallen one’s shoulder. “on your feet, brother. your time will not come today.”

[starbyrd]

" he'll steal your heart, too. " it isn't an accusation, or a threat. a quiet statement she knows as the backs of her hands, her holy palms. if anything, it's a plea. " pull you into darkness until you are nothing, until you are sick and dying and forget the feel of the sun. he'll swallow you whole. "

IT’S  THE  LACK  OF  ACCUSATION,  THE  LACK  OF  FIRE  THAT  UNNERVES  THEM  THE  MOST  ———  THEY  THINK  THEY’D  PREFER anger,  prefer  aggression.  at  least  then  they  wouldn’t  feel  the  tightly  coiled  snake  of  guilt  around  their  heart, in  the  pit  of  their  stomach  /  wouldn’t  feel  the  chill  of  her  plea  like  a  lick  of  dread  at  the  nape  of  their  neck.  they  know,  on  all  levels,  that  she’s  right:  know  it  just  as  well  as  they  know  their  own  name (  which  name?  it  matters  not,  matters  little  when  they’re  practically  a  new  person,  a  different  person,  a  broken  person ).

WHAT  THEY  DON’T  TELL  HER  IS  THAT  THEY  WERE  SICK  AND  DYING  LONG  BEFORE  HIS  NIGHT  THREATENED  THEIR  DAY (  perhaps  not  in  a  literal  sense,  but  rather  one  of  their  own  personal  beliefs  /  a  sun  burning  so  brightly  it  collapses  on  itself,  a  flame  burning  too  hot  against  its  own  fire  ).  they  don’t  tell  her  that  since  knowing  him,  it  has  always  felt  like  their  life  was  his  to  toy  with,  to  shape  like  clay,  to  build  and  destroy  just  as  easily  (  they  don’t  tell  her  that  this  is  the  truth,  that  whether  they  live  or  die  is,  was,  always  will  be,  his  choice ). 

THEY’D  LIKE  TO  TELL  HER,  TO  TREAT  HER  LIKE  A  CONFESSIONAL  AND  LET  LOOSE  ALL  OF  THEIR  SINS,  BUT  THEN  THEY  think  that  they’d  rather  choke  before  doing  such (  they  tell  themself  that  there  are  much  worse  ways  to  drown  ).  sabine  knows  they  don’t  need  to  say  anything,  knows  that  gentiana  can  see  through  them  as  easily  as  a  cool,  clear  lake,  and  that  their  guilt  is  as  visible  as  the  features  on  their  face.  ❝  i  know.  ❞  they  say,  finally,  and  they  pretend  like  it  comes  easily,  like  they  aren’t  about  to  suffocate  under  her  scrutiny,  under  their  own  words,  under  their  own  guilt.

[witchinfest]

a time they kissed.

        amidst chaos, there could be peace.  

              he had been busy ; woefully so.  more often than not, his ideas and intentions had carried him far from her presence, something she had endeavored to understand.  he could not, after all, be stuck to her side day in and day out -- and it took some effort to keep her near unaware of his actions ( for, he must’ve known she would PROTEST ) against those she considered allies.  during these days, she managed to keep herself occupied.  there were times where she would attempt to converse with lord ravus ( and, many of those times, she had failed ) and others where she would step away from that affiliation, and try her luck in places like lestallum.  

               she would miss him, during these times, bridging the gap of his absence with loving little texts, and small check ins.  he was not, by any means, a weak man-- but she still had her worries over him.  the world was driven by lunacy, these days, and the daemons were still an unpredictable factor.  just because the empire had employed them in their armies didn’t necessarily entail that wild nature was tamed.  atop that, she had been made painfully aware of the groups general distaste and mistrust for ardyn ( and that was a whole other source of her pains ) and couldn’t help but think of the inevitable confrontation that would arise between them.   he, however, was always sure to reply to her, inform her how soon he would return,  his happiness to do so. and, he always did.  be it a few hours or a few days, he always returned ; and she had made sure that, before anyone else had spoken to him, she’d see him first. her body was always so small against his, but it made tight hugs and meaningful squeezes that much more comforting. safety, protection -- all a promise in his presence.  

           this had been one of those instances.  she hadn’t asked where had been going this time, hadn’t spoken to him in fear she may disrupt something of grave importance.  but phone rested between her fingers, thumbs hovering over bright screen, his name atop text box. she hated to feel like a nuisance, but this was done not only out of adoration, but to ease her mind.  feet carry her to shared bed, body flopping down upon mattress with a slight grunt. she would maintain her strength, and abstain from checking on him, like some sort of mother hen worried over her babies. a moments rest, face buried in pillows as she calms herself, assurance given that he was more than fine. 

          a soft knock comes to the door, and she is slow to rise, nearly sure it’s a subordinate or lord ravus coming to discuss something ( though, that very well may have been a fantasy ). bare feet trek across pristine wood, door pulled open ; and her face lights up near instantly. you’re home, she squeaks, as thin arms wrap ‘round his body, giving the tightest squeeze she possibly could.  there’s a soft rumble of a laugh, i didn’t think you’d miss me that much, dear, mused in the softest of tones as he bends himself to place a kiss atop her head. her stomach is aflutter, she’s giddy in the way she always when he had come back -- something like an instant high. she shifts to kiss his cheek, along his jawline -- where ever she could reach in that haze of happiness, she peppered it in kisses before taking his hand, leading him to their bed.  

         they lie there, after a few hours, limbs tangled in sheets and hand on her back pushes them close to each other. she’s exhausted, but can’t will herself to sleep while he’s home.  for all she had known, he could vanish again in the morning, and who knew then how long she would have to wait for him, then. delicate fingers trace over his skin, the slight heat it gives off. she was so much like a reptile, stealing warmth where ever she could, but he had told her once that he didn’t much mind the cold ; it was something refreshing.  his eyes rest on her, and in return she smiles, moving in to press a kiss to his lips.  it’s something chaste, something innocent. he holds her closer and hums quietly to himself, words a deep purr. it’s lovely to be at your side once again.  and she, herself, cannot agree more. how long they had lie there, she couldn’t have guessed, but was more than content to do so. they manage to speak for a short spell, marta regaling him with tales of her adventures, and he listens with little more than a smile.  this, she thinks to herself, is the person i love most in the world.  this is what love is supposed to be. 

a time they kissed.

[witchinfest]

❛ i suppose you do love me, in your way. ❜

in her own way.and what way could that be?  

                  was it soft?  like herself?  gentle, kind, sweet?   like the touches they passed to one another by mistake, the caresses she cherished in the small hours of the morning when she was left alone in her room?akin to the way he spoke to her, as if she were something of value, as opposed to some filthy creature found in the forests, abandoned and unwanted?  

                   she did not know love.  to herself, she could easily admit this.  she did not know love.  it was, in her eyes, a luxury she was never afforded.  deprived she had been of a familial love, one unconditional and unbias by parents that wanted her. without that strong foundation, what had she known of romantic love?  only what she observed with her own eyes.  the days she had traveled far enough to reach civilization, it had been everywhere. in advertisements, in music, on the streets and parks.  and in her, that spawned only jealousy.  why was she not given this kindness ?  what about her was so difficult to love?  

                   and, then they met.  he, in all his malice and rage and spite had seen her, and in her found grace, beauty.  an untamed beast, one that ought remain untamed.  not once had he suggested she quell her gift.  not once has he attempted to force civility onto her.  no, with her, he had been nothing, if not a gentleman. aiding in fostering her talent, seeing it grow by the day, allowed her passage in and out of his bases, onto his ships, whenever she so needed.  and still, he allowed her to be the wild thing she was at heart.  

                 his statement had come to some surprise, at first. her eyes are drawn away from the newly gifted cell phone ( should she need him in any emergency ) to rest on him, he who doesn’t look to her, almost as if the comment were nothing. her hands are slow to move to rest in sheets, kneading them between anxious fingers. what had prompted this? it must’ve been something she said earlier, something she had said lightheartedly. i think i may just love you yet, ardyn. but, that – from what she had observed – was something you were permitted to say to friends, was it not? and that’s what they were. yet, in herself, she could not deny this ache she had for him.  when he was near her, she felt near.. alive.  as if heat graced her cheeks, heart gaining the ability to beat once more.  and there was this soft pining for him when he was gone. a boredom that came without his presence, an anxiety for him to return to her.  she had grown comfortable with him ; that, she could not deny.  

             hair is pushed to rest over her shoulder as she ponders to herself, now caught deep in this sentiment.  she was afraid of that word ; love. it was something for those who had a place of normalcy.  for those with lives lived in cities and towns, who knew what it was.  it was not for ferocious girls raised by the winds and trees, ignorant to anything beyond the walls of wood. could it hurt ?  to fall into it. to allow herself to feel something like love?  it could be taken from her, in a way most cruel.  but, it could also be something so wonderful, and she would more than regret not allowing herself to feel it.  once. just this once.  lips curve into a small smile, one she hides with the palm of her hand as elbow props on knee.  eyes shift downward, to stare at those hands she’s adored to touch in these weeks.  her pinky twines with his, in the way a child promises something to another.  and that way she remains, peaceful in contact.  she did love him. in a way that was, much like her, wild and free. 

plainwater.