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to say kristiano hates paris would be something of an understatement. it was dingy, littered with the worst kind of tourists, and incredibly too european for kris’ taste. of course, that was to be expected, but coming directly from freeport to paris was too much of a culture shock. he’d only come to europe for political events before and they never lasted more than a few days. being trapped in the city with no end in sight was torture. he’d navigated his way around the facility, trying to avoid people he didn’t know and find a place he could sit by himself for even a moment. he hadn’t met vivienne yet and was trying to avoid it, though he knew that was inevitable. pushing the door open to the rooftop, kris could see another person but he didn’t feel like wandering around again. he plucked the rolled blunt from behind his ear and fished the lighter from his pocket, lighting the end as he came to stand beside the stranger. he could hear the other talking, but he wasn’t processing all the information. he exhaled slowly, suppressing a cough as he started to speak. “what’cha on about, bey?” he mused, offering the joint to the stranger. “dey can’t smell ya’ up here ei’der.”

ángel was so used to being kept in the shadows. when the royal family of spain were to travel elsewhere, they allowed him to tag along, but he was never to attend any of the formal gatherings where his twin brother was publicized as the best new figure. ladies fawned as they attempted to captivate the young prince; only thinking that they would be able to wear puffy gowns all day everyday. ángel sat on the pressed sheets of hotel beds as he met the various cities through the view windows provided. if he was lucky, there would be a balcony to give him a closer greeting. with paris, though, it was a city he got to formally bow to with the company of vivienne. the city molded him into a young prince who cared little for press. he was fond of being with only her. little did he expect that she would break his heart momentarily later with his own twin brother. did she fawn over him the whole time? he noticed the smoke of the lad that welcomed himself, and ángel suddenly had a craving. he was trying to resist the fume, but with such a breeze, he could no longer hold back. pulling out a cigarette, he lit the stick to release the calm nature he carried when smoking. now he was even more calmed. “that is true.” he spoke simply. “smoking is allowed then.”

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    Other royals seemed to acclimate to their surroundings, to some their p e n a n c e s differently. Theo, on the other hand, found an ease to it all; the soft side of such forced delegations. As for the beauty, the one his Spanish counterpart spoke of was, in fact, marvelous to take in. Paris had a glint to it, like rosy tinted glass blinding anything but hope, love, or beauty within your view. It was lovely; intoxicating if you stared too long but the New Zealand Hig King always welcomed such distractions. “Good to know?” he replied back, keep his normally happy tone flat, matching the other. “I was beginning to worry they had eyes everywhere.” he joked, but knew it was probably true. “First time in Paris?” 

         the one who stumbled upon his presence was not one he previously encountered before. then again, ángel was one to strip away from any new meetings, for he feared a new companion meant a new heartbreak. people always left him. sucking in a breath to the face that he focused, the young prince was faltered back into a reality that this was indeed not his first visit to the city. sadly, that is. he wishes to enter the city oblivious of what it holds. paris holds nothing but a sour taste of prior fond nights. now, those nights are whisked away into the torn part of his beating organ. he will never hear the sweet laugh of paris mornings ever again. “fifth.” he simply spoke out, words too caught up to respond properly. “and have you ever visited?”

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she ascended a set of stairs, taking two at a time as her heart raced with a feverish and childlike giddiness. every accumulating hour spent confined within the four falls of her hotel room had stirred a restlessness within the scarlet haired princess. forging an essential desire to escape the enclosing walls and steal a moment of fresh air. the rooftop seemed like a suitable location for a moment alone, without breaking the one rule which bound the royals to this hotel. she was surprised see to the shadow of another lurking at the building’s edge, after slipping through a door labelled ‘exit’. “oh uh sorry,” she mumbled, “i didn’t think anyone else was up here.”  

the honeysuckle syllables reminded him of faded memories. struck with curiosity, he turned over to discover who waltzed into the rooftop. there she was. just as she was years ago. there was a friend close by, dearly in his heart, who eventually escalated into only a thought of the past. for everything he touched turned away. who would remain forever? “it’s all good.” he managed to fumble, still a bit stunned to see her so sudden in the trip. pressing his thin lips tightly together, he turned over to examine the city night showcase. what does one say to a former friend all too sudden? “have you ever been to paris?” ángel just would not accept silence. 

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Not being used to being alone, Yongdam decided to wander around the hotel. She wished she could actually go around town – see the Eiffel tower, have pastries at a little shop, spend a whole day at the Louvre; basically, do all the things tourists do in Paris. But, being the “good girl” she was, she couldn’t bring herself to break any rules like that and therefore she ended up trying to get the best view from the town from inside the hotel.

She wasn’t really expecting to meet anyone else, so the guy’s voice startled her a bit. “Yeah, I guess”, she answered slowly, trying to figure out why exactly that guy would want to try to hide from the world. Sure, she knew the kind of pressure people like them were under, but still, there should be a main reason. “The view is breathtaking, definitely. But wouldn’t you want to really be able to visit it?”

recognizing who stood beside his posture, he pressed a gentle smile over thin lips, his fingers tapping a rhythm against the metal railing preventing the greatest fall of royalty. her statement, though, caught him off guard for he has toured paris before. once upon a time, he was a young adult crisp at twenty-one full of foolish love. he tricked himself to allow one to get close, and this city cherishes the naivety of his youth. now, he is nostalgic of the good ol’ days with the princess he once cared so much for (can be argued that he still). he waltzes the hotel avoiding her chocolate hues. the eyes that could have been matched with his twin in marriage. 

“i prefer to hide from a city i once slept with long before.” his accent riddles as he keeps his focus straight ahead. the tower ahead, he sees the dots of couples passing through with the light weight of romance, and all he could think was oh how silly it was for paris to paint such an illusion. 

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Aryan had never been to Paris, not in his most recent memories, at least. He was probably dragged there when he was a few years old, kicking and screaming on the private plane under the excuse that it was good for the children to be exposed to European culture. He found Paris claustrophobic, a laughable term for someone hailing from Mumbai. There were less people, yes, but the buildings felt as if they were closing in on him from all sides, the windows like eyes. Watching. Waiting. 

Ari inclined his head towards Ángel. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

curious to who stood beside, his dark orbs averted to the owner of the voice that spoke simply. it was the prince of india. he has not formally met the brother, but he did meet the sister only moments before as they passed by one another. she wore a golden gown that hauled as much as beauty as india expects to carry in their riches. ángel erects his posture, releasing the railing as he fades in the background of sparkling glimmers from the many lights that flicker behind. “ángel.” he greets with a nod, not into the formal meetings his parents taught him so much of. “what brings you out here?”

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Masterlist of Memes

Symbols

☹ My muse is visiting your muse on their death bed

♫ A drabble about our muses inspired by the next song that comes on shuffle

☻ A drabble of our muses on their wedding day

☺ my muse trying to piss yours off

ت our muses running into each other after not seeing each other for several years

ヅ for a situation that got both our muses arrested

シ my muse walks in on your naked

Ü your muse walks in on my muse naked

ϡ a goodbye letter from my muse to yours

♥ you muse suprises my muse with a kiss

۵ my muse kisses yours to shut them up

ღ a forehead kiss from my muse

웃 my muse torturing yours for information

유 my muse trying to seduce information from your muse

♈ a holiday drabble featuring our muses

♉ our muses are together when they get ambushed

≑ my muse wakes up in your muse’s body

?  my muse will ask your muse a question they always wanted to ask

+ my muse has died and your muse is included in their will

◈ my muse’s reaction to finding your muse beaten and bruised 

♊ my muse will do something stupid to impress your muse

✃ your muse visiting mine in the psych ward

♋ my muse visiting yours in the psych ward

❅ my muse rescues yours

✪ my muse seeing the ghost of your muse

● my muse’s turn offs

○ my muse’s turn ons

△ our muse’s get in a playful wrestling match

⍢ my muse gives yours a hickey

✧ our muses having dinner together

☎ my muse drunk dials your muse

✈ our muses on a flight together

☼ my muse giving yours a massage

♡ my muse flirts with your mue

☣ your muse visiting my muse in prison

♌ your muse visiting mine in prison

X my muse doesn’t remember anything from the night before. They have blood on their hands, and your muse is beaten at their feet.

☁ our muses are trapped in a fire together

〰 our muses are at the beach together

❢ my muse has lost their memory, and at the sight of your muse starts to remember things

✑ my muses daily routine

❂ a new years eve memory from my muse

✬ our muses share a new years eve kiss

✆ your muses name, ringtone, and icon in the muse’s phone

◙ a christmas gift from my muse

♍ a sexual story from my muse

₩ our muses are caught in a thunder storm together

❊  a regret my muse has about your muse

♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars

♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s

♐ my muse hearing your muse scream

♑ our muses go out for coffee together

♒ my muse visit’s your muse’s grave

♓ my muse injures your muse

✄ your muse injures my muse

☩ a dream my muse has about your muse

☨ my muse searching for your muse

☦ my muse trying to cheer up your muse

✞ my muse taking care of a your muse while their sick

✛ my muse trying to calm your muse down

✜ my muse trying to get your muse to recover from amnesia

✝ a confession from my muse to yours

✙ our muses shopping together

✠ our muses watching the stars together

« a past memory with our muses

» a daydream my muse has about yours

✐ a mistletoe kiss

✎ our muses going to a costume ball together

✏ our muses are evil and out reaking havoc together

♔ a kiss on the cheek

♕ a kiss on the palms

♖ a kiss on the back of the hand

♗ a kiss on the nose

♘ a kiss on the eyelids

♙ a kiss on a bruise

Sentence Memes

“You belong to me”

“I found you”

“I’m in jail”

“You make me so hot”

“I have to leave”

“Please don’t leave”

“And what about our parents?”

“Who did this to you?”

“You shouldn’t have done that”

“What happened last night”

“We never tell anyone about this”

“So, you want to play games?”

“Does that require pants?”

“Lets just have a lazy day”

“Then go kill the bitch”

“I’m pregnant”

“You broke me”

“Don’t touch me”

“You can’t fix this”

“There’s nowhere we can hide”

“I’m not listening”

“Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t need you here.”

“Did I fall asleep?”

“A little evil goes a long, long way.”

“I will not die.”

“I don’t care.”

“I have no regrets.”

“I feel numb.”

“All monsters are human.”

“You look beautiful, but you don’t look fine.”

“You look beautiful, but you don’t look fine."”

"How many time have I told you to be more careful?”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“I can’t even look at you, you promised not to get into any more fights!”

“Are you crazy?”

"Do you trust me?”

“How did you escape?”

“Is that blood behind your ear?”

“Take. This. Off. ”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you?”

xtylerlockwood

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Madelaine Petsch - social media

[elfuegohq-blog]

It was easy. Losing herself in the sparkling glasses, the laughter and the adoration of everyone around her. She let it be easy; but it was always helped along by the alcohol. No one questions her as she down her fourth, maybe fifth glass of the night. It’s easy until it isn’t so easy. She knows he’s there; she saw him enter the room because just as she had when they were younger her eyes were always drawn to him. One more reason for the copious amounts of men, the laughter that she forces from between her lips, and the next glass of champagne. 

It’s almost tempting to take one of them back to her room, but why ruin the beauty of Paris with a man that wouldn’t want to leave in the morning? If Teddy were with her, it would be easy to fake. He was her partner in crime, the one person who supported her drinking habit and never admonished her for it. Once she could continuously taste the wine on her lips with every dart of her tongue it was time to go. And she left them, simpering in her wake disappointed frowns and with promises to see them soon. 

God how she loathed herself. 

The shoes on the floor made her turn, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She almost wished she’d taken the stairs, but in her heels it would never work. She was just drunk enough that she’d fall. She refused to look at him again, instead her fingers played with her hair, a nervous tic as she counted the floors on the elevator. The soft woosh of the doors had her hoping that someone else would be in there, but that was never her luck. 

“Thank you.” She murmured, moving ahead of him, and into the far corner, her eyes on the floor even as the doors closed. 

And suddenly she was stuck in a box with someone who hated her, who she thought had loved her, and she wasn’t sure why.

“Floor eight, please.” -The only words she could manage.

ángel was a romantic. for a heart isolated in the depth of a freeze, who could blame him for taking a breath every once in a while above the surface. hands shake in the darkness, cracks grow apparent, point fingers and blame the kid for falling believing this is the cure. while a country fell on their knees for the compelling virtues of his dearest brother, they all shuddered under his presence. his dark eyes, they whispered, hold the evil that possessed the throne years ago. little did they know that instead of evil possessing his every motive, it was the heart longing for affection lusting his hues. 

between his hands, he thought he bit a flame that burned every inch of his physique. in the cold, he watched as the brunette enter the palace with his brother’s welcome. she wore a beautiful smile over her lips, and he swore under his breath that, of course, a girl like her would admire someone like his brother. little did he expect that he would be the one pressing into her frame, molding into a secret passion hidden in the dimly lit avenues of starlit cities. she smiled at him. she was touching him. she was with him. 

he was twenty-one; a year of greatness. young. foolish. a chuckle is tossed into the atmosphere as he held her hand. guiding their footsteps down a cobbled street, he fluently whispered sweet words in french, for he had a knack with linguistics. paris held them together without the spectacle of royal critics. under a guise of mundanes, he devoured the affection from another in the city love.

how ironic it is that today they find each other again without an ounce of apparent love.

pressing the floor number, he presses his own----his being nine----and the silence shuts in as the door seals. nibbling his lesser lip, there is a debate roaring in his thoughts; he kept urging that he should have taken the flight of stairs. but, how sane would that be under the influence. he was not a drunkard, but god forbid that he swirls down the steps to end his careless life. that’s no grand way to leave.

oh, but what a wonder the rumbling noise that echoed. confusion knitted his brows in a furrow as he glanced around for any sign to where the sound was coming from. his mechanical thinking was tinkering, but no reasoning presented. that’s when the elevator collapsed to a halt.

they were stuck.

banging the door, he clicked buttons, but nothing was working. “you’ve got to be kidding me.” in aggravation, he banged his fist fiercely, a snarl escaping his lips. he was usually calm in demeanor, but ángel, in general, was not too fond of enclosing space for longer than a minute. how long will this take?

falling to the ground, bent knees pressing his chest, he cups his hands over his face to release a breath. he was stuck. he was stuck with her. what could make this scenario any better? why not invite the ghost of his deceased brother? hell, maybe this was him ruining ángel’s night. 

“do you have your phone?” he finally asks, averting his dark hues upward to the brunette that once owned the title of the love of his life. how foolish he was at twenty-one to think such a thing. 

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                 for a moment we were alone . . .

          THE FLUTE OF champagne drowns easily down the length of his throat----he craves more, though. a hand waves aloft, catching the azure hues of the bartender, her thin frame waltzing over eagerly to serve the prince. ángel knew that the brunette behind the counter was enchanted with the idea that a prince was noticing her figure. little did she know, he was not a prince to swoon over her lust. he was not interested, and it’s a reality that many hopeless individuals realize late during the night. prince charming is not for me. 

his throat was burning from the taste of bourbon. against his lips, though, the taste of rose champagne settled for he only serves his people. while walking down the hall of the hotel lobby, he fixes his apparel, runs a hand through his dark mane, and he takes a deep breath to release the moment of seducing a young lady in the closet of a hotel bar. how not so royal of him to do.

when approaching the elevator, he was wishing to return to the bar. he did not throw back enough shots for the moment. he tried so hard to forget her. he tried so hard to let her go just as she easily left him behind. when ángel no longer felt her against his frame, his thoughts rumbled with wonder as to what he did wrong. people always pointed their finger at him for being bad. did she finally realize he was bad too? nonetheless, that is not what pained his the most.

          princess vivienne left him to be in marriage with his own twin brother, andrés. 

the elevator came down, and ángel stood tall with his focus drained forward. nibbling his lesser lip, the silence resting over them, the door opened and no one came out. before he stepped in, though, he decided to be a gentleman in a small degree. allow her to go in first. “after you.” 

after you . . . the first thing he said to her in nearly three to four years. 

@vivienneofaustria

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Juan Serrano Granaína

Juan Serrano, guitar

[Odilon Redon, Lady of the Flowers]

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noise pollution was minimum. unlike his travel to the united states and england, his only travel thus far for he has been locked up too long, paris was a city that did not suffocate the romantic aroma that shimmers throughout every instrumental note and glimpse of light. in the distance, the eiffel tower stood tall with it’s historic, touristic beauty, and ángel was completely captivated---enamored with its wonder. the gentle breeze kissed his exposed collarbones, tickled his neck, and flushed his cheeks. with his hands gripping the railing, he kept his focus forward even when he heard footsteps from behind. the spanish prince never turned to check who walked in. be it a foe or enemy, he cared too little. “no one can see you from up here,” he exploits the silence, “all this beauty, and no one can disturb you. makes it even. . .better.”

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After an hour of isolation, the shadow allowed himself to explore the hotel the royal guests would be loaded into until their next travel. He could sit and stare into the beauty of the city for until the sun rose, but his mind was curious, and he in hope for some small adventure. When music filled his ears, he became curious, and he followed the distance. That was until he recognized who it was. At that moment, he halted his pace, and he just scrutinized the figure from a cold past. “I’m not sure you can help with much.” He bitterly blurts, his voice a murmur, though. 

“You could be a little quieter please.” Vivienne murmured as she lifted her fingers from the keys of the piano. “Can I help you with something?”

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“Since when have we actually had a proper social life?” Ángel glanced over at the redhead, a tongue swiping over his thin lips, his fingers fumbling around carelessly as he stared out the window. The bright lights of Paris sparked more interest than the inner flames he ignited. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy the view; come on . . .” he tapped the spot beside him inviting her over. 

– “This place is making me feel imprisoned,” Camille said crossing her arms, “They really expect us just to stay here? What about our social life, hello?” 

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ángel et camille

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