#astarablaze

[gloryundimmed]

babe loni's bein' mean :( she revoked bedroom privileges

“I know! We didn’t even do anythin’! But who’s to say we can’t make her come out and join us if we like, started fuckin’ without her or somethin’. I mean… It might not work, but it’s worth a try for science’s sake, right?”

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continues from [here] with @astarablaze

( “All you must do is learn…” ) – turning around to the unknown voice Nunnally is trembling inside; though on the outside she attempts to appear confident. The demon girl didn’t expect anyone to hear her words. It’s not uncommon for her to speak with herself. To talk to the wind. To the clouds. To the darkness. To share her hopeless existence with creatures (yes, they are "creatures" for her) that would not judge her. But she’s never expecting the answer; and none was ever given to her. ...unless it was not for a stranger. For a passer-by like this man now in front of her. She can feel he’s not a human; that’s all that she can say without violating his mind (and herself in a way). But Nunnally doesn’t need to know. She’s curious, but she’s getting replies to her answers so rarely that not knowing is a state that’s most common for her. Perhaps even a preferred one.

She looks at him and doesn’t know what to do? Should she leave? Should she stay? Should she reply? Should she ask? So many possibilities. All of them just wrong.

“What should I learn?” – she decides to ask – “To fly? Or to accept that I can’t.” – that was a valid question in her mind. Should she rebel against the hand that perhaps was cruel, but also saved her life? Or should she accept that she’d never find out. And understand. Why she is the way she is.

Should she simply accept the fate of so many princesses before her? Forced into submission, deprived of love, for their country, for their family, for their fathers and brothers? Should she silently and obediently walk the path of her ancestors and those women that would follow her steps?

"And what would you do?” – she asks – “Would try to learn and risk to lose your wings? To fall down and…become forgotten?” – or discarded is what she really means.

It’s easy to give advice to others. It’s more difficult when you risk to disappoint. But she’s already one, so how much risk is there really for her?

“Will you teach me, then?” – does he know what she is?

[melancholymirth]

@astarablaze // you know what we talked about...

Perhaps there was want in him: want greater than need, yearning greater than logical thought; his sense of self-preservation, pale beneath years of seclusion, smothering his heart, snuffing out all hope for change. As such, it was not hope that had him cast this circle of salt and sit well within it, but a desperation felt even in the marrow of his bones. He feared not the consequence of a rite gone wrong or his mind long gone, and so he threw almost all caution to the four winds in his sad pursuit of a simple human right. But the candles were lit, the oils applied, his athame to his right to carve a sealing sigil—or stab whatever ne'er-do-well that may have thought to come through after hearing his entreaty. Indeed, the room was blustering intangibly—no gusts nor sounds to speak of—with magic that was hot and violet at his fingertips.

There was want in him, roaring louder than any demon that had protestations for being summoned hither. To be a warlock who dabbled in the diabolical was a lifestyle fraught with peril and promised eternal damnation, but V supposed that to be damned in the hereafter would never compare to the damnation he served against himself in life. And maybe it had been too late, too little, too late, to try to escape this monotony, this prison he'd built slowly over the years. It was his heart more so than his body that was caged, and he wished it free: to fly and to sing like a bird in flight, and to bleed from the cherub's arrow.

Rather an infantile thought, but he could not blame the poets who molded his heart after theirs. Besides, it is against human nature to keep from one's own kind. Man seeks the company of his neighbor, thrives in it and benefits the other in so doing. For V, however, that may not ever be. Man was as wicked as he was nurturing, and often did this little black sheep feel the lash of abandonment, the fangs of villainy. Thus, he turned to the darkness and the devils therein, and sometimes there were ghosts in the fog he chose to entertain. Be that as it may, his apartment was good enough for tonight. On his tongue was a wish that was simple, uttered into the darkness surrounding from a hollow hunger, not the hope, for fulfillment. He wished simply for companionship, protection, love—basic human wants that were denied him for one reason or another.

It came down to the strength of will and the sorcery that sent it through the cosmos. And when he least expected a response, he felt it forming through a tear in the fabric before him. Strong and alive, hotter than the air round his fingers, but oppressive in a manner that alarmed the warlock into prying open his eyes. He did not count on an answer tonight, nor had he prepared himself to see a full, material form spill from the spatial tear onto his living room floor. It took his breath and snapped his concentration, but it seemed that he'd done all he had to. The magic began breaking up, the air around him cooled, and before his staring eyes was a thing disoriented, much after man in shape and visage, but growling, and...

His heart was drumming; he knew he'd done wrong, he remembered where his athame rested. He'd cast no summoning circle for a demon, and yet one had come! Had he really been at fault here, then, or had forces beyond his reckoning brought this upon him by their own designs? In any case, it fell to none other than V to deal with the door he'd opened, and to deal swiftly. He rose from the floor, ritual blade in his right hand while his left was a fist, and frowned at the uninvited. "Demon. I called not upon thee." Truly, the hardness of his voice belied the apprehension swirling within his bosom. He knew little, if nothing, of that with which he engaged. But he had defenses, if the need should arise for them, and the salt on the floor encircling him had to have been good for something.

[werexcat-a]

continued from 🐈‍⬛ with @astarablaze's vayn !

Gabriel wasn't the sort of people to listen what other people had to say--especially so if it was confusing--and what that guy had been asking him about back there had been CONFUSING so he'd simply growled out some harsh words before shoving off down the street.

Strangeness? Irregularities? Magic?? The hell was he even talking about? He already had enough problems as it was.

Sometimes he was warm, so warm for the briefest of moments in the cold AND THEN IT FELT LIKE BEING SLAPPED IN THE FACE WITH THE CHILL. Every time he turned around, there was a cat, somewhere, someplace!! Today, it seemed that he'd been lucky...! He wasn't sick from the weather changes, but he couldn't figure it out. And though he was a Werecat, he couldn't remember if there ever had been a cat around when he was younger...

This shit simply didn't make any sense to him and it was beyond aggravating, and on top of that, there was no good place to rest yet in sight. The money he had was weighing heavy in his pocket, begging to be spent as he adjusted the large pack on his shoulders, but he'd already done enough this past couple of weeks into the New Year, so no... no more spending just yet!!

As he passed by a brick building, he could hear the click-clack of shoes hurrying after him--that guy was STILL on his tail?!--before he heard the other man's voice. Again. Damnit. His touch again in next, and Gabriel tensed up, pausing, even though it was gentle only for his head to snap upwards at the sudden hissing of a cat.

There, above them, sitting before a window of the building he had been passing by was a white cat that was hissing, loudly, at that with its eyes trained upon Vayn. Ears flattened back against its head, it looked angry, but ... but ... it hadn't been there before! Gabriel had seen that building only a short while ago as he'd started down the street, and there was no way a cat could even get up there so soon.

Wh--... what the hell?? IT WAS ANOTHER GODDAMN CAT.

Momentarily thrown off by this, it was a struggle to get himself together as he spoke up, turning to the stranger now with narrowed green eyes, but he fumbled a bit.

"I-- ... I didn't ask for help! Help me with what? I've got enough fucking problems!"

[nvrcmplt]

' johan, darling, as curious as i am... regrettably, i shall not be feeding on you tonight. the very idea sickens me, even if it consentual - i simply could never bring you to harm. ' / vayn unu

Jonah could only smile upon Vayn's words. A polite man, a being that was much like many reluctant feeders he knew in his time in this service. Those scared to lose their sanity, others new to the blood drinking, some with old fangs - others with old worldly morals and traditions. Still, Vayn was sweet, a man with virtue even with an appetite that would call them nothing less of a devil.

Standing from his chair and adjusting his waistcoats buttons to appear better in condition, he gently bowed his head towards the being and straightened with softness in each eye. "You needn't think of such a thing, Master Vayn." He rose his gloved hands to show his sincerity to his words and that he wasn't finished just yet, "I understand the desires to not hurt me, but in all honesty - to be truthful with you. I need to be fed on regularly to avoid internal harm. Though I am like yourself, a vampire, I am a little special in this regard. Though, I say this not to guilt you into sinking your teeth in, in fact - a proposal."

Jonah motioned his arm, removing his glove to reveal the metallic prosthetic ahead of its time. He rolled his sleeve up to proceed with his explanation. "You see, Master Vayn - my body produces more blood than it's capable of holding within. It results in bruising and burst vessels upon my body and a stiffness on the point of pain in my joints. I blood let every day - at least a litre or two, depending on if I've eaten well that day." Jonah smiled, running his fingers over his metal forehead, the panel was pressed and the whirl of machine before a vial of blood was spat out into his awaiting fingers.

"I need not your fangs in my skin, if you desire not to do such - but I am more than happy to provide you blood in this form, fresh from the source - pain free and mess free. If you'd like to continue this service with me?"

"Of course, it's in your own interests. I can find others in this line of duty, so do not think you'll be leaving me to a bad ending. I promise you, your comfort is at the forefront."

[solmxri-a]

' ya smell like thievin' an' magic, wha'ever yer name is. ' loux grinned, falling into step beside them, an arm lazily hooking around their neck. he could feel the magic radiating from them, separate yet the same. ' whatcha got there, mm? ain't no way ya took anythin' 'armless. magic items ne'er are, yanno~ ' / for luca !

Usually, the hitman didn’t mind when someone would simply approach him and strike up a friendly banter with him - however this stranger was tickling a nerve he hasn’t felt in a long time. His smile twitched, annoyance flaring under his cold skin because of the sudden questioning; but despite that, he swallowed it down. Choosing to compose himself and assess the situation before making any rash decisions.

He really didn’t feel like taking another trip the the med unit for the fourth time this month - please and thank you.

“Take? No no no, darling~ This was a gift from my beloved. I’m only here to look for a gift in return.”

@astarablaze

[lured-into-wonderland]

' are drinks on you 'is time, or am i t' play th' southern prince again? ' / loux, im so sorry

“Sure.” – she shrugs; her blue eyes now curiously looking at him. Slightly narrowed in a gentle surprise. Not that Nunnally mind paying. But she is just not used to it. Most (if not all) men she knows would be offended if she even proposed to pay for herself, not to mention for them. But then most (if not all) of them would consider her a pretty ornament, a doll, an object to add to (or to emphasize) their status. So, Loux's question is not truly unwelcomed; it is even refreshing.

Though would Loux be that different from the men she meets most often? She knows him for a short time, so Nunnally cannot decide. So far, he was fun, so that is what should be important for her at this moment. She just wants to enjoy herself...until he's not fun anymore. And she is sure he just wants the same.

So, she shakes her head letting her blond locks dance around her neck. She is pretty; she knows that and she is not ashamed of it. She’ll be the prettiest girl in the club; and if not, definitely the richest and best dressed: --

“Truth to be told…” – she laughs – “I’ve never liked princes…” – she knew some of them and they were never fun; too proper for her or with her actually – “They’re boring…” – she pouts – “And especially the real ones…”

She giggles cheerfully while offering him a proper curtsy; the one she was taught when she was meeting some royals. As if he was a true prince. It is ridiculous for her, though she cannot deny it: she has a life of a princess. In fact, she is a princess.

Taking his arm as she continues laughing; Nunnally's not going to leave Loux without a tease. He needs to earn his drinks; that’s only fair: --

“So if not a Southern prince, who are you going to play for me today?”

@astarablaze

[melancholymirth]

"Oh my beloved,

I looked upon you once

And the saw the dawn

Of a thousand suns."

/ if you can tell me exactly which poem I'm referencing here, I will literally spontaneously die for you

My sweetest love.

Little could be said to the affection with which V was daily showered, it had become so everyday, habitual, even ritual without need for arrangement nor prompt. Committed kisses shared at close of day, a caress of the cheek at daybreak, the inappropriate but wholly intentional, sometimes mutual grope behind the bar, behind closed doors, and anywhere problematic eyes were turned away from them: these and more were all part of the norm, but when it came to art—poetry—there was a richness of imagination and a depth of feeling that transcended even the much loved norms that came like second nature to lovers as fiery and as devoted as Garrett and V. Simply, they took romance and made it romantic.

Perhaps effusively, egregiously, sickeningly so to some, but...

Weakly, sleepily, the fiend's handsome face was gathered in spindly hands, and a gentle tug brought him close for a peck on the lips. V could barely keep his eyes open; and while he loathed waking up at all, he found it difficult to keep cranky when his husband had artful sugar on his tongue. I've heard this before... It was a lazy day, more than likely a Sunday: wedded mates could afford to idle in bed, and V was happy to be awake for something stimulating that wasn't sex.

Not that he'd complain, much, otherwise.

"Sometimes," he said quietly, "I think you're worse than I." He let his arms drop from weakness alone, one to his left and the other over his stomach. "Now you've got me thinking." Because of course he had to meet Garrett there, to match him for poetic spark. This early in the morning (it wasn't, it was nine), his creative mind was not at its strongest, but he knew it also to be reliable. While he thought, he briefly brought up a hand to twist round his finger a tuft of Garrett's hair, and then tugged and brushed so long as his mate was above him. Seeking inspiration was not so hard; forming the thought and the structure was. And, by Jove, the sleepy warlock had done it!

"In my veins you live eternal... Something, something."

Partially. Only partially, of course.

"My every breath— Hm. Blood and breath..." He made a mental, though audible, note, there. His eyes were fleetingly distant before they were recaptured by the blue in Garrett's, and it seemed whatever spark was ignited did not die suddenly. A poet shan't allow his ideas to slip free! For his dearest and most beloved, and perhaps his favorite muse, he smiled enough to show teeth. "I'll have to figure it out. I can't, without writing." Ah, but poor Garrett if he'd gotten curious now. He would have to await V's fresher mind and time spent at a writing desk, but all the better to impress him. The longer V's consciousness recovered, however, the more strength he regained in his body, and that was proven true in the keen, firm way in which stick-thin arms wrapped around the demon's inked shoulders, all in the name of pulling him closer for that everyday, habitual, even ritual exchange of affection they could not hope to live without. They kissed again, longer, softer, with more of everything in it.

V had to have been in a delightful mood, because he found more than a spark of creativity within himself: he found one of humor, and he exercised it mildly when the kiss was through. Sleep faded not only from body, but from mind. "If we go on like this, I may think of more. Do inspire me, Garrett."

[doomxdriven]

"Marriage, you say? Interesting."

The mention of marriage drags a chuckle out of Jin-- he could see Kaede had studied their family history well. Kaede was right, even hundreds of years ago, their family would never have engaged such a treaty without a marriage tied into it, and this treaty Jin had brought up to Kaede was no different. The factor of marriage was actually a focal point of this treaty (and partly to blame for all the drama surrounding it)… but Kaede wouldn't know any of that, as Jin had purposefully left out another page of the treaty that would have mentioned this.

Jin knew that as he and Kaede delved into the search for Mourning Star, this marital truth could potentially come to light, but until that bridge had to crossed, he didn't see a reason Kaede had to know about any of it.

What Jin didn't mind disclosing to Kaede was more information on Mourning Star-- that was information they definitely required.

"Mourning Star, as you might have guessed from the name, is a rather macabre looking object," Jin goes onto say, in-between taking drags of his cigarette, "picture a desiccated head, adorned with a star-shaped crown of thorns, attached to a long staff made of ligaments and bone."

That was how Jin remembered Mourning Star anyway, from the two times he had seen it. Jin was never sure if Mourning Star's shaft was in fact made of bones and ligaments but considering everything else about it, that seemed correct. It was a very unsightly creation nonetheless.

"The Cursed Technique embedded within Mourning Star allows its user to speak with and summon the dead. I desire it more for the speaking aspect, though the latter always sounded useful, too."

Being able to communicate with, and to some extent, control the dead, was an exceptionally rare ability, and the greatest of any Seance related Cursed Technique that Jin had come across. It would prove very useful for one of Jin's longer-term goals.

"A bit of digging I did into your family leads me to believe that the 'vault' Mourning Star was sealed in is part of a larger armory hidden beneath your family's old estate, one that can only be accessed by someone of Shikibane blood."

How that limitation was enforced, Jin didn't know, but the texts he had read all indicated that only a Shikibane could open the way to the supposed vault. Knowing the troublesome individuals who sealed Mourning Star away, Jin was sure that something dastardly awaited him and Kaede beneath the old Shikibane estate, however.

"I'm thrilled you will help me finally attain Mourning Star, but an armory full of other Cursed Tools belonging to your family would be wonderful, don't you think?"

Jin, cigarette in hand, turns to Kaede while they poured over the treaty, a sly grin on his face, "reclaiming the rest of those Cursed Tools could set you on the path of revitalizing your House." // @astarablaze

"Even in death, I'm responsible for these people..." he grumbled, tucking his words into a sigh under his breath and snatching the treaty Jin had provided.

A centuries-old parchment, kept well and cleanly but still showing the familiar marks of age. Wrinkles, frayed edges, some smears of ink here and there, but no less clear on what was owed - and just who had signed it. He scowled, searching through the document for a drawing of some kind, a picture of the so-called Mourning Star - how pretentiously grim. The Shikabane clan and its inclinations toward all things death-related...even centuries before today. He was almost embarrassed.

Still, he half-listened to Jin while he read, picking up on ancient legal jargon and agreements that seemed forged in friendship, but knowing his family, it couldn't have been anything more than a ploy. At least, at first. Or maybe the former heads thought they'd be able to wriggle their way out of it; They succeeded, after all. The debt no longer belonged to the family, but to Kaede. And now here he was, no doubt soon to embark on a mission to the ruins of the estate and pick it clean as if a vulture, carrion vermin to a corpse. He closed his eyes for a time, setting his jaw and wrinkling his nose.

"It doesn't make any sense for anyone in my family to sign a treaty unless marriage is involved. The only treaties I was aware of until now were made in time for certain weddings over the centuries - this should have been filed away in the same place," he went on, bitterly annoyed at his ancestors and the more recently departed. For a clan obsessed with keeping records of everything... Sabotage, but who? A great-grandfather? Grandmother? The one his would-be father was named after, Zenchou? But that name wasn't anywhere on the treaty that he could see, so perhaps he was one of the few who disagreed?

"You'll need to give me more information. This isn't enough. I can't read a lot of this and there's no description of the Mourning Star. I can tell you I know where it might be, if it exists, but I'll need to know what it looks like - 'cause it's not just a morningstar, is it?" He re-scrolled the treaty, careful as not to damage it further. Bristly as he was, it's not like he was trying to be rude. "If you want it, you can have it. I have no use for it."

[werexcat-a]

' you don't have to be so nasty, dear, and your table manners... oh deary me, please stop for a moment and relax-- ' there was plenty of food to eat, but eating too much too fast could make the man sick! / vayn ofc

unprompted asks, always accepting | @astarablaze / vayn!

Gabriel's initial intentions had been to eat his fill--eat what he could til he didn't feel like eating anymore--before simply darting off far, far away from the somewhat shorter man with his big, soulful eyes and kind-looking face.

It had to be a trap--some kind of ... trick ... until he revealed his true colors. No one was that kind. Their true self rose to the surface eventually. The Scientist had revealed himself, too, after a couple days of no cooperation from Gabriel all those years ago despite the warmth he'd been pretending to give off, and that had been a turn for the worst for the rest of the time Gabriel had spent with him.

Green eyes regarded Vayn with distrust, but the tongue lashing--as gentle as it was--was enough to make his cheeks flush brightly with embarrassment. Oh, he didn't like that at all, but it was enough to cause the Werecat to slow his eating pace.

"Tch..."

For a moment, his eyes stared down at his food in unexpected shame on top of that distrust, still not super comfortable with eating with utensils, but hopefully, the shame wouldn't last. He disliked the feeling coursing through him now, but he was certainly eating much more slowly now like Vayn seemed to have wanted.

[nvrcmplt]

loux knew better than to mess with any witch, let alone an - ah, tempestarii. they were on-par with sanguinaura in terms of power, gods unto themselves, some tall-tales and vagueries coming to mind. but being the foxy little bastard he was, transformed into a slender, ratty flurry of champagne fur and a piercing gaze, he'd slunk through nooks, crannies, holes, and tunnels for but another glimpse. she was beautiful, dressed to the nines, and he was taken, as if cursed by vayn's incessant need to inject himself into the upper crust. her voice reminded him of his mother's, in some strangely soothing way... so he tucks himself into her shadow, body shrinking, shrinking, shrinking until at last he'd become a meager fly, settling himself on her shoulder and waiting like a child to hear her sing once more. / rohesia!

Tingling in the winds, shifting of temperature and being, shadows tickle her hairs with a difference, but she felt no intention. No ill will in her direction - thus her gaze remained closed. Hidden behind bright red eyelids, shadowed well with slate grey and glitter. Her lips the same shade of the red, her favourite colour of course, as she stood centre place. Draped in the elegance of a midnight black - star decorated gown, the tail stretched for at least three feet from her placement, but it wasn't in her sights. Instead, her skin tickled with their new passenger, her lips curving only slight upon their closeness. Amused to the T, but she knew never to turn away a wanting ear. She barely turned anyone away that wished to listen, as the music began to form, to swell and creep into the silence of the large building of marble and age.

Her gaze slithered from behind dark lashes, shimmering with the storms within her very blood, as her lips part with a simple tone. A voice seeking out for a lost one, of hope, of fear. . . Amour. Her hands rose at her sides, slow and with intent, to beckon this Amour to her. To reach for this shadow, she was to speak too - or was she pleading to the unseen? Her features torn with worry, held together with pained hope. Answering back to the three men on their staged platform. But the words were with vengeance, after all - He left her. She was stuck here, seeking, waiting, desiring but ignored…

So, Rohesia's tones song with a low rumble, deep from her diaphragm, as she looked upon her audience with strength for them to understand her rage. Her sorrow. No longer will she wait, even though he was but the summer breeze in her hair and warmth upon her lips. No longer, will she raise her voice - telling the world as she sang on. Rohesia's frame moved little, no needing such to portray her intentions in the words of those long gone. Though as all tales, it came to an end - slow and almost a whisper, as she lowered her hands to her front and pinched the air with her voice as it lowered into naught but a wisp.

The music died with it, the sombre tale of a nymph left behind, seeking death to no longer feel love never returned. Still, her gaze remained upon her audience, though upon the lowering of the curtains with their applause, her gaze turned to her passenger. Humming low to not spoil the sight nor sound of emptiness in the building that would soon empty itself. "Little Dear, are you hungry?" Her hand beckoned her dress to grip, turning upon bare feet and heading towards the steps backstage. "I have a meal to share with you if you're willing to remain, little fly."

[sunhated-a]

Which type of love interest would you be in a dating simulator?

The  stoic  team  leader  who  doesn't  trust  the  main  character  at  first.

  You  often  feel  like  you  need  to  take  responsibility  for  those  around  you  and  to  protect  them.  You  struggle  to  show  your  love  through  other  means,  so  you  take  that  task  seriously.

Your  friends  know  they  can  always  count  on  you  no  matter  what.  However  that  leads  you  to  be  mistrustful  of  others'  actions  before  getting  to  know  them,  usually  assuming  the  worst  of  them.

On  the  exterior  you  might  seem  cold,  calculating  and  distant.  But  those  close  to  you  know  that's  far  from  the  truth,  you  just  have  a  particular  way  of  demonstrating  it.  When  it  comes  to  love,  you'll  probably  try  to  deny  it  at  first,  bury  it  before  it  grows  more  than  it  should.

 Mostly  because  you're  so  accustomed  to  being  the  strong  one,  that  allowing  yourself  to  be  vulnerable  for  once  scares  you.  But  it's  exhausting  to  constantly  keep  that  guard  up,  sometimes  you  need  to  take  a  rest  and  allow  yourself  to  be  the  one  being  taken  care  of.  Don't  forget  that.

TAGGED BY: @blossomingbellflower (TYSM!) TAGGING: @astarablaze ( your choice! ) / @inun4ki, @notsoimportantaoi, @fatestold ( your choice! ), @fruitanddarkness ( your choice! ), @floralparadise.

[feraecor]

What Kind of Love Are You?

Love as a Performance

Your love is a masquerade, a dance, a work of art. You love with a veil across your face, unable to allow anyone to see the real you. Can that be considered love, you wonder? As a performer, you have all your lines prepared, and you know exactly what to say and when to say it. You’re charismatic and bold, seductive and hypnotic. Your love is a snake’s melody, the siren song of the sea. Your love is enchanting. Your love is melodic. Your love is afraid and fearful and longing. You ache to tear the veil off, you ache to cast poetry aside for the sake of something real and gritty. You’re terrified of the very thought. Being loved by you is to be loved by an artist; it is to be a muse. It reflects others beautifully, but never, ever yourself. Not really. Not truly.

Tagged by: @astarablaze

Tagging: @soraeia, @soulsxng, @sansloii, @fatestouch, @godforsakcn, @thecircusfreaks, @desiderium-eden, @pvremichigan, whoever else wants to do it!

[fromvitya]

What kind of love are you?

Love as a Choice

You choose to love. Love does not come to you easily, but every day you wake up and choose it. It would be so easy, wouldn't it, to grow cold and callous and grim. But you rise to greet the world, making the conscious effort to find something, anything to love. When you fall for someone, you do not kid yourself of their flaws. Instead, you resolve to see them for who they are, mistakes and all and you love them all the same. Your love is work, and it does not come easy. Your love sweats and toils. It is calloused and sunburned; it bears scars and comes with stories. Your love is worn, but it is no less valuable for it. Being loved by you is like being loved by a gardener, a mother, a teacher. Your love may not always be the simplest, but it is worth the effort.

tagged by: @astarablaze uwu tagging: anyone and everyone curious~~

[gloryundimmed]

Name: Loux Age: 28 Do you like to cuddle?: Baby, I think y'already know. Ya can't get rid o' me when we're layin' together. Snuggle righ' into ya, hold ya, nuzzle, and all 'at stuff. Ya smell really good an' sometimes I jus' like touchin' ya, feelin' ya, havin' ya there next to me Can we make-out?: When ain't we already doin' it? Why ain't we doin' it righ' now? Fuck yeah, we can make out! A night in or dinner out?: Naw, night-in. Lemme cook, baby, an' ya can jus' be spoiled, 'kay? 'Kay. Ice cream or chocolate covered strawberries?: I like both, bu' we can 'ave wha'ever ya like best. I'll make it from scratch too, all ya favorites. What makes you a good Valentine?: 'Cause I'ma do e'erythin' in my power to make ya feel loved an' important, an' e'ery bit as sexy an' wanted as ya are. 'Sides, I love ya, yanno? Would you cook for me?: I'm beggin' ya to let me cook an' hang out wit me in th' kitchen while I do it. Cook wit me Would you let me cook for you?: Maybe nex Valentine's, bu' not this one. Either ya do it wit me or ya let me spoil ya

/ cringefail bf for kai !

VDAY APPLICATIONS ;)

Kai's eyes light up with mischief when he reads Loux's application. "Babe, there ain't no fuckin' way I'm gonna miss this. I'm thinkin' you're gonna have a hard time cookin' for me, though, 'cause these hands are gonna wander. I can't help myself when you're such a fuckin' snack, baby. Like actually, why the fuck aren't we makin' out?!"

He pulls Loux in for a deep kiss, nibbling and sucking on his tongue. "You're so fuckin' hot, baby."

[lured-into-wonderland]

If that were so easy, she would have done it years, or perhaps even centuries ago. His reply was disappointing, almost dismissive to her. How was she supposed to search within her heart (as if she had any)? How could she search for an answer in her mind (when it was so many times tainted and polluted)? He probably meant well, but his advice was not relevant for her. For what she was. For what she wasn’t.

Her lips formed a small smile; her eyes opened a bit wider as if she was slightly amused by the words she had just heard. Or perhaps Nunnally understood that she was disturbing him? That her company was unwelcomed? But even if, she wasn’t to leave. His company was now better than solitude from the moments ago.

“We’re similar. But you know that, don’t you?” – her voice was much softer than before. A hint of compassion clearly audible in it – “Neither of us can escape our fates.” – she didn’t know if that was the truth. Probably it wasn’t. But even if she was speaking about herself, she preferred such a disguise. Otherwise, how could she confess something like that to a complete stranger? She stood on her toes exposing herself to the chilly wind.

“You’re a man of a few words…” – she commented without looking at him – “But that’s okay I can do most of the talking…”

Was she annoying? Probably. Did she care? Not at all. Could he leave? She didn’t know. Was it what she was testing?

“…” – her gaze now locked on him. He was pretty. Cute even. She liked it.

“So, who sent you to me?” – was he another one who was sent to control her? To make her unlock her powers? To force her into submission?

Maybe. Probably. But did it matter?

No. 

The disgruntled wyrmling stared at her, a hint of incredulity in the void of his eyes, soft features hardening somewhat. In truth, he was expecting her to walk away, catch sight of him and flee - but, it seemed, she had other plans, and Mausza did too.

He pursed his lips.

These were questions he couldn't answer. Rather, wouldn't, because the root of her problems - ever so clear in the tone of her voice and the twitch of her eye - were as good as confirmed for him. It wasn't about flying so much as it was about escape, unshackling herself from obligation and circumstance, and not knowing how. So much whirled in the shade of her eyes, too much. Too many questions going unanswered, perhaps on purpose, hands yet unwilling to take her life into them and do what was necessary to gain her freedom. He'd never seen a demon so ham-strung before, and he'd come across enough for it to be worrying. They weren't an uncommon sight among the rabble, some living nearly identically to either nightfolk or humans.

Still, the bitterness in him strengthened, but his expression softened, minimally betraying the vague sense of kinship he might've been feeling. After all, he was in a similar predicament. Ham-strung, incapable of taking control over his own life - ever and always a puppet for the Night family and the Starstitcher with no hopes of his trials coming to an end.

This was one of them.

"Decide," he said at last, a certain finality in his tone. "You decide. Search within for the answers you seek - only you can know them. Only you can take action."