Loyal to What Matters

Happy Birthday, Marilyn Monroe! (June 1st 1926 - ∞)

HAPPY PRIDE! 🌈

[1923 - 1x3 - “The War Has Comes Home” — Paramount+]

CURSED BODIES.

a paranormal mystery.

STATUS: drafting. POV: third person limited between four characters, present tense. WARNINGS: human experimentation, homophobia, sexism, death and murder, suicide and suicidal thoughts + more.

SUMMARY.

damian sakamoto died and had it not been for his ghost walking around the streets of london, being able to stumble upon someone that in his life he had once called a friend, no one would've noticed. his life would've just become a statistic to be studied and an unsolved mystery. but with this second chance, he'll do everything that he can to ensure that he's given justice. but it's hard when one's memory isn't all that it could be. it's just a good thing that he has friends who hide away in dark corners, those who are able to unearth the secrets of his death. even if it means burning a family's legacy in the process.

LINKS.

Afternoon Dress

c. 1875

by House of Worth

On Route to Fort Worth (1879) - Elijah Addison

No doubt her knuckles were bone-white under the black silk. His own body grew tense as a taut rope. Elijah could see it now. The moment Wade touched Charlotte, she would drive the blade into his throat. Heart pounding in his ears, it grew louder and louder as outlaw’s hand brushed the golden watch chain pinned to her bodice.

on the tip of his tongue is officially in-progress.

Perhaps that could have been the end of him, were Qays a different man. But the physician was not in the business of taking lives. He pushed himself off of the warrior with a guttural yell that echoed through the hall, and a hushed silence fell across the space. All attention turned to Qays as he began pace back and forth in the room, wild eyes and shaking hands. Hands which, for many years, had been devoted to healing, and which were now all too ready to devote themselves to untold violence, if it meant her return. “Fool!” he strained, a scream held back by a thin and fragile cord. “Fool!”

Ragnar rose to his feet unsteadily, watching the man warily. It seemed at any moment he would explode, like an injured beast that might strike you down in his anguish. Ragnar could well understand what monster raced through Qays’s veins in that moment, for he, too, had suffered this rage - it came to him like an old friend of whom memories often resurfaced, but never quite like that first time, when he'd first been given the news. And now...

It's happened again.

But this was different. Mila was alive, and there was time yet to save her.

“I swear to you,” Ragnar coughed, rubbing his sore throat. “I will bring her back to you, or perish trying.”

“Bring her back,” Qays growled, turning on him like a lion upon his prey. “Fine words, warrior, when you could not even keep her! Bring her back? Do you know what the Black Masks do to the women they steal? Do you?!"

Ragnar felt his fury thrumming through his neck, on the bruises that now formed where moments ago Qays had chosen mercy. "If anything happens to my child, Ragnar, you needn't worry about the Punisher, for I will be your death.” The man seemed to tower over him, all gentleness swept from his manner. His eyes had turned dark, his whole body quivering under the strain of his rage.

“I swear it,” Ragnar repeated, his wretched lungs grasping for air still. He backed towards the door, his hand searching for the hilt of a sword that was no longer at his side. It was his fault; he knew they were looking for her. It was he who had offered to protect her, he who had allowed himself to be distracted, he who had lost that which was most precious to Qays. His remorse was well-placed, for the blame was solely his, and no one else's. This time, too.

He shook his head, as if to clear away any uncertainty which pervaded his mind, and met her father's eyes, even as it shamed him to do so. He poured all of his conviction into the words: “I swear I will find her, and bring her back to you.”

He felt Qays's presence behind him, every step of the way back to the house, and though the man was not there, Ragnar knew that he would make good on his promise should any misfortune befall Mila.

But it was not concern for his own life that spurred Ragnar on. It was the thought - a creeping, silent thought that existed only in the vague corners of his mind, so that even he did not realize it - that perhaps he could save Mila where he couldn't save his wife.

That perhaps this time - this time, he would not be too late.

This time.

Thanks to @winterandwords for the tag!

📝 Share a line from your story with no context.

Gonna do some Chronicles of Tydas for this one. Out of Context Tag Games throw me off every time cause I never know right off hand what to share. But here goes!

“They dreamed once,” she said softly. “They loved. They reached for the stars before they learned how to care for the ground beneath their feet.”

Tagging: @elkieselkiewrites @aalinaaaaaa @writingamongther0ses and an open tag for anyone who wants to join in.