#lumenist

There are no flowers on Giedi Prime-- none that are recognizable. None without teeth in the petals, poisons in the petioles. These, then, must have been imported. The only place to grow them might be in her rooms.

❝ you do know, just because you're not waving around a poster and muttering the nonsense your fellow ladies do, you still come off as odd as the rest? ❞ hadn't he told her the last time he galloped on by on his trusty steed? (and the time before that … and before even that one.) ❝ tell me – is the world ending today? or am i free to claim a new bounty? ❞

　　' 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔. what were they asking about? ' when had she gotten so paranoid? as an exile, no one was supposed to care about where she came and went, but these days, it seemed like she had heard the word jedi whispered everywhere she went.

𝐍𝐏𝐂 ... identification : ingrid calloway née pedersen ( age: 64 / occupation: house wife and mother / status: deceased )

ingrid calloway was a quiet yet deeply resilient woman whose warmth and gentleness left a lasting impression on those who knew her. born in a small coastal village in norway, ingrid immigrated to the united states in her early twenties after falling in love with a travelling american named jean calloway, whom she met while he was stationed abroad during his military service.

when they married, jean brought her to eden, louisiana, a place that Ingrid found both foreign and endlessly mysterious. the sweltering humidity, the dense woods, the whispered stories, but none of it resembled her windswept nordic home, but she made a life anyway. she taught herself to cook southern meals (with her own quiet twist), kept a neat little home just off birch road, and tended to her flowerbeds with meticulous care. her garden bloomed year-round —lilies, roses, and even a few stubborn tulips she tried to coax through the heat.

she was a stay-at-home mother and housewife, pouring her energy into raising loki and his younger sister, maggie. she was gentle but firm, a grounding presence in a town full of shifting shadows. she hummed old norwegian lullabies while folding laundry or stirring gumbo, and she always had time to listen — even when she didn’t understand. though eden often felt like a place that didn’t welcome outsiders, ingrid never lost her accent, never pretended to be someone she wasn’t.

when loki was 30 years old, ingrid passed away unexpectedly at age 64 from complications related to a heart condition she’d kept quiet about for years. her death hit him hard, far harder than he let on. he’d been in the middle of a rough case at the time, buried in work, and didn’t make it back in time to say goodbye.

her funeral was modest but packed with townsfolk. even those who’d barely known her came to pay respects. maggie never showed.

in the years since, loki still sometimes visits her grave with a thermos of coffee and two cups. he pours one for himself, one for her, and talks to the air like she’s sitting across from him again on the old porch swing, her hands folded in her lap, her smile full of patience and understanding.

It's a half-whip, just as fast, or maybe a viper strike without the fangs. Agonia lost her manners as quickly as she lost her name. Thumb to the corner of Selah's lips, wiping away half-dribble, half-apple juice before imparting into her own mouth, pad to tongue.

first touch prompts | accepting

what a dull affair, the lord caught himself thinking for the third time that night. he never wished to attend the festivity in the first place, but his advisors had thought it unwise to repeatedly refuse invitations to the capital and be seen amongst the heads of the other great houses— given the past actions of his parents, the current lord lannister's loyalties might also be questioned if he continued his seclusion— or so they had said. his blessed council of old & wise mentors ...

loreon felt an irrational urge to have them all strangled.

"excuse me," the young man clad in red spat out not so warmly while rising from his seat with a surprisingly empty goblet, wishing to rid himself of the company of lord whatever ( he had genuinely forgotten ) before the man could start singing the praises of his many unmarried daughters ... again.

on his way to the balcony he spotted an unattended table with an unattended pitcher, seemingly filled with what loreon hoped was honey wine from lannisport. he had never been one to indulge in worldly pleasures but, gods be good ... he did not know how else to endure these people & perform his duties diligently without causing even further ill-talk and resentment against the lannister name ...

A LIST OF CASUAL YET INTIMATE INTERACTIONS.

@lumenist : [ BACK ] sender grabs receiver's wrist and tugs them closer when receiver tries to walk away.

the touch on his wrist startles him. already turned away from her, he has half a mind to pull his arm away from whatever stranger must likely have grabbed his wrist, because selah would never . . . yet looking back over his shoulder siegfried realizes with shock that it is indeed her who is holding him. he hadn't expected selah to touch him, with what she's been taught about men and all. furrowing his brow he turns back around to face her.

summer evenings, although still full of enough humidity to make one’s sweat stick to their skin, in eden, things were usually calm once the sun went down, but rarely quiet as cicadas sang their summer song. on this particular evening, emerson had suggested that selah meet him near the old train station. it was there that he had brought with him a blanket, which was promptly laid out in the grass to give them a place to lie down while they looked up at the rust-stained sky, while the sun bled out behind the trees.

stretched out against one corner of the blanket, emerson folded his arms behind his head as he watched the sun fade. he turned his head, his eyes focused on selah as he studied her in silence before feeling a lump twist in the back of his throat. he looked away, turning his eyes back to the sky as clouds lazily rolled overhead. “ do you ever think about leavin’ this place? ” he asked, his voice soft like a gentle breeze.

he took a deep breath in & held it before slowly exhaling as his eyes closed. the cicadas grew louder, but his voice remained soft. “ i used to think about runnin’ away from here. ”