May 20, 2024
♡ for Alfie (I'm too lazy to switch accounts hehe)
@smallergcd Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours
●●●●● | ATTRACTION ●●●●● | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●●●●● | TRUST
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♡ for Alfie (I'm too lazy to switch accounts hehe)
@smallergcd Send ♡ to see what my muse thinks of yours
●●●●● | ATTRACTION ●●●●● | AFFECTION ●●●●● | INTEREST ●●●●● | LOYALTY ●●●●● | TRUST
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Alfred holds Victor's face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over his cheek bones. Upon his face a soft expression and yet he is in awe at the beauty he holds. When he speaks, it's a murmur: "You truly are a work of art, my dear." (because Alfie missed Vic <3)
@smallergcd
❝—You ought to look in the mirror more often, Alfie.❞ He readily retorts through smiling lips and smiling eyes; it is humbling to be regarded as a worthy being by his beloved, whom Victor has always held to the highest pinnacles of reverence, both in beauty and artistry. His fingers gently enfold the back of Alfred's caressing hand, his fair face turning into the inviting palm that cups his cheek in order to bestow a worshipful kiss against the softly immaculate skin.
@smallergcd inquired: ❛ Are we actually having a theological conversation here? ❜ (from Radek!)
"Wʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ? Theology isn't much more than an extension of self and one's view of the world, no?"
It doesn't matter what things exist or what do not: it's always an interpretation. Gods, eldritch beings and all in between have in common that even if one knows, unphantomably, that they exist (or believes hard enough that it comes down to the same thing), one cannot ever conceive fully what they want. If they want anything at all. It's all interpretation through personality, through being raised, through what others tell one, through experiences. But it's all filtered so many times. Even someone such as himself, who's whole idea is to know things that no human being (or similar) should can only guess in such cases.
"It doesn't really make a difference what kind of 'higher beings' exist. Or how many. Not in the sense people act on it. They can justify everything with doing it in service of that, or despite of it, and fully believe in it, but nobody can tell if it actually is. It's like a worm trying to perceive and act according to you, or me, or anyone. The scales are all of. But I'd assume you know a thing or two about trying to achieve something like that?"
❛ all i can think about is how good you're going to taste. ❜ (from Alfie <3)
@smallergcd 𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑰𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺.
The long column of his neck lies bared before the other’s thirsting gaze, shimmering like finely carved marble beneath the soft glow of the lamp. Under the flushed canvas of his skin, his warm blood pulsates to a curiously sedated rhythm, as though he knows what awaits him. He offers himself to Alfred so willfully that one may question his sense of self-preservation, and one may be correct in doing so, as his offering is made with the desire to surrender before the other all which he is made of and all that he possesses; the most precious of which being his very own life. The electrifying blue depths of his eyes seem to all but challenge the other as they smile at him within their gilded frames. ❝—I'm yours to savour.❞
@smallergcd sent: “ please, tell me why you’re upset. tell me who did this? ” (( </3 ))
Whenever something happened, something negative, heartbreaking, earth-shattering, Hyacinthe's first reflex was to shut everyone out, refusing to talk about her problems, even when it was someone she trusted. Even if it was the only person in their world she trusted with her life. Even if it made her feel terrible about it, she simply could not help it. For the past few hours, Hyacinthe had been curled up in a corner of their bedroom, rocking herself back and forth slowly, gnawing anxiously on the skin around her nails. She needed something to ease the devouring anxiety and, for the moment, all she could think about was pain.
And she did not need to feel Erik's gentle hands take hers to pull them away from her angry teeth. She did not need his love, his affection. She did not need anything else but the PAIN. When he touched her, her entire body jerked away but she tried to hold off. He did not deserve that. Despite her body trying to tell her it wanted to flee, she forced herself to stay and meet his eyes, a grimace of utter pain and despair painted on her usually soft features. She was completely unable to speak or utter any sound other than a hopeless whimper that cried both for help and to be left alone at the same time.
By her side, a letter, an official one, the first letter she had ever received since officially moving in with Erik. And what a letter. Hyacinthe could not express the way it made her feel. She could not even speak, or reassure him. At this point, she needed him to understand on his own. She needed him to take the letter and read it as she knew she would never be able to voice that without fighting the urge to scream. Even with how hard she was squeezing his hands, at this point, she was still shaking madly.
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❝ you can go harder. i’m okay, i want you to. ❞ (from Alfie hehehe)
@smallergcd SOME MORE SPICY MEMES
His lips caress his beloved's skin which never seems to cease in its perfection, the heat of his sighs leaving a shimmering path across the marmoreal, stretched out curve of his throat. He wishes to worship Alfred as he is meant to be worshipped. He longs to mingle his own being with his, until one cannot be discerned from the other, and where he lies between the inviting cleft of Alfred's thighs, buried up to the hilt, with his fingers ensnared in the aureate tangle of the other's luminous curls, the sensation which is realised within him almost resembles that oneness. He moves to his lover's demand as though they are of the same marrow, with the same wants and desires, the fingers on his free hand digging into the exquisite curve of Alfred's spine as the push and pull of their heaving bodies grows into a unison within the pounding rhythm of Victor's hips.
@smallergcd asked :" it isn't mine. " (Val @ Malachi!) [ blood related memes : accepting ]
There was a pause from Malachi. His chin tilting up from his book towards the smell of man giving Valentin a quizzical look. That fresh scent rising through his nostrils with every flared breath. “Do you say that to comfort me? Or do you want me to be concerned? I can be concerned if that’s what you want.” It was a genuine question. The stench of blood was as common as death. It was not something avoidable. The streets were full of old blood. Yet the scent of fresh blood produced a complex conflict of sensations throughout his body. With a frown, he turned a page.
“Do you need to talk about it?”
Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? Who has had the most influence on you? What is your best memory? (@ Malachi!)
Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
// I'm going to write this one because Malachi would genuinely not realise if he did something out of the ordinary. I think as far as mannerisms go, when he's agitated or uncomfortable in a situation he'll tend to become very restless in the legs, which might be as simple as shifting weight between legs to tapping or pawing the ground.
As far as habits go, Malachi even though he lives alone, he has never gotten away from his routine from the days of living with Sarah, his sibling, or the witches. He'll wake every morning at 4 to iron his clothes. He'll always set whatever table he's got for more than one. He'll always buy fresh flowers (when he can) for the room and buy a newspaper even though he no longer reads it, or make sure he has extra and fresh towels folded every day regardless of whether or not anyone uses them. Truthfully it's only a small portion of the routine he originally had, however, he does what he can even if he no longer needs to. It's all he's known.
Who has had the most influence on you?
"I have learned so much from many." Malachi pauses, his brow knitting giving him a slightly confused expression. "There was a time when I was more "reactive" with my actions. Where I would lash out. I was violent. There was a man who I knew, Wesley, who had not been a part of my lord's children. He taught me how to understand, and to give name to my emotions. He talked to me more than anyone else ever had. I respect him."
What is your best memory?
"I was in a field. I was young, running. I wasn't running because I needed to. I ran because I wanted to -- there were also birds."