“Don’t you pretend you weren’t damned before you were born. Don’t pretend you didn’t come into this world a sacrificial lamb. They fattened you on praise and then dug their teeth in. Love had filled your veins with ichor. Darling child, there is no need to be dismayed. You were always meant to fail.”
— not everyone is born a genius | d.w (via d.w)
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I took the stars from my eyes,
and then I made a map --
I knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating,
you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you;
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Commission for anonymous! | Interested? Buy me a coffee!
Moth to a Flame
It wasn’t just her beauty that struck him, that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. It was, perhaps, her piousness, her self-righteousness; it was the way that she carried out her duties without hesitation or doubt. It was the fire which burned within her, devouring a pure heart and blackening it like coal.
The Halonic inquisitors were, after all, not known for their kindness or love of fellow man. This woman was no exception, striking with an impartial fury comparable to Halone Herself.
Ser Charibert de Leusignac the Stern was not a man to catch feelings easily -- not like this. As he watched her from around the corner, peering with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he felt that uncomfortable heat within his chest, and it was all he could do to refrain from launching himself at her. From wresting the copy of the Enchiridion from her slender hands, grasping her arms firmly above her, and throwing her back against the wall. He wanted to taste that fire within her, to steal it straight from her chaste lips.
She would not allow him to overtake her without a fight, and that fact allured him all the more. She would scream, she would snarl, she would kick and protest in all ways possible for her, and he would enjoy it. He would enjoy watching her squirm. He would enjoy watching her writhe as she was forced to endure such indignation.
He, a member of the Heavens’ Ward, would not be questioned, nor would she be believed. She would be arrested for heresy if she should attempt to defame his character; nay, he could make her his and this was his power, his divine right, oaths be damned.
His tongue ran slowly across his painted lips, and the corners of his mouth upturned into a cold, almost cruel smile. Blue-clad fingers curled around the corner as he shifted forward, and it was a wonder that she had not noticed his gaze leering at her from afar. But the shadows helped to conceal him, even as the lit candles flickered and danced across the stone and marble walls to a silent tune.
The woman continued to read passages to herself out loud, and her voice was soft like a lullaby, taking Charibert back to a time long ago when his mother would read passages to him as bedtime stories. However, it was not with nostalgia or love that he recalled this -- it was with passiveness and boredom. The hour was drawing later and later; he would need to make his move soon, before she retreated for the night.
However, it seemed that just as he resolved himself to strike his prey, he felt eyes burning into his back. The thaumaturge straightened and turned.
Ah yes, he thought; how predictable. It was noneother than Ser Haumeric de Peulagnon, staring at him with the usual mostly unreadable expression -- but there was a glint of contempt in his eyes, as if he somehow knew what Charibert was intending.
“Ah yes, Ser Haumeric the Valiant,” Charibert swept forward in a graceful -- and somewhat exaggerated -- bow. It was no secret how Haumeric viewed him, and on some level the feeling was mutual, holding such opposing views. Still, he feigned cordiality, as was oft necessary given their positions in the Heavens’ Ward. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this eve?”
Haumeric said nothing. His gaze did not move, nor did it lessen in intensity, and Charibert found himself biting back an amused chuckle.
“What ever is the matter? Coeurl got your tongue?” He continued. On the surface, it sounded like teasing; to the trained ear, familiar with both men and their “relationship”, it was a challenge from the flamboyant man. A challenge for him to try and accuse him of something, anything, when there was no proof to be had. A gloved hand raised to curl fingers beneath his chin as he waited for Haumeric’s next move.
However, the next sound was that of hurried footsteps moving away, and when he turned back to the corner to look, the inquisitor of his fancy was gone. He mentally cursed. Their presence must have scared her off.
What a pity...
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Top 10 favourite characters? Your OTP? Who is your favourite villain?
Top 10 favorite characters, in no particular order:Â Aerith, Tseng, Fran, Basch, Laguna, Lulu, Auron, Freya, Aymeric, and Yuna!
My OTP? If I had to pick, I’d say it’s between either Fran x Balthier and Garnet x Zidane.
My favorite villain is probably Seymour. Once I learned his backstory and the story of his Anima summon(which broke my heart), it changed my perspective on him from “wow you’re weird af” to “shit I feel terrible for you even if you are bad”.
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