“I hated you,” Laurent says, tracing the scars with his fingertips.
Damen starts, then goes still under Laurent’s touch. “I know,” he says after a long moment, his voice slow and rough.
Damen tends to doze off after sex, in the interval between his climax and Laurent returning to their bed, molding himself against Damen’s warm pliant body. Maybe he’d already been asleep.
Maybe Laurent should’ve kept his mouth shut.
“I hated you so badly,” he says. “I’d been hating you so badly for so long. I couldn’t—”
Damen doesn’t move. He stays exactly where he is, curled up on his side with his back to Laurent. Head bent forward, resting on his hands. The curve of his neck looks both appealing and achingly vulnerable. Laurent wants to touch it, wants to kiss it. Wants to cover it with his mouth and his hands to shield it from the world.
“I fixated on you,” Laurent says. He doesn’t want to say these words. He needs to say these words. He’s been holding them inside for too long. They’ve been growing larger in the space between them, even if Damen hasn’t noticed. “People die in war, in battle. In honest combat. I must’ve known, on some level, that it was foolish to hold you—you personally—responsible, but I did. It was easier, blaming you.”
Damianos, prince-killer. The image of his face forever etched into Laurent’s memory. The whisper of his name. All those years Laurent had carried it with him, a maddening undercurrent to his pulse. Damianos, prince-killer. Damianos, who had slain the man Laurent loved more than anyone.
“And then they brought you in front of me,” Laurent says, “trapped, chained, forced down onto your knees, utterly unable to make sense of what was happening to you. Refusing to believe it.”
The way Laurent had felt, after Auguste’s death.
Damianos, prince-killer, who had unwittingly removed the last obstacle standing between Laurent and his uncle.
Damen is breathing hard, Laurent realizes. Curled up on his side, holding still, taking deep shuddering breaths that make his back tremble under Laurent’s hand.
Laurent should’ve kept his mouth shut, but it’s too late now.
“I hated you for so long,” Laurent says, as his fingertips find a thick, ragged line of scar tissue that runs diagonally down one of Damen’s shoulder blades. The lash must’ve cut especially deep here. Too deep for Paschal’s healing salves to assuage it. “If I hadn’t—”
I would never have been able to forgive you.
I would never have been able to forgive myself for forgiving you.
“I had to,” he says, “I’m sorry,” and he leans down to press his lips to the scar, feels Damen shudder under him.
Like I get it when people try to say “hey be healthy not fat” but when they say “literally nobody will marry you because you’re fat” it makes me feel like shit TBH.
I’m trying to lose weight but I struggle cause of anxiety and cause of my health and joint issues. Literally the only reasons I’ve lost weight recently is cause I’ve been pretty much not eating (cause of my meds killing my appetite, not intentionally) or because my stomach flips out about something i ate.
Like last year I lost 30 pounds in one month because I was in the hospital and it made me so sick.
Idk I just worry so much about my body and whether or not my weight affects my appeal. And when people say things like that it just feels really shitty. I’m well aware of my health, and I don’t mind that. But don’t tell me that someone can’t love me.
I hate my nose, I even considered getting a nose job but the only reason I won't get one is because I will not recognize myself, imagine doing what Briana did..
I see no problem in getting surgery to get more comfort about how you look, my problem is from where her money is coming. From our side, she’s using money from the closet of someone, pretending to have a baby just to have that money; from antis side, she’s using the baby’s support money while he has two shirts, one pair of shoes and like a sock to play with. So like, is bad no matter what side you’re in
Jean likes to arrive at the studio a good thirty or forty minutes before daily class begins so that she has a room to herself to warm up and stretch and sort of just centre herself, because the studios at the Xavier Ballet Company are beautiful and they catch the early morning light wonderfully and so the entire room is lit up in this warm, bright glow, the sunlight reflecting off the mirrors in a way that makes the whole studio feel almost unearthly. She just likes to practice in the light, because it makes her feel like something heavenly and powerful and endless as the reflecting sunlight pools around her feet and she floats delicately across the floor, utterly a part of her own world
I just remembered that time I used to think that I was straight but had a huge crush on a girl in my class. How did my brain explained that? I just wanted to be REALLY good friends with that girl ._. (that sounds creepy now that I think about it) and the girl either never realized or she never said anything about it lol
Yorumei ever shows far less than he often feels. For Chizuri, he felt quite a lot. She fascinated him, for he had never met another quite like her in her shows of kindness. And yet, she also always seemed like something near untouchable to him… which made her all the more interesting. Yorumei would have sang for her, brought her to meet the various spirits of the forest, and let her join him, at least once, in his reverie to the stars. But ‘business’ ever came first, always will, and her safety was on the line.
So too is guilt incredibly powerful in Yorumei’s mind. He couldn’t dare bring himself to reach for what he felt he might tarnish, or worse. So there were walls and walls and walls. At the very least, he would help her and do what he could to see her live the life she wished.
That time came and went, and he found he did nothing. Not for lack of thought, not for lack of searching, but for lack of time tracked. So now, more often than not, when thoughts of her come to mind, the guilt is overwhelming. Letters received solidified his concerns, he was absent, too slow, did not fulfill what he had claimed, and she was in dire need of aid.
Yorumei doesn’t know Chizuri’s fate. He hopes for the best, for a life she always wished, but cannot bring himself any attempts at reaching out for the feeling of failing her is too great. She is even more untouchable now.
Instead, he treats her thought as a gentle spirit. It’s true, he doesn’t know whether she is alive or not, cannot bring himself to do readings for her, to look into where he should not go. But he sings small songs to the Quiet Lights out in the forest now and then, singing to just as small blue birds who might pass their song on to her. And he often remembers her kindness whenever the soft, inviting glow of paper lanterns catches his eye.