chessieabernathy

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nina: Sometimes you have to stop and taste the snowflakes. @phoebejtonkin ❄️

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Clueless (1995) dir. Amy Heckerling

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nathaliexkirbey‌:

With a halfhearted smile at the barista in front of her, Nathalie handed over her money with one hand while the other clenched her phone a bit too tightly. Hanging up from a phone call with her mother where she endured the same questions about her wedding that she’d been answering for months already, all she could look forward to was getting a bit of caffeine in her system so she could keep her eyes open for longer than ten minutes. While she was waiting for her coffee to be handed over to her, she felt like someone was standing close behind her and when she turned her head to ask them to take a step back, recognized them. “Could you move back a bit?” Nat asked. “You’re hovering.”

Chessie had done her best to dodge Nathalie,ever since her coke-fueled confession to her former best friend. She turned corners to miss running into her, even going as far as cancelling dinner reservations once she caught sight of the brunette in the restaurant. But, one misstep, and they ended up in the same line at the coffee shop as her. Go figure. Chessie hadn’t realized it was her until Nathalie was turning around, speaking to her. She hadn’t meant to seem like she was hovering, as she let herself get consumed by scrolling through her instagram feed. “I’m not --” She began, happy to give a biting remark to a stranger, before blinking and registering the petite brunette in front of her. “Shit,” Was her immediate reaction, followed by a: “I uh -- Sorry.” 

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bishopkirbcy‌:

If you let silence stretch long enough, eventually the other person will crack. Old business tactic, don’t get nervous. But this wasn’t business and Bishop was nervous, so when she blurted out the truth, he glanced to her. It hit the nail on the head for sure. They had bumbled through saying their hooking up was the last time about six times before and each one failed more dramatically than the last. But this time, it was final. “I’m done, Chess.” It was clipped, and he glanced at a passing person before he stepped into the building foyer of one of the various Kirbey affiliates. The doorman recognized him, but feigned no emotion. The staff always worried when he walked in. This hotel was a small boutique one, and he walked to the bistro to order a coffee. He didn’t ask if she wanted one, instead he ordered it how he remembered she took it the one time they spent the morning together. “I’m tired of it feeling weird, and uncertain. I got caught up in how good it felt. I’m not a good person, it felt good on a lot of levels – most of which are a testament to how horrible I really am. However, I’m done. Our… relationship is not dependent on anything else but us, so whatever you want to do with whoever, it’s fine.” Bishop paused. He needed to stop dancing around the conversation. “You still love Sebastian. I feel nothing for him. But how I feel about him doesn’t affect our relationship, our odd friendship. I realized that I actually care for you, as a person, so whatever you want and makes you happy you should pursue.”

Bishop was an odd addition to her Black Book, part of a drug fueled revenge plot that fizzled out just as quick as it started. Truthfully, at first, she wasn’t sure what it meant when things ended, what it made them. But now, months later, she didn’t care much. They were sort-of friends, and that was the end of it. They had both moved on -- Or at least, that’s what Chessie had thought. His words boil a frustration within her, confusion following suit. “I’ve been done for a long time, Bishop. I thought you had been too.” She begins with, giving him a pointed look. Her tone remains even, words matter-of-fact as she uses her best efforts to lay low and not cause a scene as they move through the hotel. Apparently this had been something on his mind, despite her thinking they had both moved on. You still love Sebastian. The words make her squirm, though the action can easily be masked by her shifting her weight from one foot to the other, arms  crossing over her chest defensively. When it comes to the mention of Sebastian, Chessie can’t help but immediately going on the defense, even if it’s not necessary. “What goes on between him and I isn’t any of your business.” She begins with, before adding: “I care about you, too. But like I said, I moved on a long time ago. I don’t need you to ‘set me free’ or whatever it is you think you need to do, I’m a big girl. I don’t need your permission to sleep with anyone. I never have.”

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Driven (2018)

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seboriley‌:

What he wouldn’t do to wrap his arms around her, act like a barricade, showing his back to all the blades that threaten to pierce her skin, her heart, her soul. But Sebastian knows he’s not a hero. As often as he likes to play the part— arrive in clothes that shine like armor, offer something that resembles chivalry but always falls flat—he’s nothing but fool’s gold, a placebo. He can only numb the pain for a moment before it all comes rushing back to her. There’s not a damn thing he can do about it now. Except continue to play the game.

“Y’know, the cherry ones never really taste like cherry,” he agrees halfheartedly, carrying on the conversation for her sake. He could ask her a million questions, ask her how and why, oh God, why? But that’s not how they do this. It’s never been how they do this. A straight and narrow path never compares to the timeless allure of the scenic route. And what a topsy, turvy route they choose to take. “But the lime ones are seriously underrated.”

All she wants to do is return to the delusion simplicity that used to follow so easily. Call one another, add in a few bottles of hard liquor and meet at a hotel. She was gone before the sun rose, and never had to let herself pause and think about anything other than the desire to rip his clothes off. Any possibility of that happening has become slim, leaving her feeling too vulnerable and unable to take her eyes off him. They’re complicated, practically the definition of the word, and no matter how hard she begs -- Chessie can’t run away from this part of her life. Not anymore. Not when Sebastian shows up at her door and her stomach turns into knots. 

She wants to reach out, feel his arms around her, bask in the security that comes from his presence. Instead, she watches him, a half-smile gracing her lips as he attempts to maintain the lightness of their conversation, as if they’re not standing her bedroom at rehab, while he’s fresh off a three day stint at county. “Sebastian,” His name rolls off her tongue, feeling welcomed and familiar. A pause follows, as she stands, crossing the room to approach him. “I know you didn’t come here to talk about jell-o,” Chessie continues, now standing in front of him, head tilted up slightly to meet his eyes. In any other situation, any other context that would be an invitation. A segway into sloppy kisses and roaming hands, but now -- It’s opening to something entirely different: An honest conversation, the rare moment she isn’t dismissing or running away. She can count on her hand the amount of times they’ve actually spoken to one another in the last eight years, this moment adding to the fold. A pause follows, before speaks again, soft and slowly. “What happened to you on New Years?” 

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bishopkirbcy‌:

Bishop wouldn’t say that Chessie was a friend. He was merely friendly with her. There was a difference. A friend was someone that Bishop trusted, and at the current moment, he didn’t trust anyone. Not even his own family. Bridges burned, life up in flames, and he was the pinnacle of rich and lonely. No one ever said that this life would be so isolating, despite how used to loneliness he had become. Yet, despite the knowledge that no one would ever truly care for him, or truly be trusted, he found himself attempting to smooth things over and repair what maybe could be. At least clarify it. The time spent with his uncle had left him feeling uncompromising and utterly rigid. This flexibility he was showing was something that was frowned upon. “Everything.” The word was simple to Bishop. “Where we stand, whatever –” he gestured between them, “–this is.” A pause. “We generally rely on the unspoken, but I feel I need to put some rhetoric to what happened and where I am now.” He glanced around. “Probably not the best place to have it, on this street corners, so maybe some coffee?”

He had a point, but Chessie hadn’t anticipated him asking that kind of question. Truthfully, she assumed he’d question her about her hospital stay, regardless of her insistence on ignoring it -- Purely because that’s what everyone else seemed interested in. She’s not sure the words ‘I’m glad you’re okay’ carry any meaning anymore. Arching a brow, she paused for a beat before responding. Whatever --- This is. ‘This’ wasn’t much, but it was worthy of clarification -- They had a fling, now it was over, and they were cordial with one another. That was good enough for Chessie, purely because it was something she could dust under the rug rather than have a conversation about. “We’re friends,” she blurts out, deciding in that moment, it was the best answer. “Well, kind of friends. Glorified acquaintances.” A shrug follows as she speaks, taking another in hale of her cigarette. “M’not sure there’s much more to discuss.” She almost dismisses the topic, before giving him a confused look. “Unless you need to tell me something?” 

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Ziad Nakad Spring 2019 Haute Couture Collection

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day 18: luxury moodboard

“i love luxury. and luxury lies not in richness and ornateness but in the absence of vulgarity. vulgarity is the ugliest word in our language. i stay in the game to fight it.” ―coco chanel

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How often do you sin?

I don't sin: Wren, Monty, Nathalie

I sin a little: Sheridan, Beau, King, Finn

I sin sometimes: O, Arlo, Ben, Tate

I sin a lot: Bishop, Quinn, Buffy

I am sinning right now: Chessie, Sebastian, Rowan

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monty-santos‌:

“Freelance PR work, apparently Lorraine wanted to a fresh view. I think she’s trying to appeal more to the hipster audience or something and just kind of lumped me in with all of that,” Monty admitted, which he had to admit sounded somewhat believable. And it was technically true, though the whole improving Quinn’s image was just built into all of that. “And Tate and I weren’t really that serious, plus we figured that it was better to stop before something happened and things got weird with me living there,” he lied, though that was a lot harder to make believable. Especially since there was nothing about it that he could even say was technically true.  “And to be honest, I don’t think that I’m going to stick around much longer.  I mean, a good part of the reason I came back was Freya’s funeral and helping with that.  And then I wanted to at least try to attempt to patch things up with Celia and that’s….” he paused for a moment as he let out a breath, “that’s just not possible.  Plus last year was the worst year of my life and I’m just wondering if moving on from that would involve leaving again.  I just haven’t made any real decisions. If that makes sense, which is part of the reason I took this job in the first place. At least I’d then have money for whatever I decide to do. But I will promise if I do leave again, I’ll at least take a phone with me this time. I’m pretty bad at consistently writing to people.”

"God knows the hipster will love you,” Chessie agreed, finding the response reasonable enough. She, more than anyone, knew how complicated life could get overnight -- Surely Monty had just gotten stuck in the middle of something unintentional, it sounded like something that would happen to him, given his recent luck. The mention of Tate provoked an arched brow, giving him a slow nod. “Right,” Tate was surely the one who ended up burned in all of this -- Having their best friend leave them for their brother. I don’t think I’m going to stick around much longer. His comment has pulled her attention from any disbelief about his relationship, or interest in the Archibald’s campaigns. Monty had become a close friend, and was the last piece of ‘family’ O had -- The idea of him leaving stung more than Chessie would admit to. “Oh,” she found herself begin with, understanding his reasoning. “Maybe this job will be the new beginning you need,” Chessie suggested with a shrug, unsure if her words had any merit. “At least now you have a phone, even if it’s meant from a grandpa.” 

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