hstarke

[hstarke]

"So you liked me," Hans says again. Because no one's ever neutral about him, this much he knows. Love or hate, those are the extremes.

The moment Henry's mentioned, something in the air shifts. He can no longer take this as face value. Undeniably, some aspect of his brain had been altered when he'd become a father; a simple name becoming the magic word in conversations such as these.

Who could he have possibly introduced to his son, his mind starts spinning, that would waste their time with such theatrics?

It isn't that Hans didn't care. He'd drank more than he should have the night that he'd found out; he'd numbed his mind with more substances than just the one. He didn't attend a funeral or visit a grave, but he'd thought of him over a line or ten.

Not an issue of feeling, it isn't — but belief, as Hans's skepticism makes it so that in his world, ghosts don't visit, and they don't come back from the dead.

"Yeah, cut the shit. This isn't funny." Of all people he'd mourned, only one had been recent enough to ever be around his son. Hans searches for the ghost's eyes — a hard task under the shifting lights. Blue, he thinks, a mirror to his own.

Hans shakes his head. "Fuck you. Fuck off." How high am I? "No."

I didn't hate you. Because liking was a strong word that Mathias didn't give to just anyone. He also refused to inflate Hans' ego more than it already was.

I think I was he wrote again. He was surprised at how easy it might actually be for him to fade into nothingness, to start over and away from everyone else. No one would miss him too much it seemed.

You introduced me to your son, so that must've made me very special.

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah — I'm always sure," Hans says, matter-of-fact. "Made a whole career out of it." Success in New York City comes not only from talent, but the innate ability to see one, two, three steps ahead. "I know how something's gonna go by just looking at it from afar." It takes a lot to still be a shark, in shark infested waters.

"Hm. Ten, eleven. Something like that." Precisely that.

As for the accent, he nods, "It sets you apart. A lot of beautiful blondes in NYC, and you strike me as someone who wouldn't like getting lost in the crowd." Beat. "Am I right about that?"

──a smirk. “you sound so sure,” the playful drawl of her tone made it quite clear that she only meant to tease the male. but he had gathered her attention already and she is not one to shy away from a conversation she finds some potential in —whatever that may be, if it keeps her engaged she is quite pleased for the time being. and so far in the night, she has found New York has a lot to offer to her in terms of…entertainment.

angling her body so she could better look at him, she hummed against the rim of her glass at the response —perhaps she would be more lost if she hadn’t lived in this place for so many years before. “how many years did you serve?” she questioned as she looked at him, up and down at her leisure; he did not strike him as someone who was still in service. “I am not,” she nodded, a smile forming at the observation, laughing a little at the following words. “I am from Australia.” she offered. “it’s the accent isn’t it? could perfect the American accent even after living here for almost ten years in the past,” she joked.

[hstarke]

HANS | JULIAN | LEE | ANAÏS | TRISTAN

Send a Symbol for a Text

[hstarke]

HANS | JULIAN | LEE | ANAÏS | TRISTAN

sex+romance headcanons!

Send me a symbol. Please note that some answers may be NSFW.

🌟 What is my muse’s sexual/romantic orientation? 💦 At what age did my muse lose their virginity? 😘 Would my muse have sex on the first date? 😊 Would my muse ever ask someone on a date? 👍 Does my muse prefer to be asked on a date, or would they rather do the asking? 😉 What are my muse’s fetishes/kinks? 💬 When did my muse go on their first date? 💯 What is my muse’s ideal date? 💗 Has my muse ever been in love? 👠 What was my muse’s last serious relationship like? 👰 Would my muse ever get married? 🌼 Would my muse prefer a big wedding or a small wedding? 🍬 Is my muse a sub, dom, or switch? 🏩 What was my muse’s first time like? 🎆 Is my muse into monogamy? 💕 Would my muse ever be in a polyamorous relationship? 🔥 Would my muse ever be up for a threesome? 👮 Has my muse ever had sex in public? 💔 What was my muse’s first heartbreak? 💑 What are my muse’s requirements for a potential partner? 💋 How many people has my muse slept with? 👀 Is my muse the type to sleep around? 👎 Would my muse ever cheat on their partner? 😳 What was my muse’s worst romantic/sexual relationship? 💲Would my muse ever date/marry/sleep with someone because they were rich? 👓 Would my muse ever lie for sex? 👿 Would my muse ever blackmail someone into sex? 🎥 Who is my muse’s celebrity crush? 🎀 Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know? 💍 Has my muse ever had a one-night stand? 💝 Does my muse like Valentine’s Day? 💘 What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

[hstarke]

"You like me?" Said in that sugary way his voice can sound like, when the air starts to turn sweet.

Then, his eyes are on the board again, and Hans clinks the ice in his drink as he considers. No, Hans didn't like a lot of people — but he'd always been an expert at pretending as much.

Without a clue of who stands under this sheet, there's no telling truth apart from fantasy. And who is he, to break this little ghost's heart?

"Nope," he says. "You were probably pretty special, then."

No not always. I think ghosts can visit people they liked too. Mathias wrote on the board. Because hauntings weren't always bad as he came to learn. Sometimes they were good.

Mathias erased his words and wrote again, I think so. Do you like a lot of people?

[hstarke]

This ghost had chosen the exact right timing to haunt him. Somewhere after a couple whiskeys, and before the snowstorm that always comes later on a Halloween night.

Of all his ghosts, which one would actually inconvenience themselves with hauntings?

"I thought ghosts only did that to people who fucked them over," Hans says. Out loud. "I fucked a lot of people, but none of them are dead." Well— "Just the ones I liked, actually. And they say life's fucking fair."

He downs another whiskey, and claims the board again. DID I LIKE YOU?

No. Not to you maybe, but a stranger to everyone else he wrote. Because Mathias could in this moment, he opted to be cryptic. To think a few years ago he met Hans at a Halloween party much like this. Things weren't like they were back then though.

Mathias erased his message and then wrote again, I'm sure I'm a ghost you'd wish to have visit you. A haunting you'd welcome.

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah — we'll meet again." Said as a fact, because to him, it is. If first impressions are worth anything, their types align in upscale serendipity. Like it or not, Hans and Stella would end up at the same place at the same time — sooner, rather than later.

Beat. Odd as it may be, he's not often asked about his roots this early on. "I've lived here since I was in college," he says, then. "West Point." A once-military man, is what that says. "...You're not." From New York, that is. He hadn't been able to catch any accents, yet his gaze had remained nearly locked on painted lips — how they move and wrap around certain words.

"How far did you travel?," he asks, and eyes her outfit once more. "Bet ya gave TSA a run for their fucking money."

──she smirked; he was such a peculiar man to her, it was a little intriguing to keep a conversation going while talking about nothing at the same time, but being as she is, Stella was up for whatever games he was playing. “thank you,” she offered a charming smile once the bartender began preparing their orders —it hadn’t been her intention, but she wouldn’t be rude to turn his offer down. “maybe,” she smirked, “if we ever meet again,” she added as she leaned back and looked at him.

her hand slipped into his in a lady-like manner, making her seem all coquettish. “pleasure to meet you, Hans,” she nodded, faintly, “I am Stella.” studying him for a moment longer, she pulled her hand back. “so, you are from New York?” small talk is her forte, she can build it up easier into an actual conversation.

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah — you could say that." The answer's a positive, in its most obvious form.

The woman flags down the bartender, and Hans is already shaking his head. "No, come on. I'd be fucking crazy if I let you do that." As the bartender approaches, he does make sure to take the reigns — voicing his own order, and the instruction to also pen down hers. "You can 'make up to me' some other way, some other time."

Then, he offers a hand. "Johannes. Call me Hans."

──Stella’s eyes remained on him for a collection of seconds, then settled more comfortably on her bar stool. “so you do like latex, after all?” she laughed; a perfect mixture of scoff and a laugh, in a lady tone. “sorry to disappoint,” she smirked, “but I’ll buy you a drink to make it up to you…” she flagged down the bartender.

[hstarke]

Hans shoots back the ever classic 'Everything is a good look on me' stare. Then, a raise of his brow that signals that, sure, — he'll play.

Weirdly, he almost prefers this. No lip reading, no struggle to tell words apart from the noise.

ARE YOU A STRANGER? Another awful penmanship by yours truly.

There are many in this city who would know his name, so there are few red flags raised. Still, it feeds the curiosity of just who it would be.

Hans decides to flip the whiteboard back to himself then, and add: I know a lot of ghosts.

Mathias stared at Hans, not at all surprised by his reaction considering who he was. The snobby stand offish attitude was to be expected. Mathias scribbled on his board when he was freed, You shouldn't be rude to strangers. It's not a good look on you, Hans

He stepped aside and then drew a big smiley face next to his words before holding the board up again.

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah. Ancient Rome, famously family-friendly." That shit-eating grin holds back a laugh; a little too committed to the nonchalant nature of their quips. "No, it's perfect. It's all so fucking prude this year — I haven't seen one slutty nurse yet, I was starting to lose hope."

And as if by magic, some pretty blonde thing does walk past in the full ensemble. Thank God, the world may spin again. Back to Selim, "Tell me you're not working tonight." He presents a cigarette, matching his own. "No, really — Tell me you're not."

both fortunately and unfortunately for selim, what he'd expected was a room full of unfamiliar faces; what he'd gotten was a room full of people that, at one point in time, he had crossed paths with. it felt a little convenient that his life was filled with criminals on all sides but so were the woes of a special agent, he supposed. his laugh is genuine, amused in a way that dissipates a lot of his anxiety in one foul swoop. "there's nothing slutty about ancient rome, mr. starke." he quips playfully, his eyebrows arched. "but i admit, when i was thinking of a costume, my initial ideas had a little more fabric."

[hstarke]

A slow-building, then fast-flashing smile. Boyish, and only subtly smug. "Yeah I don't like 'easy fucks', so no." The challenge is always half the fun.

Then, he waves his own previous question off. "It's a Twitter thing, don't worry about it." Yet in a way, she'd already answered it. "I always liked the Halle Berry one."

──her eyes looked him up and down, an appraising look. cute, she thought. “you wanna know if I am an easy fuck?” she asked with a smirk, eyes locked on his. “or you were simply born daft?”

[hstarke]

A tap on his shoulder, and Hans looks back — coming face-to-sheet with a ghost. "Jeez."

Then, the whiteboard.

Hans takes it, and the pen too. YOU'RE * UNDER * ME, scribbled back in awful, barely readable handwriting.

Still, he steps aside — setting the ghost free.

Mathias waited to the side as Jude excused himself for something. Probably a bathroom break or he needed fresh air. It wouldn't be too long, so he felt comfortable being on his own for a moment. Mathias wasn't planning on speaking but he did bring something to help him communicate if he had to. A small white board that could easily hide under the sheet. He was a dead man after all, so he had to act like it.

He stood by just doodling mindlessly when he felt a tug on the back of his sheet. Mathias turned carefully so to not accidentally let his costume fall from his head. He saw someone standing on the fabric and huffed. He quickly grabbed his whiteboard and wrote the words you're standing on me before tapping the person on the shoulder and showing them what he wrote.

[hstarke]

Coke corners were once sacred. Now, it seems like they'll let just anybody in. "Nice try buddy, but they're both twinks." Shrug. "One just doesn't shower."

"With her? Sure." Beat for a bump. "With you? Fuck off."

Then, a quick once-over of the costume. Payback, if you will.

Once upon a time, Hans would have missed the reference entirely — now, two years into fatherhood, and he's seen just about every Disney movie out to date. "Question," Hans motions to Alan with the snow-coated credit card. "If you're here, then who's the rat?"

context: halloween at the palazzo with: @hstarke

Alan can't help it. He has to laugh.

As he steps into the bathroom, the scene before him truly is something out of a Saturday Night Live sketch about politics: a packed luxurious hall, personalized Halloween costumes, and the inevitable coke corner. That's where he is headed anyway.

"You got the twink one?" he scoffs, looking at the blond before him. Alan had thought the brunette was hotter, anyway. "Do you share or--"

[hstarke]

"If I elaborate?" He scoffs over his whiskey, then takes another sip. "I'm not sure how much clearer I can make that question." But fine, he'll play; of thing about Hans, is that he'll always play. "Are you slutty Catwoman, or just Catwoman?"

──looking down at her own costume, a masquerade adaption of a Catwoman costume, Stella blinked at the words; blue eyes taking in the patrons around them in an attempt to figure out the subject that sparked the query. “I might help you figure it out, if you elaborate,” she responded, words spoken over the rim of her glass.

[hstarke]

open to: all setting: halloween at the palazzo

"Is that the slutty version?" Over whiskey and under loud speakers, he asks of the other's costume. "Or regular? Ever since brands retired latex," — don't get him started — "it's hard to tell."

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah, they're not my friends. They're my co-workers. And as much as I'm sure you don't love Betty right there —" or whatever the nearby waitress's name is — "I'm not exactly begging to kiss Carl's ass either."

Then, a rightful scoff. "Please. You're only now finding out money comes with baggage?" Through a beat, he thinks of how fundamentally different they both are — an almost tragic antithesis. Hans had grown up poor, and turned it around later in life. Malú had been born to riches and now, well— "If you paid attention, you'd know it's always been this way. The only difference is, you were profiting off of it before. Whether you knew it or not."

"Get a drink with me." There. Easy, simple. "Let's catch up, yeah? Promise I won't tell daddy about it."

Malú rolled her lips together as she bit back a remark slightly too snarky to shoot at a probably well-paying customer. At least not when the bar crew was within earshot. She needed no questions asked about who Hans was to her, or have them telling her boss she was mouthy for no particular reason upon first glance. 

“I regretfully have to admit I indeed knew very little of your status, or any of your other banker friends. But I’m slowly starting to learn about the darker sides of the prestigious New York lifestyle. Shame it only cost me so much.” she shrugged as if the whole situation left her indifferent. His pity was the last thing she was after. Not that she believed she would receive any.

As he suggested sticking around a humorless laugh fell from her painted lips. “And what must a girl do to get those tips, Hans? Other than the acquiescent please and thank you’s. The single proper thing my dad taught me is that not a single thing comes for free in your world.”

[hstarke]

Hans knows Gregory as well as he knows the frozen meals isle at Trader Joe's. Which is to say — only in passing, and although the rumors are promising, he hasn't tasted it once.

Good gambler. The jury's still out on just about everything else.

"It would," Hans says, and if it sounds like he's stating the obvious, it's because he is. "But you don't need a banker to tell you that."

"So what, buddy? You going on a shopping spree or something?"

Open to all. The Palazzo, Halloween night.

"Would you rather celebrate Halloween every day or Christmas every day?" He was certain that this was not the worst conversation opener he had ever heard, but it was in moments such as this one that he regretted having ears. Things would have been much simpler for him had he been born an ant. Ants didn't have ears, and that did not stop them from having a complex and organized society. Ants were a fascinating species, although he hadn't thought of them in a while. As a child, he used to observe colonies and try to be employee of the month of the ant colony, by bringing them crumbs of pop tarts : which reminded him that he needed to buy pop tarts again ; a breakfast staple he had yet to abandon. He didn't see why he should have changed his habit when it simply made him more efficient. "Christmas everyday would get expensive," he finally stated. Never mind that the person who asked was now gone and replaced by someone else, who now looked at him as though he was an absolute moron. He didn't blame them.