hstarke

[hstarke]

Just as his lips part in shock, Mathias's finger comes to press against them. Playfully, he bites it.

"You fucking sicko," Hans whispers. A thousand questions run through his mind, though most are quickly discarded. "I knew it." He didn't. "I knew—" That you're too rotten to exit life quite this early. That privilege is reserved for only the good, the young, and the goddamn boring. "—That you'd hang out longer."

He shifts under the sheet, holding it higher above the two of them. God forbid this whole ordeal fucks with his hair, of all things.

People will think we're making out.

"Shit," he scoffs, "get on your knees, why dontcha? Give 'em something to really talk about."

He waited for Hans to join him under the sheet, wondering what it looked like to an outside viewer. But then it was just the two of them, and Mathias suddenly wasn't a dead man anymore. He smiled at Hans, then put a finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone" he said.

He couldn't think of anyone Hans could even tell in the first place. But he didn't need rumors starting to swirl, because not everyone would be quick to write them off as false. Someone was bound to believe it.

At least now he could feel another weight off his shoulders. Playing dead was easy when there was no one who would miss him. It was much harder for Mathias to pretend when he was sure there were people mourning him.

The both of them were really close under the sheet, and Mathias gently placed a hand on Hans' chest. "You can't stay under here for long, people will think we're making out".

[hstarke]

"Yeah, yeah," Hans scoffs, "that's not what I'm saying, and you know that."

Not that they couldn't know that he would tip her in one-hundreds, either — most of said co-workers were precisely the men he was sharing those Lusty Leopard tables with. But there was a code, an unspoken rule, that none of such late-night ventures bled into — well, here.

"I'm getting an almond milk latte, Lux. I don't need to be discreet."

⸻ Elizabeth hadn't stripped for months, in fact, she was retired now, and doing other work. Still, even if she is not working, doesn't mean she wouldn't bump into her former clients. Sometimes New York seemed like a big city, but in moments like this it feels small. ❛ Why? People from your work can't know you have a son? ❜ A beat. ❛ Y'know, if you want to be discreet, you're failing in it. ❜ And no, she did not move back.

[hstarke]

be honest can money buy happiness?

You're asking a banker, Hans thinks in smug silence. If he were being honest or if he wasn't, the answer would be the same.

"Yeah, it does." Whatever way you frame it, he's the poster child for it. If he'd never made his fortune, he wouldn't be living the reality that he does today. A fulfilling job, a happy family, and a damn nice home. "And if you wanna be happy too," he has to turn it into a quip somehow, "I'll just need your name on the dotted line."

send me "be honest…" with a question your muse has been dying to ask mine — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

Wall Street paints the background picture of a sun-bathed afternoon, and Hans readjusts a tie set against a sharp suit, as he waits for his coffee. Typing away on his phone, and then not.

Footsteps become louder, and louder, and closer. He looks up and watches as a blonde approaches.

Lux.

If Hans looks startled, it's because he is. Good were the times when strippers didn't approach clients in public — under broad fucking daylight. And mentioning his son, of all things.

He eyes their surroundings, searching for co-workers or other known faces.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" Beat. "Stand back. Jeez."

⸻ After dropping off the twins at the daycare, and finishing her daily exercises, she felt an urge to take something sweet to drink. It'd take a long while for her to be able to pick her infants, and Stella was nowhere to be found. Either she fled to Australia, which wouldn't surprise her or she was up for no good. ⎯ She went to the coffee shop and requested bubble tea, and blueberry muffin, which was her favorite. As she waited for her request to be finished she was surprised to see him. Hans. The last time she saw him, was in a city event with his son. Part of her wonders if he would ignore her or talk to her. ❛ Hi Hans. How's your little dude? ❜ ( @hstarke)

[hstarke]

🎀 Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know

"Who's asking?"

(also, answered here.)

sex+romance headcanons! — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

🎀 Who would my muse sleep with if nobody ever had to know?

Most often, secrecy has little appeal to him; half the reward is bragging rights, or the tipping of a power lever. The only way he wouldn't want anyone to find out, is if he would be somewhat embarrassed by it or if it would negatively impact how people see him in one way or another.

sex+romance headcanons! — TRISTAN | HANS | LEE | RAHI | JULIAN 

[hstarke]

They stop early on, somewhere in the sidelines of the otherwise crowded dancefloor. His fix is taken by means of a house-key off his chain; a better set-up would come only later at night, at a much calmer environment than this.

Far from a private setting, yet private enough.

Hans pulls the white sheet out of the way, and then over his head — climbing underneath it with the same trouble-making flair as he used to do with women's skirts.

Face to face at last, and the sheet drowns out the noise somehow — allowing only select light beams to shine through its cotton threads. Pink, blue, and purple shades bathe their faces from every angle.

And there's no mistaking, it's Mathias whose eyes his own had found. His breath, shared, and hot in this enclosure.

Mathias shrugged and followed Hans to wherever he wanted to go. He could understand the reaction. Most people stayed dead in the city, and there was a whole article in the paper about it too. Mathias should have been dead too. He just got lucky.

He walked by Hans side until they were somewhere less crowded then stopped. He wasn't going to remove the sheet while he was in the building, that was dangerous. But instead he lifted it slightly and gestured for Hans to look beneath it, just in case he needed to see things to believe it.

[hstarke]

The ghost inches closer to him, but it's not close enough. A blank slate to go off of — no mouth to trace, no tongue to follow as it bends and curves.

"I can't hear you, buddy." Ever the actor, it's played off as an ambiance issue, not a disability.

He steps back, downs what little drink he has left, and reaches into a pocket for something different. "I'm gonna take a walk." A white man's code for a snow storm, really. "You should come."

And take that thing off your face, Hans thinks, while we're at it.

The mention of Hans' son had an effect, Mathias could see that plainly. Such a small detail to mention and yet it did so much. Because in another life, their meeting years ago would have been different, and then perhaps Mathias wouldn't be hiding under a sheet while the rest of the world thought he was dead.

He just looked up at Hans through the cut out holes where his eyes were. Death came for everyone, that much was clear, but it sometimes didn't stick. Mathias wondered if Hans ever questioned it, or accepted it like everyone else. A part of him hoped it was acceptance. Mathias was smoke that slipped out of everyone's grasp.

He put his board down, and then got close to Hans so his words could only be heard by him. "I would never joke around about death, Hans. But based off your reaction, it seems like I really did haunt you. Do I count as one who got away?".

Mathias stepped back and picked the board up again only to draw another smiley face.

[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.