#ashton || threads

[danwhobrowses]

Goodness this is like the third episode in a row begetting discourse among the cr fandom. For me this discourse has two perspectives where the division depends on whose perspective you're looking at;

For the armies it was 'We've been sent by the gods and are here to help you stop Predathos as we pla-wait, you're a vessel of Predathos? Isn't that just like Ludinus planned??' which yeah is valid from their perspective

For the Hells it was 'We just came out of 4 back-to-back battles with Ludinus and Predathos itself, we have a solution to save the gods but change the dynamic but we want to discuss it privately with the gods first and now you're trying to kill us!?' which is also valid

What puts me more on BH's side is that we have the context; BH are allowed to be terse when people try to kill them and fail, least of all allies who don't ask for an explanation before asking their god to come down and smite them. They're not villains because they snarked at the person who attempted to sic their god on them, and it's not as if Imogen sic'd Predathos on them in retaliation. Once again they are met with the thankless job and burden that they neither wanted or asked for, but was thrust upon them anyway. With all the times Bells Hells have been criticized for being aimless and indecisive it seems a little strange to criticize them now for being focused and decisive.

Could they have explained from the start? Maybe. Would it have caused a different reaction the moment they said Predathos is in Imogen? Probably not. I can't tell you why they didn't come out of the Cage and immediately explain because I'm not the players; perhaps they wanted to avoid the hysteria and conflict, perhaps they were drained from the fight and wanted to wrap up the episode, or perhaps it was just down to Bell's Hells, as with all CR campaign parties, being infamously bad at communicating, I don't know.

But it's times like these where it's worth reminding that this is a DnD show, nerdy-ass voice actors having fun, it can't always be clean and clear-cut storytelling every second. And sometimes as a fandom we need to take a step back so we don't get ourselves stuck, because we're probably making it deeper than it is and getting annoyed at each other over our interpretation of two groups from the same side getting annoyed at each other. Just, take a breath.

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[edge-oftheworld]

story of another us really was so mature for its time (and being written by practical children) and just. slept on. left as a bonus bonus track off sgfg. i'm sorry. i'm sorry you arrived before your time but i am so so sooooo glad they did not keep you in the vault

[garnsdotbackup]

aegon & aemond's dynamic

1. i gave you all, mumford & sons / 2. the plagues, ralph fiennes & amick byram / 3. the family jewels, marina / 4. two birds, regina spektor / 5. cain and abel, orazio riminaldi, c.17th / 6. moses 5:34 / 7. rule #4 - fish in a birdcage, fish in a birdcage

[kindahoping4forever]

5SOS: North America, seein you next week. Spicier than ever.

[sparring-spirals]

And the other side of this, of like- Imogen and Laudna acting so differently around Ashton, versus around each other. If you put the three of them together something different (something regular?) spills out. But when they talk, just Ashton to Laudna and just Imogen to Ashton- the common threads stay strung out between them.

Ashton and Imogen talk about each other, and mention Laudna, the agreed similarities between Ashton and Laudna like a shorthand for understanding more, like a glossary in a textbook.

Laudna and Ashton talk about themselves, but refer to Imogen like a thing of admiration, like a wonder. A mirrored fascination like a shared road, like a steady standard, like moths to a flame.

Its not the same as getting them all in a room, we've seen that to an extent. It's like- lights, and crystals, and threads, fuck if i know, things strung up and shining when the light hits them differently and refracting into new colors and directions. Its not a balancing act, exactly, its like a chemical equation.

[ziggyturner]

Have you ever felt like nobody was there? Have you ever felt forgotten in the middle of nowhere? Have you ever felt like you could disappear? Like you could fall, and no one would hear? Well, let that lonely feeling wash away Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay 'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand You can reach, reach out your hand And oh, someone will coming running And I know, they'll take you home Even when the dark comes crashing through When you need a friend to carry you And when you're broken on the ground You will be found So let the sun come streaming in 'Cause you'll reach up and you'll rise again Lift your head and look around You will be found

@ashton-ryder

[rosiesdiner]

@ashton-ryder

where: rooftop NATURALLY when: april 2nd because this day hasn't already been really rough on him, did he even sleep since last night who knows I certainly don't BUT we know he wouldn't shirk his plant duties even if he were dead

There was an elephant in the room even when the room was a rooftop. Most everyone knew at this point; Rosie still felt like the last even if she wasn't. Not that it was a contest or anything, but she thought she'd earned the rung closer to Charlie on the ladder of trust before Ash. It was a petty thing to think... Ash did so much for the family. Rosie only ever looked out for Charlie. She didn't deserve that closer spot... but did she deserve to be told what was happening instead of finding out like the rest of the residents had? Everything changed with the newcomers. Or returnees in the Roses case. She'd never felt so far away from Charlie and being quarantined in her apartment with the flu for so long only made it worse. Rosie picked up an empty plastic pot then set it back down. She picked up the pruning sheers, but in turning to the plants nearest her on the table, nothing needed deadheading. The diner... Charlie's confidance... now the garden -- was she not needed her anymore either? Ash looked normal, working away at the plants who were happy to see the April sunshine. He did that a lot... looked fine when everything wasn't. She felt a thorny vine of betrayal twisting around her heart. Weren't they friends too? Charlie's secret wasn't his to share, but he knew how close Charlie and Rosie were. Had he known before Rosie was sick? Had he looked her right in the face while she chatted about Charlie and Emily's new joining to the kitchen staff, knowing how hurt she'd be once this all came to light? "Thanks for um... looking after everything." She'd meant it about the plants, but realized it could be taken differently so she made the distinction quickly, "I don't know how much Emily is involved with the gardening stuff even though she's really great with the diner, so maybe it was just you or --" Charlie sometimes helped with the plants, more so the random ones Rosie kept everywhere around the building now she had free reign, but Charlie's name stuck in Rosie's throat. Rosie set about picking fresh mint, always in stock, maybe she and Ember could scrounge up everything to make mojitos later.

[finalmere]

WHEN: Late evening

WHERE: Harborside, the beach

WHO: Meredith & Ashton (@ashton-taylor-murphy)

WHAT: Ashton think's she's being haunted and drunkenly escapes to the beach. Meredith, escaping similar things, runs into her.

WARNINGS: Grief

The sand was wet, water licking at her toes in a rhythm. The sea could be gentle at times. It was nights like this that Ashton enjoyed a moonlit walk to think and reminisce. It was beautiful, and a muse could appreciate that. Ashton liked it because if she looked out at the waves and focused on the beat of the water, she could hear Margot’s voice swirling around in her head. If only for a moment, things were right, but that moment didn't last. The angelic laughter in her mind always turned into a haunting accusation. It was her fault; that's how she felt about it. 

Usually, she was here in this place with only her thoughts. No one ever bothered her at night. Maybe it was the overabundance of the fae or other creatures that lurked in the shadows; maybe Ashton should fear them too, but she didn't. Ashton Murphy was content to lay on the sand, letting the salty breeze lick her wounds. Ashton wiped away her tears. The life she lived in her prison of exile was lonely and excruciating, but that's what she chose, what she deserved.

That self-sentenced punishment was what had Ashton lying in the sand with an empty bottle soaked to the bone and shivering. “You just fucking left!” ashton sat up and pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt's breast pocket. It was a poem, something about love and loss and the emotional wreck she was. Ashton stuffed it in the bottle and corked it tight before hurling it into the water. Ashton realized she wasn't alone, fuck, this was going to get interesting. The muse pleaded with her emotions to try and compose herself. 

“It's a little late to be —” Ashton sensed it, talent and potential and creativity, “—that makes sense.” Ashton wiped her tears with her sleeve. “still late to be alone out here.”

Being alone was something Meredith was trying to better acquaint herself with in her adulthood.  Growing up, she always had someone.  Her sister was her constant companion, and that was just the way she liked it.  She was happy now to see Mallory off living her life happy and free,  but a part of her longed for their childhood spent running down the beach.  It’s where she sat now, watching the waves as they crashed loudly over the rocky shore.  The monotonous sound was soothing to her, it was familiar, nostalgic.  It was why she came that night, to hear the water ebb and flow.  She needed the familiarity to keep her from spiraling into the unknown.  She felt like she was going crazy.  Maybe it was stupid to be out late, alone.  Whatever that thing was that had picked off her friends one by one was still out there.  Meredith had wounded it, she thought, but it wasn’t dead.  She feared it was on the hunt, she feared it had unfinished business.  She was completely vulnerable out here in the open, and yet it was one of the only places she felt sort of safe.

Meredith walked towards the water and let it encircle her ankles.  She closed her eyes, her arms crossed as she took a few deep breaths and just focused on the feeling of the frigid sea against her skin.  She debated running into it at full speed so she could feel the cold all around her, but she decided against it.  After a few minutes she pulled back and slid her sandals back on her feet.  She huffed, turning to make her way back down the shore.  She supposed she couldn’t stay out here all night, though back home was just more emptiness- more alone.

She thought she heard someone.  That same fear crept up in her throat.  The fear that came out as screams back in the woods.  Her hand felt for the jackknife that was now kept in her pocket- a token from her father after the attack.  She wasn’t sure how much good it would do and she wasn’t sure he was either, but she thought it made him feel good to give it to her, like he was doing something.  And Mere needed it too- the feeling that maybe she could defend herself if she needed to.  

Luckily there was no ghost or monster lurking on the beach.  It was a woman sitting on the sand.  “What?”  She didn’t look familiar, but she almost looked at Meredith like she recognized her.  It was a weird feeling.  “Yeah, I guess so.  I suppose I could say the same to you.  This isn’t like, the weird villain speech you give before you murder me, right?”

Ashton was sheets to the wind after her bouts with a furious ghost and her lack of sleep. It was easy to drown it all at the bottom of a bottle and let the water wash away the sins, “I think villains are a little more composed than this. You are safe for now, but it is late. There are dangers.” Ashton could be dangerous, not intentionally, but passively. There was no question about the dangers of a muse, especially when Ashton could sense the woman's creative potential. No, the muse would not reveal herself as the bad one now. Honestly, the idea of anything that didn’t resemble some penance was out of the question. This was Ashton’s moment to reflect on the weight of her guilt. 

“I’m not going to hurt you tonight.” Ashton put it plainly. Maybe eventually, there would be a need to take, but Ashton wasn’t in the habit of taking food by force. She’d have a choice in it, and that was that. They hardly ever said no, but the choice cleared Ashton’s conscience of wrongdoings.

“I’m safe here; my house is there, but I won’t return tonight. I’m going to sleep here.” Ashton smiled into the darkness as the waves came in. It was peaceful out here. That feeling was hard to come by lately. Ashton had forgotten it could be felt tangibly. 

“I’m out here because life fucking sucks, but you probably gathered that. Why are you out here?” Ashton drew her knees into her chest and shivered against the damp cold seeping through her clothes. This emptiness is what she deserved.

Meredith prided herself on having “a good head on her shoulders”.  That’s the way her dad phrased it.  She’d always rolled her eyes but she secretly reveled in the truth of it.  She let petty comments roll off her back like beads of ocean water.  She was practical and resourceful.  She saw the world clearly yet maintained a sense of creativity and wonder.  But she hadn’t felt this way of late.  She’d felt for weeks like her mind was not her own.  She flinched in the darkness and second guessed everything that was said to her.  And so, she wasn’t overly fond of the way the woman said “for now”.  She wasn’t fond of the way she said anything for that matter.  A year ago it wouldn’t have bothered her.  She’d chalk it up as a crazy lady on the beach who had one drink too many and got cryptic at night.  Now she wondered if this wasn’t some trick or taunt.  “I know plenty about dangers,” she replied, an unknowing lie.  

“Well gee, thanks,” Meredith kicked a rock and watched it skid across the sand towards the water.  She avoided sitting down next to the stranger, her eyes bouncing back and forth between her and the shoreline.  “I’ve slept a few times on this beach.  Never alone.” Meredith recalled the “camping” trips she’d take with her sister, her parents trailing not far behind but giving them the illusion of independence.  

 “Life fucking sucks,” she answered with a shrug.  She paused for a moment, the heaviness of it all weighing on her.  “This is where I come to clear my head.  It’s been uh- foggy lately.”

The haze was natural for Ashton. Sometimes, it felt like she lived outside of her body, looking down at the fragmented life that remained in the wake of all her losses. There were many listed—in order of most traumatic—in her little black book; all the creativity and beauty left in the wake made the tragedy worth it, or at least that thought was her twisted justification. 

She was here to avoid the sins of her past. There were lingering consequences clawing out of buried graves, consequences more significant than the guilt she was already accustomed to maintaining. “I had to get out of the house.” mainly because Margot was there, and Ashton could not take any more of the guilt her spirit was throwing in her face. 

“Are you a writer? A singer? Maybe an artist?” Ashton knew something was lurking in the woman, an essence of creativity she could feel in their proximity. 

“I am a writer; I used to write poetry,” she still did, but she couldn't quite unscramble the emotion from the words because There was too much emotion and not enough words. Ashton felt like screaming into the void across the cresting waves and drowning while she waited for the echoes to return.

“Do you know what a muse is?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Meredith responded, and she did.  Her apartment haunted her.  Stevie’s room sat empty across the living room.  She kept the door ajar to let the cat come and go.  Every once and awhile when she walked past she caught a glimpse of the few remnants that remained after her family had come to clean it out.  A bit of glitter on the floor, a mirror still hung on the wall with a picture of the two of them stuck in the frame.  It didn’t get easier seeing the room hollowed out, sometimes she just needed to escape.  

The question caught her a bit off guard.  Perhaps it was the flecks of paint permanently stained on her fingernails, or maybe she had a stain on her somewhere.  “Does the brooding by the sea in the middle of the night give it away?”  She allowed herself to show a small smile.  “An artist.  I paint, mostly.  But I’ve been experimenting with digital art more lately.”  She explained, though she wasn’t quite sure why she delved into more detail than necessary.  Maybe it was the ocean, maybe it was the bit of wine that still lingered in her system.  “You don’t anymore?”  She probably shouldn’t pry into the life of a drunk stranger on the beach but a part of her needed the conversation, to get out of her own head if only for a few fleeting minutes.

“Like…Greek mythology?  ‘Goddesses of the arts and proclaimers of heroes’, muses?” 

Ashton nodded, “bad shit happened in there. My wife died and I don’t think she left. Do you believe in ghosts? I didn’t but I do now.” Ashton let the tears fall freely then. She cried because it was her fault and the guilt was hers alone. It eroded her exterior and bared her insides to the world. The manicured armor she carefully strapped into place crumbled beneath the weight of it all. 

“What gives it away is nothing you have any control of. I can sense the creativity in you, taste it practically when you’re this close.” Ashton drew her gaze away from the water to study the woman more closely, “I write some, nothing good, there’s too much emotion and not enough words to let it all out.”

She tossed her head back in laughter, laughing and crying was perfectly doable together. It was just intensity and Ashton was usually good at being  tense. 

“Did,” Ashton giggled, “just quote the beginning of the Disney animated Hercules? Close, but I’m actually Irish. A muse is a type of being who inspires art and feeds on creativity. There’s a small price, like all things come at a price. If I feed on you, you will be inspired to create truly breathtaking art.”

Ghosts…Meredith hadn’t believed in them either.  She’d always assumed most ghost stories were fake or weird coincidences, but her night in the cabin had changed all that.  Maybe it was a ghost, maybe it was something worse.  Either way, she wasn’t sure what she believed now.  “I’m so sorry,” was all she answered, unsure of exactly how to respond.  

Her head turned to mean the woman’s gaze.  She had an odd way of speaking, she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or just who she was.  Part of it was alluring and interesting- another part sent a chill up Meredith’s spine.  “Well, I guess it’s good I give off artistic energy.  There are worse vibes I could exude.”  She smiled, an attempt at lightening the mood.  “I’m sure you’re better than you think.  Part of art is failing.  There’s been a lot of projects I’ve scrapped.  But, I get what you mean.  Sometimes it feels impossible to get it right.”

A nervous laugh escaped Mere’s lips as the other woman cackled in the sand.  “Yeah, it’s a great movie,” she said with a serious smile.  Her ear’s listened intently as the blonde explained exactly what she meant.  Her eyebrows furrowed, was she serious?

“I’m sorry…feed?”  She had a weird feeling- it brought her back to the woods.  She felt herself scooting back a little on the sand as anxiety tingled in her fingertips and made her heart thump.  “You’re saying you’ll make me a better artist and I’ll what…bake you a lasagna?” 

“Sorry, everyone is sorry. My trauma doesn't really care one way or another. I can drown in it without you being sorry for it. The sentiment is nice, though. Thank you for it. I'm sorry for you too. Everyone has endured something worth being sorry for. Trauma is a common denominator in this neck of the woods.” The girl continued, Ashton listened. She was creative, the muse could feel it. She, however, found the idea of taking from her repulsive. “Fucking unfair, the way it works. You seem sweet, do you want to hear a few lines?” Ashton looked up at her with a half smile drowning in tear streaks. She was sweet too, dripping with creativity and raw talent. Ashton wanted s taste terribly.

“It is. I'm not Greek. I'm half-Irish on my mother’s side. Sidhe, a name we are called there. I don't know all the history. My mum only taught so much. Fae, you probably recognize that word. With them being all the rage in fantasy novels. There's a lot of different kinds.” Ashton’s words were slow and slurred with the alcohol. She had consumed much to drown out the fucking Cranberries. 

“A muse takes life force. I wouldn't take anything you didn't offer me. I can give you the inspiration to achieve great fame for your art or whatever piece you are working on. It's not a bad deal in small doses. I advise you tell me to fuck off. It's not worth it in the end. You just lose everything you love most.”

Ashton spoke from the heart. She fucked up a lot of meals that way. She couldn't feed on the ones who reflected her pity. The people who saw her breaking, a Morton of her guilt and shame. “I like pasta.”

The woman’s words made Meredith immediately regret her own.  She related to the sentiment- she’d heard so much apologizing lately, it got her nowhere.  She didn’t know what to say anymore when people said it, she knew they were just trying to be nice, just trying to show they care, just as she was to this stranger on the beach.  But she was right, Meredith was drowning and it didn’t matter how sorry people were for it.  So she kept her lips tight and didn’t say anything further, just let her eyes watch the shoreline and listened to the beat of the waves against the sand.  

“Sure,” she tried to smile, looking back at the other, wondering if her poetry would be any good or just strings of drunken ramblings.  She wouldn’t judge either way, she had canvases collecting dust in her apartment that were nothing more than smears and smatters of color.  She got a bit messy when she’d been drinking or crying or both.  

Meredith was less understanding of the next few things that came out of the woman’s mouth.  She listened intently, but she couldn’t ignore that feeling- it was still there.  It hadn’t completely left her since the cabin but sometimes it was stronger.  This was one of those times.  She instinctively looked around, her eyes scanning the darkness for anything out of the ordinary.  She couldn’t make sense of it, everything the other was saying.  She was drunk- that was all.  She was intoxicated and grieving and talking nonsense, but something about it still left her on edge.  “So, you’re saying you’re some sort of Irish faerie who can drain my life force in exchange for…creative inspiration?” she repeated back.  Any other time, perhaps she’d laugh.  She’d chuckle at the notion and move on.  Lately she hadn’t been in much of a joking mood.  “Alright.  You know, I think maybe I should get going.”  Meredith lifted herself off the sand.  “And you- you seem like you could use some sleep.  Maybe in a bed?  I know, your ghost.  Maybe the Five Tides has a room.  It’s gotta be better than this.” She shook her head, taking a few steps back away from the stranger.  Her heels shifted in the sand and she turned away from the shoreline, her head spinning despite being completely sober, something she couldn’t say for her evening companion.  “Goodnight,” she called behind her as headed off in the direction of her apartment.

[thefvrious]

@atrickrtreat said -> ❛ i wasn’t in love with him. ❜

"I didn't say you were in love with him." Ashton replied, blinking slowly as he looked at the other young man, his own legs swinging from where he was sat with a good view of the amusement park. "I said you love him, there's a difference. You can love someone without being in love with them." Still, he stared at the other like he was trying to figure something out. "Did I offend you?"

[invcntions]

closed starter for my love @scmethingsweet

he should have expected it, their mutual friends not wanting to take sides at the breakup — and yet ash hadn't considered he'd see her at the party. it hadn't crossed his mind that she'd turn up at the side of her new guy, that he'd feel the way curious eyes seemed to glance between the three of them as he kept to the far side of the room. the crowded space hadn't taken long to become a little much, excusing himself out for some fresh air as the sight of the familiar head of dark hair can't help but prompt a soft sinking in his chest. “ did you really have to bring him? ” it isn't the best start, yet the words are falling from his lips before it occurs to ashton that he ought to stop them.

[cosmicballads]

@legendaryl0stpieces continued from [here]

---

Charlotte rubbed her temples, partially out of frustration, partially to alleviate the headache she felt coming on. "You made- you made s-some smart decisions." The statement came out harsher than intended and Charlotte wasn't quite sure what the nicer way to say it was. "I'm glad you're back safe." she said after a beat, lifting her eyes to finally look at Ashton. "Did it help any?"

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash Twitter/Threads Q&A

[mysterioussleuths]

continued from this for @ragtagrunaways

It was a pretty typical night on Greek row on campus. Everyone was hollering and yelling as they traveled the sidewalks to each party, spilling drinks as they went. The red head tried his best to avoid the spillage as he headed down the path. With some waves and hoots of his own, he eventually found himself walking down the steps to a tunnel like area. This was this long breezeway that helped connect the different sides of Greek Row, almost like a shortcut.

As Ashton hopped down the steps, he heard the echo from his feet. That was when his bright eyes laid quickly on a man leaned up against the wall, stroking himself. A tightness built up in his tight, dark jeans as he slowly began to smirk. "Having fun there?" A quick quiz to the man. His heart was pounding underneath that tight, green tank that hugged his chest so well.

[sabohteurs]

' @nereidae → starter call, THE AMERICAN DREAM- " Yeah, I'm not answering that. " Amusement colours her tone as she swings her chair slowly from right to left, one of her legs crossed under her which she's sitting on, the other left to touch the floor. Quinn shook her head, moving the strands of loose hair that had fallen from her hazardously put up bun as she eyed Buster with a small smile. " National security, blah blah blah. You know. " It's funny that he thinks she knows ANYTHING about the country's secrets. She's not the president, just their kid. All she knows is how to get to the kitchen from her room and what to do in the event of a security breach. Quinn's seen Olympus Has Fallen. It's not that far off the drills she'd been put through when her Mom was first sworn in. Either way, she doesn't know about Area 51 and she has no idea if Walt Disney actually perfected cryogenics. " Contrary to popular belief, it is incredibly boring to be me. "

[greatesthitz]

@rcjoice liked for a starter.

they're sitting entangled on her couch, her legs draped over his lap, with a half empty bottle of wine between them. she's listening to him talk (and talk and talk) again, not saying much in return. it's become a routine, almost comfortable at this point. that's a problem. she's not really listening—she's watching his hands, the way they sit idly against her knee. there's a quiet moment, finally. they meet eyes. she's the first to break the silence. "i'm not going to fuck you tonight."