#does Sasha have glitter on her glasses????

[kitsunesakii]

TIM

pondering magical girl au jon outfits

[kenthoescore]

Unrequited

Major S4 Spoilers! Read at your own risk.

Jean Kirschtein x GN!reader

wc : 1.4k

cw : character death!

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He loved Mikasa.

It was common knowledge in the 104th cadets. There would be days where Jean would do nothing but stare and adore her from far away.

Jean can’t love other girls the way he does with her, that was another fact, but you were stupid. Too stubborn to acknowledge his feeling towards Mikasa, you were too obsessed with the idea of Jean falling in love with you instead of her, but you weren’t too stupid to risk your friendship with Jean.

It was better to have him as a friend rather than being strangers.

You were chuckling whilst watching Eren and Mikasa’s squabble, when Eren saw Mikasa carrying boxes twice as many as he was carrying, he probably felt so small witnessing that. Those boxes were heavy, even after working out every day you still struggled to carry those.

‘How can I be like her?’

“Oi! Get it moving!” Jean said from a distance, sweating profusely.

You can’t help but stare as he slightly flicked his hair back and wipe the thin layer of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. You didn’t miss his eyes glance towards Eren and Mikasa.

You ignored it.

For many years, you looked at Jean the same way he did to Mikasa, which made you feel like shit. You knew you couldn’t make a move on Jean, his heart simply belongs to Mikasa, no matter how hard you try.

SPOILERS AHEAD!

Marley declared war.

Eren attacked Marley.

Armin has blood in his hands.

Sasha died.

Things were getting out of hand, you had to watch Sasha die in front of you. You had to choke back your tears as you watch Armin and Mikasa shake the dead cold body of Sasha.

Happy moments with Sasha flashed back in your head. Her love for meat, her smiles, and her laughs with Connie and Jean. The occasional times where you and Sasha were on a mission and she cracked jokes to make the atmosphere lighter.

The unforgettable time in the survey corps where she broke a potato in half and offered it to Keith Shadis.

Fuck.

The whole squad was silent when arrived back in Paradis. You have struggled to show emotions ever since, you cannot cry in front of them. You were already weak as it is.

You hid away from them, finally letting your emotions free. Running away from the base and running towards the woods where you and your friends rest when all of you were still in training.

The moon was out, the cold breeze was hitting your face, blowing your tears away as you sobbed uncontrollably, the soft rustle of the trees brought you some comfort. You were certain that no one was here, but you were mistaken, a tall silhouette sitting on the edge looking at the lazy river.

“Jean?”

Your voice shook slightly, trying hard to hide the sob that was threatening to escape your lips. He leaned back and glanced slightly to his right where you were standing, pathetically trying to hide your tears.

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, “Hiding?” he added.

“Not really.” You replied walking closer to him, your heart pounding with nervousness.

He didn’t reply, instead, he drank from the bottle of wine he was carrying. You watched him chug half of it.

“Stop. You’re going to kill yourself.” You crouched beside him, grabbing the bottle of wine from his hands, after noticing that it wasn’t his first bottle. Glass bottles scattered beside him, you noticed glass shards twinkling like glitter from afar, as they reflected the light from the moon.

You sat beside him and observed the bottle in your hands, you took a chug yourself, drinking the remaining wine. You cringed at the taste; it definitely wasn’t as strong as you’d expected.

You sigh.

“Just another day at the survey corps, huh?” you chuckled weakly, no humor in your words.

Jean didn’t reply. He didn’t seem to move, so you glanced at him.

Your heart thundered when your eyes meet his intense brown orbs. One of those emotions displayed in those eyes was the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. You can’t help but grab him and hug him tight.

Your heart breaking even further.

His sobs were soft as you held him to your chest, you feel his hands ball into a fist, holding into the white tee you changed into earlier. A few tears leaked out from your own eyes, gently, you rest your head onto Jean’s head.

He hugged you back, tightly. Almost as if he didn’t want to let you go.

You were each other’s comfort; you knew this was the first and last time you will ever get to experience this.

Many minutes passed, hours even. You don’t know how long the both of you were sitting in sorrowful silence. Both of your positions, unchanging.

Empty wine bottles were sprawled around the both of you, it almost seemed like Jean stole a whole crate. The whole time you were with him, your heart never stopped beating rapidly, it was almost hard to breathe.

It was almost dawn when Jean let go. His eyes were puffy and red, and he was drowsy.

You didn’t keep count of how many bottles he drank, but you were positive that it was uncountable with ten fingers. How is he not wasted?

“You like me.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.

He slowly raised his head to meet your eyes. A brick was stuck in your throat, you couldn’t speak. You didn’t dare. In an attempt to escape the incoming rejection, you stood up.

“Y/N.” He called, making you stop in your tracks by instinct. You cursed yourself. You turned around preparing yourself, for what he was about to say.

His eyes searched in the depths of your eyes. He smirked; you couldn’t read him.

“You think I wouldn’t notice, didn’t you? Y/n.” He let go of your embrace and facing you with an expression breaking your heart. It was cold.

“Don’t hope that I’ll like you back after all of this,” he motioned to the surroundings, “I’m incapable of loving anyone else other than Mi-”

“I know.” You whispered, cutting him off.

Unconsciously, you lowered your head and stared at the grass. Tears watering the green grass.

Why did he have to say that? Out of all the moments, he chose to say that in the most painful moment ever. Well, Jean is Jean.

“My eyes!” Sasha screamed as the saltwater reached her eye.

Connie was laughing his ass at seeing Sasha’s reaction.

“Oi Jean! That’s saltwater, you idiot!” You tried warning Jean, but it was too late he already drank it.

“So saltyyy!!!” He screamed, you doubled over in laughter, witnessing his face crumple up from the taste.

When he recovered, he started chasing you while screaming loudly that you should also drink it. You could hear Hange speaking loudly and Levi warning Hange too.

Distracted by their little moment, you happily watched them from afar. You didn’t notice Jean approaching.

You were startled when you felt his big hand hold you and supported your lower back. Sasha was on his side with saltwater in her hands, while Connie was behind you pushing you closer to Sasha’s hand.

“No!” You protested while laughing.

Sasha moved forward, accidentally kicking your ankle causing you to lose balance. You were determined to not fall in the water alone so you grabbed Jean along with you, and Jean grabbed the other two. The four of you fell with a loud splash, and Levi calling the four of you.

All of you were laughing, you and Jean were looking at each other’s eyes. Sharing the moment of happiness between the two of you.

“You’re stupid too, you know?” You said, raising your head and meeting Jean’s gaze.

“I know, y/n. I know.”

The both of you shared a look that only the two of you can understand. He was the first one to break his gaze, and lay down the grass, staring at the sky.

That was your cue to leave.

“Goodbye.” You said loud enough for him to hear, and walked away from him and back to your room.

Jean was left in the silence of the forest, sighing as your footsteps fade away.

“If I come back alive from all of this, I’ll marry you, y/n.”

Jean loves you, more than he ever loved Mikasa.

You were the only thing, he loved so close, yet so far.

[taro-im]

AOT characters as grade school children (modern au)

Eren: definitely that kid who thought cooties were real, always had his behavior clip down, never had gold star stickers, always came home bruised with tons of bandaids, always argued with jean, Steals stuff from his older step bro, Mom gets him lunchables, steals money from zeke to buy candy, only book he would of read was no David no or diary of a wimpy kid, had those spider man light up shoes, and he likes vandalizing school property, had a DS but broke it the first month, tons of parent conferences, try’s to fit in and hang out with Levi but Levi ignores him bet

Armin: the really nice kid who would read those Guinness world record books, colors a lot, always has his behavior clip up, had TONS of gold stars, would probaly give them to Eren and Mikasa, his mom and dad would probably would get him ice cream after school and bring eren and mikasa for ice cream, scared of the monkey bars, liked the slide, read those RL stine goosebump chap books series, and warrior cats, cried when club penguin closed, during the weekends hangs out with his grandpa🥺

Mikasa: the really quiet shy kid, who would only get in trouble whenever she defends eren, really popular but she doesn’t know,she likes monster high dolls, liked dork diarie books, had those converse high lace up boots, every time she goes to the store with her dad he buys her snacks and shares with friends, wore shorts under leggings, also she would have a hello kitty phase or witch phase, I feel like she’s a daddy’s girl, also had those very pretty coloring books with those twistable color pencils, had fancy pencils, ( let’s pretend Levi and her are cousins) never got along with her cousin Levi but loved her Auntie Kuchel, got hair cuts from her, basically Eren, and Armin get haircuts from Levi’s mom

Annie: that kid who was always threatened to get sent home, or get a call to there mom and dad she probably didn’t care, always at the playground alone or she would DEFINITELY pretend to be a cat or were wolf during recess and lemme say it was a bad phase, wore broken light up sketchers, she secretly had a Justin Bieber phase, LOVED warrior cats and everything she wore came out of justice, steals stuff from the teacher, she probaly says “finders keepers”

Reiner: that one kid who would wear those football jerseys that says FAN and he would be that kid who would snitch on EVERYONE it could be someone he doesn’t even know and he would announce it to the class, tons of calls to him,his writing: unreadable, wear camouflage 💀, his dad probably would take him hunting every week, he doesn’t read, he gets violent when someone doesn’t agree with him, he probaly picks his boogers and leaves them under the table, had tons of crushes on girls one time probaly confessed to one of them and they rejected him and dude started sobbing

Bertoto: Really good behavior in class,that one kid who would give people money or candy to be friends with him 😭, collected pokemon cards and traded with Armin, he best friends with Armin, wears really thick glasses has peanut allergy, Friends with Reiner but only talks to him during recess, use to think he was a cat, LOVED Jurassic park with a passion, he had those dinosaur t-shirts, had those old sketchers, hand writing? Unreadable cuz he thinks he’s an “expert” at cursive, listened to tons of nighcore

Sasha: her behavior in class she would be chaotic, always has tons of snacks in her backpack, like she doesn’t bring her school stuff but there will always be snacks in there, I feel like she would give Bertoto a type of peanut candy on accident and Bertoto would get a hella bad allergic reaction, I think she would of really liked The Bratz and Polly pocket dolls where there legs would pop off, would scare Connie alot, Girly told him she was a Vampire and he totally believed it, and always hided his neck from her, she would always have crayons and glitter pens with her, read books with Jean during partner reading, had those pink plaid shorts with pink sandals, and those unicorn tshirts from justice, her hair ALWAYS messy and has crumbs in it, loved Judy moody, loved MLP and strawberry shortcake

Connie: that really short kid, who loved comic books, would get in trouble because he doesn’t do his work, always stole snacks from Sasha lmao, but after the Vampire incident he afraid of her kind of, Him, and Eren aren’t aloud to sit together because they are to loud in a good way, after that became seat buddies with Jean and that’s how the friendship happened, uses really short wooden pencils, he DEFINITELY a mamas boy 🥺 his mom would definitely hang out with Jean , Eren, and Armin, and Marcos moms ALOT so tons of play dates, with Jean and Eren fighting and crying, liked captain underpants, lost his DS

Jean: Timid kid, but when it comes to Eren they have a love hate relationship, teachers would be scared of the duo it’s either they getting along about a comic book or video game, or there at each other’s throats and both getting hurt by pushing each other, i feel like Jean would bring his own lunch that his mom made, he’s secretly a mommas boy, best friends with Marco, Sasha, Connie, his stuff is always new, had light up sketchers, had a Justin Bieber hair cut to try to impress Mikasa, but she didn’t like Justin Bieber 💀, liked MLP

Historia: she’s the best in her class, her dads rich so she basically always has the nicest things, her hair always has clips in it, bet has tons of jewelry from justice, wears pink tutus, loved Fairy magic books, thought she was a mermaid fairy unicorn mermaid princess, played witches with Mikasa, Annie, Sasha, and most definitely Hange, loved Disney movies, believed she could fly, she could be very annoying sometimes, Ymir and her didn’t really get along but after some time they became best friends, her mom never really took care of her, so basically her hair looks all messy cuz she does it all by herself, and Ymir helps Historia do her hair during recess or in the morning at school,Ymir learned how to braid hair for Historia 😭 🥺💕 and Historia always bringed candy or cupcakes to class during her birthday or ANY celebration, loved boy bands

[oneweekoneband]

Lorde, “The Louvre”

I’ve always had trouble pinpointing what was so special about “The Louvre,” what caused me to be so enamored with it. Lorde’s prose shines through as always (I mean, who else would’ve penned the line “Our days and nights are/ perfumed with ob-ses-sion,” splitting up the last word into syllabic staccatos as if she were spritzing it into the air and walking through its aroma), but “The Louvre” is an outlier on Melodrama for a few reasons, including (but not limited to)

The title: Ten other songs are titled after their respective chorus, but Melodrama’s fourth track derives its name from a line in the verse: “But we’re the greatest, They’ll hang us in the Louvre/ Down the back, but who cares, still the Louvre.” The phrases from the chorus don’t provide many title-worthy tidbits; “Lover” and “Megaphone to My Chest” don’t have the same ring as a romanticized and historical art museum in France, but that’s part of the beauty of “The Louvre.”

The production: “The Louvre” is the only song on Melodrama where a lone guitar accompanies Lorde, no filters or additional accompaniment until the chorus arrives. The sonic structure, a back-and-forth between the acoustic and electric, is mirrored on “Green Light,” holding out on synths and handclaps while the piano surges into the night, but its effect — the warmth of a guitar’s low timbre and the tension outlined in steady plucks — is never truly recreated. Piano balladry can only take you so far (more on that during “Liability”).

The lyrics: Melodrama is a break-up album. “Liability” is a song of sorrow, “Green Light” one of grudges, “Supercut” one of reminiscence. The majority of the tracklist is written in the wake of love; the exception is “The Louvre,” a song about being starry-eyed, when you wake for love.

All of this can be chalked up to aesthetic, but “The Louvre” is also more than the sum of its distinguishing features.

In pop music, lines almost seem market-tested and maximized for relatability, vague blanket statements that anyone can say “SAME” or “me” to, creating a canvas to project yourself on. Otherwise stated: pop music is lived through vicariously (If you haven’t read Sasha Geffen’s Glitter Up the Dark: How Pop Music Broke the Binary, do it; she explains it there much better than I could). You wave around your telephone-hand when “Call Me Maybe” comes on, but you’re not the one handing out your number. You try (probably not so successfully) to match Ariana Grande’s belts on “Into You,” but you can’t feel that magnetic attraction across the dancefloor, trapped in a gaze. Other genres aren’t excluded from this (an R&B equivalent might be Kehlani’s “The Way”); pop is just the standard. Songwriters and producers are notorious for being recycled between artists to replicate streaming numbers and chart performances (an aside: commercialization doesn’t necessarily dilute the value of the genre; just read Switched on Pop) because they have mastered the artform of immersion, which is where Lorde becomes subversive.

“The Louvre” doesn’t make the listener an observer, some third party watching action unravel through lyrics, detached from a world already built around them, but the protagonist, inextricable from the plot on-screen. The line between Lorde and the listener becomes blurred; their emotions start to feel one and the same. Lyrics don’t have to be injected with to-your-interpretation meanings because each word feels like your own, invested with a shard of yourself. Even if you’ve never felt the virtual anxiety of texting your crush — twiddling your thumbs above the keyboard in search of the right words to say, sending screenshots to your friends to crowdsource the best possible reply — you feel like you know it now. “I overthink your/ P-punctuation use,” Lorde stutters, a perforation of nerve-wracking vulnerability that belies the digitized confidence of text messages in white letters and blue blurbs. 

Anne Carson was right in Eros the Bittersweet, fiction cannot replace reality, written letters cannot replace spoken word, but “The Louvre” isn’t some performative effect to live through; it is the personal experience. “A rush” hits when eyes shy away from one another after meeting for a split second, new production for a new beginning where your only thought is them and nobody else, the “pang” Caroline Polacheck sang of in her cyborg voice. It’s why Mirana Cosgrove says “Sparks Fly” (meme-worthy, but gets the point across) why “electricity” is the cliché to describe the kismet of love. The obvious implications are its potency and speed — destructive and instantaneous, fatal when hands graze each other, one stick of kindling away from a fire you can’t contain — but “electricity” is also a necessity. 

Once you put on those rose-colored glasses, you never want to take them off. The date is playbacked in your mind, scrutinized for successes and failures, each moment prodded with a question. Did I talk too much? Was my laugh really that loud, high? I should try chewing with my mouth closed next time….You relay the details to your friends not just to receive affirmation (“OMG,” “thats SO cute” or an “u w u,” if you’re that type of person) or measure perplexion (“uhhh,” “hmmm”), but to have an opportunity to relive the day. “Drink up your movements” might be a bit of an understatement; they’re sipped slowly, each drip savored, an indelible aftertaste. Then again, that might be a bit too verbose to fit well in a verse, which is why Lorde translates them into sound: a chorus where ripplying synths and smoky reverb accentuate the empty space, the desire to reach out and find someone to kiss, palpitating like a heartbeat and best listened to with the lights dimmed and your eyes closed. (Referring back to point #1, the words here don’t matter; the feeling does.) The background vocals come off as sighs, mesmerized, gentle, tender, breathless, but the true exhale is in the outro. The coming-of-age film is complete, fading out while the camera pans up to the moon and the end credits roll. Guitars become soothed to sleep, softer and softer, until all you’re left with is a quiet smile, the bliss of dreams. This is love.

[xxrainbow-princessxx]

What if? (Leo x Isabella)

We all have one of those moments in life of ‘What if?’ How does one life choice affect the next? 

Tag list: @desiree-0816​ @cora-nova​ @choicesbyjade​ @lorircreates​ @drakewalkerfantasy​@debramcg1106​

❤️

“Settle mi amor...” Isabella cooed as she braided Natalia’s light brown hair with its honey blonde hues into the final french plait, tying the ends up with a matching navy bow just like her sister. “Now let me see...” both girls stood proudly together in their matching black double breasted faux fur lined coats Isabella smiled, “Tan bonita... you both look so pretty!” As Alessandra and Natalia grinned Isabella both pulled them in for a cuddle, kissing the crown of their heads. “Today is important; you both are going to be good, yes?” Both girls nodded, “Sí mama!” The three year olds were so excited - it was a few days before Christmas and now with them being in New York, the snow and sounds brought a new adventure for them.

A knock came from the heavy oak door that echoed through the townhouse that Isabella had purchased. The twins darted down the hallway with Isabella following behind. The petite brunette opened the door, her smile warm and kind, “Bienvenido Bastien...” Bastien stood in a black woollen jacket with leather gloves and a scarf wrapped around his neck. He began to bow as he stepped over the threshold and Isabella stopped him laughing, “Please... none of that here, you are family...” as she closed the door behind their guest, she swallowed hard to hide her disappointment, “Is he?” Bastien began to shake his head, “I’m afraid Leo and Liam has a few things to catch up on this morning but I am happy to bring you across town now...” Isabella began to nod before fixing hats, scarves and mittens on her two little munchkins.

Hand in hand they went, Alessandra with Bastien and Natalia with Isabella as they slowly navigated the snow capped steps towards the waiting Range Rover. Bastien opened the doors and lifted the twins into the backseats before he reached out to Isabella offering her his hand. Graciously she smiled, making sure her two girls were strapped in. “Mama...” Alessandra spoke quietly, “Is the mean lady going to be here?” Isabella bit down on her lip unsure of how to answer. Bastien checked them rear view mirror as he chuckled, “No little one... the mean lady isn’t here today!” Isabella could only smile as she watched their hazel eyes glitter with anticipation and innocence before quietly whispering to Bastien, “Muchas gracias...”

They weaved through the Manhattan traffic, across from their townhouse on the Upper West Side to the Plaza hotel where guards were stationed at each post, like a guard of honour as the blacked out Range Rover drove into the underground entrance. The vehicle came to a slow halt and armed guards opened the doors, bowing to the family as they exited. Bastien nodded as he escorted Isabella and the girls towards the private elevator waiting on their arrival.  Isabella could feel her heart beating through her chest as the little ones excitement was starting to bubble over.

As soon as the doors opened, Alessandra and Natalia broke from their mothers hands running directly towards Leo. They smiled and screamed “Papa!!” as he lowered himself onto one knee, arms opened wide embracing them both. He grinned as he kissed their cheeks, “There’s my beautiful girls!!l He began to laugh as the girls both wrapped their arms around his neck wanting attention. He scooped both of them up easily into his strong arms as he stood up proudly holding his girls until his sea green eyes wandered to the sight in front of him.

Isabella stood with her dark chocolate brown hair curled into a retro wave that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a black woollen coat and her smile was decorated with a bright red lipstick. Her 5” Christian Louboutins elongated her dancers frame but Leo was more mesmerised by her long dark eyelashes and the little speckles of honey that reflected the light. “How was your flight?” Isabella spoke. Her accent more pronounced and eloquent as she put her hands into her pockets. Leo nodded as he smiled, “It was good... shall we?” jutting his head towards the double doors, “Uncle Liam wants to say hi!”

Isabella rolled her eyes as she followed Leo through the double doors and into the suite watching carefully as he set the girls down and watching them run off towards Liam out on the balcony. “So...” Isabella cleared her throat, “What changed your plans?” Leo began to look a little sheepish, running his fingers through his sandy blonde hair, “Sorry... it’s been a little mad the last few days...” Isabella stood beside Leo with her arms crossed, eyes rolling in his direction as she hissed, “They’re not a commodity Leo! not to pick and choose when suits you!” Leo turned glaring at Isabella before ushering her out the double doors, “Don’t fucking throw that back at me! I’m doing the best I can here! I pay my dues... my daughters are taken care of!”

Isabella’s dark almond shaped eyes narrowed in disgust, “What dues? Cordonia hasn’t paid anything for them in the last year... they’re your daughters by blood but not title! You see them twice a year when it suits... they’ve been looking forward to this all day and you decide to fucking work! Sasha and Lia deserve better than this...” Isabella spat, “They even fucking asked is the mean lady going to be here today... does that not tell you something?” “Bella...” Leo grunted, “...you’ve taken them across the fucking world away from me, what the hell do you expect?! Leo took a deep breath, holding himself back from saying something he’d regret “Look... I’m sorry... I didn’t know about the child support and I’m sorry I had to work today...” he held his hands up, “...but it was important. I couldn’t...” Isabella’s brow arched, her blood boiled, “Enough excuses! You need to step up more... you need to tell them yourself that you married Madeleine...”

Leo began to shake his head completely defeated, “Ok... ok! I’ll tell them tomorrow before I go... can we...” he opened the double doors for Isabella to go back in, “...play happy families for at least today? Their presents are here...” Isabella rolled her eyes, “Yeah... whatever...” as she moved further into the suite. “Isabella...” she heard a familiar voice call out, turning she smiled and embraced him warmly, “It’s good to see you Drake!”, “Likewise Sánchez! How’s the non-royal life working out??” Isabella laughed, “It’s good... it’s been pretty liberating! It’s nice to walk around with nobody following me everywhere I go...”

As the day progressed, Leo took the twins into one of the rooms he had set up for them with a Christmas tree adorned with presents a plenty under the tree. The twins tore and ripped at the paper squealing in delight at the new toys. Leo kneeled down beside them grinning, “Santa asked for your Cordonian toys to come here early so you could open with with Papa and Mama...” Leo looked back towards Isabella chuckling, “At last they’re not as interested in the wrapping paper this year...” Isabella held her breath, blinking away a tear as she saw Leo and her girls with their backs towards her in sheer bliss.

As the evening moved on, the girls were put to bed and Isabella grabbed her purse. “I think it’s time I should...” Leo’s sea green eyes pleaded with her as he reached out, holding her arm gently, “Please kit... Bella... please don’t go...” he insisted, smiling warmly towards her, “Can we just talk?” Isabella nodded sighing heavily, what did she have to lose? They reminisced about the good times, the bad times and how the hell they ended up in this mess. “Bella... please...” Leo took a drink of his cognac, “Come back to Europe at least... we can make this work...”

Isabella looked over his glass at him before setting it down on the table, “Leo...” she could barely speak, “no... I’m sorry, I can’t. We’ve made a life out here. No one knows us, it’s a fresh start...” Leo reached out across the chair, taking her hand into his. His eyes locked onto hers and each and every time he looked into those hazelnut and honey eyes he fell in love again. “We could make it work...” Leo smiled, trying his hardest to talk her round, “Come back to Europe... I can see the girls more... I miss them... I...” Leo’s shoulders began to drop, “I miss you...”

Isabella pulled her hand away as she stood to her feet, her face was expressionless but deep down her heart was breaking and shattering into a million different pieces, “You made your choice...” she swallowed hard, “Have them home by 5:30pm tomorrow...” picking up her purse, Isabella left the suite and was escorted. Leo pulled out his phone, “Do not under any circumstances let the Princess leave until I get down there!” Isabella stood waiting, taping her shoe on the concrete floor impatiently as the car came sound the corner. She had barely touched the handle as Leo cried out, “Bella! Wait!!!” running towards Isabella. He reached out, cupping her heart shaped face before leaning down to kiss her. Leo could feel the tears running down her face before she stepped back and got into the car...

Leo gasped as he sat up in bed, groaning as he rubbed his face until he heard the distinct voice of his wife who was currently waving her hand back towards him, “Go back to sleep!!” Leo sighed as a massive wave of relief calmed him down. That dream was far too real and far too much of a nightmare.

[robot-unicorn-attack]

☽ FLOWER, 25

“ I said that I am a fairy and they prefer to dance and fly as a butterfly but they made me talk and walk, and I hate walking and talking. ” —Sasha Pivovarova ( like something out of the RISE script for “Flower” ) 

Real Name: AURA PHILYRA  Agency: 𝑅 𝐼 𝒮 𝐸 (Sky World) FC: Ming Xi Unicorn Name: PAGEANT PRINCESS Place of Birth: Moon City    

Appearance: While Aura has not permanently altered her looks in any way, “Flower”’s image can fluctuate because of the “holo-veil” the RISE team insists she wear over her face in public, and of course, while racing. It’s essentially an undetectable face-mask that plays off of and digitally alters Aura’s features to give her an exaggerated doll face- ranging from the intentionally synthetic-looking (ex. large doll-ish eyes), complete glitter/tattooed face or even a face-scramble that confuses camera lenses to keep people from taking images of Aura without the agency’s authorisation while she’s out and about. Her naked face is hardly ever seen.

Wardrobe: Whatever fits within what the RISE image consultants call “Pixie-bot” which verges on creepy, fake-y “living doll” territory but with a fantasy element given her pretty steed is a Pegasus model. They were considering “Loli-bot” for Aura early on- because of her age they were sure she could pull it off. Aura would have stomached the aesthetic, too, just to get paid. Thankfully, however, the “Pixie-bot” idea was floated due to Pageant Princess’ particular winged model. 

[She’s definitely not against the pretty clothes and costumes- it’s the personality they want to go along with it that she dislikes.]

Places most likely to be found: Aura is either at the RISE training track with Pageant (practising or watching someone practise), asleep (snoring) in her teeny RISE apartment (the more important, the bigger the apartment- if that tells you anything), or since she’s promoting herself as Flower, RISE has her going out to club events on Unicorn City most nights.. and management says she isn’t allowed to drink anymore given her last indelicate drinking debacle. 

People mostly likely to be with: On the training track, she’s most likely to be with RISE’s training team (mostly techies who might as well be speaking a whole other language to her when they go on about Pageant’s internal mechanics), but she doesn’t really care for them. She also sees her teammates- Supernova and Sunbeam- there a lot, but.. they don’t really care for her. Otherwise, Aura’s out in the City’s nightlife with strangers and the occasional RISE babysitter dragging her around by the arm to make sure she sees and talks to everyone she should be (and avoids everyone she should be). She really can’t even make a friend that way, much less a love connection, so.. Aura’s pretty much a loner, but not by choice. 

Strongest character trait: of Flower: Sweet / of Aura: Obstinate 

Public Image: Aura plays The Long-Legged Bimbo to Supernova’s polished Heroine and Sunbeam’s beloved Sky-Daughter personas. [And- those really creepy “robot” ig models that are really just like cgi ? That’s the vibe- that level of weird perfection, and just as superficial and ditz-y. If you’re going to “Twilight” a racer- might as well go all the way with it.] Her “role” among her RISE companions makes her feel like a complete joke, but she’s determined to be taken seriously by making herself into a winner. 

Racing Strengths: Truthfully, there aren’t many by way of skill- just determination (and many years of tears of frustration). Dressage is a forte, with a big lean on Pageant who’s perfectly suited to the required elegance. 

Racing Weaknesses: All of it. Everything. Slow, but.. still coming for you. 

Personality: In reality, Aura is much more strong-willed and uses biting sarcasm with abandon. “Flower”, however, is the giggly, disarming costume that Aura dons publicly. Flower is confused easily, but fun-loving and excited to be where she is at any given time. She says “Oh !” in dreamy realisation a lot and smiles prettily even when she loses. But Aura, in private, feels a bit deflated, tired- maybe a little ashamed at what she has to do in order to stay relevant in the racing industry. Lately, she’s felt awfully lonely- because no one around her really knows her- but she tries to let it be enough that darling (though dumb) “Flower” is never alone and always surrounded by fans and icons. 

Biography: 

The eldest of five children, Aura grew up in the overcrowded rookeries of a little-known moon- whenever she talks about where she’s from, no one ever seems to know what or where "Moon City” is. So, to avoid long-winded (and perhaps embarrassing) explanations, she generally tells anyone who asks that she’s originally from Ice World. 

Aura was “scouted” by a RISE recruiter at the age of sixteen while on a trip to Unicorn City with friends to catch a race- the first she had ever seen ! Apparently, the recruiter liked her looks, but that was just about all the “talent” she had to give at the time as she had never even touched a mechanical horse, let alone ridden one- forget raced ! But, desperate to leave the slums of Moon City behind her for good, Aura quickly signed with RISE and was almost immediately thrown into the deep-end with her horse- Pageant Princess- only to embarrass herself in her first televised race by dropping in dead-last. Aura hadn’t expected to win or anything, yet it was still disappointing, and her management decided to set her aside for a few seasons- to train her, fix her image, cultivate a fan-base for her through a commercial campaign for uv beauty products, and within the last year, little promos that depict her as living in a little virtual fairy cottage on Sky World that she only leaves to dominate the track with the winged Pageant Princess and to attend various high-society Unicorn City bacchanals brimming with beautiful, glowing people. So far, it’s been a successful campaign and her fan-base is rapidly growing. RISE fully expects Aura to be ready to race in this new season- and more than just compete, but actually win. And, really, that’s all Aura wants- to win and cement herself as a serious racer among her fellows...and make the big money to share with her family back home on Moon City.

Though the inability to live as her normal self has taken a toll on Aura over the past years, she has at least been able to comfort herself with the knowledge that she is helping her family- that she is making them proud by working herself to exhaustion to become better- the best ! She means to win this season, no matter what it takes. 

Relationships:

Snow - Racer crush, actual crush. A much-needed ally on the horizon. Aura knows of Snow (who doesn’t ?), and has bumped into her at glamour events from time to time. They’ve only raced together once- years ago in Aura’s very first race (when she was a baby ((16)) !)- and naturally, Snow beat Aura...thoroughly. But that was to be expected. Aura’s followed Snow closely since Snow’s return to racing and looks forward to their next head-to-head.

Sky - 

Ice -

Supernova - RISE “Teammate”. Aura idolises Supernova and has for years, but she worries (and would be so mortified to know) that her hero really thinks of her as a fool who’s only good for getting sad drunk (once !) at company promotional events...where Aura may have vomited in front of her... Aura hopes that winning more races will convince Supernova that she is the real deal ! (Her ultimate dream would be to have Supernova mentor her !)  

Sunbeam - RISE “Teammate”. Okay, so Aura’s a little jealous of her because she’s the pride and joy of RISE and she seems to have the respect of Supernova ! And she’s pretty and talented ( unmatched technique~ ) and allowed to have her own personality- it’s too much for Aura to stomach sometimes. She really likes to avoid Sunbeam socially if possible.

Flame -

Nyx - **danger by taemin plays** Sol and “Flower” have met before, while Flower was relevant for a second as a teenager ( - they danced at a club the night before she finished dead-last in her first race ), but it’s been a while since their paths have crossed- though Aura is well-aware of Nyx’ success. Now that Flower’s back in the game, they’re sure to see each other more and more.  

Widowmaker - Aura is sensitive to ~vibes~, and she knows there’s something with Eleni. “Just look at the way she looks at me...” And, you know what, consider Aura intimidated. But even though there is some miscommunication between the two of them (most of which Aura is not aware of), Aura isn’t confused about the sort of racer Widow is- and she knows Eleni’s not to be approached lightly...but also, like- “What did I do~ to catch that death stare ?” It does bother her.

Playlist: 

sit still, look pretty by daya

favriel by grimes

alone by halsey

medieval warfare by grimes

i am the best by 2ne1

heavy metal and reflective by azealia banks

nightmare by halsey 

**sweet dreams (are made of this) by emily browning 

nightmusic by grimes, ft. majical cloudz

**from the ‘sucker punch’ soundtrack

Headcanons:

Owns Snow/S.C. merch- if Snow ever discovers the holo keychain, Aura will literally die of embarrassment. #aurivana 

Her salary is meager- but that’s because she earns almost solely for RISE at the moment with promos and brand deals. Everything she owns- the high-end couture and jewellry and even the holo-veil- aren’t really hers- they’re on loan from RISE. And whatever coin she does manage to earn goes straight to her family on Moon City, so.. she’s almost always skint. 

Aura’s RISE apartment is.. like a mouse’s hole, spatially. The bed is lofted above the kitchen area, and the bathroom is the only room with a door. A glass door- but it’s still a door. But the lighting is always an ambient, calming violet-to-indigo that reminds her of home. 

If she were a vine she would be the one with the child staring down the barrel of a squirt gun and he just says “shoot me”.

Aura’s RISE handlers- it’s usually a big guy named J.J. who is really just a strong-arm type (which confuses Aura- like, do they think she needs a bodyguard or are they afraid that she might run away if left unsupervised ? It’s unclear to her.)- do not let her drink at parties anymore. Not only has she nearly vomited on an industry icon (and personal idol), but she’s also broken character (a big no-no) to tell off the son of some CEO that apparently wanted to work with RISE on a future endeavour (oops). 

Yeah. She’s almost been fired a couple of times, but at this point, RISE has sunk so much money into Aura that, actually, the only fiscally smart thing to do is keep her around and train her up. 

*Daydreams about Marivana*  #secretsecrets

[pickalilywrites]

A 104th New Years party with lots of food, booze, and nose makers. What could possibly go wrong? Also adding Pieck, Marcel and Porco onto the list. Cause why not!

cheers that next year is better than this one!

Not a Bad Year

104th Trainee Squad. Marley Warriors. College AU. 

2096 words. 

Buy me a ko-fi!

“Is it just me,” Mikasa says, swirling the champagne in her glass flute, “or is this party a little subdued?” The group of friends, college students who knew each other in high school and gathered at the end of the year to celebrate, are uncharacteristically quiet for people at a party. The past two parties were so loud and festive that they had the police come over because a neighbor had filed a noise complaint, but hardly anyone is talking at this party. Most people are keeping to themselves, staring at their empty glasses as they think about what they accomplished – or the very many things they failed to accomplish – this year. There are a few people talking – Connie, for example, is walking around drunkenly and asking for kisses for the new year – but most conversations are quiet, reserved. 

“Well, it hasn’t really been the best year,” Armin mumbles. Like the others, he’s staring at the little alcohol he has left in his glass, a small frown on his face. He had only decided on minoring in astrophysics late last year – sophomore year was the latest a student could change their major and decided on a minor – and it’s been a lot more challenging than he had anticipated. While he’s thankful he can celebrate with his friends today and put this past quarter behind him, he can’t help but feel depressed at the thought of what horrors await him this upcoming term. 

“It’s true,” Eren says. This quarter hadn’t been kind to him either. He had only barely passed his classes, and he’s sure his courses next quarter would be even more difficult. If only the world could end so that he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore. He sighs and throws his arms around Armin, burying his face in his friend’s neck. “I’m glad this year is over, but who knows if next year will be any better?” “Kiss please,” Connie says, stumbling up to them like a zombie. His eyes are half-shut, making Armin wonder if he’ll remember any of this tomorrow. Connie had been doing shots with Sasha earlier that night, attempting to drown all this year’s failures with alcohol. He closes his eyes when Mikasa stands up to press a kiss on top of his head and smiles a small, sad smile. “Thank you.” “Poor guy,” Pieck says as she watches Connie from across the room. She leans against the wall, her shoulder resting against Porco’s. “He told me he failed one of his classes this quarter. He has to retake it again next fall and he’ll probably have the same crappy professor. He’s been asking for kisses all night to feel better.” “I’ve heard,” Porco says with a sour expression. It’s not like he hasn’t seen that little twerp wandering around the room and collecting kisses like some kind of kissing Casanova. Porco’s pretty sure that he’s the only person who hasn’t given that guy a kiss. “I can’t believe you kissed him twice. You hardly ever talked to him in high school.” “It’s true that we didn’t run in the same social circles, but I just felt so bad for him,” Pieck says, watching Connie with a sympathetic smile. “And he’s so affectionate, you know? It made me feel a little bit better too.” “Hm,” Porco replies with a frown. He rubs at his chin, the stubble on his chin prickling his hand as he does. He usually takes more care of his appearance, but it has been less of a concern with him after trying to balance his workload both at school and at the café he began working at over the summer. It’s difficult enough to deal with heartless professors and crotchety TAs, but having to be polite to customers who are always threatening to complain to his manager over things he has no control over is unbearable. Porco’s eyes follow Connie around the room. “Maybe I should kiss him too if it’s supposed to make a person feel better,” Porco mutters. Reiner and Bertholdt are sitting on the floor with a couple of others playing spin the bottle, but the person the bottle lands on takes a drink instead of getting a kiss. No one is in the mood for hooking up, preferring to down as much alcohol as possible and wallow in self-pity. Reiner is not quite drunk yet, but Bertholdt is completely trashed. For someone so big, he has surprisingly low alcohol tolerance. “So, what’s got you down, Kirstein?” Reiner asks as Annie pours their friend another glass of red wine. “Fuck,” Annie says when the cup accidentally overflows. “Sorry.” She doesn’t look very apologetic about staining Jean’s jeans with wine, but Jean has a resigned look as if he expected this to happen. “It’s fine. It’s not as if this is the worst thing to have happened this year,” Jean mutters. He sips the red wine from his cup carefully at first, making sure not to spill anymore, but he gulps down the rest of it quite quickly. Some of the wine even drips down his mouth, but he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “What’s the worst thing?” Hitch asks, poking him on the side. She rolls her eyes when he scowls at him and sits back to lean on Marlowe who’s almost sleeping. The poor guy’s sleep schedule was still messed up from the all-nighter’s he pulled over the last quarter, and he still hasn’t managed to get it back in order. “Oh, just…stuff,” Jean says. He sets his empty glass on the carpet beside him so that he can lay down, his arm covering his eyes. “An unrequited love.” “So, nothing new?” Annie says. She rolls her eyes when Bertholdt cries, “Poor Jean!” beside her, but she allows him to sob onto her shoulder. “How is this any different from all the previous years?” “You don’t understand because you don’t have a heart, Annie,” Jean tells her, ignoring his friend’s scowl. Beside him, Hitch giggles. Jean sits up, hunching over with a dejected frown. “The pain from an unrequited love feels more and more unbearable with every passing year.” “At least you didn’t fall in love with your instructor,” Marcel says glumly. This is news to everyone. Marcel is so prim and proper when it comes to school, possibly up there with people like Marco and Armin and Mikasa, so his words cause everyone to turn and look at him with raised eyebrows. Only Marlowe and Bertholdt, now both sleeping, aren’t staring at him. “Was it your TA or your professor?” Reiner asks. “Professor,” Marcel mumbles. “You could just wait until you graduate,” Annie says, picking at a piece of fuzz off Bertholdt’s sweater. “Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” Marcel grumbles. Those in the kitchen aren’t feeling much better. The only person who doesn’t look as if they’ve seen their own death is Nikolo, who is busy frosting the cupcakes that he’ll be bringing out soon. Everyone else, however, is gathered around the kitchen island, staring at the cupcakes as if this will be their last meal. “I don’t know how you have everything so put together, Marco,” Historia sighs as she helps Nikolo sprinkle edible glitter onto the cupcakes he had finished frosting. Being in a sorority had been exhausting as a freshman and a sophomore, but the activities had become more tiring when she had been elected an officer at the end of last year. It’s not as if she can quit either, not when being in such a high position will allow her to make more connections that she’ll definitely need in the future. “How do you balance being the president of so many clubs and your classes at the same time?” “I look like I have everything together and all wrapped up in a bow,” Marco says in a monotone voice, “but I’m really just dead inside.” “That’s my man, Marco,” Ymir says. She’s a little more cheerful than the others, but she’s noticeably more subdued than previous years. She leans against the kitchen island, her elbows propped against the marble counter lazily as she watches her girlfriend generously apply sprinkles onto all the cupcakes. “Just fake it until you make it.” “You’re not faking anything,” Historia tells Ymir. “Didn’t you fail some of your classes this year?” “Shhh, we don’t talk about that,” Ymir says, shushing her girlfriend. She swipes some frosting onto the tip of the petite blonde’s nose. “Is it that bad?” Nikolo asks, raising an eyebrow at Sasha, who is staring dejectedly at the cupcakes. He notices that she hasn’t even touched one of them. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her hold off on food before. Finished with the frosting, he sets down the piping bag and wipes his hands on his apron. “This year seems to have really kicked your guys’ asses. Is it that bad that you can’t even eat, Sasha?” He carries one tray of cupcakes, ready to serve them to everyone else in the living room. With one hand, he gestures for Marco to carry the other plate. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re a senior, so you’re almost done suffering. We all have at least two more years,” Sasha mumbles, following Nikolo into the living room. The others are close behind her. “I lost about fifteen pounds from the stress, you know. Also, they remodeled the cafeteria and now all the food tastes terrible but it’s way more expensive. What’s up with that?” “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nikolo says as he waits for Armin and Mikasa clear the table. He sets the tray of cupcakes down. When he stands up, he bends over to press a kiss against Sasha’s forehead. After he pulls away, he feels a tug on his sleeve and turns to see Connie beside him. The hopeful sophomore points at his forehead, wanting his own kiss from the chef. “Uh,” says Nikolo. “Oh, yes,” Eren says, smiling for the first time tonight. He sits up, patting Armin on the knee. He grins over at Nikolo. “I’ve been waiting for these all night.” “Honestly, Nikolo,” Jean says with a happy sigh as he picks up a cupcake and peels off the wrapper, “the goodies you sent me in the mail were what kept me alive this quarter.” “Yeah!” Sasha agrees. She’s already starting on her second cupcake, licking off the frosting with one clean sweep of her tongue. “I would have starved if it weren’t for you!” “You guys are exaggerating,” Nikolo says with a laugh. “Nikolo, please don’t forget us when you graduate and join the real world,” Marcel says. He bites into the cupcake, a little frosting at the tip of his nose. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” “The care packages Historia and Mikasa sent were pretty nice, too,” Annie says, remembering the packages she had received from her friends during midterm week. “Care packages,” Bertholdt mumbles groggily, still holding onto Annie. “They were amazing.” “Also, late night phone calls while I was having a breakdown?” Pieck says, nodding at Armin in thanks. “Those were a lifesaver.” “Reiner and Bertholdt drove up to see me after I failed an exam and forced me to a karaoke place,” Armin says. “I thought I would hate it, but it was pretty great to be able to take my mind off things.” “And Marcel came over for drinks whenever I was feeling low,” Jean remembers. “Annie took me shopping even though she hated it,” Hitch says, poking the cool blonde in the knee. “I guess you’re not so heartless after all.” “Ymir helped me with sorority stuff,” Historia says, but she pinches Ymir’s cheek when the girl leans over to give her a wide grin. “But I’m going to start helping you study for exams next quarter.” It’s then that they realize that it wasn’t a great year, but it’s not as if the year didn’t have its good points. Even if they had suffered, at least they weren’t alone. In times of need, there was always someone there for them. They just hadn’t noticed until now. “So, it wasn’t a great year,” Marco says, “but it wasn’t a bad year either.” “And everyone kissed me,” Connie adds, a little late to the conversation. He doesn’t really know why everyone is laughing at him, but he grins widely when they all begin to gather around him, smothering him in kisses and hoping that the next year isn’t that bad either.

[artificialqueens]

Undone, Chapter 9 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 9 of UNDONE, our Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a link to the previous chapters. This is a repost from AO3/RGF - once we’re caught up, new chapters will go up.

Summary: Here we pick up where we left off in Chapter 8, with Courtney’s cabaret performance at the Rockwell.

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

Bianca’s eyes burn as she watches Courtney smile, bathed in the glow of the spotlight, basking in the cheers. Alexis has a hand on her shoulder, and leans in to whisper something in her ear, causing Courtney’s eyes to glitter with laughter.

Adore grins at Bianca and mutters, “How fucking hot does she look?”

Bianca just nods, taking a sip of her wine to cover her inability to speak.

“Thank you!” Courtney calls. “And let’s hear it for our wonderful host! How amazing is she? You know, besides putting together this entire evening and hosting and singing, about two hours ago she decided that she also needed to do my makeup. Apparently I can’t be trusted with an eyeshadow palette.”

“This is true,” Alexis laughs. “And I wasn’t wrong.”

“You’re a great friend,” Courtney says, flashing her a dazzling smile.

“And you’re a work of art. Break a leg, baby.” Alexis tosses her a few kisses before exiting the stage.

Courtney watches her leave, then turns back to the audience with a slightly nervous little shrug. Her eyes have adjusted to the lights and she can begin to make out faces in the crowd.

“Well, okay then. Just us now.”

Adore lets out another whistle, catching her eye. When she looks over at their table, she sees Bianca and can feel the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. She tries to play off her nerves with a coy toss of her hair, giving herself a moment to get composed before she continues.

“So...I don’t know about the rest of you, but this year has been a very strange one for me. Particularly the part where our democracy seems to be crumbling before our very eyes.”

Weak laughter and few scattered groans sound from the crowd.

“Too real? I’m sorry,” Courtney says. “Listen, I feel your pain. Which is why I chose this first song. I wrote it last year after Burning Man.”

Bianca grins to herself. Of fucking course she wrote it after Burning Man.

“See, there was this moment when my friends and I were on the dance floor at Opulent Temple and Diplo was DJ'ing. That moment when you let go of everything before and after, and you connect with yourself, the people you are with and the dance floor. No words necessary; you’re in the moment. The music sets you free.” She nods to the band, looking out into the crowd. “I hope you like it…”

Bianca is on the edge of her seat as Courtney begins to sing, transfixed by how beautiful she is, how she moves, but more than anything, by the mesmerizing sound of her voice. It’s a fun, upbeat number, but there’s also a hint of throatiness in her voice that stirs something deep inside Bianca.

“When I don’t even know my name, when my reckless can't be tamed And when the DJ sets us free, will be in ecstasy…”

Bianca is slightly relieved for the distraction when the server comes back to their table, setting another glass of wine in front of her. As Courtney finishes the song, she nearly forgets to clap until she sees Adore jump up screaming.

“Thank you so much!” Courtney says, bowing her head. “Obviously, dancing is my favorite extracurricular activity. Well, one of my favorites.”

The crowd chuckles and Bianca can feel heat creep into her cheeks.

“This next song kind of...well, I’m going through a, let’s just say a sex positive phase. I like that better than slutty. Uh, also known as my twenties.” Courtney grins and flutters her lashes to the friendly laughter of the crowd. “It was written and performed by one of my fellow Aussies.”

“Kylie!” shouts a man in the front.

“No, but...I love you, and hold that thought,” Courtney laughs as the music starts. “And be kind, okay? Because this is my attempt to be sincere.” As the piano plays a slow, hauntingly familiar melody, she closes her eyes briefly and begins.

“Party girls don't get hurt Can't feel anything, when will I learn I push it down, push it down…”

This version of the song is so visceral, so much slower than the original, that it takes Bianca a second to recognize it. She feels like she’s hearing the lyrics for the first time.

“I'm the one ‘for a good time call’ Phone's blowin' up, ringin' my doorbell I feel the love, feel the love…

“1 2 3, 1 2 3, drink 1 2 3, 1 2 3, drink 1 2 3, 1 2 3, drink Throw 'em back till I lose count…”

Tears prick Bianca’s eyes, fingers gripping the stem of her glass.

“I'm gonna swing from the chandelier From the chandelier I'm gonna live like tomorrow doesn't exist Like it doesn't exist I'm gonna fly like a bird through the night Feel my tears as they dry...”

Bianca’s itch to down her whole glass of wine feels a little on the nose. She takes a shaky breath and lets it out slowly.

“Keep my glass full until morning light...”

She tries to take a small, ladylike sip, but it ends up being a bigger swig than she intended. She then catches the server’s attention and gestures for another. When she looks back at the stage, Courtney’s eyes are bright.

“Oh, I'm just holding on for tonight…”

Bianca finds herself zoning out entirely, watching Courtney’s glossy red lips and just letting the music wash over her, pretending that it’s all just pretty sounds so that she doesn’t have to listen to the words.

When the server comes back to the table with the next round, Adore lifts her own cocktail with a smirk. Bianca looks down self-consciously, waiting a few moments before tucking into her drink, just as Courtney is finishing her song.

She puts down her glass to join the applause, cheering along with Courtney’s friends, loving the glowing expression on her face as she bows, thanking the crowd.

“Wow, you guys are too kind. Thanks for making me feel like my slutty shenanigans are worth something.”

“Yeah they are!” Sasha cries out.

“Take off your top!” Shea adds, waving a twenty in the air, causing Courtney to giggle and shake her head slightly.

“Fuck you guys,” she laughs. “I’m a slut, not a whore.”

“Fair enough,” Shea answers, tucking the money away.

“Alright now, moving on...um, no self respecting Australian can leave the stage without a nod to the Princess of Pop, Ms. Kylie Minogue...where’s my friend from earlier?” Courtney searches the crowd, sees an enthusiastic young man clapping excitedly. “Ah! Hello sir. Where are you from? It can’t be here, since you obviously have a sense of culture.”

“South Africa,” the young man answers, and Courtney laughs.

“Figures. See, Los Angeles, Kylie Minogue is a very famous pop icon all over the rest of the world. You just know her as the older lady who sings Locomotion.”

“Sorry, bae!” Adore calls out.

Courtney winks at her, then continues, “I’m not gonna sing Locomotion, but I hope you enjoy this one…”

As Bianca sets her empty wine glass down, she can swear that those gleaming eyes are looking directly at her.

“I just can't get you out of my head Boy, your loving is all I think about…”

Courtney is trying to look away. She really is. But something keeps pulling her eyes back towards Bianca’s. Every word out of her mouth feels like a confession, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

Bianca bites her lip, stomach twisting. She breathes in slow, shallow gulps of air, throat feeling dry and a mist of sweat on her brow. She thinks it must be all the wine getting to her, making her hot and slightly dizzy.

“Boy it's more than I dare to think about Every night, every day Just to be there in your arms…”

As Courtney’s throat begins to feel sore, she realizes that she’s not properly controlling her breathing. She closes her eyes, fingertips on the mic tingling, slightly unsteady in her heels.

“I just can't get you out of my head I just can't get you out of my head I just can't get you out of my head...”

Bianca is in such a trance that she barely notices the music fading out. The crowd is on their feet, and Courtney looks slightly overwhelmed for a moment.

“Stand up!” Adore says to everyone around them. “That’s my baby up there!” She puts her fingers in her mouth and whistles.

Bianca jumps up, swaying a little from the heat and alcohol, blinking back the mistiness in her eyes that seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Thank you so much, Los Angeles!” Courtney waves, smiling from ear to ear, as Alexis joins her back on the stage, keeping the applause going, forcing her to bow again before she exits.

“Give it up once more for the incomparably beautiful Courtney Hamilton!” Alexis calls out, blowing her a kiss as she exits. “How amazing was she?”

“I’m in love!” cries a man from the front row.

“Awww…” Alexis glances up with feigned nervousness at her friends’ tables, asking in a stage whisper, “Should I tell him?”

This gets a huge laugh from Shea, Sasha, and the whole group.

“Let him dream!” Adore shouts back, and Alexis giggles, moving on to introduce the next performer.

Bianca sits through the rest of the show in a fog, buzz steadily increasing. By the time it’s over, she feels a little dizzy. Courtney prances over to their table, getting bombarded with hugs and kisses from her friends. Bianca stands back a bit, finishing her glass of wine - she’s lost count at this point but her brain feels thick and foggy.

Courtney accepts a big, warm hug from Naomi as her other friends surround her.

“Oh my god, you were so amazing,” raves Naomi, “And sexy. Jesus, look at you!”

Courtney tosses her hair, lapping up the attention.

“What, this?” she flutters her lashes as Adore and Sasha laugh.

“Don’t you dare play coy!” Sasha says.

“And that last song…” Naomi continues. “I had to stop myself from jumping on stage and fucking you right there.”

“Well, you’re only human,” Courtney laughs, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Yeah, and get in line, bitch,” Adore pipes up.

Bianca sets her glass down, a sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She realizes that maybe that connection she thought they had while Courtney was singing was one-sided. It was entirely possible that everyone in the room felt that way. And once that thought takes root, it’s like a disease. She’s not special. She’s just another asshole lusting after a hot girl singing in a bar.

She’s startled out of her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder, green eyes looking at her intently.

“Hi there, remember me?” Courtney asks playfully. She’d noticed Bianca hanging back, and part of her worries that there’s a reason why she seems less outgoing than usual. Maybe she’s being oversensitive, but it’s important to her that she has an amazing time. She hopes that none of her friends said or did anything to make Bianca uncomfortable.

“Hey! Um, great job up there!” Bianca says, stepping forward to give her a hug, making sure to release her quickly. But not before accidentally inhaling into her hair, her usual scent supplemented by hairspray, curls brushing against her cheek. Bianca stumbles backwards slightly.

“So, did you really like it?” Courtney asks, her soft eyes making Bianca melt inside.

“Totally! I’m actually not sure why you’re not doing this full time, to be honest. You’re...you were incredible.”

“Thanks.” She beams at Bianca’s praise, dismissing her earlier anxiety. Maybe she was just a little tipsy. That would explain her change in demeanor, right?

“And, uh,” Bianca clears her throat, “it sounds like you’re gonna get lucky, too, if you play your cards right.”

“What?” Courtney eyes widen.

Bianca nods in Naomi’s direction, and when Courtney sees where she’s looking, her heart deflates slightly.

“Oh. Yeah. That’s my friend Naomi.”

“Another dancer?” Bianca’s tone is slightly mocking, a hint of bitterness creeping into the edges.

“No, actually. She’s a runway model. We used to have the same agents.”

“Of course,” Bianca scoffs, rolling her eyes, then recovering to say, “She’s cute. You should go for it.”

“You think so, huh?” One of Courtney’s brows arches, lips pursed in what Bianca perceives as a pout.

“Definitely.”

Courtney holds her gaze for a long moment, causing her stomach to twist again. Bianca tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, swallowing hard.

“So, um...I should probably take off...”

“You don’t want to come out with us?” Courtney’s eyes are big and bright, and all Bianca wants to do is take her face in both hands, lean close enough to feel warm breath on her face...

“Yeah,” Bianca clears her throat. “I’m a little hammered, and so I should probably get myself home to bed. Let you do your thing.”  

Pulling Bianca into another hug, Courtney sighs against her, a sound that makes Bianca’s heart flutter.

“Thank you so much for coming, B,” she murmurs.

“It was great. You were great. Fantastic. Really, um,” Bianca catches herself, pulling away slightly. “Sorry, I’m just, uh...”

She’s rewarded for her babbling with another brilliant smile, Courtney’s eyes glittering at her. She takes a deep breath.

“So...um. See you Monday?”

“Right.”

As Courtney’s fingers trail down her forearm, Bianca realizes that she has to get out now. She stammers out a goodbye and then hurries from the room, cheeks burning hot.

Courtney watches her leave, regret and frustration racing through her. An arm slips around her shoulders from behind, and she leans back, letting Sasha drop a kiss onto her head.

“She’s cool,” Sasha comments. “And funny. I mean, I get it. But, Courtney…”

“I know, okay? Shut up.” Courtney turns around, pressing her hands together. “Okay cunts, who’s buying shots?!”

***

Bianca blinks her bleary eyes open, slowly becoming aware of her phone buzzing on the nightstand. Who is god’s name would be calling her at this hour? She glances over and sees her sister’s name on the caller ID. Fuck. Someone better be dead.

Bianca reaches over and picks up the phone, croaking out a hoarse, “What the fuck, Liz?”

“Tía?” asks a small voice, and Bianca sits up straighter.

“Regina?” Bianca rubs her eyes, “Is everything okay?”

Beside her, Jared lets out a frustrated groan, face buried in a pillow.

“Hang on, sweetie…” Bianca climbs out of bed, hurrying into the living room, grabbing a sweatshirt on the way. “What’s wrong?”

“Everyone hates me!” Regina answers, a sob in her throat.

Bianca bites back the desire to list off everyone who loves and cherishes her 13-year-old niece, knowing that would only make her feel worse.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, honey?”

Regina launches into a tearful confession about a dramatic incident with her friends at lunch on Friday. Apparently, she made a joke at the expense of her friend’s developmentally delayed brother (Bianca has to cringe a little; the kid’s obviously learned some decidedly un-PC humor from her) and it caused all of her friends to turn on her. The best friend won’t talk to her anymore, and the rest of them followed.

“...and then they told everyone else, and now the whole school thinks I’m evil and I just heard Hannah-Beth saying that they should ignore me in church today and she wasn’t even there! We’ve been friends since pre-school! I don’t know what to do.” Regina sniffles.

Bianca switches on the coffee maker and leans against the counter.

“I’m going to recommend something that I’m not very good at,” she begins.

“Baking her cookies?”

“No. And I make awesome cookies, how dare you. No wonder everyone thinks you’re an asshole.”

There’s a moment of silence and then Regina giggles.

“I was going to say that maybe you should apologize. But like, a real apology so that your friend can see how badly you feel for hurting her. I know you, and I know that you would never want to hurt someone’s feelings on purpose.”

“No, I was trying to make her laugh.”

“So tell her that, and that you’re sorry. And then once you guys are cool again, I bet all your other friends will find their chill.”

Regina sighs.

“You really think so?”

“I do. And I also think that you should give your mother her phone back before she realizes that it’s missing.”

“I really don’t want to go back in there. Hannah-Beth and Monica keep glaring at me.”

“Well, you know, it’s church. Being judged is part of the fun,” she says, causing Regina to giggle. “Why don’t you call me back later and let me know how it goes?”

“Okay. I love you, Tía.”

“I love you too, pumpkin.” Bianca hangs up and rubs her eyes.

***

“I cannot believe I agreed to do this on a Sunday night. I should be wearing pajamas right now,” Bianca grumbles, as Jared shoots her a resigned look.

“Promise you won’t start with him, okay? Bill’s been talking about this girl for months. He says she’s really smart.”

“Smart, and dating Willam?” Bianca scoffs incredulously. “Ooh, maybe she’ll be able to count past ten without taking off her shoes?”

“Come on, B,” Jared says, suppressing a laugh. “Just be cool, please?”

“I’m always cool.”

It’s Jared’s turn to scoff now, as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious.” When they approach the table, his furrowed brow melts into a grin and he slaps his friend on the back. “Biiiill!”

“Hey man!” Willam jumps up to give Jared a fierce bro hug, punching him on the arm for good measure. Bianca accepts a kiss on the cheek, rolling her eyes as Willam looks her up and down. “Smokin’ hot dress, B. You look like the classy kind of hooker tonight.”

“Well, you would know,” Bianca sasses, taking a seat and looking with pity at the slender blonde in the seat beside him. “Hi, you must Alaska. Blink twice if you’re here against your will.”

Alaska laughs.

“Oh my god, Willam, you’re right, she’s soooo funny…” she drawls.

The sound of her voice makes Bianca even surer that this is another one of Willam’s endless string of beautiful, empty-headed bimbos. She smiles condescendingly.

“So, Willam tells me you’re a costume designer. Is your life just like, the most glamorous ever?” Alaska takes a sip of her cosmo.

“Um, costume designer is kind of a generous description. I work in the wardrobe department of a TV show.”

“Still, that sounds amazing! Do you know a lot of famous people?” Alaska’s brown eyes sparkle with excitement.

Oy vey, Bianca thinks, and she clears her throat.

“A few, I guess. And what do you do?” One eyebrow goes up as Bianca guesses, “Social Media Influencer?”

“I wish! No, I’m a research physician at Cedar’s,” Alaska answers.

“Wait, seriously?” That idiot bro was dating a doctor? A sexy doctor with what looked like real tits? How the fuck had he pulled that one off?

“In your face, bitch!” Willam crows. “I told you my girl was smart AF.” He leans over and places a kiss on Alaska’s shoulder.

“Wow, that’s awesome. What...um...what are you doing with him?” Bianca gestures at Willam distastefully. Jared pinches her thigh, annoyed.

Alaska giggles, giving an adorable shrug.

“‘Cause I know how to make a woman happy,” Willam pipes up.

“By keeping your mouth shut?” Bianca asks sweetly, earning an exasperated sigh from Jared.

“Guess again.” Willam punctuates his statement with a tongue gesture that makes Bianca’s skin crawl, and causes Alaska to laugh delightedly.

“Stop it, oh my goood. You’re toooo funny.” She kisses him, and Bianca’s nose wrinkles in disgust.

Bianca leans over to Jared, hand on his arm, muttering, “Okay, so she’s obviously a masochist, right?”

But instead of laughing like she’d hoped, Jared just narrows his eyes at her.

“Shut the fuck up B, and let everyone have a good time.”

Bianca pulls back from him abruptly, like she’s been burned.

“I was just-”

“It’s not funny. Enough.” Jared glares at her, and she sits back in her chair, chagrined, knowing that she’s gone too far, and hoping that he won’t stay mad. Luckily, Willam and Alaska are still making out, oblivious.

“I’m sorry.”

Jared nods, placing a hand on her thigh while he flags down their server for drinks. Thank god for alcohol.

“So, um...how’d you guys meet?” Bianca asks, genuinely curious.

“Tinder,” Alaska answers.

“You’re on tinder?!” Bianca asks Willam, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. She always imagined Willam finding his girls in Vegas casinos and strip clubs.

“Not anymore,” he says smugly.

“Awww…” Alaska coos, then turns back to Bianca to add, “I still have my account.”

Bianca bursts out laughing. “Attagirl!”

“Hey Bianca. I have something for you,” Willam digs in his pocket, pulling out his hand, middle finger sticking up.

“In your dreams, Belli,” Bianca replies, with a flutter of her lashes. A sharp look from Jared makes her shoulders tense slightly. “Anyway, uh…” She grabs her cocktail gratefully from the server who just appeared and raises it. “To love.”

“Cheers!” Alaska responds, clinking glasses with her.

As Bianca downs her cocktail, she sighs internally. She’s not sure why it bothers her, that this smart, beautiful, successful woman is with a douche like Willam. But, she supposes that there’s no accounting for taste.

[ohstardust]

Rose Coloured Boy - [6/11]

Summary: Sebastian Stan & Eleanor Egan spent the better part of six years being the European outcasts of Rockland Country Day School. Despite growing through their teens as best friends, college soon broke down their friendship until nothing remained. Ten years later, a turn of events in a city as large as New York City, finds them running in the same social circles once again with nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Pairing: Sebastian Stan x OFC Word Count: 4.8k Masterlist / Story Background / Playlist / AO3 A/N: I struggled so much to actually finish this chapter yet I also love it?? Especially Eleanor’s birthday party. Part 5 // Part 7

SPRING 2012 Eleanor shoved her phone under her ear, trapping it between her shoulder and shifted her shopping bags between both hands to evenly distribute the weight. Her shirt was starting to stick to her and she didn’t dare glance in any store windows as she passed by, couldn’t bear to witness the frizzy state her hair undoubtedly had become. The city was awfully hot this month, humidity worse than normal, and everyday tasks felt more like a strenuous chore than anything else. It was sickening to admit they hadn’t even entered summer yet, the end of spring still petering on, “I don’t know, he said he starts filming that new show in Philly, early May, so he won’t be home.”

Chace sighed, she could almost see him scrubbing a balled-up fist across his forehead, his tone dropped, and she hated his pitying voice. She hated how it made her feel childish without intention, “I’m sorry, Eegs, he didn’t tell me. I know how important it is for him be here.” “It’s just one day, there’s plenty more to celebrate, get pissed up, make horrible decisions. He’s not missing anything really. It’s just my birthday, nothing special.” Lie. “But it’s your thirtieth.” “If you bring that up one more time, Christopher Chace Crawford, then you won’t be seeing your twenty-seventh. The ridiculous snort down the receiver made her chuckle and she could imagine him raising an eyebrow as he spoke and teasingly replied, “Now is that a threat or a promise?” “Both.” “Have I mentioned how much I love feisty women?” Her head instinctively shook despite him not being able to see her gesture and her eyes rolled. She struggled to stick her key in the lock of her apartment door just as Damon popped his head out of his adjacent home. Eleanor raised a few fingers to wave, careful not to drop the well-placed groceries before he grabbed her keys from her, muttering “You always have to make a point of multi-tasking” and unlocked the door. Her tongue poked out in response and she freed one hand of bags, setting it inside the doorway before blowing him a kiss and shutting her door. “You just like getting your ass kicked by women far stronger than you. It would be classed as borderline sadistic if it wasn’t so hilarious.” “Oh Eleanor, you think you’re so funny.” “I don’t think so, Chacey, I know so.” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Eleanor’s birthday fell late May, she protested her distain for birthday celebrations to all of her friends at the mere mention of her impending day, but secretly her heart swelled a little more knowing they wanted to celebrate with her and give themselves over to her for one day. And okay, maybe she just liked to pretend she hated birthday’s and growing older. She gave overall responsibility of a party of sorts to her more than willing friends and, against her better judgement, trusted them to throw something together that wouldn’t humiliate her beyond all belief, nor turn into the spectacle that Damon’s party had been. She wasn’t quite sure what to expect, or whether her trust had been ill-placed, but she hoped the girls would at least rein the men in, or vice-versa. Lisa arrived at her apartment at seven pm on the dot with a ridiculously heart-warming bouquet of balloons, and her fiancé Harry, just as Sasha was finishing off the remains of her prosecco, shrieking to Eleanor You’re gorgeous, now hurry up! There was a chorus of wolf-whistles and catcalls when Eleanor twirled into the room with a red painted grin spreading from ear to ear, and her arms outstretched, ta-da. She was a vision in her non-traditional get-up, all ivory and thigh high splits, strappy camisole and stilettos, she boasted of her becoming’s of the mature party girl-cum-woman and broke out into a laugh, her face scrunched up. Sasha threw her arms around Eleanor’s neck and humorously squashed the older girl under her chin, despite their height differences, and cooed, “My babies grow up so fast!” “Shut up and grab your shoes,” Lisa’s eyes rolled, and she grinned at the display already starting before her. She’d promised to have the girls at the party in a timely fashion though and she didn’t fancy her chances at facing Damon’s flamboyant wrath after a gin or two. *-*-*-*-*-*-* The sight of delicately strung outdoor lights draped over the railings, the majority of her friends mingling and the sheer volume of what her closest friends had beautifully pulled together, has her in tears before she’s even taken a sip of courtesy champagne. It was dazzling and glittering and embodied her personality in one rooftop setting. She was floored by the preparation and the venue, but it felt almost too much, Eleanor felt on the verge of unworthy of their efforts, no matter how many protests had claimed otherwise over so many years. Her thumb delicately ran under her waterlines to mop up her emotions and she huffed out a laugh to satisfy the concern on the girls’ faces. She blinked a few times and waved a hand in the air above her head, “I’m fine.” “Good, we don’t want Alice in Wonderland drowning on her birthday now, do we?” Damon had clocked the girls the second they reached the top of the stairs and hastily excused himself to grab a fresh glass of fizz from the bar. He thrust it in her hand and pecked her cheek, inserting himself in the conversation as he often did. “How the hell did you pull this together? How much must this have even cost?” “What are you worrying about that for? This is all for you, El.” Lisa gushed. “But I don’t - how - why?” “Why what?” “Why all this trouble for me? I don’t get it.” “Clearly not, but you’re dense so that explains it all,” he smirked and grunted when the back Eleanor’s hand collided with his chest, “You don’t get how many people wanted to give you a special night that was yours. You’re so busy sorting everyone else’s life out, but when does everyone get the chance to do something for you?” Eleanor scrunched her nose up and knocked back half of her drink, “God, I think I just threw up, that was so nice.” “Shut up or I’ll send everyone home.” “Thank you, I still don’t get it but I’m really grateful, I don’t deserve you guys one bit.” “You’re getting mushy, go have another drink,” Damon playfully swatted her on the bottom and hollered after her as she made her way to the bar, “You look gorgeous baby!” She turned about ten different shades of crimson alone and raised her middle finger to him, “Dick,” she snickered. For someone who performed to large crowds night after night, and claimed a career in acting, she embarrassed all too easily in everyday life. She was a vision of blushes and inflamed cheeks when she was herself, head ducked to hide her face when attention was on Eleanor Egan and not her latest character. If anything, the stark difference between her personality and stage persona differentiated her from who she was pretending to be, but through it all she remained herself, bashful, clumsy, playful and a touch shy when situations weren’t under her control. But it made her her, and if her friends loved her, she couldn’t be too critical of what she viewed as her shortcomings. *-*-*-*-*-*-* The sun began to set shortly after eight, the darkening of the sky seemingly brought more people to their rooftop, more friends she hadn’t seen in so long, past work colleagues, people she didn’t expect to see until another opening night for a show she probably wouldn’t even be in, but it warmed her knowing that they’d made the effort for her. Bright, sparkling personalities all at one function, for her, made her a little dizzy, and she didn’t think it was the fizz working its way through her body or the height at which she was standing. Her back was rested against the fencing on the far east side of the terrace, taking a breather and a quiet moment to herself, wanting to observe everyone from the side-lines, to take a mental snapshot of the occasion. Maybe she was a little drunk, it always made her more sentimental. There was dancing, and laughing, and couples kissing and holding one another, and a playlist of her favourite music that she didn’t think anyone would even have taken note of, and the whole thing had her heart fit to burst. It was safer not to dwell on those there with their partners, being single on her thirtieth birthday left a bitter taste that she wanted to forget for just one evening. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, letting the cooler evening air wash over her skin and sober her enough that she could still drink a lot more, her lips were upturned, and she was the most content she’d felt in some time. Her eyes blinked open at the sound of movement surrounding her, the softer footsteps purposefully careful to avoid startling her, the crinkle of a crisp shirt and jeans-on-jeans. Her momentary peace being broken. “I’m drunk and hallucinating,” she muttered upon the sight beside her, taking in the younger man’s full form. “Why? What are you seeing?” “You, and you actually made an effort to dress nicely for once.” “Then in that case, you’re probably pretty drunk, but definitely not hallucinating.” “You’re making a habit of surprise appearances, Mr Stan.” “I’m… what’s the word? - Elusive?” He scrunched his nose and squinted his eyes before grinning at her, all white teeth and sharper features and sunshine. “Chace fucking Crawford.” “I think Chace is his middle name actually.” She grabbed his face in an iron clad grip and kissed both of his cheeks before she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a tight embrace, “Shut up Seba. I’m just glad you’re here.” She pressed a clumsy kiss to his jaw and sighed with her nose buried under his ear. Later on she’d remember that and file that away in a folder titled things that I absolutely did not do no matter how drunk I was. But she was just so happy that he was here, even when he’d told her he wouldn’t be, had sworn that he’d be in the middle of filming a new television show and would have to miss it no matter how much he hated to not celebrate her landmark birthday with her. Eleanor had really wanted to see him today. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, draguţă,” he whispered sweetly in her ear and pulled back to kiss her forehead. She’d spent the majority of the following hour and a half making pleasantries with those she knew, chatting, receiving drinks and gifts, exchanging compliments, and questioning how some others even got in, hoping they at least knew someone that she did. It was exhausting, and she was five minutes away from throwing her sandals off the roof, but she danced around for a while, swaying and moving with her friends, some old, some very new, and she could feel the heat in her cheeks burning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled as much as she had that evening. A few girls excused themselves for a breather and she took the opportunity to scope out her smaller group of friends, to sit with them for a few moments and thank them extensively once again. Sebastian pulled on her hand as she started to pass by him, and she stumbled into his lap with a wicked giggle, seating herself on his knee. “You clean up real fucking good,” Sebastian growled into her ear, his grip around her waist tightened. Her body relaxed and she rested back against his chest, seemingly unaware of their friends’ gaze, who watched them with amused expressions, “I could say the same for you, Stan.” He ran his index finger over her exposed thigh, pressing a few fingers into her flesh teasingly and grinned into her neck, “you smell good too.” “How much have you had to drink?” ”Just enough to be honest with you,” she could feel his lips ghosting over the nape of her neck, spiking every nerve ending making her shiver. She was unsure how to deal with this version of her friend, the flirty, confident, one that was more candid and open with her than he had been in the past year. The lines in her head were blurring and she couldn’t fend him off no matter how much she tried, so she laughed it off, grabbing his hand resting on her thigh and lacing their fingers together, keeping him close in a capacity she was more used to and safe with. This she could handle, this was familiar territory, not whatever that was. His hands more or less stayed to himself for the next fifteen minutes, just absently rubbing his thumb over her wrist that was resting on his, his arm still firmly holding her to him whilst his other gripped his beer bottle. Damon clinked his glass to grab the attention of their group, quietly enough not to alert the whole party, but enough that those seated around their table would hear and hush their conversations, “Ellie Bellie, I’m gonna make a speech so prepare yourself.” “What have I told you about calling me that? Wanker” “You know you love it really.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but smiled affectionately at her close friend, “So, we’re saving the big speech for when we’re barely able to form full sentences, just to really embarrass you, but I’ve got a little something to say on behalf of this bunch of misfits. “The moment I met your ridiculously dramatic ass, I knew we’d be best friends from the get go. Well, either that or I’d hate you for outshining me. Luckily – for you - it was the former. You’re a pain in the ass, and honestly El, I mean that in the nicest way possible. But you’re also the glue now, what holds us idiots all together and I don’t think we realised just how much we needed you until we got you,” Eleanor tried to smile around the tears forming, biting her lip to keep them under control, but she was intoxicated and sentimental and she was just so happy, she couldn’t explain it all without turning to mush. “You’re crazy talented, stupidly beautiful, y’know if you’re into that sorta thing, and you’re abnormally kind-hearted. You’re a breath of fresh air, El, and we love you. Happy birthday, grandma.” Her friends raised their glasses and cheered for her, hip hip hooray, all laughing at her crimson cheeks and her palms pressed to them to cover her face.Sebastian buried his face in her hair, lips pressed to the base of her neck, kissing it with a smile. He patted her hip to let her be pulled up by Damon. The older man wrapped her up in his arms and Sasha and Chace flung their arms around the pair to pull them into huddle with another loud cheer. Everyone took their turns to pull her close, give her their best wishes and kiss her cheeks. She loved her friends more than anything. She turned back to Sebastian who was still spread out on small sofa, legs wide apart, slumped in the seat with a lazy grin and his fixed stare on her. He looked so good and she feared she’d be fighting this thought off for a while. Instead she extended her hand to him, taking note of the slow opening chords of a Darren Criss song playing, one of her guilty pleasures, “C’mon Seb, we haven’t slowed danced since prom.” He didn’t reply, just let her pull him from the seat and followed after her to the makeshift dance floor. They were close, hands resting on hips, around necks, her head resting on his shoulder as they swayed, everything felt normal and as it should be, like they hadn’t spent so long apart. Her fingers softly stroked the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck and he sighed, eyes slipping shut as he held her tighter to him, tight enough to indicate he had no intention of letting her go. Don't you want the way I feel? Don't you want the way I feel? Don't you want the way I feel for you? Eleanor pulled herself back far enough to face him and shot him a small yet thoroughly content smile, “Seb?” He hummed in response and his mouth mimicked hers, his eyes sweeping over her face. “You should stay at mine tonight - if you want to that is - just like old times. Just like teenage us.” Sebastian knew full well how unlikely it was that he’d be able to deny her anything, despite the cheeky, hard-to-get persona he showed to every other woman that crossed his path, “Sure, like old times.” Her smiled widened and she kissed his cheek, all bright and lively and all trace of intensity vanished. Hours later, after a few too many more shots and flutes of fizzy champagne, once everyone began to retreat from the party, Sebastian & Eleanor stumbled into her apartment in a flurry of giggles and anecdotes. They curled up in her bed, facing one another with amused looks and she rested her open palm on his cheek, “I’ve missed getting drunk with you and cuddling in my bed, Seba.” “And I’ve missed you calling me that.” *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* AUGUST 2012 The heat was almost scolding that last week in August. The sun was beating down over the city, the streets were lined with an impossible amount of residents and tourists alike and it almost would have been too much had Eleanor not already been living there for so many years. Sasha had called by her apartment at eight am to coerce her into a run. Eleanor naturally groaned and protested for a good five minutes before she threw on some clothes and her trainers, knowing how desperately she needed to get outside for fresh air and to stretch her legs. “So get this, I was scrolling through my Instagram last night - because you know how ridiculously obsessed I am - and I noticed I’d received a bucket load of mentions and comments from Seb’s fans. And like, I’m sure they’re all perfectly fine and normal, or at least to a certain degree, but they have a hell of an imagination between them.” “Oh god, what now?” “Apparently him and I are fucking,” Sasha snorted, “Or if we’re not, they think we should be.” “They’re not wrong there then.” “Wow Sash, say what you really mean, why don’t you?” Eleanor glared at her younger friend and grimaced, her legs slowing down to a stop to drink from her water bottle, “You know there’s nothing going on, right?” Sasha came to a stop beside her and followed suit, heavily breathing out, “It doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be.” “I hate you, piss off. Seriously, you attend a guy’s birthday party and suddenly everyone thinks you’re screwing each other.” Eleanor caught the raised eyebrow of her friend and watched the small smirk form, already hating the direction of this conversation and wishing profusely that she hadn’t brought it up to begin with, “You only hate me because you know I’m right. Or at least you want me to be.” “What are you on about now?” “How long have you been into him?” “I’m not, now drop it. You’re like a dog with a bone.” “It’s fine, Chace’ll tell me anyway,” Sasha shrugged and started to set off again, leaving Eleanor in the dust behind her. “He’ll do no such thing, he knows when to keep his trap shut,” she shrieked behind her, legs sprinting to match pace with the other girl. “HA! Did you think no one noticed the way you were hanging off each other at both of your birthday’s?” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Oh, sure you don’t. Not the way he kept kissing your neck? Or you sitting in his lap? Or you spending both evenings at each other’s place.“ “I’ve heard enough. It’s not like that and you know it, we’re just getting used to each other again and old habits die hard.” She didn’t mean to sound so defensive or scowling, it made sense for Sasha to thinks she did, to an onlooker their relationship looked a little less conventional and she could see it from the girl’s point of view. But it wasn’t helping her mixed feelings or whatever she was trying to work through in relation to Sebastian. Everything was tricky, her mind muddied and she didn’t want anyone else’s input when she hadn’t figured it out for herself yet. Sasha seemed to understand her tone though and made light of it all, not wanting to push and prod the other woman, “Well if you aren’t boning Seb, you should at least be boning Chace.” “I’m staying single and celibate now just for that comment.” “Yeah yeah, good luck keeping your panties on.” “Fuck you,” Eleanor choked out a laugh and paused, “Actually, there is someone, I’m going on a date on Friday.” “With a real man? Not a figment of your imagination?” “An honest-to-god real man, I know, I can hardly believe it myself.” “Well good for you, you deserve it. Now tell me all about him.” “So, his name is Patrick…” Patrick Andrews had been introduced to her at a little get together of Aaron’s a few days after Sebastian’s birthday. Aaron really liked to play matchmaker, loved to see his friends happy and was partial to meddling when he thought they needed an extra push. He’d been trying to set Eleanor & Patrick up for months despite Eleanor’s insistence that she was perfectly fine staying single for a while. In fact, she vaguely remembered Aaron mentioning him after a show last year, adamant they’d get on like a house on fire. He rationalised it, saying she might just gain another friend from him if nothing else, and who was she to turn down even more friends? Aaron marched her over to Patrick within ten minutes of stepping over the threshold to his apartment, eager to have them talking and mixing and finding out what things they had in common, hoping there was some common ground there at least. He was horribly smug when he’d glance their way every so often and find them still engrossed in conversation, everyone else long forgotten. She’d really enjoyed his company, his intelligent conversation, his witty humour and his sparkling eyes that made her want to keep them focused on her a while longer. He’d talked about his work as a book editor, his eclectic group of friends that he adored and the more he spoke of his passions, the more she was taken in by him. They’d parted ways long in the evening, after most of the party had left Aaron’s home, and she’d had an extra pink glow to her cheeks and his number stored in her phone. Part of it made her feel like a teenager all over again, different in a way she had felt with Rhys no matter how deeply she really cared for him. Patrick left a warmth in her chest and she’d needed to feel that really urgently with the way her mind had been reeling for the past few months. Perhaps this is what she needed, something more than a distraction, a hope for more than another friendship. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* SEPTEMBER 2012 Sunday morning brunches at Eleanor & Damon’s apartments had fast become a tradition over the past year, taking place over their takeout evenings back when Eleanor was still performing on Broadway. Busy schedules had a way of eliminating their social life altogether, so they understood how important it was to allocate a recurring time slot, a ritual if you will, to make sure they saw each other at least once a week. It was ridiculous not seeing your neighbour from one day to the next, and she missed having more free time to spend with loved ones, but her work was really thriving, and she was almost scared to calm down. The previous twelve months had been full of filming for a Broadway based television show, which was essentially a dream come true, it was a far cry from theatre but came with a whole new kind of freedom and re-shoots and she’d enjoyed it far more than she was anticipating. It was thrilling, exhausting, but no more demanding than she was used to. God, she craved the stage even more though. But through it all she kept her plans with Damon where possible and they happily alternated the cooking duty and hosting each week with the promise of the guest being on washing up duty. Fair’s fair, Eleanor had grinned after pouring the coffee and scooping eggs onto their plates. That morning she was playing the host, pancakes on the stove, freshly brewed coffee for Damon, tea for herself and orange juice cooling in the refrigerator. She was trying not to seethe too much as she debated with her friend, telling him the new gossip she’d been linked to via a fan of Sebastian’s on Twitter. “So wait, you’re telling me that you found out about him and Jennifer on TMZ?” “That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Damon.” “Well fuck, I thought you knew already.” “Wait, you knew?!” She screeched, she honestly hadn’t meant to raise her voice so high and sound so ungodly and feral, but if he knew then how many of their other friends knew? It didn’t matter all that much to Eleanor, at least that’s what she coerced herself into believing, she would have just really liked to have heard it directly from the horse’s mouth and not an online tabloid page that made her skin crawl and feel the sudden urge to bleach her eyes. “It’s not like it was a well-kept secret, he’s been gross about her for a couple of months.” “Huh, I really thought I was more perceptive than that, how did I miss it?” The thing is, a month ago she probably would have wanted to hurl at the thought of him in a new relationship, the first one he could flaunt and throw in her face, make her gag and feel nostalgic over for a multitude of reasons. And yes, she was a little more than miffed that she’d found this out in such a way, they talked about this kinda thing now, they were close friends again and she felt she was on her way to earning the right again - past misdemeanours aside. But now she had sweet, loving, caring Patrick and she suddenly realised the torch she held for her friend had started to dim. Those somewhat weak feelings, it was merely an attraction she huffed to herself, were fading and she was more grateful for Patrick than she had thought. Damon glanced at her over his steaming mug, trying to gauge her reaction, see how she was feeling, “I am kinda surprised he didn’t tell you about it though.” She scoffed and rolled her eyes and flicked some pancakes onto his plate, pushing forward the bowls of chopped fruit and the bottle of syrup, “It’s not like we stay up late at night, sharing secrets, talking about our love lives and braiding each other’s hair.” “Sorry Mrs-I-Don’t-Give-A-Fuck-Even-Though-I-Really-Do.” She emptied the pan onto her plate and took a seat beside him at the breakfast bar, “I- sorry - it’s just not like that now, if he’s happy then I’m happy.” And in all honesty, she really wasn’t lying for anyone’s sake, she wholeheartedly meant that statement. “Are you sure about that?” She thought for a moment and stopped mid chew, sighing, “Was I really that obvious and transparent?” “About Seb?” She nodded, resuming eating with her bowed, “a bit, I think I only noticed it because I wanted to. I don’t know what it is between you two but whatever it is will work itself out eventually.” “And in the meantime, I’m happy with my own relationship just as he’s happy with his.” He teasingly ruffled her hair, “That’s my girl,” He was keen to keep their time together light-hearted, no matter how much he wanted to push a little to have her talking candidly. Maybe he needed to feed her a bottle of wine first and let her talk it out, he knew her well enough at this point to know she was very hellbent on keeping things bottled up and to herself, he also knew how deadly that can be to a person, especially someone like Eleanor. But if she was genuinely happy, and Sebastian was too, he couldn’t really ask for any more than that. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Rose Coloured Boy tags: @lovingfionn​, @lowdenglynnstyles, @outofworkactress, @prettyboytgc, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls

[faegrifted]

tagged by: @airanddarkness mwah! <333

tagging: YOU (The person reading this if you’re interested!) + , @therisingtempest (felix, sasha, shireen, diera), @stemsurvivor , @thereforall,@goddamnitconnor,@wholehcartedly  ,@hopcbred Connor or Donnie , @justplainalice, @reedtm, @maljefe, @atlaslain , @thinkscalm ,@manyxheavysouls  , @feardante  , @symbiiiotic

Bold what Applies, Italicize if it’s occasional

APHRODITE:   laughter-loving,  sweet  smiles,   dressed  in  silk  and  satin,    flower  in  their  hair,     sees  the  world  as  a  runway,   unapologetically  sexual,  the  sea  washing  their  ankles,      in  love  with  love,     stirrer  of  passion,     cunning  concealed  by  painted  lips,     secret  daggers,   doves,   revolution  in  their  kiss,    delighting  in  the  waves,   flirtatious  winks, strolling  along  the  beach,      staring  wistfully  from  a  balcony,    this  is  how  to  be  a  heartbreaker, wants  to  be  adored,    gets  turned  on  by  danger.

APOLLO:  glitz  and  glamour,  art  galleries,   turning  the  volume  up,      being  made  of  gold,     neatly-organized  music  sheets,     notebooks  filled  with  poetry,   bathing  in  the  sunlight, the  powerful  urge  to  create,  collecting  vinyl  records,    beautiful  cover  of  Wonderwall,     playing  multiple  instruments,    tasting  like  sunshine, healing  touch,   speaking  in  prophecies,   smile  mingled  with  wrath,   shunning  lies,     sporting  shades,     hanging  out  at  music  festivals  with  their  friends,     sleeps  naked, arrow  to  the  heart,     paint  brushes,     probably  has  a  Tinder  account.

ARES:     armed  for  battle,    wants  to  raise  a  dog  with  their  significant  other,    soft  spot  for  children,     gives  piggyback  rides,   scarred  body,    blood  on  their   hands  and  face,     willing  to  fight  the  world  for  the  ones  they  love ,  fights  against  injustice,  warm  hugs ,  well-worn  combat  boots,     boxing gloves,    bandages  wrapped  around  bruised knuckles,      fist  raised  in  protest,    ignites  revolutions,    fear  is  a  prison,     more  sensitive  than  what  their  tough  shell   would  have  you  think,      exhausted,      damaged  goods,     force  to  be  reckoned  with,     red  roses,   curses  under  their  breath.

ARTEMIS:     keen  sense  of  a  hunter,     freckles  like  constellations  on  their  skin,    piercing  eyes,   disheveled  braid,  moonlight  peeking  through  the  shadows,       the  calm  of  the  forest  at  night,   lying  on  the  grass  and staring  at  the  stars,  mother  doe  and  her  fawn,   protecting  their  kin,   the  moon  shimmering  on  a  still  lake,      quiver  full  of  arrows  resting  against  the  bark  of  a  tree,    running  with  wolves,    bonding  while  circled  around  a  campfire,    not  being  much  of  a  people  person, arrow  hitting  a  target,      popping  egos,      patience  on  3%,    touches  heaven  and  returns  howling.

ATHENA:      discerning  gaze,     unreadable  face,      quiet  museums,    owl  perched  on  their  finger,    armor  that  intimidates,     eye  for  architecture,    plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose of  building   houses,  studied  the  blade  while  everyone  else  was  busy  getting  laid,     big  fan  of  logic,  loves  brain  teasers,  ancient  buildings,   sweaters  in  neutrals  and  cool  colors,     hair  done  up,   can  kill  you  with  their  brain,   heads  to  the  library  often  to  research,    sharpened  pencils,     abs  that  can  cut  steel,    stoic  statues,     pottery classes.

DEMETER:      soil-covered  hands,    smile  that  can  bloom  flowers,     skin  loved  by  the sun,     being  the  mom-friend,    can  lift  you  and  your  friends,  flowers  kept  in  the  pockets  of  overalls,     takes  pride  in their  beautiful  garden,     speaks  to  their  plants,    leaves rustling  in  the  wind,     stalks  of  wheat,   picking  fruit,    greenhouses,    heart  as  strong  as  a  mountain,    values simplicity,    daisies  dotted  across  a  collarbone,     curls crowned  with  flowers,     folded  pile  of  sweaters  in  warm hues,   pulling  out  fresh-baked  bread  out  of  the  oven  and the smell  wafting  through  the  air.

DIONYSUS: drunk  shitposter,     on  their  sixth  glass  of  wine  before  you’ve  even  finished your  second,     seductive  smirks,     untamed curls,       rich  fabrics  on  dark  skin,      sleek-furred  panthers,    theater  masks,   stage  productions,   receiving  a  standing  ovation,     rose  caught  between  their  teeth,      being  the  baby  of  the bunch,   wild  parties  that  last  from  sundown  to  sunup,    creeping  vines,    inspiring  loyalty,  grand  opera  houses,   masquerade  balls,   rolls  of  film,    shattered  chandeliers  with  broken glass  scattered  across  the  wine-spilled  floor,   pouring  champagne  into  flutes,    lives  for  the   applause.

HEPHAESTUS:     the  calloused  hands  of  someone  who  knows  labor,      sweaty  brow,  flame  burning  in  their  eyes,   inventive  mind, broad  shoulders,   steampunk  goggles,   nuts  and  bolts stored  away  in  little  boxes,   ashes,    striking  a  match,   blueprints  for  future  projects,    fixing  up  a  busted  up  car and  giving  it  cool  upgrades,   wrestles  with  bitterness, work  boots  have  seen  better  years,    wrinkled  plaid  shirts,   iron  melted  in  blazing  fire,     huge  jackets,   crafting masterpieces,     greased-stained  overalls,     fascination  with robotics,     pain  is  fuel,    stack  of  weaponry,   even  their  muscles  have  muscles.

HERA:       resting  bitch  face,   dressed  to  the  nines,  cows  grazing  on  a  pasture,    cool  rain,   loving  and  hating  fiercely,  hand  clutching  a  string  of pearls,     large  chandelier  with  glittering  crystals,   plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose  of  killing  off  their  sims,    romance  to  realism,     pictures  of  the  sky  while  flying  on  a  plane, files  that  under  fuck  it,   downs  glasses  of  wine  as  they  relax  with  a  scented  bubble  bath  and  netflix,    like  their  selfie  or  you’re  grounded,    knows  57  convenient  ways  to  murder  a  man,     dark  eyes  that  penetrate  your  soul,  marble  and  gold.

HERMES:     devil-may-care  smile,  always  up-to-date  on  the  latest  technology,    will  steal your french  fries,    does  it  for  the vine,     shitposter,     puts googly  eyes  on  everything,     meme  hoarder, long  drives on  the  highway,    ma  and  pop  diners,    spontaneous road trips,     folded  maps,   fingers  dancing  across  the keyboard  of  a laptop,      shooting  hoops  on  the  basketball court,    chatting  up  strangers  as  you  all  journey  to  your  own  destinations, goes  jogging  in  the  morning,      mixes  redbull  with  coffee,    menace  on  april fool’s,  hoodies  and  sneakers.    

POSEIDON:      storm  with  skin,     colorful  coral  reefs,     waves  crashing  against  the  shore,    stroking  the  soft  fur  of  a cat,   their  heart  pounding  as  their  horse’s  gentle  trot  speeds  into  a  gallop, tousled  locks, clothes  smeared  with  paint,     owns  several  sketchbooks  yet  always  yearns  to  own more,   leather  jackets,     fondness  for  diy  projects, handwriting  that  flows  across  the  page,   nimble  fingers  playing  the  strings  of  a  violin,  velvety singing  voice  that  haunts  your  dreams,     mood  as  ever-changing  as  the  sea,    the  roar  of  a  motorcycle,     compass  with  a  spinning arrow.

ZEUS:     thunder  in  their  heart,     running  on  coffee,  flash  of  lightning, natural  charisma,  eloquence,   badass  in  a  nice  suit,    aficionado  of  history,   force of nature,    lenny  face,   nightmare-filled  nights,     proud  arm  around  their  lover’s  waist,   high-rise  buildings,   planes  soaring  through  a  cloudless  sky,      technician  on  the  piano,  maintains  order,    strong  handshake,  juggling  multiple  events on  their  busy  schedule  with  ease,    expensive watch.

[fair-fae]

Olympian Aesthetic: Faye Covington

Aphrodite: laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger   Apollo: glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account Ares: armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell may have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath Artemis: keen senses of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars,mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting its target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling Athena: discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a life-long teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes   Demeter: soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom friend, can lift you and all of your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air Dionysus: drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause Hephaestus: the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted by blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles Hera: resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold Hermes: devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes red bull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers     Poseidon: storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow Zeus: thunder in their heart, running on coffee tea, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends that they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with apparent ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch, like a boss Tagged by: @michikodhol, @redmatches, @sasha-rochester, @eastern-skies, @gazihsah, @season-of-maha, @bhaldstyr-ahtahrmsyn, @cahli-tia, and @marius-ffxiv Thank you all!! Tagging: @lheott, @umbrarum-xiv, @uppestoftownchics, @sonata-of-sorrow, @nightmaze, @heavensdeity, @sergei-harlenk, @gunnarsvard, @jurien-ashur, @mveerah, @sophine-xiv, @mischiefandmystics

[darthrevans]

hello! i've been silently observing a lot of the kotor fandom on here lately, and it’s made me want to develop my own revan a lot more since i see other people’s so much... so! here’s an oc meme that i’m just gonna write out for my own benefit (from this post)

Their age? I’d say like 29.

Their sexuality/sexual preference? Bisexual.

Any siblings/Only child? Only child, taken from her family at a young age to become a Jedi.

Their favourite season? Seasons aren’t really the same in Star Wars, but she really likes the rain, and she likes the cold. When she’s Darth Revan, and later when she’s been made Nataya, this is a constant (and when others complain about the rain she just smiles and turns her head up to feel the raindrops on her face. She loved Manaan for the constant feeling of this.)

Who were/are their parents/guardians? Her parents don’t matter to her. They let her go, and she understands, but she has no interest in knowing who they are. Her primary guardian is Kreia, and she looked to her for guidance the most as she grew up in the Jedi Temple.

Their gender? Cis female. 

Their date of birth? Don’t really have an answer for this. Let’s just say she doesn’t really celebrate her birthday.

What clothing style? She wears black. Her robes are black, and her casual clothes are black. This is something that followed on from when the Council stripped her of her Revan identity- they couldn’t remove her style. She likes wearing black and having everything match. It makes her feel powerful. And she becomes a Jedi wearing the same colour that the Council are so afraid of seeing her in. (Basically, she’s like the Anakin Skywalker of KOTOR times).

What is their favourite food after a break-up? The only “break-up” she’s really experienced was when Bastila was taken from her and made to fall. She thought she would have to kill her, before she realised she could bring her back.

Their favourite thing to do after a break-up? Probably find a swoop race gallery to completely sweep.

What happens in the ‘honeymoon phase’ for this character? She’s a horny motherfucker who *will* jump you in the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk (to Carth’s extreme embarrassment. Nataya, please, someone could walk in).

How many serious relationships have they been in? I would say two. I don’t really think my Revan was romantically involved with Malak, but they were very close, and I do think Malak had feelings for her. The other is of course Carth.

What is their nationality? In-game, she tells Bastila she was born on Deralia. I will accept this. It sounds pretty.

What languages do they speak? She speaks dozens of languages. She has an implant that helps her with understanding the really difficult ones, but she prides herself on her ability to learn. She took the time to learn Sasha’s version of Mandalorian, after all!

What is their profession/Education? She’s a Jedi Knight, ex-Dark Lord of the Sith, and Republic hero.

Their favourite comfort food? I don’t think she has one, which is sad. She eats whatever is given to her.

What’s a food they hate? She hates strange meats. (What do you mean this is rancor neck, Mission- I am NOT eating this-)

Their music taste? Limited to cantina music. Gotta love those Bith.

Is there a story behind their name/meaning? Nataya chose the name Revan on the battlefield when she took her mask from the fallen Cathar woman. The Council chose the name Nataya L’hnnar for her, with help from Bastila. The only reason Nataya allows herself to still be called Nataya is that she knows Bastila chose the name in the end.

Something they do that seems childish to others? She *WILL* continue to play pazaak until she wins (and she’s not very good at it, so this can result in many a flipped pazaak deck, or a table, and frustrating grumbling).

What is their all-time favourite TV show? Don’t...really think this applies.

What is their all-time favourite movie? ^

How big is their family? In reality, it’s just her. But in her mind, Carth is her partner, and she can’t think about forever but she does love him.

Are they close to anyone specific in the family? HK? I suppose?

Have they got any allergies? No.

Are they an emotional person? She’s gotten better at it. When she found out she was Revan, she reacted badly. She exploded in all kinds of emotions against Malak, and Bastila, before Bastila was taken from her and she had no choice but to face the reality of her situation. Since that night aboard the Hawk, she shut herself off. Her emotions flared a lot basically as soon as they got to and started progressing through Korriban, though, as that was Revan’s old stomping ground and that was when she realised she couldn’t shut herself off like she wanted. Since Bastila’s own fall, they’ve really been helping each other to manage; Juhani and Jolee are excellent helps in this regard.

Do they get angry/lose their temper quickly? Yes. If you push the right button, Nataya will explode. Anything to do with Revan gets a rise out of her, especially in the beginning. She’s better at it now, but when she sees cruel things, or someone pisses her off in such a way, she will cut you down.

What are some of their guilty pleasures? She loves swoop racing. As her memories return to her, she can’t remember ever even doing it once. And she’s glad she got to experience that as Nataya.

Do they have pets? Do they want pets? She had some gizka for a while. After that; no thanks.

Do they like kids? Do they want kids/have kids? She doesn’t like kids. Mission is probably the closest to a child she will ever have. She doesn’t want kids. She will help Carth with his son Dustil, and that is likely it, too.

Who’s cuddle buddy are they? Mission likes to cuddle with her, but of course Carth does too.

Do they have any tattoos? She does not.

Do they have any piercings? The upper part of her right earlobe is pierced.

What is their hair colour? Is it their natural colour? Her hair is black as night, and it is quite long. It is her natural hair colour.

Do they like musicals? No.

Do they like marmite? N/A.

Do they like glitter? She doesn’t not hate it.

Do they believe in the supernatural? Uh. I guess so. Force ghosts?

Have they ever seen a dead body? LOL................... she’s Darth Revan!

Have they ever had a near-death experience? AGAIN, LOL.

Have they ever broken a bone? L O L.

What are they like when they’re drunk/what kind of drunk are they? She is a bit of a messy drunk. She doesn’t drink often, as Jedi weren’t really allowed to. When she became Dark Lord, she was too in control. As Nataya? Ohhhh man... the lack of drinking really catches up with her.

Have they ever drunk underage? Probably like once.

What is the first thing they do when they wake up? Stare at the ceiling of wherever she was for the night. She then gets up to meditate, and stretch, and focus herself within the Force.

Do they consider themselves popular? She wouldn’t call herself popular, but she is Revan. Revan is the heart of the force.

How do they like their tea/coffee? She doesn’t like the taste of coffee but she drinks it when she *really* needs to stay awake. She’s coming around to the taste of some exotic flavours. Mostly, she asks for green tea, or its space equivalent. 

What do they smell like? Sweat, probably. Blood. She doesn’t smell the nicest. When she gets a chance to bathe, which can be rare, she lavishes in the sweet smelling floral soaps. (Yes, Darth Revan liked floral, sweet smells).

Are they a virgin? No. She lost her virginity to Malak.

Do they wear glasses/contacts? No.

Are they good at remembering significant dates? Anniversaries, birthdays etc? Yes, she is. As her memories of Revan start to come back more, this becomes even worse; she remembers dates REVAN thought important- which can sometimes be horrifying.

[glowinggunmetal]

Olympian Gods Aesthetics...

Aphrodite: laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologeticaly sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger  

Apollo: glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

Ares: armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell may have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

Artemis: keen senses of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting its target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

Athena: discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a life-long teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes  

Demeter: soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom friend, can lift you and all of your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

Dionysus: drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

Hephaestus: the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted by blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

Hera: resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

Hermes: devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes red bull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers    

Poseidon: storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

Zeus: thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends that they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with apparent ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch

Tagged by @roses-and-grimoires 

Tagging @khyranoisin @sasha-rochester @lordofcrowns @adellennehocoleux @bride-and-bride @floating-city-of-nem @anunlikelyknight @garlean-nonsense @garleanscum @aegir-ffxiv @aracelicaillen 

[sasha-rochester]

Greek God Aesthetics: Sasha Rochester

Aphrodite: laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologeticaly sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger  

Apollo: glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

Ares: armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell may have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

Artemis: keen senses of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting its target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

Athena: discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a life-long teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes  

Demeter: soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom friend, can lift you and all of your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

Dionysus: drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

Hephaestus: the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted by blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

Hera: resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

Hermes: devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes red bull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers    

Poseidon: storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

Zeus: thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends that they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with apparent ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch Tagged by: @glowinggunmetal Tagging: @sylastair, @swordandpen, @fair-fae, @andarion, @charm-in-spades, @safestsephiroth, @vildexiv, @twelvesavethequeen, @elibraddock (+Anyone else who wants to do it!)

[pilindiel]

Spirit Waltz for @zoe-bug |AO3|

HAPPY JEANMARCO GIFT EXCHANGE!!!  I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season and that you enjoy this story <3

Pairing: JeanMarco

Rating: M

Word Count: 6759

Excerpt:

It would be unfortunate if anyone were to be caught in this crossfire – the less people know about the creatures that stalk them as they sleep, the better.

I've been tracking this particular beast for a fortnight and though he left a trail of blood and destruction, it took far too long to lure him out.

Thankfully, the Kirschtein blood in me has always been excellent monster bait.

There is a pestilence over London. It's not in the water, not in the meat or the bread. It's not in the air, though the smog is thick with factory smoke and the glow of new electric lights.

No, the plague is of men; made by them. Molded by them. Hunting them.

I can feel each cobblestone through the worn, blackened leather of my boots and the thrum of the city echoes with my footfalls. I almost wish I could enjoy it – feeling the heartbeat of the night – but when you're running for your life you cannot indulge in simple pleasures.

The Browning in its holster is a constant weight against my thigh as I round the nearest side-street and I bless the stars that the pier is quiet this evening.

It would be unfortunate if anyone were to be caught in this crossfire – the less people know about the creatures that stalk them as they sleep, the better.

I've been tracking this particular beast for a fortnight and though he left a trail of blood and destruction, it took far too long to lure him out.

Thankfully, the Kirschtein blood in me has always been excellent monster bait.

The groan behind me grows in fervor and the stomping of leaden legs are not a comforting addition to the gentle lapping of waves against wooden bows and stone. I pivot sharply but my footing is off, careless.

My shoulder slams into the closest wall, deep red bricks stained white with sea salt, and I'm immediately set upon by a hulking, gangling body.

The shot from my Browning misses the creature by inches – my palms soaked with sweat and salt water – and the bullet shatters the lantern behind us, raining down glass that glitters in the moonlight.

I'm greeted by a series of yellowed, dripping teeth and the panting of a body whose lungs long stopped working. The stench from its gaping maw is rank with decay and death and even in the dark I can see its putrid gray skin, clinging desperately to the half of its face that still remains.

Ghouls really are the foulest things.

“Evening,” I say cordially as its hulking hand fists in the front of my shirt, “I do hope I wasn't interrupting your midnight stroll.”

It roars in my face defiantly and I shudder as flecks of spit spray against my cheek.

Thankfully, this is why we always hunt in pairs .

The scrape of tempered metal against leather rings like music, and before the lumbering creature can even turn to investigate, a flash of silver slices the air.

The ghoul's arm goes slack instantly and I have just enough time to step aside before its body splits in two, splattering a repugnant black ooze as it collapses on the cobbles.

My companion for the evening is new to our entourage's adventures, though I'm glad to say he is no less skilled. Not that I would expect any less from someone from the Isles – with what they had to deal with, I'm sure he sees our monsters as child's play.

Mr. Bodt is sporting a green, single-breasted waistcoat high on the chest, and his suit makes him look long, lean, and athletic. He's abandoned his coat for mobility but his leather riding gloves match the brown of his trousers. I try not to stare, and fail miserably.

His hair, just like it had when we set on this adventure seventeen hours ago, is impeccably parted to the side and nestled under a gray, checkered flat cap.

I sigh and let the cool breeze of the sea fill my lungs.

There's something different about the water at night – like the murkiness of the city and its plague can't touch it.  I find myself admiring the fuzzy reflections of the lanterns in the gloom as the boats bob lazily in the swell of the ocean.

Mr. Bodt sheaths his sword back into his ebony cane quietly, so as not to disturb me, and I wonder not for the first time over the last week whether Erwin paired us up for this mission deliberately or if he was tired of the rest of the company's complaints.

No matter.

“We should report our findings in the morning,” I say, gesturing behind us, “We don't want to keep the Smiths waiting.”

To say the Smith mansion is grandiose would be an understatement. The stone is whitewashed and stunningly in tact.  All fifty two rooms serve a different purpose, though you would be hard pressed to get Erwin Smith to give you a tour.

It used to belong to his father, though the Smith bloodline is rich with history and I'm too busy to try to unravel the trail of blood and war that lead him to inheriting it. Erwin's a good man, if not a bit excessive, and I try to remind myself of that as I walk past the cherub fountain in his entry courtyard.

The mansion looks more like a castle than a home with its Greek Revival parapets and masonry. As I approach I'm greeted by wide, stocky windows and a heavy, oak door that has seen its share of time. The scratches and runes on the brass handle are deep and timeworn, impossible to read from the weathering.

I don't even get the chance to knock before the door flies open, revealing Mr. Smith's partner in this monster hunting endeavor.

Levi is a severe man, with clouded eyes and dark hair that is somehow both unkempt and perfectly placed.  He is dressed to match his title – in a fitted three piece suit with a white waistcoat and a watch nestled in a pocket by his breast that once belonged to his sister. Isabel Ackerman  married the heir to the Smith estate nearly ten years ago now, and her brutal murder was what jump-started this whole campaign. They don't talk about it, but Sasha is convinced vampires were involved.

Regardless, Levi has not left Erwin's side since it happened, living within the cold stone walls where his sister was murdered. I take note of the dark circles under his eyes as he gives me a cursory once over.

That's one of the terrible things about death – it feeds off the souls of the living.

Levi is glaring at me, and I can't say I'm terribly surprised. Since I broke Mr. Jeager's nose several months ago I've not been the most popular guest at the Smith household.

I can't remember what I did to earn his ire recently , though. I'm sure there's a list.

Thankfully, Levi is not one for formalities, and I have to admit I'm relieved by his cold welcome.

“You're late,” he says. It's not accusatory, but I still feel the need to pull myself to my full height in defense.

He stops me before I can muster a response. “You have a new assignment,” he says in lieu of an apology, shoving an envelope into my hands, “Get down to the chief inspector's office. Bodt's already there waiting for you.”

The door slams in my face and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from snapping.

“You could have at least said please ,” I grouse at the wood paneling. The door, in all its majesty, does not respond.

With a forced breath out, I turn on my heel and head back out into the busy morning streets, the stench of sea and fish at my back.

I'm still not accustomed to the sound of screeching tires and the honk of horns. The chief inspector's office is a plain, brick building on a dodgy street where trams clang through the center accompanied by horse-drawn carriages and shiny new automobiles, that I maintain are a passing fad at best .

One of the monstrosities chugs past and the exhaust it vomits out stings my eyes as I duck inside. I cough liberally in my shirt sleeve and am surprised to find Mr. Bodt at my side in moments, his warm hand gently patting me on the shoulder.

“That crisp London air, ay?” he teases, that lovely brogue accent just as lilting and smokey as it was last night.

“Puts hair on the chest,” I wheeze, “Thank you, Mr. Bodt.”

“Please, I can't stand such formality,” he says, “Marco is more than fine.”

I swallow, my heart catching, and give him a lopsided smile. “ Marco , then.”

He grins, toothy and kind, and I try not to think about how my skin tingles when he pulls away.

Despite its outward appearance, the inside of Chief Inspector Zacarius' office is not awful . The dark wooden floor is polished and well maintained and his incident board covers the far wall, black and white photographs spaced out in neat lines. The chief inspector himself is a large man, as powerful as his title, and he stands in the corner of the room, furiously smoking a pipe.

He doesn't turn around as we enter, but instead points at the wall.

“The more gruesome of them is on my desk,” he explains, smoke filtering from his nostrils, “But I warn you, they're not for the faint-hearted.”

“I doubt our hearts are ever fainted,” I quip under my breath. Marco hides a snort behind his hand and I swear the sun dances off his smile.

Most of our encounters have been in foggy streets under the cover of night, outlined by the fuzzy glow of lamps, but seeing him in the sunlight like this is a tad overwhelming. I knew he was handsome but... Lord .

The gray-and-black striped trousers he's wearing cling to muscular thighs, and he pairs it tastefully with a morning coat he takes off to drape over the back of a chair. My eyes rake over the way his burgundy vest clutches to the broadness of his chest and I can't help but notice how his biceps shift when he moves to stand by the board at the chief inspector's desk, already deep in thought.

I observe how his brow scrunches when he's thinking, and it makes the freckles across his tan skin all that more pronounced.

I realize then that I know painfully little about him; most of our brief conversations have been about the job and not ourselves. There was never time. Though I'm usually fine with the distance, I find myself aching for companionship when I look at him. I have to wonder if it's just wanton loneliness or if there's something particular about Marco Bodt that I can't put my finger on.

Can't. I want to scoff. More like won't .

My gaze lingers and Marco catches it with the ghost of a smile.

I try to tell myself that the nod he gives me is confused and not appreciative, but the flush crawls up my neck all the same.

With a scrub through my sandy hair, I shrug my own coat off and roll up my sleeves.

Time to get to work.

I take a cursory glance at the photos on the wall but there's not much to glean from them outside of the obvious.

A massacre. I don't need to look at the pictures to know which workhouse it was. I can almost smell the mortar and sickness, can almost hear the insults and feel the hard, unforgiving stone on my bare feet. The building was designed like a cross to invoke penance, but all it did was suffocate those inside, reminding everyone that not even God cared about them.

The murders must have happened in the staff rooms, considering how ornate all the decorations are, how nice the furniture is. The report Levi handed me said only the foremen and staff had been slaughtered, and a vindicated heat boils beneath my skin.

“Good riddance,” I mutter. Marco turns, but says nothing.

Undeterred, I continue flipping through the notes on Mike's desk as Marco stares pensively at the photos to my right.

There's a common thread between all of them. Whether in just the notes or reflected in the photos are three parallel lines, like long scratches, all over the bodies and walls. The methodical placement of all these marks makes my stomach churn, and I can tell it's trying to say something but I can't pinpoint what .

Marco rubs at his forehead, pressing into his temples, and his brow furrows on one of the more mundane pictures in front of him.

“Are you alright?” I ask, turning to him fully. Marco stiffens and he doesn't even bother with a placating smile.

“Headache,” he whispers back, “I'm quite alright.” It does nothing to ease the tension curling in my gut.

The picture is of a man, casually dressed and sloped against the wall with his head lolled to the side. One of his legs is twisted awkwardly, and though there's a smattering of gray across his chest where the blood seeped through his shirt, it is nowhere near the intensity of the other scenes spread before us.

The photograph must be right outside the manager's office; the hallway behind him is long, with doors on either side, and the shadows they cast are lengthy, leaving the picture feeling far more threatening than any of the others.

Sweat beads on Marco's brow.

I put my hand on his arm and his muscles are taut, his skin burning. The panic rises up my neck and catches in my throat.

“Marco?” I hazard. He doesn't look at me, his eyes glassy, and I tighten my grip. “Oi – ”

“No man did this,” he hisses. His accent is thick in his mouth, like his tongue is getting difficult to wield, and his hand on the desk is trembling.

My mind is whirling and I want to be able to ease the tension rolling off of him, to bring that ruefulness back into his face, but I'm not soft enough to ebb away the pressure.

All I can do is try not to stutter as I point out the obvious.

“That's...That's why we're here, Marco.” Marco doesn't respond. I wet my lips and my breath comes to me too quick. “Remember?”

“No man,” he spits again, pupils blown so wide they overtake his irises, “No man, nor beast. No man, nor beast. No man, nor beast. Nomannorbeast – ”

He repeats it under his breath – over and over like a mantra – and his voice grows heavy and deep with each iteration.

The words scrape out of his throat, his nails dragging against the desk in lengthy, menacing strokes.

Threes. He's scratching the table in three long parallel lines.

The dread and adrenaline take control of my unresponsive body. I cover his hand with one of mine and grab his face with the other, forcing our eyes to meet.

My heart stops.

Where usually I'd see whiskey with streaks of gold, I'm now met with an all encompassing black.

“No man, nor beast.” He whispers it, like it's a secret, then breathes: “It's something far worse.”

The windows to our right explode. Marco is unflinching as glass rains down on us, grazing our skin, and the world trembles and shakes beneath our feet. I distantly hear Mike curse but my eyes are trained on Marco's blank expression, the heat of his skin beneath my hand. My heart is pounding in my ears, thumping dangerously loud in my chest.

It hits me with a terrible lurch in my body that we may be in over our heads.

I forget how to breathe.

I don't know how I find the strength to wrench him out of that chair. I don't know how I find the courage to stumble out of the inspector's office, glass crunching under our feet. I muster up whatever fortitude I can, whatever stubborn resilience the Gods gave me, and haul Marco down the road to the only place nearby that I know is safe from this madness.

Mine.

My loft is cramped – the second floor of a faded brick roadhouse, and it sits sandwiched between two identical looking buildings with tiny windows that do nothing to let in the light or block out the cold.

The interior is sparse, barely above tenement housing with its narrow rooms and unkempt floors, but it's organized, and I like to keep it that way.

Or rather, I keep it there whenever I'm around , which isn't much these days.

Marco assures me that he's fine as I shoulder my way in, but I know the churning in my stomach won't subside until the whites of his eyes return. I deposit him in one of the wobbly chairs by what passes for a dining table and turn my attention towards the kitchen.

My hands are shaking as I flick through my pantry – exceptionally sparse, just like everything else in here. I have several beans in a jar, a bottle of something that must have been alcohol once, and a tiny box of imported tea, the packaging covered in a language I can't understand. It smells herbal, if not a little dusty, and I turn with it as I face Marco again.

He's hunched forward, his broad shoulders curled inward and making him look so much smaller. His thumb and forefinger pinch a spot between his closed eyes and I hesitate to speak, worried I'll break him from whatever he needs to do to bounce back from... that .

Still, I clear my throat. His eyes shoot open and though the black has faded into a dull gray, the smile he gives me is taut.

“Tea?” I offer, holding out the box. Marco laughs, the hollowness of it echoing in my chest.

“I'm gonna need somethin' stronger,” he replies. I turn back to the pantry.

“Scotch, then.”

The amber liquid sloshes as I pour it into the only clean glass I have and I struggle to remember the proper portions. I'm mainly used to drinking it straight from the bottle, dust and inhibitions be damned. But Marco tolerates me, and I'd like to keep that reputation if I can, so I try my best to remember what a normal person would consume.

Even though our situations are anything but normal .

I give myself a generous helping too before setting the glass in front of Marco and sliding into the seat across from him.

His smile is gracious as he nods his head in thanks and then he takes a swig. Marco's face scrunches up in disgust and I swear I can almost see the path the liquid takes as it burns down his throat. His Adam's apple bobs and I track the movement before I can stop myself.

“ Blimey! ” Marco curses, the lilt back in his voice.

I hide my smirk behind the rim of my glass. “I never said it was good scotch.”

“You weren't kidding,” Marco coughs, his eyes watering, “That'll definitely put hair on my chest.”

My mind jumps to the image immediately and I force down whatever excitement tries to bubble its way up.

I let the air settle, focusing on the chips and knife marks on the table, but I can feel Marco's eyes on me as the silence carries on. I hoped the scotch would sate the twisting knots in my gut, but all it does is rile them further. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping it'll stop the question that's rising in my throat.

What...What happened back there? What is he?

“If you're looking for the right word to describe it,” Marco begins, setting his glass down, “You could say I’m a clairvoyant and had a vision.” His smile is cheery, but there's a distance to his expression that I can't place and I hate how it makes my heart constrict. “If clairvoyant sounds too gauche, you could say I'm a medium. Or a psychic. Or a monster.” He shrugs and just like his laugh, the gesture rings hollow, “I've been called many things.”

“How about I just call you your name?” I murmur.

He looks up from his glass, surprised. Then, the corners of Marco's eyes crinkle when he smiles and it leaves me gasping for breath.

“That sounds lovely.” Marco holds out his hand then, palm up, and I don't even realize what he wants until he inclines his head towards mine. “May I?”

Wordlessly, I extend my arm and Marco's fingers settle over my hand on the table between us.

The warmth of Marco's hands shocks my system. My hands are notoriously cold and calloused – Death's hands, my mother used to call them – and the skin is worn down by gun-triggers and manual labor. Marco's are smooth, but there are pale marks on his arms of scars long passed healed, and I try not to let my eyes linger on the paths they make against the tapestry of his skin.

“Have you ever had your palm read before?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking up to meet mine.

Even through the foggy window, the light catches his irises and I see shimmers of gold among the brown.

“No,” I admit as I force myself to focus back on our hands. I don't tell him I never put any stock into fortune-telling, but something tells me he already knows.

No one in our line of work lasts long enough to worry about their future.

Marco takes the answer in stride, smiling to himself as if in on his own private joke, and closes his eyes. I watch as he inhales and his chest fills with air, pressing against the fabric of his immaculate burgundy waistcoat and I take a moment to admire the shifting of his muscles beneath his shirt, the flexing and relaxing of his arms as his settles more readily in his seat.

I don't even realize I'm staring until Marco's thumb caresses my wrist and I snap to attention.

The paths his fingers take as they trace against my palm leave me shivering, and I can't fully blame it on the drafty windows.

Marco follows a line that slides between the creases of my thumb and index finger, ending towards the center of my palm, and the cautiousness of the action leaves my skin tingling.

“This,” Marco explains, the pad of his index finger ghosting from the base of my fingers across my palm, “Is your heart line.”

“Not much to it, I guess,” I jest, and the smile it pulls at his lips is enough to put me at ease.

Or maybe that's the alcohol. It's hard to tell at this point.

“You have a lot of strength in you,” Marco reads. His eyes flick up to mine and I feel trapped by his gaze even though there's a smirk at his lips. “But you're cautious when it comes to relationships.”

I feel breathless, and not just from the stuffiness of the air. “What else?”

“This here,” Marco continues, his index finger dragging slowly along a line above my thumb towards the center of my wrist, “This is your life line.”

His calculating stare stops halfway down where a small scratch sits and his thumb circles the area with a gentleness that leaves me winded.

“Your life line has a circle in it,” he says, brows pinched.

I swallow. “Is that...unusual?”

“No,” Marco assures, “It just means something happened when you were younger that was incredibly emotional for you.”

A list a mile long, really. I shift in my seat and school my expression, even as Marco's eyes continue searching.

“You may have to narrow that down,” I remark. It's a poor deflection and we both know it.

He doesn't press, and I don't indulge him.

Marco continues on and I get lost in his descriptions, mind a haze as he interprets the histories of my skin. He goes on about my headline, how it describes my intellectualism and how I have an enthusiasm for life –

“ Could have fooled me,” I joke, and Marco's chuckle warms something deep in my chest.

– But after several long minutes we fall into silence and Marco's gaze gets drawn back to the circle. I watch him as he brushes it again with his thumb, like he's trying to rub the mark off of my very soul, and a lump grows in my throat even though my skin feels so very warm.

“At the chief inspector's,” Marco begins quietly, glancing at me before he moves back down to my hand, “You seemed...cagey.” The hand he has under mine tightens its grip and I scowl, biting the inside of my cheek. “It couldn't have been the photos,” he continues calmly, “Since I have a feeling you've seen worse.”

The defensive words boil up before I can stop them. “Why don't you just shut – ”

“Was it because you worked there as a child?” Marco asks.

Cold breaks out across my skin. My blood freezes. My heart stills.

I stare, slack-jawed, but Marco remains unperturbed.

His eyes have that same glassy sheen they did before, and his breathing is steady just like his voice. “Was it because of what happened to Thomas?”

I feel like I'm choking. There's a tightness to the air, a heaviness that has nothing to do with the dust, and it strangles me as it sinks into my muscles.

It makes my mouth loose in the same instance.

“We worked in a factory nearby,” I croak, feeling lightheaded, “Lived in the workhouse with our mothers.”

I don't know if I tell him what happened. Everything is a haze. I do know that I think about it.

I remember the smell of the unprocessed cotton – the thickness sticking to my lungs. I remember the sounds of the machines and the taste of metal in the back of my teeth. I remember Thomas, just barely turned twelve with the beginnings of manhood in his handsome face. I remember him laughing, the ugly, adorable way his nose scrunched up when he did, and I remember the way my heart had soared every time our eyes met.

I remember his sleeve getting caught in the turnstile. I remember his screams. I remember him reaching out to me for help, and I remember being frozen, tears streaming down my face as he was torn apart.

My eyes sting as Marco lets me go and the world spins. I feel sick, exposed, and I fold my shaking hands in my lap.

I ask myself what is worse: the recollection of it all, or the relief that someone else now has to burden this memory with me.

Bile and guilt build in my throat and I stare down at the tangling of my fingers.

“Am...Am I cursed?” I whisper; wobbly, like a child.

Marco blinks, hands trembling, and he curls his fingers into his palms as he pulls away.

“Forgive me,” he says, a sigh shaking out of him, “I shouldnt've...” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out a deliberate breath. It vibrates the tension from the air and the weight on my chest disappears. He looks up at me and his smile is weak and painfully raw. “I suppose we're both cursed.”

My gaze falls again to the table and I scrape a hand down my face, trying to wipe the strain from my skin.

Thankfully, the part of my brain not still reeling reminds me we still have a job to do and I focus on that, use it as my tether to the Earth when I'd prefer to disappear off the face of it.

I'm unsteady as I stand but my obstinance gives me resolve.

Marco blinks up at me and he looks more haggard than I am. “Let's go,” I tell him, “We still have a report to give.”

“It's a fucking demon,” Levi remarks none-too-kindly around the tip of his cigarette holder, “Did it really take you this long to figure it out?”

“Oh, do forgive us,” I snap back, “We must have missed your lesson on Satanic beings. Was it before or after your dissertation on Svartalfheim?”

“Gentlemen, please ,” Erwin implores in that deep, authoritative voice. We're in one of the four parlours in the Smith estate and I can't help but feel like this room is too much. There are paintings and portraits of unknown men and women adorning the walls and even the wallpaper is busy, with its bright blue colour and intricate, repeating geometric florets. It's peeling at the edges, and I'm reminded yet again how much loss this house has had. Not that Erwin and Levi would ever express it.

Marco sits in the ornate green chair to my right, but he remains quiet, staring into his tea. He hasn't touched it since we arrived and though he refuses to look at me, I find my eye straying to him when Erwin and Levi confide quietly in each other.

They address us again and I know I take too long to acknowledge them.

“Have you ever been to a séance?” Levi asks, his voice sharp like a slap. I shake my head. I'm far too exhausted to come up with a witty response and just like before, my gaze flicks to Marco.

He remains silent, though his grip tightens on his cup.

“The foreman at that workhouse has,” Levi explains, “Whatever demon got summoned there must have followed him to work the next day.”

Erwin interjects then. “I have reason to believe this may be a repeated event,” he says, looking between the two of us, “I want you to investigate and eliminate the threat should it arise.”

“Do we know if it's deliberate?” Marco wonders, his voice rasping his throat. He still doesn't look up, teeth worrying his lower lip, and my heart constricts. I don't know what compels me to move, but I put a hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze.

Marco still doesn't move, but the tension in his muscles deflates and that's enough for me right now.

Erwin is polite enough to ignore the gesture, but Levi gives me a long, calculating stare as Erwin continues.

“No, we have no way of confirming whether it's deliberate,” he confides, steepling his fingers, “But we can't take that chance.”

I nod. “Understood. How do we track them?”

Erwin stands then and hands us two cards, each with “ Esteemed guest of Mr. Levius Ackerman ” scrawled in Levi's impeccably perfect handwriting.

I look between the card and Erwin.

“You can't be serious.”

Erwin smiles, and somehow that's more chilling than anything else we've faced so far.

“I hope you gentlemen work hard,” Erwin says, “And please, do try to enjoy your evening.”

Let the record show, I hate Erwin Smith and his horrible, awful schemes to get exactly what he wants.

I'm not sure if it's become apparent, but I am not used to lavish parties and expensive drinks. I'm used to seedy pubs and cheap beer and liqueurs, not imported wines and absinthe taps. Just because I've grown from the cobbles does not mean I know how to operate outside of it, especially in polite society.

In fact, many people who have worked alongside me would point out that I am very rarely polite .

It doesn't help that this home is beyond luxurious. Wood paneling lines the main entertainment hall and a large, exquisite fresco is painted on the ceiling, depicting pastoral beauties with vibrant colours and rosy lips. The mansion belongs to Oluo Bozado, though you would be hard pressed to find him meandering about with his guests. No, that philanthropic title belongs to his wife Petra, who is well known for her grand parties and take-charge attitude.

Everyone is dressed in suits and fancy dresses, and though I borrowed some clothes from Erwin, I can't help but fidget. I feel out of place to the point where even the shoes I'm wearing – pumps with a high arch that make it impossible to run or fight in – leave me wobbling and unsteady. I'm surprised I don't barrel headfirst into the waiters mingling between the crowd, trays full of delicious, fragrant foods.

“You look quite handsome,” a voice to my side says, and if the lilting accent alone didn't tip me off, the hand that rests at my lower back definitely does.

I turn, a self-depreciating comment on the tip of my tongue, but when I see him my words die in my throat, brain fizzling into silence.

To say Marco "looks handsome" would not even begin to describe it. He's decided to go with a black tailcoat jacket and pants for our evening, and the white waistcoat he has sits snugly against his chest, contrasted with a striking black bow tie. His tailcoat is cut to fit the body, emphasizing his waistline, and his long legs are only fully accented by how high on his waist the trousers are. His normal cap has been replaced by a top hat, but the mirth in his eyes remains. His white gloves are a stunning contrast to his cane, who's ebony body hides its own secrets.

I swallow thickly. My face feels warm, but perhaps that's just the heat from the roaring fire in the corner.

“I feel ridiculous,” I reply eventually, nudging Marco lightly in the side and taking a much needed step back, “I've no idea how to work a crowd like this and I am positive my tie is a complete disaster.”

Marco rolls his eyes and it seems he's already become accustomed to my antics. Good. I'll take Marco charmed over haggard any day.

And then he surprises me by stepping into my space, filling me with his scent. My head spins. Deftly, he unties the knot that I struggled with and begins anew.

“You don't need to feel ridiculous,” Marco assures, voice low as his slender fingers slowly loop the silk, “You're already attracting attention for all the right reasons.”

We're so close. Marco's expression is calm and gentle and I'm terrified that if I look up into that gaze I won't be able to turn away ever again, trapped by his eyes and stuck on the precipice of a cliff I'm almost certain we'll want to dive off of.

I focus on his hands instead, heart racing. “And how do you know that?” I find myself whispering, breathing hitched.

“Well,” Marco hums, slowly tightening the tie and straightening it out against the column of my throat, “You've certainly drawn my eye.”

“I doubt it's for the right reasons,” I breathe. Marco's fingers brush against my neck as he pulls away and our eyes meet reflexively.

It's a horrible idea. I'm caught by his compassion, struck to the core by his kindness, and driven by something I have definitely hidden for the majority of my life.

I take a breath and feel his next words caress my lips.

“Don't be so sure,” Marco murmurs, easily grabbing two flouts off a passing tray without breaking our stare. He hands one to me as he steps back and I catch the reflection of his appreciative gaze in the glass. I swallow the champagne when he offers up a silent cheers, but I can barely taste the sweetness of it as Marco's eyes sweep down my torso.

Well.

A murmur in the crowd draws our attention and the audience parts, making way for the guest of honor. I feel Marco tense at my side.

Hitch Dreyse is a young woman, though her expression and the way she carries herself implies she is far older than she appears. Her eyes are wide and amber coloured, with wavy light brown hair that spits in the face of modern feminine styles. Her dress is black as night with a train that drags on the floor, and the sequins send the low light from fledgling electricity dancing across the room.

People scramble to get a good look at her; with her enticing, ever-present smile and the way she commands the room as she strolls over to the round table at the other end of the hall.

She turns, surveying all of the guests, and tilts her head. The room falls silent.

“Now,” she says coquettishly, “I need six people to join me around the table.” There's a mad dash towards the other end of the hall and I find myself pressed into Marco's side, my fingers wrapping around his bicep.

Marco stays surprisingly still as his fingers drum out an unknown rhythm on the neck of his cane.

As soon as the seats fill up, Hitch steps into her seat and grins.

“For anyone who doesn't know – ” she pauses and there's a low chuckling among the crowd that makes my stomach churn, “– We are about to conduct a séance.” Marco lets out a slow breath and I hold mine. “I need everyone to be silent. Would our lovely guests at the table please join hands?”

They do, and a hush falls over the room. There must be at least seventy people in here, but none of them speak – not even a cough or a nervous sneeze. It's eerie, and my fingers tighten on Marco's arm.

Hitch starts speaking and though it's theatrically over-the-top, there's a threatening undertone to it that keeps us both on edge.

“I ask forbearance,” she begins, “I ask you to suspend your disbelief and imagine your minds floating in the darkness of time.” I can see Marco's fingers curl into a fist, his jaw clenching, and I rub my thumb soothingly along his arm. “Let your imaginations be literate and roam with me back in time to the ancient seas,” Hitch continues, “Back in time to the days before, when the spirits walked and the sun was new.”

The lights flicker and I would blame faulty wiring if I didn't know any better. The crowd gasps in excitement but all it does is make me hyper-aware of the thickness in the air, the taste of metal in the back of my mouth.

“I call to the speakers of the dead,” Hitch shouts, “Come to me. Come to me. ”

The hands around the table grip together like vices, and something awful and globby and black reaches out, wrapping around everyone's arms and keeping them stiff, keeping the connection open. People begin to cry out, screams and shrieks of horror and everyone around the table is engulfed, surrounded by thick, gray tendrils that wrap around their torsos and around their legs. Hitch laughs, high pitched and manic, and her voice rings louder than the rest. Something dark and foul smelling oozes from her mouth and begins taking shape on the table.

I reach for the Browning at my hip and Marco's fingers wrap around his cane.

“Ready?” he asks, withdrawing his blade. I look at the intensity of his expression, at the fierceness of his eyes and the tension of his jaw and the world falls away. No screams, no fear, no building falling down around us.

My silence must startle Marco because when he turns his face morphs in concern and so much genuineness I feel my resolve grow tenfold. My heart catches in my throat and his free hand finds its place on my shoulder.

“Jean?” he asks. I can't help it. I laugh. I step into his space with a smile I know is far too self-assured for what I'm about to do, but I bridge the space between our lips all the same.

The angle is awkward – my nose squishes into Marco's cheek and Marco's surprised jolt makes his teeth smack against my lip – but Marco melts into it. He indulges himself just like I am and sighs into the kiss as he shifts, the hand on my shoulder migrating to my jaw so he can pull me the way he wants. I let him, and drown in his natural musk and the sweet, lingering taste of champagne on his lips.

“Just in case we don't survive,” I whisper, pulling away.

Marco's face is bright red, lips parted, and he looks so dumbfounded I have half a mind to do it again.

It clearly takes him a couple moments to catch up and when he blinks away the awe, he's grinning. It's stupidly adorable. “I can't believe you have so little faith in me,” he replies.

“Shall we, then?” I ask and Marco nods, a smile on his face. We both turn to the table; to the growling, rasping creature congealing on the wood, and I take a deep breath.

My gun rings out and I’ve never felt more certain of my future in my entire life.

[lazne-of-the-urit]

Greek Gods Aesthetic

sAphrodite: laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologeticaly sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger  

Apollo: glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of Wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

Ares: armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell may have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

Artemis: keen senses of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting its target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

Athena: discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a life-long teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes  

Demeter: soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom friend, can lift you and all of your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

Dionysus: drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

Hephaestus: the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted by blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

Hera: resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

Hermes: devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes red bull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers    

Poseidon: storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

Zeus: thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends that they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with apparent ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch

Stolen from: @sasha-rochester

Tagging: @kyuusaeyuusatu, @silverscalesgoldeneyes, @khokhopuffs-xiv, @dmlynx