#miles kenilsworth

[oxfordeliterp]

MILES KENILSWORTH | |  THE CHAMELEON

❝ The need to go astray,          to be destroyed, devoured,  is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth.❞

     Sophisticated, never content enough to smile and never at a palpable distance from anybody, like the coldest shooting star, Miles turned his family’s expectations he would never be able to please into his own expectations regarding everything surrounding him, and made that his shield so that nothing would phase him anymore, no matter how soft and sensitive he is to touch. If it is intelligence that breeds misery or just the color of his long, over-sized coat translating into his mood, it is unclear, but something about the young man screams tragedy. He is cold ivory knuckles and dead autumn butterflies with frozen wings, but he is not a victim of his sadness, rather than a prisoner who grew to like the darkness of his cell. A general feeling of discontent does glow in him, but he would rather swallow Edgar Allan Poe’s verses than any joyful odes. Too pretentious and too exigent to be happy, he accepts the greys he is painting his life in, with the tact he would have had to be lacking in order to complain.

                  BIOGRAPHY | TAG | PROMPTS

[worthmiles-blog]

[ closed with @nickmercer ]

          The eloquent melody strummed in the background; an orchestra harmonizing to the exquisite symphony. Miles has always been a zealot to the classical music---a patron of the arts. He would hold the hand of his sister, Diana, and would escort the pair into the opera that was enthusiastic in their nearest city. With a ride given by a friendly neighbor, the two weak Kenilsworth indulged in the practice of the performing arts, and, in that moment, there were no harsh, derogatory comments gestured toward them. The siblings were in a tranquil motion; their wide eyes glistened to the instrumental of periodic tunes. Miles fingers would swing amid the air to the notes, and in his mind he was playing the violin. In the small cottage of their country growing, an older woman with a honeysuckle smile would string him into the artist he is today. She encouraged his weakness.

          His long legs dangled beneath, the sole of his shoes holding for dear life to the bars beneath the stool. His fingertips were gently positioned onto the surface of the bar, hazel hues traveled around the dimly lit facility taking in the behaviors of every person mingling about and around. He recognized faces, and he was amicable to most, but he was no friend. He was just a face to be discerned. Not one to chat with (at least that is what he thought). 

          It was then when the stool beside was taken up. Glancing over his shoulder, he took in the features of the opposite and acknowledged then that it was Nicholas Mercer; a pretty boy who owned the arrogant personality. What a cliche. “Bourbon.” Miles ordered from the bartender, nibbling his lesser lip before he concluded to interact with his newfound company. “And what will Mister Mercer have this fine evening?”

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ The need to go astray,       to be destroyed, devoured,   is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth.❞

Miles Kenilsworth | twenty (II) | The Riot Club | Bill Skarsgard | open

Miles' name makes waves at the simplest mention on the corridors of the university — fifth generation to attend Oxford and drag the surname further in the Riot Club as well. Naturally, the expectations are up to the sky, with his father cheering after him as if he were part of a sports team rather than an elite secret society, and his grandfather showing his teeth, as if all the Club represented was a competition, and asking Miles if he managed to snatch the crown and follow his steps into leadership. Yet, the grandson isn't like the first versions of Kenilsworths. He, with the fragility, the sensitivity, the subtle snapping of a violin and a rosy grace, has nothing of his father's physical posture and his grandfather's beard. Although certainly not a malleable and weak person, he simply relies on different means to stand out, and as much as he used to take pride in his softness, now there are times he finds himself imitating his father's resonant voice, as bitter of a taste as it leaves in his mouth. All he truly wants is to pull a string of pride out of them and not remain in history as the unworthy Kenilsworth. Like every child who only means well and tries to please impossible parents with their own versions of reality, too busy to appreciate the gesture and love him for what he is, the process drains Miles and it paints him not only frustrated, but depressed to never be tall enough to reach the top shelf of their validation and conditional love. On campus, when he forgets about what is bringing him down back home, he becomes something even the young versions of his relatives, the ones that attended Oxford, would be jealous of. On campus, he is known for his first name, rather than a legend left behind by generations of ruthless men, because Miles turns into a fox as soon as he walks on the sacred grounds of the ancient university. Cunning, receptive, sharp and knowing how to use his self-deprecation to his advantage, making jokes on it and turning sadness into laughter, Miles shines in his own way and everybody but his own family is blinded by the light. He isn't faltering away under the shadows of the expectations pinned up for him to fly to; he made up his own kind of glimmer, and it seems to leave an impression on, at least, the people of Oxford. Not too determined or decided about what he wants to do further in life, he is afraid of failure, and his family's concerns makes the burden of choosing a path even heavier on his shoulders. Just when he was starting to accept and get comfortable in his own skin despite the unsaid disappoint of his relatives, his grandfather fell ill and as his death is approaching aggressively, Miles is stuck, yet again, in a vortex of trying to give him one last reason to smile about, as his only grandson. But no matter how hard he would try, he just isn't his little sister. Although generally shy, Miles doesn't mind being the center of attention if it's in a good light, and for that, he is quite the apparition. Always dressed in black to ensure as shocking of a contrast as possible between the clothes and his pale skin tone and with a smart, lazy walking pace, as if he wants time to stand frozen and spare him, the young man knows all his qualities when he isn't in a bad phase, hating everything that isn't helping him fit in the pattern of his family. The thing he enjoys most in the world is feigning innocence and displaying the angelic, clueless deafness to the obvious, because playing dumb makes him more intelligent than all the people he is fooling — and he is, after all, one of the brightest people in the university, in every meaning of the word and by every definition. Yet, the role playing isn't constant, because even he is too prideful to perform a full show and let people believe the worst of him. As inconsequent and inconsistent as his moods and behaviors are the discrepancies between what lies inside of him and what he is trying to express through his appearance and general aesthetic. Despite the dark, elegant vibes he is trying to give off, Milo has always been a sweet child, who grows plants in his flat — out of which only a small amount is cannabis — and talks to them. Quite the peculiar figure, he is trying to leave behind as much of him as possible, until a minimalist version of him would remain, pressured by his eagerness to fit in and prove himself. Little does he know that what makes him so unique and special has nothing to do with cutting off bits of himself that he thinks people might not like enough, and that he would never become exactly what the others expect him to be, no matter how versatille and adaptable he is and how long his chameleon tail grows. Shamefully, he is too lonely and desperate to get everything right to think objectively and look at the bigger picture, realizing his own worth for exactly what it is and facing the young adult in the mirror for once, being the first of many to accept himself and grow happy like the plants in the pots by his window.

Jamie Heather If there is one thing that Jamie hates about himself, it’s the weakness he has for people who hate themselves. The hero complex made him get close to Miles to begin with, because the boy is a lost cause, and ever since, he’s been chasing, feeling more and more stupid by the day. He is doing his best to give the other boy confidence, no matter what it takes. Miles can see what Jamie’s intentions are and he lets him do his part, knowing apathetically at the end of the day that it won’t change a thing. If it’s just attraction or more, the blond can’t tell because he doesn’t pay enough attention, but it certainly frustrates Jamie enough to keep trying to get something out of it. Jacob de Terreros His entire life has Jacob got the same generic stares at the cling of his name, but it leaving Miles completely indifferent and unimpressed is a sensation he has never met before. Everybody is at least slightly influenced by his title, but not the blond, which frustrates him to the point where he would get out of his little bubble made of gold, stepping on his pride and going to whatever length to prove that he is awe worthy. Although finding Miles antipathic to the bone, he is fighting his distaste trying to get under his skin and show him what he is made of, as if the validation of a boy who is chasing hard for the world's matters for some reason more to him than the other dozens of open mouths. Miles, on the other hand, is too busy to even as much as notice him, or so he claims, pretending to look the other way and toy with the duke after spotting this need for proving himself. Charlotte Zerilli As probably the true geniuses of each of their club, some sort of partnership had to be built imminently, and although they don't get along on every aspect, when both are in the room, they create some sort of bubble of exclusivity that you'd need to take an IQ test and match their results to be welcome in. Yet, differences aside, they need each other's brains and conversations that nobody else would be able to stand over brunch. Charlotte is happy to, for once, be mentally challenged — no matter how much she loves everybody in her group of friends — and feels like, without Miles, her brain would rot. On the other side of it, the man is just as grateful, and no matter how competitive and inamicable their interactions get, he still considers Charlie his only friend in a strange, distanced, unfeeling way. Sophia Clare Either the drinks have really been that heavy that night that none of them remembers a thing about it, either they don't want to remember. Although she is, without a shadow of doubt, nothing like his type and although he wouldn't get a second glare from her on a regular basis, the Christmas soiree they both attended would recall otherwise. Be it boredom or just the result of tipsiness, the two slept together and didn't talk since, mainly because there is nothing to say. Ignoring the momentary weakness and the mutual embarrassment with vehemence, they are determined to look away from each other until the elephant in the room turns transparent and they are past the moment. The brief fling being revealed would put both in an uncomfortable position and leave them with a lot to explain and they can't afford that.

[oxfordeliterp]

(+1) application for Miles Kenilsworth

(+1) application for the co-admin position

see app count

[oxfordeliterp]

Regretfully, the role of Miles Kenilsworth is reopened due to personal issues and time restraints. We will definitely miss Cece, wish her the best and welcome her back if she decides to return. In the meantime, please unfollow:

MILES KENILSWORTH ( @worthmiles)

[oxfordeliterp]

The following accounts have 24 hours to become active or contact the main to avoid the roles being reopened. In case you need a hiatus, please message us to request it.

MILES KENILSWORTH ( @worthmiles )

CHARLOTTE ZERILLI ( @charzerilli )

[oxfordeliterp]

WELCOME TO OXFORD TO THE FOLLOWING STUDENTS!

JAMIE HEATHER

SOPHIA CLARE

LANA CHAMBERS

CHARLOTTE ZERILLI

MILES KENILSWORTH

NICHOLAS MERCER

[oxfordeliterp]

CONGRATULATIONS, CECE!

You have been accepted to play the role of MILES KENILSWORTH with the faceclaim of BILL SKARSGARD. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. If anybody at all told me that a paragraph sample based solely on a Starbucks order would win me over completely, I would have found it the joke of the night, but your capacity to place weight into the slightest details made my jaw drop. It is clear to me that you are an extraordinary writer and I feel honored to have received an application from you. Although there were two application for Miles, that I found equally suggestive and well-written, I believe it is you I wrote Miles for and that the role fits you like a glove. Words cannot express how much you impressed me —  or perhaps they would have been able to, if written by your talented hand  — but consider me hooked. I can already see that roleplaying against you is going to be an experience to remember!

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns: Cece // she&her

Age: Twenty-two (22)

Time-zone: Eastern Standard Timezone (EST)

Activity level: The only limiting factors present currently would include my university studies in costume designing, interning at a theatrical company, and my participation in another roleplay group. With those regards, I would rate myself a 7.5 on a scale of 10.

Triggers: I do not have any triggers.

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

TW: Mentions of depression, a parent figure leaving, emotional abuse, self-destructive behaviors, and death due to military participation will be discussed.

Desired character:

I am poetically driven.

It was an autumn day when I sat outside the campus dorms with my legs crossed over the patch of kicked grass. A bitter coldness reddened my cheeks as I fiddled over with the leather covering the notebook in hand. Pages flipped with the wind’s gentle breeze, and my unnatural, ebony hair sprang across against the red brick wall that supported my back. A mass of students strolled by carrying their belongings, stuffing hands into winter pockets, and they chatted about the upcoming film they planned on reviewing. My dark orbs only watched as they stepped over the cracks on pavements, and I noticed how lips would remain curved even when nothing enjoyable was being said. There was no joke. There was no flirting. It was just spoken vowels and consonants.

That’s when everything clicked for me.

Simple actions can inspire emotions. Little do we think about the impacts our daily words have on others. During my time in theater, working behind the scenes, I’ve realized that every word spoken on stage has a meaning. A play has the typical duration of one hundred twenty minutes. Time cannot be wasted, for there is a story to be told within a time limit. In life, I perceive the same to be occurring, for there is a story to be told within a time limit that no one is aware of. Any day could be our last.

Before this section turns into some ramble about how we, the people, interpret time, I will begin to explain how my perception of poetic devices allowed me to fall in love with Miles Kenilsworth. It has come to my attention in a recent ask from an anonymous taker that each name has been derived with a purpose. In Mile’s surname, worth is a word that can be drawn out. For a character who doubts his worth within the family, it is ironic to think the word can even be present constantly in his life. He does not even realize it. Perhaps through plots, one day Miles will take notice of the worth he has always possessed. His first name, Miles, alone serves a purpose in contradiction. My intention does not include calculating his net value in just a week of plotting. It’s going to be a long process—miles to be driven before we reach our destination of characterization. His name is ironic.

Poetry is ironic.

Gender and pronouns of the character:

Cis Male // his&him

Changes:

It would be an honor to use Bill Istvan Günther Skarsgård as a faceclaim for Miles. His face is very befitting for the role.

There are no changes to be made.

Traits:

SENSITIVE, TIMID, INTELLIGENT // Miles has always been considered the most sensitive amongst the family. His father would send cold stares when he was about to break into his timid natures that illustrated weakness in front of family associates. When he attended the private academy for his final years of studies, he would isolate himself, for there was the insecurity of the other boys shoving him to the side due to his weakness and easy breaking point. One could easily find the well-dressed man sitting at the quad with no company reading a book that no one could tell you about. Much of his acquired knowledge came from the print of various novels.

SELF-DESTRUCTIVE // I do want to mention that one important quality that I would like to explore for characterization would be his depression. His condition has not been diagnosed, nor has he been able to stimulate any concern on his mental health to such extremes. He does go to see a psychologist, but he mainly goes to see her to talk about the stress of his family and how he perceives that his power is being limited. It will be later with more sessions when he will realize that the constant despair and pressure he has been through for numerous years will correlate to a diagnosis of depression. His depression relates to the self-destructive attributes, for he does spark most of the pressures. He picks every little detail within every situation, and there is always a way to degrade his value. He can break down into nasty tantrums, and that would be a moment I would like to explore for a plot.

Extras:

(001) Diana has always been the kindest. During Sunday brunches—held on the third Sunday of every month—the two would escape into the corridor of the forgotten path for it took one to the room of thinking, a room with little to no inspiration leaving the mind to formulate its own. Diana was Miles’ younger sister. She was two years younger, and she was as gentle as he was. Often, the family would point the two out for being weak links belonging to the surname, and the pair would have to sit stiff at the table with no comments to be made, for that would be considered rude, and, then again, they were too weak to ever make a comment against their family. Hazel hues would travel across as a radiating smile danced across her blush cheeks and scarlet lips. She was innocent, naive, and the sister every brother would swear to protect no matter what. Holding her hand, Miles would listen to every word, for she was soft spoken, and her heart raced out every taunting emotion. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he would caress, a hand running through her straightened hair. She was the sibling who he related with the most. Diana, him, and three older brothers. They all cared for Diana, but he was the one to be her guardian angel. Leaving her behind alone in the household, all brothers having attended or attending Oxford, he was saddened to do so. He did not want to leave her in a house where no one saw potential in her. He makes sure to call her every day, though.

(002) During his younger years, Miles learned to play the violin thanks to a private tutor he personally sought out. He would tell his father that he was part of the chess club after school, but the truth was that he would ride his bike across the country to a small cottage where an older woman would teach him the art of the violin. It’s in the cottage where he grew into his skin as a wide eyed boy who was intrigued by the great history of the classical arts and philosophy. The older woman, as well, had a son. He was a year older than Miles, and he would always lurk in the shadow as if watching in envy at the interaction between the Kenilsworth and his mother. Bitter vocabulary would be thrown at the male when the woman was not around, and Miles would only sit taking the hits with no reaction. Weak. The older boy would later be known as his first lover. No one ever forgets their first love, especially not Miles who was a hopeless romantic due to his connection with the arts and poetic perspective. In his dorm, there is a picture of the older man sitting on his desk. The lad is tailored in military garments, and it was the last image sent to him before he received news of his passing during war. Whenever anyone asks who the man is, Miles can only shrug and suggest the response that he was just a former friend.

(003) Due to his content admiration of the arts and the realm of free thinking, he guises his heavy fascination with the degree of Psychology, Philosophy, and Linguistics in order to appease not only himself but his family. The Kenilsworth are pleased that Miles concluded to study three branches of thinking, especially psychology, for they see great potential with such a degree. Glad to satisfy their demands, he also fulfills his own desires hoping to throw them all off for just a while longer.

QUICK FACTS:

a) Full name: Miles Turner Kenilsworth

b) Birth date: January 4th, 1997

c) Romantic and Sexual Orientation: Homoromantic and Homosexual

d) He only has one older brother still attending Oxford; his name is Samuel. The other two brothers are now professional workers; their names are Garrett and Benedict.

e) Their mother left the family shortly after the birth of Diana to wed another man after announcing that she was having an affair with him for two years. This explains one reason as to why the father is not truly fond of Diana nor Miles, for he speculates that they are not of his blood, but of the other man. That, though, is not true. They are both biologically Kenilsworth.

PARA SAMPLE

A bewildered crescent dwindled over the surface of the moon, pools of the forgotten stars further lost within the depth of the galaxy. In the darkness, a shadow looms over lanky positions sloped over the terrain of the unpaved roads. Anthropocentric hands print the dust of a destiny which calls for man to be the extreme leader of every facet of life. The world continues day by day to record the rich history of humankind: When have one ever paid a cent to read the daily paper for a story on a raccoon being glory? It’s always man manifesting the eminent executions shaping each passing epoch.

                     Man is power.

        Hazel hues doze onto the mahogany table centered in the enclosed room. Beige walls, a painting of a man lingering on thoughts, flowers all calling to the plastic aesthetic, and there’s a crimson fabric draping over the half-opened window. The room is one many fear. A sense of familiarity, a sense of organization, a sense of common sense; they were all notional qualifications in the theory of Miles Kenilsworth. The room was daunting to any client who stepped over the boundary of admitting there is a wrongful digit in their series of codes. Pressing control+alt+delete was not rebooting the system, and blue screens flickered before his eye. Soon, he became tired of the loading, and he was in desperate need of an update to the software.

        A woman sits adjacent with a tinge of anomalous overlapping her coal orbs. A seven second observation was all it took for Miles to fill the pages of her story. A young, naive immigrant with feet that could paddle the ocean blue for hours where the center of the world became her home. Ocean currents tilted her petite physique into a bending figure to play with, but a smile still sailed across with the breeze. Storm currents. Lightning strikes never made her flicker, and the bursting, roaring funnels of clouds never pushed her under the pressure—squeezing her lungs into collapse. She kept swimming, unaware of the mystic brutality underneath. She was naive unlike Miles who has shaken hands with Poseidon.

        “What’s on your mind, Miles?” It was a question that traumatized the mind, for truth ventured over into a quick minute advertisement. No subliminal message went unseen. Truth: Nothing was on his mind. Curse the child for ever being preoccupied with the silly doodles of the perfect life. Curse the child for ever being polite to authoritative parents who only tugged on his polo collar. Curse the child for never listening when they told him that life is a set of expectations to oblige. Curse the child for tiring out his core, the fuel out of maximum; curse the child for falling off the tracks that he no longer had a thought to process. What would be the point?

        Averting his focus upward, a chill shuffled to take a seat beside the twenty year old. Brushing fingertips, the pale male stiffened as his coffee stained lips drenched into a flat line. His foot tapped. His mind was now racing on what to say. Any other would ask the question, and he would riddle a faulty statement, but, with the therapist, he told the truth. If he could admit to himself that he needed guidance, he might as well accept the guidance. That was logical.

        “The barista delivered me a French Vanilla Latte when I ordered a Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato.”

        Little did the therapist note on her notebook that the response was more than just a filler to avoid the question provided. He did answer the question: Even the barista ignores my power.

[oxfordeliterp]

This roleplay is lovely and I've fallen in love with Miles. Raluca, why must you do this to me?

Well, dear, if you manage to find it in your heart to forgive me for “what I have done to you”, I can do nothing but thank you for the kind words and encourage you to apply.

[worthmiles-blog]

MILES KENILSWORTH

moodboard 1/—

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ She was sweet        like cherry wine,   and what a lovely headache she left behind.❞

Sophia Clare | twenty-two (III) | The Quarrel Club | Paulina Singer | taken

An honor roll student every semester and the one who brought cookies for every student council meeting, nobody would suspect Sophia and her cardigans of anything wrong — mainly because she smiles with such innocence that it brushes off any trace of doubt. Yet, the angelic attitude is the most elaborate lie she doesn't have to tell, because her Juicy Couture bag has a special pocket for any sort of drugs of the desire of her customers' hearts. She never tried to hide what she does other than from legal authorities and her own parents, because she truly likes all that is girly and pastel and couldn't fit her hair in a hoodie without ruining it, but, as the years passed, she found out that it was a reliable cover and that nobody she didn't want to know or didn't trust had any suspicions. Never did she understand the old stereotype about how only dark hooded shadows in the night could ever sell quality drugs, when she had five different types of anti-depressants in her jacket at any time and would exchange it for money in broad daylight without any trouble. In fact, the prejudice when it comes to drug dealers amuses her even more since she can mock and defy it in every way possible, but it doesn't make her less of a serious supplier. In fact, Sophia takes her job very seriously and understands that the well-being of dangerous figures who can, after all, turn her in, even with consequences for themselves attached, lies in her hands, so she tries not to gather any complaints about her work ethic. Because she managed to earn the respect of many and a pretty amount of money, so she wouldn't have to ask her father for it — not due to lack of it, either, but because she doesn't want to rely on anybody and anything but her own resourcefulness and strategies — that turned her over-confident in her own powers, even if not quite careless and sloppy either. She just believes that she knows best how to protect her legal innocence and appear as faultless in any circumstance, and she cannot take advice to save her life, infuriated at even the slightest, softest and with the best intentions piece of advice. Growing up with parents who liked to dictate her life choices, from shoes worn to the picked major for university — until she went ahead and changed it to something they would never approve of, but that she is deeply interested in: History — now that she escaped their spell, she is trying to own every decision in her life and run away from those who as much as suggest her to do anything at all that isn't in her plan. After all, she does know best what she needs. A drug dealer with morals, as she always tries to emphasize, Sophia isn't interested in pouring her life down the drain and wasting it aimlessly, so half of the drugs she is selling have nothing to do with her daily diet. It is true that she couldn't stay away from some of them, because the industry asked for it and because some drugs dance with her creativity and keep her grounded, which cannot possibly have a bad outcome the way she sees it, but she never touches the heavy stuff, despite getting good money on them. Sometimes it does seem tempting to try them, but she has at least that much strength to keep herself away and convince herself that Adderall and weed are nothing and that she isn't defined by any kind of addictions or things of the sort, keeping drugs as business and entertainment measure only. They don't count, if she is the one usually selling them, controlling them rather than letting them control her. Due to the fact that she received the last invitation to the Quarrel Club, months after Elizabeth's death, the rivalry between the two clubs is unfamiliar to her, not to mention that her loyalty lies with Dexter, her best friend, not some strange girls she isn't even sure she likes to begin with. Yet, she is a fresh mind and interested in learning more about it before voicing an opinion. Despite being nice and affording to make jokes with most people, she isn't friends with many other than the one exception to the rule, because she doesn't believe friendship to be that easy to achieve and she is yet to find somebody else she likes enough to keep close — although she feels increasingly lonely and is starting to taste popularity too, so a couple of shallow friendships don't sound so bad after all, especially if she doesn't have to put any actual effort into gaining them. Sophia is intelligent and knows exactly how to follow her own interest, even into making friends, but what she often forgets is that the others are geniuses too, and she isn't the only one with an impressive IQ and the ability to fool people.

Miles Kenilsworth Either the drinks have really been that heavy that night that none of them remembers a thing about it, either they don’t want to remember. Although she is, without a shadow of doubt, nothing like his type and although he wouldn’t get a second glare from her on a regular basis, the Christmas soiree they both attended would recall otherwise. Be it boredom or just the result of tipsiness, the two slept together and didn’t talk since, mainly because there is nothing to say. Ignoring the momentary weakness and the mutual embarrassment with vehemence, they are determined to look away from each other until the elephant in the room turns transparent and they are past the moment. The brief fling being revealed would put both in an uncomfortable position and leave them with a lot to explain and they can’t afford that. Dexter Carraway She became his rock when nobody else was thronging to be his friend or anywhere near him — but all along the way, he, the boy who could live next door and ensure suitable material for a 'one in a million' nice guy, always needed her less than she needed him, which scares the hell out of Sophia. Even when he was in the hospital, it was her dying in between visiting hours, missing the way his lips curved into that addicting smile she knows like her own reflection. They are not together, nor has they ever been, because it is such an ephemeral state, and they both care too much to have each other for only a few months until a break up would ruin the balance, but it is so transparent that they are in love with each other — even to each other, through the denial purposefully. Skinny love or something simply deeper than a simple romantic relationship, they aren't in a place to put labels on it, postponing the 'big' discussion for as long as possible, because it is the least of their priorities with everything else, from Dexter's health to Sophia's drug business, in the way. Aria Bellefonte Sophia took Elizabeth’s place in the Quarrel Club and, deep down, Aria knows that she has to resent her for it by default, but the younger girl is her main supplier and Aria never learned how to properly hate people to begin with. It just would feel pointless, and Sophia, who could use a friend or two to lean on since she knows she can no longer revolve completely around Dexter, knows how to take advantage of the connection and try to get closer to the other girl. She doesn’t want to buy her way into being liked, but she doesn’t have the time or the disposition to put actual effort into it and Aria, who depends on her and the stuff she is dealing, seems like the easy option, which, to be entirely frank, she is. Lana Chambers Sophia has hold of Lana’s biggest secret. Because she is at Oxford on a scholarship and the amount of pressure pressed against her shoulders is sometimes too much to handle, she approached Sophia to request brain enhacing drugs — which she treats as her worst, most despicable secret without realizing than three quarters of the people around her are on constantly on cocaine and wouldn’t even bat their eye to judge. Yet, Sophia considers it funny that she seems to have such power over the girl who seems impossible to crack open and understand and isn’t bothering to explain to her that it doesn’t matter, determined to have a little bit of fun with her before. The way she blackmails the other girl is soft, because she doesn’t want to lose her customer either, and playful, but Lana feels beyond scared at the thought that it could get out and hurt her scholar performance, leading to her expulsion from the university, eventually. The drug dealer doesn’t really know what games she is playing and what is at stake, otherwise she would be more sensitive, but who knows if one honest mistake underestimating the seriousness of the problem will eventually end Lana Chambers’ academic career prematurely?

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ You can carry a knife and still trust everyone             carry it in your mouth     everytime you open it we await the sharpening noise of worship.❞

Jamie Heather | twenty-one (II) | The Riot Club | Chace Crawford | taken

Oxford doesn't really know what really hides under Jamie Heather's skin, for he is more often than not lingering in the shadows. Who is and who isn't a part of the Riot Club is a mystery to outsiders, and for that, some don't even believe he is included in it, let alone in lead. That every shallow assumption touches Jamie's ego is implied, but he doesn't let it get to him, shrugging theatrically and pretending it is all part of a plan. While his imagination had created a different kind of picture of the next few years as he was packing for university, he knows how to be resourceful and those who know him closely are also aware of the fact that he hadn't lost his touch and become erasable. His initial intention was to make a boom out of his arrival and make everybody learn and remember his name — Lauren's too — through childish, yet effective pranks and jokes taken to an extreme, but as soon as the girl took a step back to redeem herself and paint herself in a new light, with a new sort of reputation, Jamie figured out the smart move wasn't to be a lone wolf and get acknowledged for that, but to not get acknowledged at all. That would spare him the warnings and penalties he had to deal with in high school — the ones his father paid so well to have deleted from his record so Oxford wouldn't pretend his application wasn't good enough only because of his disciplinary problems. Maintaining a low profile was going to be difficult for somebody who spent his whole life in the starring role, and as an intelligent person, he knew exactly what he was getting himself into, but he eventually learned. After all, Lauren had initiated the 'pretending' game and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to play a good one. He tries not to mind being considered irrelevant and often over-looked, because he knows he is anything but. The Riot Club, on the other hand, isn't so unimpressed with the shadow that once was a high-school star, because he has proven to be nothing but a stylish, eloquent and calculated leader — a voice of reason, endlessly calm and relaxed, therefore something a group of wild young adults need badly. It's not that he is any more mature than the average childish, spoiled, rich boy, but that he knows how to act his part. In fact, he is anything but that. Jamie has never learned how to grow up to begin with, because he did not have to, stuck in a world where everything goes like clockwork and everybody is dancing to whatever tune he is playing. Although intelligent enough to acknowledge where he is wrong and how a certain mistake he just made could affect not only his reputation, but his freedom legally, he can't help but keep playing with fire boldly, to the point where it's the last solution he has left in order not to burn. Yet, after a lifetime of getting away with everything miraculously, how much can one rely on luck and the hope that nothing will change? He is on the edge and the worst part of it all is that he wouldn't have liked it any other way, seeking trouble as if air tasted sweeter only after he knew there is something he can lose about his comfort at any minute, something he would feel the absence of. Afraid of cliches to the point where he would twist his entire personality upside down to avoid one, he has always tried to be the most challenging version of himself he could be, knowing what a great advantage being unpredictable is. Except that, lately, unpredictable has become the new predictable and he can't solve the paradox that he has become. Nothing is entertaining anymore and days seem to grow paler and paler without a new game to risk on.

Lauren Hastings They used to be the platonic Bonnie and Clyde everybody in their high-school back in Brighton felt threatened by, and, the way Jamie used to see it, they should have been just as feared in Oxford, though the university changed Lauren instead of it being the other way around. She told him from the very start that it was a new beginning she wouldn’t waste on old habits and though it broke his heart, he didn’t try to change her mind, hoping that it would change on its own in time. Two years later, she is still clinging to a doll version of herself that Jamie can't stand. Howsoever, the young man is not the only one with a heart that’s shattered into pieces. Lauren has always had a crush on her best friend — the only secret they have ever kept from each other. She is unaware of the fact that he is aware, but chose to act, for once, oblivious, not necessarily because he loves Lauren strictly like a sister, but because he respects her too much to let what is between them get messy. Marc Arkwright As the only person Marc would be able to focus on for more than half a minute, Jamie knows what buttons to push and how to talk to his good friend so he would stop before making the situation worse. Their talks — soaked in old whiskey neither can really hold, mixed with sports, politics, goals, and strategies— usually end with them agreeing with each other, and because Marc’s recklessness fits Jamie’s calmness perfectly. Their friendship goes on, influenced by the balance they achieve as a duo, although they don't have the slightest thing in common. Gwendolyn Armstrong It all started with politics, a long time before either of them even considered sending their college applications to Oxford: a talk with a promising beginning about techniques and goals, ridiculous and passionate, since they weren't seventeen yet — and they clicked and hit it off right away. A summer fling between two people who are too alike to be allowed in the same room, starting like a proper chick flick, sweet and right, and turning into a destructive relationship, filled with manipulation and jealousy — ultimately taking the form of a sick chess game, ended disastrously and left them both empty and with hard feelings. Now neither mentions their past, keeping it locked up, secret, hidden, but the game never stopped. They are each other’s mirror, standing still and tall in the opposite side and never looking in the same direction. Opposite poles who have done nothing since but clash and contradict each other vehemently and irrationally; more than anything, they challenge and provoke one another. It wasn’t until Jamie took the lead in the Riot Club that she launched her own version of it, starting a competition of a whole new level. Miles Kenilsworth If there is one thing that Jamie hates about himself, it's the weakness he has for people who hate themselves. The hero complex made him get close to Miles to begin with, because the boy is a lost cause, and ever since, he's been chasing, feeling more and more stupid by the day. He is doing his best to give the other boy confidence, no matter what it takes. Miles can see what Jamie's intentions are and he lets him do his part, knowing apathetically at the end of the day that it won't change a thing. If it's just attraction or more, the blond can't tell because he doesn't pay enough attention, but it certainly frustrates Jamie enough to keep trying to get something out of it.

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ I sit before flowers hoping        they will train me in the art of opening up   I stand on mountain tops believing that avalanches will teach me to let go.❞

Charlotte Zerilli | twenty-four (III) | The Quarrel Club | Shay Mitchell | taken

non-graphic nonconsensual sexual intercourse attempt trigger warning Charlotte was born a mobster princess and she grew up to hate every thorn on her pretty little crown. It isn't that she doesn't love her family — because her father would deny her nothing and smothers her, if anything, with affection and attention, her mother dedicated her life raising her and Charles, braiding her long hair and teaching her all the appropriate dances a young girl should know and her twin wouldn't step back from doing anything if she asked, or even if she didn't voice the words, but thought them intensely. She loves her family and wishes them the best, but, during her high-school phase, she felt like nothing about it represented her. She has always been such a zephyr-like breeze, a fresh taste of air that couldn't seem to find room in her heart for the agitation of her father's affairs and just wanted a normal home to go back to after long classes of school, not the sequel of the Godfather waiting for her in a ridiculously large house. She simply felt too sophisticated and bright to be surrounded by such a primitive world, always trying to squeeze the best out of life and end up a vital part of the civilized community. Just when her parents, understanding but heavy-hearted, figured out the translation behind her distancing, howsoever, Charlotte came to the delayed conclusion that she couldn't just separate herself from the people she cared about, no matter how strong her distaste for their occupations was. She had been wrong to assume that she could just detach and hide her maiden name behind a random, chalk written one she would have gained through meaningless marriage. She had been a fool to imagine that she could outrun her origins, when they were glued to her, in every atom of her being, swimming in her blood and building her up, exactly the way she was. It would always catch up to her, and even if it didn't, how could she leave her brother behind when he has been the only real friend she had, at the end of the day, and when he was more like her than anybody else, no matter how intelligent they were and he was less? As she approached adulthood, she changed her values, still dreaming big and seeing greatness looking into her future With such a fickle mind and trembling personality — never too sure of herself and in a constant process of change for the better — Charlotte doesn't look like a shining mind to most, but the half of her brilliance is how she never stops moving or looking for answers to already solved questions. After a lifetime of hissing her way out of the family business, the young woman now wants to know as much as possible, as if she could become both the first female president and the first gangstress, wanting to know everything and collect as much and as diverse information as possible, even about something she used to want to never be affiliated with. Truth be told, her affinity for the Mafia lies in her DNA, as she had twenty years to analyze her father's every move and bring a question mark next to his every decision as a child, just so he would explain his logic for her to assimilate, but there are times when she finds her potential too deep-colored for her to waste it on illegal matters that would endanger her, if anything. Not to mention that she doesn't want to steal what she thinks is her brother's only calling, when she has so many other options. People watch her with awe glimmering in their eyes — how she gets out of class holding her textbooks and tablet close to her chest, how she seems restless when facing an assignment, how, later the same days, she can be found, glitter eyeshadow and long eyelashes on, at every party she is expected to attend, never backing from a challenge. Yet, the truth is that Charlotte has half as much fun as she seems to be having, mainly pretending to be drinking and pouring her spritz down the drain when nobody is looking, because she doesn't really have the resistance she is claiming to have and can never compete with her brother and Aria, just letting them think that she is. The one exception to the rule she remembers too well, tipsiness aside, just because it has been marked by somebody else. Five shots past her alcohol tolerance and having smoked all night, she didn't even feel the hand on her waist guiding her towards an empty bedroom and she wouldn't have realized it until the morning after if it weren't for a lucky intervention that saved her. She tries to sweep it under the rug and just ignore it now, but it is only a matter of time until that haunting memory catches up with her as well, because it did leave a mental bruise on the girl who would have lost her virginity in an error.

Lauren Hastings Charlotte can easily see past Lauren’s desperate attempts to look perfect in any situation and is disgusted by how obsessed with the others’ opinion on her she is. Most of times, Lauren chooses to avoid her and pretend to have missed her caustic comments about her and her life style. In spite of that, she is growing resentful and frustrated about how she got caught and gave the other girl the opportunity to call her fake, no matter how true it is. She plans on having a serious talk with her very soon. Howsoever, Charlie-girl seems uninterested to hear anything the blonde would have to say to her and is trying to get everybody to see what’s beneath the make-up. After all, if anybody at all on campus is a dream come true, it would be her, not Lauren-whatsoever. Miles Kenilsworth As probably the true geniuses of each of their club, some sort of partnership had to be built imminently, and although they don’t get along on every aspect, when both are in the room, they create some sort of bubble of exclusivity that you’d need to take an IQ test and match their results to be welcome in. Yet, differences aside, they need each other’s brains and conversations that nobody else would be able to stand over brunch. Charlotte is happy to, for once, be mentally challenged — no matter how much she loves everybody in her group of friends — and feels like, without Miles, her brain would rot. On the other side of it, the man is just as grateful, and no matter how competitive and inamicable their interactions get, he still considers Charlie his only friend in a strange, distanced, unfeeling way. Charles Zerilli No matter how many girls pass through Charles' heart, Charlotte is the only constant in his life and their connection is so strong that he doesn't need http://68.media.tumblr.com/0b470fc2e3084403faafb15707a41e76/tumblr_oogdvkbFqE1uqzjvao1_250.gifto tell her that — as if she can read his thoughts to make sure of it. She is his only weakness and he is her most solid strength, and, looking at them, all the twin stereotypes come true. Although, personality speaking, they are nothing alike, the Charlies are in perfect harmony. Although Charlotte isn't certain of too many things in her life, she is certain of her brother and everything he means to her — and needless is it to say that the feeling is mutual. When it comes to potential, he sees hers like through a transparent glass and believes in nothing, not even God, more than he believes in her ability to untie links with their family name and start fresh a walk down the path to success. It saddens him to see Charlotte heading such a different direction, but there is nothing he wants more than her happiness. Cordelia McQueen Cordelia saved Charlotte that night she got carried away and found herself in a position she didn’t want but couldn’t escape, given the state she was in. She stepped in and detached the random man’s mouth from her throat, separating the two, and ever since has she been the support she needed and, for once, couldn’t find in her brother, although the two rarely discuss it openly, at the victim’s request. It makes her guts tremble and her eyes become liquid that she could be so weak and soft and that she needed help getting out of that situation, so she would rather not remember at all. Both are private people who wouldn’t wash their dirty laundry in public and for that, Cordelia understood perfectly why she has to keep her lips pursed and not whisper a word about that night, if that is what Charlotte wants. She knows how wrong it is and has even tried to convince her to change her approach, but the girl seems convinced that the secret she isn’t even responsible for has to remain between the two of them and the man who wronged her, until the right moment.

[oxfordeliterp]

❝ The devil doesn't come dressed in       a red cape and pointy horns;   he comes as everything you've ever wished for...❞

Jacob de Terreros | twenty-one (II) | The Riot Club | Diego Boneta | open

There once was a handsome, young prince who was said to be living in a kingdom with rivers of melted gold and diamonds for fruit in trees. Yet, this prince who seemed to be having it all couldn’t live happily ever after, because the myths about his land were all lies and the rivers have run dry a long time ago, even before they’ve chopped the said trees from their roots. But as a story must live on and enchant, he does his part pretending to be the prince in the stories, rather than a lost little duke with no trust fund. Jacob doesn’t mistake the world for his, but he does his best at fooling himself and pretending that it is, because once the responsibilities that curved his father’s back with worry strike him too, he knows he won’t be having the time to taste life and enjoy its wonders. He resents his sister — poor little thing has nothing to do other than smile prettily, and she can’t even get that done well, while his part requires an Oscar-worthy performance that he still manages to nail. He doesn’t care much for Victoria as long as it mades his qualities stand out and his value exposed — because he truly is the good son, and even their loving parents must know that for a fact. He doesn’t smile with his teeth and waits patiently for his time to talk so his words would be the most effective possibly given the circumstances, because somebody like him has to know strategy and etiquette as if they are his bible. And they are; he plays everybody on his fingers without difficulty, bringing them where he wants them to be with a snap of fingers. He wins them over through jokes and an upbeat, generally playful and friendly attitude, because at his core, he’s no big lord, but a witty schoolboy who doesn’t want to be locked in a rotten manor that hasn’t been dusted off since the Prohibition in Mexico, but who is ready to oblige, knowing it is his duty and not trying to fight destiny. He understands legacy and the honor of being part of his family, no matter how much they’ve fallen from the graces of heaven and run out of resources. Howsoever, what he doesn’t let show is that it scares the spirit out of him because, after a grandfather that drove their kind to ruin and made sure of the Terreroses’ downfall and a father who couldn’t fix a thing, he fears that failure has now snuck in his blood too. Being in control of his family is a terrifying thought and he feels like he can’t even tie his shoelaces properly, let alone be the face of a legendary name. Yet, this doesn’t stop Jacob either. He doesn’t know how to stop — they haven’t taught him — and for that he is bound to make a better leader than his ancestors. He knows how to paint himself in the best possible light, using the brush to underline his every good feature — his chin, his humour, his cute stuttering that he made an ally out of and is using to his advantage for humorous effect and an irresistibly adorable vibe. He knows how to linger on the details that suit him and how to throw under the rug the fear, the resentfulness, the stress and how proud and arrogant he can get, all based on thin air and the ghost of his royalty. It is a talent Jacob is mastering, but, sometimes, it suits him so well that people are starting to see the obnoxiousness behind the cracks. Sometimes, the fact that he has learned all his lines word by word and knows them by heart makes everything go a little bit too smoothly, making him look fearless and unstoppable, which is a good perception if he wants to intimidate and dominate, albeit not genuine. No matter what, most people are sold or at least pretending not to notice because of a faux balance and general friendliness among the members of the Riot Club. He is focused on, not only keeping up the appearances, but also learning to make money — and do it fast, because, for him, there is shame in both being born poor and eventually dying that way too, and he hated nothing more than the thought of being useless and incapable of dragging his family out of the bottomless hole they seem to have got stuck in. Although responsible, he is also careful not to lose his edge and always seem up for a new partying event. Every time he isn't getting the applause he is expecting, followed by awe and pats on the back — congratulations regarding a comeback or perhaps just compliments on his shirt — he feels trapped under the fear that maybe, that somebody who didn't laugh at his joke or who glared one second too much could be onto him, ready to expose his darkest family secrets and turn him into a fool. Considering the social standing he has and the type of people he is surrounding himself with, the risks are high, and he has always been afraid of heights. Yet, he is lucky enough to always somehow dodge all dangers and, if he keeps being cautious at the same time as looking as if he is having the best time of his life with a his fingers clenched around a Sex on the Beach, nothing bad can ever happen to him. After all, he is not his father and he most definitely is not his grandfather either, no matter what the resemblances in the mirror say.

Arabella Windsor He sounds like a fairy tale and although she is fighting everything in her nature to stay a cynic and roll her eyes at his every move, she feels drawn to the concept of a duke to be. The bubbly ponytailed girl who used to take equestrianism classes in her can’t help but stare. He, on the other hand, takes full advantage of his status and the glimmer in her eyes. He acts kind and sweet, because it is the role of his life and one he is familiar with, but deep down, what he wants from her sounds just like what everybody else’s intentions. It’s just an entertaining role play, not to mention that he is pulling sensitiveness out of the femme fatale of the campus that seemed just so unbreakable a moment ago. Jacob is having the time of his life toying with her, but he does it with such subtlety that nobody can tell. Amir Jain They are roommates, despite Amir affording otherwise, because he is trying to approach a modest lifestyle. Howsoever, they couldn’t get along less well, no matter how much both tried to make a connection and turn living together into something pleasant and cordial. It is embarrassing that they can’t manage to find a common ground to start on, in spite of sharing the place they live in, but, if anybody at all asks about their dynamic, instantly assuming that they would be the best of friends just because one acts like a prince and the other is literally one, they are answered with the same lie that they are. Pretending a friendship is beneath both of them and an unnecessary lie, but as soon as they took down that route, they couldn’t turn back and admit they don’t know anything about each other past the color of their toothbrushes. Lana Chambers Lana is his Cinderella, although neither is aware of that. They have met during the homecoming ball of this autumn, and although it wasn't a masquarade, the two didn't recognize each other as they sat on the same marble stairs outside of the party, just talking. There was no exchange of names, but a fluent trade of ideas, hitting each other with the best shots possible and, for once, connecting on a deeper level. Despite the Riot Club and the Quarrel Club being exclusive and narrow enough for people to expect all members to be acquainted with each other, fate made it so that Jacob and Lana never met beforehand and didn't cross paths even after the night that tied them. Although nothing out of the ordinary happened at the event, his interest is sparked and even she has to admit to being slightly swept off her feet by the mysterious stranger. Little does she know that her Prince Charming is actual royalty. Miles Kenilsworth His entire life has Jacob got the same generic stares at the cling of his name, but it leaving Miles completely indifferent and unimpressed is a sensation he has never met before. Everybody is at least slightly influenced by his title, but not the blond, which frustrates him to the point where he would get out of his little bubble made of gold, stepping on his pride and going to whatever length to prove that he is awe worthy. Although finding Miles antipathic to the bone, he is fighting his distaste trying to get under his skin and show him what he is made of, as if the validation of a boy who is chasing hard for the world’s matters for some reason more to him than the other dozens of open mouths. Miles, on the other hand, is too busy to even as much as notice him, or so he claims, pretending to look the other way and toy with the duke after spotting this need for proving himself.