timeless.

iㅤ don't ㅤbelongㅤ hereㅤ anymore.

[ada1ine]

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CARRD:ㅤ private 'hard-boiled fiction'-inspired & canon-divergent ᴀᴅᴀʟɪɴᴇ ʙᴏᴡᴍᴀɴ, the woman who did not age, from the age of adaline. highly canon-divergent and anti-ellis / anti-cure. mature & dark themes will be present.

ㅤㅤㅤwritten by béla ( 25, he/him, they/them ), with inspiration taken from the age of adaline, gone girl, a wrinkle in time, the invisible life of addie larue, what dreams may come, and various comic books. my psd is fairy circle by supersources.

CARRD.ㅤㅤSIDEBLOG.ㅤㅤPINTEREST.ㅤㅤPROMO.

[ada1ine]

After jkr's latest diatribe about how her death eaters are stand-ins for Trans people wanting equal rights, I wonder if people will finally stop supporting her work, buying her shit and claiming her characters are their little blorbos.

[ada1ine]

endless edits of adaline. all these years, you've lived but you've never had a life.

[nosferot2]

also im going back to béla because 60/20 of you call me that still anyway, and oooh boy the she/her pronouns are really making me feel icky. :) experiment successful i am confident in my transness.

[ada1ine]

when i was deleting my old icon posts i also accidentally deleted my starter call in the mass post editor, so like this for a starter. each will take time, but be catered specifically to your muse.

[ada1ine]

ㅤㅤㅤ" Please leave me alone, I've done nothing wrong. " Her voice trembles, and is deeper than she remembered, resonant and carrying far. Adeline's hands are cold, white-knuckled digits shivering down to vein and bone.

She's done everything she can to avoid detection, removing herself from the face of the earth every half-decade to ensure she could not be caught. For the second time in her life, she experiences the quickness of lightning-like terror. The question of safety, not for her, but for her daughter. She keeps her eyes down, hands balled tightly into a pair of trembling fists. This white room is brighter than the others, and if she doesn't look at it, it can't possibly be real. She's never heard of any organization for Paranormal Research or Defense. " I don't know what they mean. I'm not like you. "

@sapiened | new starter call

[ada1ine]

ㅤㅤ" No, I don't believe I've ever heard that story. " Hands only briefly leave the unalphabetized bundle of magazines, rummaging around in both her pockets until she'd found the twine to bind them. Her blue eyes resurface over the stack when she stands straight, locking on the strange conversationalist's own with a polite tilt of her head. I need to get back to work, is what she wants to say. This old warehouse is full of dust and broken windows. Employees come and go from the central building- he looks important and well-to-do, and so she surmises that he must be on the board.

ㅤ" Mythology has never been my strong suit, the root being that I am disinclined to believe in any kind of higher power. I hope that doesn't offend you. "

@liesmth | new starter call.

[ada1ine]

ㅤㅤ" I studied some. At the San Francisco School of Medicine. But that was a long time ago, and I never graduated. " Smile purses shut, avoidant eyes scanning the pages of Nettler's masterpiece of human anatomy that lay open between her hands. " My, um . . . 'studies' were nothing you could make a career out of. More of a hobby, I guess? Just some research into unproven theories . . . "

@ithes | new starter call.

[ada1ine]

when i was deleting my old icon posts i also accidentally deleted my starter call in the mass post editor, so like this for a starter. each will take time, but be catered specifically to your muse.

[banschivs]

" You paid good money,  for actual shit. "   It's not that her grin forms in mocking,  not exactly.  In truth the manner with which her eyes gleam, and the sudden flash of metal canines,  paired with that tell-tale wrinkling at the bridge of Nix's nose — it alludes to endearment over ridicule.  Actually suits the face she currently wears,  too.  Smooth,  pallid waves frame her eerily fresh face;  those shallow curls slide as a glossy waterfall,  down between her shoulders.  A bold lip accentuates the smile she's painted on for the blonde alongside her,  nigh-pairing with the raspberry martini she's repeated three times already.  Across from them,  a relative 'gang' of aged businessmen whisper and leer — both at one another,  and the two blonde heads sat at the bar.  They've said nothing interesting all night,  but this is her Court-assigned post.  Maternity leave lasted all of two weeks.  Of course it did.  Nix will stay,  lest she lose a finger,  or her tongue for the hypothetical infraction.

She's less interested in the rest of the room,  however.  The Red Owl holds all the presumed austerity that which the Court loves to boast;  plush red velvets and deep dark wood.  The barman watches her with two sets of eyes — the second pinned to the lapel of his waistcoat in the form of a broach;  a gilded owl with ruby red eyes.  Every time he swings his upper torso as a means to look busy,  the light snares that scarlet stare.

Apparently 'Jennifer Larson' hasn't the means to acquire any legitimate form of identification,  and such isn't something Nix will ever be open to judge,  let alone question out-loud,  and yet she'd snorted at the quality,  eyes blown impossibly wide,  her teeth burrowing into her lower lip.  Ruins the faux image she herself has created for this evening,  and yet she doesn't seem to mind.  Won't fumble to regain her otherwise stellar performance,  either.  The Court's men of interest aren't listening to a single thing outside of their own conversation,  and Nix can blend once again when the need arises.

She all but spears 'Jennifer's' ID with a whetted nail when her pointed finger lands back on the card.  " You were duped,  Jenny.  "   Though lacking malice,  timbre's somewhat biting.  " I've got a guy who never misses. I could 'legally' work at NASA if I wanted... "  The sudden peak of her brows declare that she just might.

[ada1ine]

ㅤㅤSuffice to say that Jennifer has become far too used to being ogled by groups leering men who ought learn where their eyes do not belong. Either for her body, or the fact that what should be fleeting beauty has yet to vanish before their eyes in some eighty odd years. One glance over the rim of her martini glass ensures that she is safe; she does not know their faces. They are not here for her.

Teeth worry against her bottom lip when that odd, bull-snorting laugh steals her absent thoughts. How a girl can be all bird and bull at once is beyond her. But Nix makes it work in her favor. Quirkiness and all. It prompts a dainty laugh, glass lifted to swirl beneath her chin until all those little bubbles catch and glisten in the light. Stirring her olive-mounted toothpick, tongue jabs deep into the side of her cheek.

" Alright, miss Nasa, " Teeth show briefly; a white strip under ruby lips meant to dazzle and ensnare. " I know better than to argue when I've got an expert on my hands. And this… 'guy'? Someone you'd like to introduce, or are you the type to hide the aces up her sleeve? "

ㅤㅤ" My 'guy' was a kid. Barely out of college and naturally afraid that he'd stumbled into a trap, and I was in with the fuzz, " Finally polishing off the rest of her martini, Jennifer smiles. Her body is curved away from the rest of the bar and its conversationalist patrons, palm on the card and its dented lamination as it slides out of view and into her waiting purse. " You still haven't told me what you're doing in a place like this. I don't think I've ever heard of it; a beautiful NASA engineer getting stood up by a date. i hope his excuse is a good one. "

[jokemoved5thewrathofkhan]

He doesn’t mean to follow the path of her hands, but he notices they both wear polyester. Joker cracks a half-smile, hangs his head so he can peek a little further beyond the black and gold-splattered canopy protruding from below his elbow, then displaces his weight to let his leg bounce. Ivaylo doesn’t mind the turbulence. The newborn's convertible car seat dangles from his father’s arm like a handbag. Sokol side-guards that same flank, head hunkered so he can surveil Gotham City Public Library.

Werewolf’s right pinky finger flicks and rakes at the edge of the counter. He bobs his chin to the notion that his newborn’s desired vinyl likely isn’t in stock — let alone up for sale. 

“It isn’t…” nicotine stained teeth flash before he hides them behind his painted lips again. On the left, a silhouette with long, stringy dark hair shades his periphery. He squeezes his eyes shut and flashes a wider grin as if it’d ward off his watcher. “—the drive,” finally Joker's focus returns to the archivist, “But the parking.” Joker flares his nostrils and pantomimes swaying his hand across the counter, “There’s no curb anymore, let alone a space that won’t land you in court...fighting the meter maid.”

Breath on the back of his neck warns him to remove himself from the queue. Ere he hearkens to that suggestion, Werewolf twists his torso. Nothing. No one. He inclines his chin and sets his jaw tight enough to crack teeth if he isn't careful. It tempers the chill shooting up his spine.

Focused on the library's unremarkable atrium, Joker comes to his own conjecture, “I assume this means you don’t…” he swings back around like a marionette so he can face the librarian, “—have Kalinnikov vinyls on reserve.” 

[ada1ine]

ㅤㅤ " You have interesting taste. " A suave, midatlantic accent bends into a smile, lifting her eyes from the database malice or a shred of sarcasm thrown his way. It' was always a pleasure just to have new faces looking at books or reels. Music-lovers that knew anything beyond the names of Beethoven or Bach are something more. "I've always been a fan of Kalinnikov's diatonic sounds."

If she was not certain that this man is in fact a stranger, she would be suspicious. Kalinniov's First Symphony has always been one of her favorite pieces- most notably the first movement and the disjointed center that swings into the bars of a glorious second movement. Another stroke of her thumb causes the database to spring to life, murdering the blue-spiral screensaver that had only just taken to stage. "Just a moment..." Her eyes leave his face but briefly ( she knows their collection better than some streets near her home ) before she's turning back toward the space for their returns. bending down, a set of frail fingers lift up the metal bin and begin digging around in a pace where she knew there was no music

" If parking is the problem, then you must not work nearby? " She doesn't look up, question left up to him if he would like to answer. Up to this point she has not mentioned anything about his face. Rare his tastes may be, rarer still are men with confidence to walk about in a full-face of cyan diamonds. A warm palm runs over a suede book-cover before returning to grasp the bin. She swings her head to regard him, her mouth a pleasant smile. " A shame. There must be dozens of people in this town that need a good laugh. "

[ada1ine]

for some reason 'simple' graphics are so hard and leave me flip-flopping constantly on what to do. i sat on that for two days and still i envy/admire you guys. i don't know how you do it in less than a day, let alone pump out whole blog aesthetics.

[ada1ine]

on december 31st, 1999, a taxi traveled from 442 5th avenue in manhattan to 204 134th street in brooklyn. it carried a single occupant a woman. her birth name was adaline bowman. / based in the hard-boiled fiction genre. canon divergent. béla writes.

[ada1ine]

ㅤ' i was assured actually, that those minor imperfections would actually help to make them convincing, ' thumb brushed absently against the hard plastic of her newest identification card. dust and light imbalances. something to make it all look real. it wasn't on the kid, though. she shouldn't have trusted an eighteen year old to just photoshop her problems away. life wasn't that simple anymore, if it ever had been.

the would-be "jennifer larson" looked up half expectantly. ' you could tell they were fake? i paid good money for these. ' / @banschivs

[ada1ine]

ㅤ' flower pressing is a lovely hobby. one i wished i'd gotten appreciated more when i was younger. ' nails traced lovingly across the sunset-orange petals of the marigold between the pages, pressing more of that morning-colored stain into the print of ishmael's speech. ' how did you get into it, if you don't mind my asking? i can't imagine anyone under fifty taking the time for leisure these days. if only for its expense. ' / @mnhia

[ada1ine]

ㅤ on february sixteenth, adaline bowman was subject to yet another experience of terror that made her fear for life. seconds felt like minutes, her fingers spread out against steel-mirrored walls as she grappled for the handle, curling tight and white-knuckled with the shock of instant fear. ㅤpulse ebbing, calming slightly when the aquarium bulbs above them blinked, flickered and intensified again. the elevator had stopped, the numbered floors blinking in and out of existence. thumb jammed repeatedly against the dull red button. a call for assistance. dismay overwhelmed new fear when no one answered the line.

refusing to leave the wall, eyes darted to the state of her companion. she was hyper-aware of her own heartbeat, and of the glassiness in her eyes, red with heat and fright. with one hand on the wall she leaned down to collect the pair of sunglasses that had fallen, and holding them out to him she said: ' um, here . . . are you okay? ' / @dtperez

[ada1ine]

can i just say that i find it so refreshing that it feels like the trend of having deep fried icons (bright orange/searing red) is slowly dying out? as someone with vision impairment + colorblindness that trend in 2019 was absolute hell.