* ROSES / IN MY VEINS.

parker ainsworth. 22. junior. music major.

[aiinsworths]

may, b.

   in their prime, she was unstable footing.  to build upon that??  they were so doomed to crumble,  fall,  FAIL.  perhaps kidding themselves,  hoping to make like the world famous leaning tower  &.  STAY STRONG / BEAUTIFUL,  DESPITE !     or young love just makes blind fools of them both,  of us all.  with the swell of love in our bellies,  there’s not a FUCKING thing wrong here,  ever !!   a naivety in their dynamic that was never functionally surfaced—leading,  of course,  to their own damnation.       SO WHY IS IT, THEN, THAT BLAIRE MAY STANDS AT HIS DOOR,  WAITING FOR AN ANSWER?    we might be smart to say she has terrible judgement.  finding her ex-lover in the burning forest called CHAOS is as wise as breathing in its black smoke.   terrible judgement.  we’d be smarter to say,  though,  that she’s madly in love with parker ainsworth.  FAR more-so today than the first time it slipped out in laughtered confession.       —  &.  word has gotten around fast today.   no,  nothing to do with the banished love that lingers in them both.                  it’s all to do with death.   that ever-looming threat that appears in every mortal soul’s far-away thoughts—  but every ashcroft student’s rear-view.     &.  what are they both,  besides in love?      ENDANGERED.  the imperium society.  once revered,  esteemed,  now the sitting ducks,  the endangered species.     blaire has swallowed down her worry all day long.  nails dug so deeply into soft palms that temporary scars reside  &.  later sting.  all those close to her have received calls that allow them to be marked as SAFE, too.  all but one.     his name has been pushed around her head all day.  leave him alone,  thinks her brain.   i can’t,  persists her heart.   &.  she once stood so stable on her stride past parker’s stare.  but now??   she can’t stand.  she can’t-—- think.  without knowing—  NO,  without SEEING that he’s okay.  whatever okay means to him,  these days—   (  she knows there is something wrong there.  )         ‘spose it means ALIVE.       but he doesn’t answer.  he doesn’t answer and she’s trying not to think the worst.  naturally,  though…  nails drag through wavy tresses,  and her heavy steps eventually,  reluctantly back away.   HE’S PROBABLY WITH ZEPH.  yeah.  that—- yeah.  that makes sense,  yeah??  ‘cause zephyr made no appearance at the door, either. so they’re out,  together,  safe when neither will let anything happen to the other— surely.    it’s all planned in her head,  scattered  &.  messy-– the PERFECT summary of the dark haired girl herself–-  until…   it falls through her fingers.  because there’s a boy at her door,  slumped,  looking almost in deep sleep from as far away as the hallway allows.   he appears,  at first,  like a warning sign of her own insanity.  because what– the fuck—  is parker doing on her doorstep,  says the blaire may just then on his.    what a horrible mess they’re entangled in.  stuck in a bear trap in a maze on a dead planet;  hopeless ends.  how good it is to see him there,  though.      ‘till she’s close enough.  ‘till she can’t look away from the glistening PAIN glazed over eyes so dangerously close to damp.    her greens are soft,  no hardened armour worn on a bruised face here,  not now,  not with him, not like this.  her mouth even opens in some futile attempt to assure him how okay she is.   but what comes out…  a frown is heavy and a gaze wanders all over,  unable to speak-–  NEEDING to,  but caught MUTE !!       blaire tells the rules to go fuck themselves.         inked,  scarred,  tainted arms pull him into not her darkness,  but something warm.  the grasp she has on him in their hug cannot be overstated,   but eyes close—  squeezed tight—  and she stays like this,  clingy,  clinging.  ICAREICAREICARE.  silent,  but her embrace oozes it,  certainly it does.                             ‘  till finally,   when she parts  &.  places a step between them,              “ come in,  yeah? “

                    he doesn’t know what to expect from her when she reacts, just as he hadn’t known what to say just a few moments ago. nothing with blaire is CALCULATED anymore –– after all, any time he sees her, any pre-conceived thoughts fly out the window. she has that effect on him. and he’s not sure if he hates it –– the fact that she’s got this indescribable semblance of power over parker’s actions, or revel in the fact that it certainly stems from a LOVE so strong, one that still exists, not as shadows or faded photographs in his mind, no. looking into blaire’s beautiful, breathtaking eyes again makes that clear to him.

relief washes over him, knowing that –– for the most part –– she looks okay. she’s not hurt … but he’s still searching for something. waiting … for her to say something back. to make him feel like it’s okay for him to be here. like THIS … with a softness on his face, in his voice. it’s a completely different tone to their previous interaction. no chuckles, no laughs, no quasi-easy conversation. he’s showing his heart on his sleeve again, by being here, by asking about her wellbeing. the promise he had made to himself had been completely thrown OUT the window. but he doesn’t care about the rules anymore. he wants to …

hold her. 

it’s like she’s read his mind, the way her arms wrap around his body, clutch to him like she needs him too. but he doesn’t think about that now –– no. his own arms wrap around her torso, squeezing her tight, like he doesn’t ever want to LET GO. and for a moment, it feels like everything is right in the world again. despite the death, the turmoil, the emotional rollercoaster he’s still very much riding. his eyes are closed, fighting back tears that begin to form in the back of parker’s eyes –– the feeling of her touch, even atop his tear-stained t-shirt is something he’d very much NEEDED, even if he didn’t want to admit it for the longest time. he inhales, trying to calm his racing heart, and the scent of her shampoo brings back the warmest memories, too. 

she steps away, and for a half-second, he feels like he’s lost again –– he longs for her touch again, needs it … she keeps him afloat. and as much as he has come here because he wants to know if she was safe, he also selfishly needs her. needs that feeling of familiarity, the one who knows him better than anyone. but she invites him inside –– surprisingly. it’d certainly been a while, certainly been different to the last time he had been standing outside her door. “um … yeah. yeah, sure,” he says blankly, but his eyes latch onto hers in gratitude.

the open door reveals a common room completely different to what his eyes had been used to –– he supposes it has been a while since he’d actually been inside blaire and odette’s place. he supposes a lot has happened since. it looks almost stripped BARE –– empty, like how he’s been feeling recently, too. “i guess … i guess it’s different, without odette around, huh?” he feels awkward –– this place that he felt like HOME once upon a time, completely different, completely changed. he supposes also, it’s blaire’s arms that really felt like home, not the flat itself. awkward, sweaty palms are stuffed into the confines of the pockets of his jeans, as he smiles at some of the photos that hang delicately on the wall. he sighs, as he turns to face her. “did you … um, did you get asked to be questioned? by the police, i mean. they’ve uh … they’ve asked me to come in tomorrow.” his voice cracks, like he’s nervous by the prospect of being interrogated, like he’s not ready for it, despite his complete innocence in the matter. hazel orbs search for answers, feet making their way toward blaire, still putting a humble distance between them.

[aiinsworths]

CLOSED STARTER FOR @withouthome​ !

                   so … it was to be another loss. that was the sign the universe had given parker, at least. never in his life did he ever anticipate him being in the middle of so much LOSS. this time, it was melissa –– someone he didn’t particularly know at all firsthand, though her presence was still palpable. gone by the standard of leaving this earth was a completely different feeling as to gone, as in, gone home. and don’t even get parker started about the HORROR of her death. it’s appalling. he almost can’t believe what happened is real.

a call home went about as well as he had expected –– his father’s feigned shock and empty words were accompanied by keyboard clicks and an EMOTIONLESS tone. sometimes, parker didn’t even think he was listening on the other end, and only answered his calls to feel like he still had a hold in parker’s life. and of course, the sound of another woman’s voice calling his father in the background made his heart ache, amongst feelings of fear and regret. it had sent parker into a swirling pit of anxiety: not an unfamiliar feeling, but a far unwelcome one. little needles felt like they were piercing his heart, his chest, his soul … and once again, he felt clueless on how to ease the pain.

his soul searches for pieces of his memories that can bring him, joy, bring him happiness and calmness –– and his mind keeps returning to one hazel-eyed brunette. their last conversation had brought him HOPE, a feeling that he was clinging to by his fingernails at this point. a face in his mind that used to be associated with pain and hurt was now his anchor. and he didn’t know why.

well, he did, but he didn’t want to admit it.

but he doesn’t know why his feet bring him to blaire’s door, why there’s nothing more he wants than to embrace her again, to feel that SAFETY that he used to feel just existing next to her. he isn’t even sure that feeling will return if in the off chance she does accept a hug, but at this point, parker would do anything to TRY and lift this weight off his chest. she doesn’t answer the door when he knocks, not the first, second, or third time, and instead of returning back to his room, he feels his knees buckle underneath him. like he’s too fragile to trudge back to his dorm. instead, he sits, waiting … 

he doesn’t know how long he waits, but after a while, he hears the faint sound of the front door of the building shutting, light footsteps climbing up the stairs –– he knows her sound. parker could hear her coming from a mile away, and soon, she’s in his view again, and he’s looking at her with VULNERABLE, eyes that aren’t quite on the verge of tears yet. even the sight of her makes him feel calmer, feel at ease, despite the happenings outside that make him want to cry of fear. he stands, dusting his sweaty palms on his jeans before he realizes he hasn’t thought of what he was even going to say to her. “hi …” he starts before swallowing hard. he doesn’t look at her while he speaks, not at first. “i … i … i-i guess i don’t really know why i’m here, but … um. i just … wanted to see if you were okay.” not a word about how he feels like he needs her, how she has this calming effect that makes him feel at home again.

[aiinsworths]

 may, b.

      they paint a picture together,  the two LOVING non-lovers.   sparkling eyes so dangerous in their proximity to her fellow glimmering ones.  the lights in the sky draw them together,  but an unspoken BANISHED love holds them there—   &.  it holds them so god-awfully tight.  tight enough to forget the bruises she’s inflicted on his soul,  the devastation he’s inflicted on her conscience for the simple crime of loving her without limit.   oh,  the fucking self-reflection that LOYAL LOVE brings is… — was enough to destroy them.  but not entirely.  just look at them now,  with their soft smiles so warm they may challenge the sun,  were it in wake.  just look at the sets of fingers confined to their laps,  though they must twitch with the desire to hold,  to feel.                 “ —– …good point.  damn,  i didn’t even catch that.  “            a brow lifts with a complentative nod;   impressed.   their eyes meet so often,  then jump to the far-away,  and it’s much easier this way.  blaire can handle him in small doses and that is it.  THAT is enough to justify what this is:  nothing romantic.  she’s always been good at clouding her mind with falsities,  call her the expert.    (  they are STARGAZING,  for fuck’s sake !!   just wait:  blaire will come up with a fantastic story tomorrow morning about how FINE this all is  &.  how in love they are not.  )        blaire’s eye follows parker’s finger.      “  uh… “   now she wears a frown,   not unbeknownst to the pessimist,  but this one’s unlike the ordinary.  it’s light,  worn with a small thing resembling a smile.  a concentrated stare at the sky deviates to the young man seated beside her.  “  it’s a… swan,  right??   that’s the one??  a swan that actually looks fuck-all like a swan??  “      —  &.  here comes a brazen shine in her eyes with a smirk to match its colour.  paying homage to past bickering about the appearance of the famous constellation;  parker,  convinced it appears as such,  blaire the stark opposite.  of course it’s the playful disagreement of it all she remembers,  blank on the tragedy behind it.

                    it almost feels NATURAL again. which is a completely strange feeling, given that a few days ago, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms at all. funny, how things worked out like that –– sometimes, it felt like their souls were linked. or at least, it used to … when things were easy, and parker could express his LOVE without bounds or judgment –– or the little problem that existed when blaire had almost insinuated she didn’t want his love anymore. but this very moment … it made the idea of their linked souls resurface, if only for a moment. parker knew better than to hang onto that hopeful idea.

but when their eyes lock, it’s hard not to feel that flutter in parker’s stomach again. but now, those butterflies have become associated with the idea of WEAKNESS, of a heart that wasn’t able to mend itself after so many months apart, after a half-dozen reasons that instilled pain from her memory. and yet, parker feels like his heart is at home. it’s ridiculous –– how his mind and his heart keep having this same discourse, over and over again. 

“yeah –– cygnus,” he responds with a chuckle, remembering the times that they’d argue as they’d look up to the stars together, laying on picnic blankets in the middle of the woods, stars BRIGHT as ever, almost begging to be talked about. his eyes don’t even register her smirk until a moment later. “blaire, it’s a fucking swan,” he assures semi-seriously, like they’ve had this conversation a dozen times over. yet, there is still a beaming smile on his face, like he can’t help himself from laughing. “if cygnus doesn’t look like a swan, there’s no way in HELL lyra looks like … a small harp.” constellations, of course, don’t look like much unless you know what you’re looking for –– a lesson his mother had taught him when he was an impatiently curious boy with a WILD imagination. he couldn’t fathom complex images stemming from stars and the imaginary lines that connected them. his lips still remain in the form of a stupid grin, and his eyes move back to lock with blaire’s again. he’s silent, this time, a wave of emotion flooding his brain from forming new words. he couldn’t have imagined, a week ago, that they’d be back to their ANTICS –– only this time, parker wouldn’t be wrapping his arms around her like he’d used to, wouldn’t be kissing her forehead like he used to when he’d conceded to her. how’d we end up here? his eyes almost asked, but he looks away, before tears can even begin to form. he’s got to do his part to make this friendship –– if they could even call it that –– work. “it’s a miracle we moved on from the big dipper. honestly,” he teases her back, the signature smirk that belonged to the two of them, tugging at his lips again.

[aiinsworths]

may, b.

    there’s a disturbing amount of COMFORT here.   that’s what she’s done:  made something soft   &.  overflowing with heart— like two lovers alone by the fire in a party of people—  something BITTER,  something TWISTED.   because there’s no sour aftertaste following slow gazes and thirsty smiles.   it all feels so GOOD in the moment !!   but POISON is still POISON,  and if done well there is no flavour to indicate the inevitable downturn.  in true murderous fashion,  poison tastes good…   until it doesn’t.  until it can’t. until you’re on the carpet floor,  writhing in agony—  alone,  again.  ( that is what she does.  that is who she is.  REGARDLESS of intentions,  the one she loves the most suffers the very same hell as her own.   —- it’s better to NOT take blaire may’s scarred hand down that spiral staircase.  )                 “  wait,  so you’re telling me you  DIDN’T  immediately apologise on impact?  “  devilish smirk curves up to god  &.  dark eyes made all the darker with makeup aim a wink.  she is teasing him,  addressing with cheek the good-nature of the young man.   her eyes stick to his too long-–  more a marathon of a theme tonight than a running one.          he is the one to break it,  favouring view of stars that GLOW especially here,  especially tonight.  she follows the unspoken guide,   her stare whisked up to the clouds and yes, they may not be together,  but they are in her thoughts when her thoughts are those of the past.  there are many,  many times they have done this.  upon rooftops they’re forbidden to climb,  by campfires long since burned away  &.  spread across the earth.   always in each others arms.                    not tonight.   not anymore.     THAT is what comes to her first.  thoughts as invasive  &.  banished as the tug in heart that comes next.   swallow it down…  next !    THEN she captures something.  up in the sky,  something learned-–  something taught by the young man to her left.  blaire,  transfixed on the darkness above,  feeds no thought to the movement.  the reach across,  soft palm on his arm,  the other pointed to the stars that shine for them.             “  that there——–                   that’s,  what—… LYRA,  yeah??  “     the tragic story behind the constellation that’s made it her easy favourite.   she could regurgitate what was learned about the lyre player,  his wife,  the pity from the gods,   but it forever sounds better with parker’s voice leading it.  

                    the last thing on parker’s mind is how this looks. this, of course, being the very fact that parker and blaire are even TALKING, let alone having a more than civil conversation, sitting next to each other on a log, with stupidly happy smiles tugging at their lips. it’s a miracle that they’re even here in the first place –– parker had almost thought it might have been a mistake to invite blaire back into his life, even at this harmless, platonic level. it’s innocent –– everyone knows that parker ainsworth is just a FRIENDLY guy; he wants to believe that it’s the same with her as it is with everyone else: that he still wants to be her friend, still wants to support her in her endeavors, her passions, just as he knows she does, too. it’s not at all because he’s still completely in love with her.

her teasing him brings a warmth to his heart that he doesn’t remember craving –– but his initial reaction isn’t to beam or to linger on the feeling at all. no –– it’s more NATURAL than that. he rolls his eyes to the back of his head, eyes looking away from her as he smiles and bites his bottom lip before hazel orbs meet hers again. “shut up,” he says with a shake of his head, that stupid smile never leaving his lips. it doesn’t take an eighteen-month relationship to know that parker’s far too APOLOGETIC for his own good, but it’s clear they still know so much about one another. “alright, so maybe i was kind of drunk and didn’t know whether it was my fault, or the other guy’s. better safe than sorry, right?” 

it almost feels intimate again –– talking about the stars, and as if right on cue, he feels blaire’s soft fingers land on his arm: a surprise, but a welcome one. he pushes away the swarm of butterflies that flutter in his chest, as if a physical mechanism he’d developed in hopes of getting over blaire may. for now, he’d just enjoy being able to be with her, not thinking about the what ifs and instead, focusing on the NOW. he follows the path that her finger suggests, his head leaning dangerously close to hers –– cheeks almost touching –– to try and see the stars from her perspective. eyes land on a couple of slightly brighter stars, and he smiles –– not that it had ever left his face to begin with. 

“yeah –– good eye,” he knows it’s her favorite –– he couldn’t count the times he’d recounted the tale to her before. they’d spent hours trying to spot the constellations and read about them in some old, antique book he’d found in his mother’s bookshelf. “kind of FITTING, right? lyra … the lyre of orpheus, and all,” he says, gesturing to the area that the band, appropriately named after the musician, had played earlier that night. his eyes flicker between shaping the constellation, and back to blaire’s shining eyes, looking for some sort of sign to continue to speak. he’s unsure if bringing up pieces of their past together is off-limits or not –– they hadn’t really talked enough for it to be a problem before. “… do you remember which one’s next to it?” he points, slightly to the left of their previous subject. cygnus. a tragic story in itself, involving the blind excitement of one brother, and the blind love of the other –– a symbol of a swan connecting the two. 

[aiinsworths]

cromwell, f.

the past few days haven’t been to kind to lip, but he believes it’s karma coming back to bite him. he sees it in the fire burning in front of him, his pupils nearly becoming one with the flame. however, he’s brought out of this trance of regret and self-loathing by someone he least expects it from: parker. 

now, parker has been a name that’s been thrown around here and there and it was almost impossible to not know of him, especially as a member of the society. the good boy, everyone called him and lip couldn’t agree more. parker was as nice (maybe even nicer) as everyone says he is and lip couldn’t believe that they were right here, about to make conversation. 

he stares blankly at the other, darting from the contents of his fully packed bag back to him, who was now offering a bag of marshmallows. “marshmallows freak me out, but i’d be glad to watch you roast them, if you want to share that flask of yours.” 

                     it was a gloomy thought, but with the attacks, the death, and the unshakable sense of impending DOOM that invaded parker’s mind, parker wasn’t going to waste much time anymore –– it meant different things at different times. sometimes, it was trying not to daydream, and get back to rehearsing, sometimes it meant making sure he was always catching up with someone during his meals. tonight, it meant chatting with the unexpected –– lip cromwell, perhaps. he’d never known him as well as quentin or odette, but he was a society member all the same. it felt STRANGE … that parker didn’t know much about him outside of his public successes on the football pitch. and with how vulnerable life seemed these days? maybe he’d take the opportunity to change that.

“marshmallows freak you out?” that was a new one. he looks into the bag, confused, how the pillowy sweets could ever be construed as such, but he shrugs –– to each their own. “i’m not going to argue with that deal. feel like if i drink much more, i’ll start to fucking regret it tomorrow,” he admits, pulling out the flask and handing it to lip. to be fair, it’s not much of a deal on his end –– nor does parker even realize it. “that one’s whiskey, i think.” 

[aiinsworths]

graham, c.

how ever LITTLE alcohol she had had, it was most definitely absorbed in her system now. her confidence seemingly increasing but maybe that was because she had learned to be comfortable around parker. she could open herself up a little more with him near. “don’t you start with me, SIR.” she ordered, pout visible as she ran her fingers over his lips to stop him from talking. yes, cleo, because that’s how you get people to be quiet.

“stop. i love you, and i forgive you for shouting at me. now, you have to listen to me.” she instructed, hand dropping to hold his jaw still. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have been so insistent, it’s your life and what you tell or don’t tell your dad is none of my heckin’ business.” she explained. a sudden gasp sounding as she believed herself to be swearing but her free hand quickly covered her mouth. she was most definitely TIPSY. an almost squeak sounded next followed with a giggle, a giggle which came from her stomach. their moment was intimate, possibly a moment which was needed for them both to be out in the open with one another and place their friendship back on track. because if it wasn’t obvious before, it was obvious now that cleo would DIE for parker. she pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, another giggling escaping as her lipstick left a mark on his skin. “are we good?” 

                    so parker might be verging on drunk, but he’s coherent enough to know that cleo’s being a little more forward than she usually is –– they’re close, certainly. she’s one of his closest friends, one he’d protect with his LIFE, but the feeling of her fingers on his lips is a new one, and paired with a pout, he can tell that she’s a little intoxicated. “cleo … are you … are you drunk?” he asks –– it’s not judgmental, nor disappointed. in fact, there’s a small smile on his face, as if he’s somewhat proud of her to branch out a little. not that he encourages binge drinking, but he thinks it could be good for her.

he knows he’s not getting out of her little lecture when a hand moves to his jaw. parker rolls his eyes, but the little sign of annoyance is accompanied by a smile –– it’s not a secret that he appreciates her words. “i know –– i know, cleo, but i mean … it’s important for me to get that TOUGH love, too sometimes. i mean … i need to tell him at some point, you know? i’ve just … i’ve just been putting it off for way too long.” it would be easy for parker to sink DEEP into another drawn-out hypothetical of how this conversation with his father would pan out, but cleo’s adorable giggles keep him from running down that rabbit hole –– for now. he’s surprised when she kisses him on the cheek –– perhaps another byproduct of newfound confidence. “yes. yes, god, i hope we are,” he responds, confident as ever. “cleo –– are you going to remember this conversation tomorrow? not that i mind –– i’m just wondering if i’m going to need to come by and apologize again in the morning.” 

[aiinsworths]

beaulieu, m.

‘follow me to salvation, and perfectly toasted marshmallows!’

she chuckled, a soft sound that carried on the air laden with smoke and alcohol: ‘well, i suppose i can play damsel in distress if it gets me marshmallows.’

it had been a regret thus far that she hadn’t gotten to know parker ainsworth, not when she was the freshman with three notebooks tucked beneath her arm whose last name had, as it always did, handed her an immediate ticket to a pedestal and privilege. it seemed, no matter how high up it became, that marinette — as she was named, ‘the one who rises,’ — must rise impossibly still, afraid of the possibility of some icarian fall.

( only ever once had she fallen — in love with a spunky half-italian whose cousin also found a place in the imperium. she always had to avoid her gazes; she knew far too many embarrassing anecdotes no one else did for her to hold eye contact too long, and lena ricci was the kind of woman who was prone to teasing. ) 

the noise faded behind them and some of the tension eased from her shoulders, a breathy ‘dieu merci,’ falling from her mouth as leaves crunched beneath her shoes. 

‘oh!’ a grin brighter than any flame ignited upon her features, brown tresses bouncing with her nod of confirmation before it softened into a gentler, loving smile, ‘yes — yes, it is! my wife, lucile — luce, my light, god am i missing her right now! — is an actress. she’s on the west end; she’s actually got a call-back for a broadway audition soon. i fucking love her, i’m so proud — i knew she’d get there.’ 

her thumb ran over the diamonds in-set in the ring as she bit back the ‘i’ve got pictures,’ rising up in her throat; a special kind of excitement came when people asked her about her beloved. 

                    he tilts his head to the side, smiling at her easily, given the kick of confidence that his good friend rum has provided him with. “well … you don’t have to be a damsel in distress. more like … an adventure companion … to find sticks, if you will,” he remarks, not wanting to degrade her part in their little quest.

parker was certainly glad he hadn’t reached the point of no return when it came to retaining his memories –– after all, parker liked to REMEMBER his conversations, for the most part. they were often painted and decorated with words of passion, interests that he’d never heard of, stories that sometimes probe him to color life a bit differently. it’s what he loved about university –– it was like a playground, with the amount of people parker could meet and learn from. marinette beaulieu seemed to be one who had a lot of wise lessons to offer, interestingly, he learns, in the romance department. he can’t say he has met anyone at ashcroft who has been married, before.

they trudge through the grass, making their way to the edge of the forest, heels scraping at rocks and debris as he listens intently. it may not be clear, only lit by the dim light of the moon, but parker is smiling. a goofy grin, one that makes an appearance every time the topic of LOVE is brought up –– it’s not a foreign smile, no, but the one person who would have seen it most no longer resides in his life in that way anymore. and he misses it –– the feeling of unconditional love that she describes through her words. she doesn’t say it in specifics, but he knows. 

“west end? no way –– that’s incredible. she must be insanely talented,” he responds, incredibly impressed. “ … and, wow, broadway. tell her i wish her the best of luck. what’s she performing in now?” he asks, slowing their pace as he falls back into step with her. she mentions pictures, and parker’s heart sings. “i’d love to see them!” he does like to put names with faces in his mind. “if … if you don’t mind me asking, um. is it hard? i mean … to be away from her. if she’s in london, and you’re here most of the time?”

[aiinsworths]

alexander, j.

juniper didn’t even recognize parker for a moment, her eyesight starting to blur. when her mind finally realized who she had bumped into she felt a little safer, parker had that affect on her. “m’okay, p.” she chuckled, tripping over her heels but still managing to stay up ( mostly due to parker holding her up ). she still followed him to the rocks, using her friend to stabilize herself as she sat with a thud. “…ow.” she chuckled, hiccuping again. for being a classy and sophisticated girl, june looked more like a drunk teenager than anything else. “havin fun?” her eyes were half lidded, reaching a hand out for her friend again. 

                    even if her words say one thing, her actions SCREAM another. parker’s not drunk enough to the point where he’d be incapable of helping someone, let alone june –– something inside him causes his mind to clear, causes him to focus on her wellbeing. after all, given everything she’d been through? there was no way in HELL that he’d be leaving her alone, especially not like this. “shit …” parker curses under his breath, holding onto juniper’s arm for support as she sits down. it’s rare –– well, parker knows that june likes to have her fun, but she’s usually so good at being in CONTROL. he hates seeing her like this. "yeah –– yeah, i’m having a decent time,” he says with a chuckle –– and he means it, generally. he’d finally gotten to catch up with friends in a setting that wasn’t tainted by fearful memories of the past few months –– and he’d been able to chat with blaire and have an actually delightful conversation. but the entire time, his eyes don’t leave hers, his mind doesn’t forget the fact that june needs help. “j … are you okay? do you want me to bring you home?”

[aiinsworths]

woods, e.

emma was beyond drunk but in the best way – she was mingling and having a good time, it felt a lot like the first few weeks of year one when everything was exciting and new. she unwrapped herself from zephyr ( who she’s been clinging to all night ) to run over and hug parker. she let out a surprised gasp and nodded her head eagerly like a child who hadn’t had sugar in a long time, “fuck yes, parker. knew i could count of you.”  

                    emma’s clutch on him isn’t quite expected, but it is welcomed either way. he’s a little tipsy, himself, but perfectly capable of handling himself, and emma –– HOPEFULLY. parker stumbles a bit when she wraps her arms around his torso, unsure if it’s his state  or her momentum that cause him to lose balance. “you good, em?” he asks with a smile, hands holding onto her waist. “we might want to get you a little more food than just marshmallows later, yeah?”

[aiinsworths]

bergmann, l.

“oh… oh! i don’t plan on doing all of that tonight… i still have to watch out for my friends…. maybe we can watch out for each other. keep track of how much we have.” he suggested though they most definitely didn’t have to do his idea. it was just what he usually did with his other friends as long as he could keep up with them in a nondisoriented manner. which is kind of hard considering luca is a lightweight. he stared down at the rum in the solo cups before looking over at parker. a soft smile formed on his lips and he clicked his plastic red solo cup against parker’s before downing the shot and nervously held the cup in his hands. he had nothing to do with his hands at the moment. he couldn’t sit still and it’s not like that alcohol was making it any better. in fact it was probably making him feel more anxious but it’s not like he was ever going to say that. “i miss him.” he said finally squinting his eyes. it was silent for a second before the blaring of the music filled the silence. thank god. “i think he’d like this or whatever. the fact that we’re not like….. awkward anymore. well i’m constantly awkward. but not as awkward as usual.” he said laughing a bit nervously biting the bottom of his lip as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “what do you want to do?” he asked looking over at him, his gaze studying his longest friends carefully. 

                    “yes –– yes, that sounds like a GREAT idea,” parker agrees, a little too quickly –– though he forgets to mention the amount of liquor he’s already consumed. that was who parker was, first and foremost: a caretaker. he, like luca, far too often put others before themselves. and if –– well, if he could spend time with luca and look out for him, too? he accepts the suggestion in a heartbeat. and suddenly, when their plastic cups clink, it feels like they were teenagers again, downing champagne like shots at their parents’ dinner parties, only this time, more accustomed to the way the alcohol affects them. “i know,” parker responds softly, with VULNERABLE eyes. he knows that luca and quentin bonded a lot throughout their time at ashcroft, grew closer than parker had been with either of them. perhaps it was what came with maturing, with finding oneself at university, though –– the settings in which parker knew both quentin and luca were long ago. they were just kids. “no –– luca, stop, it’s … it’s fine. a-and … and yeah, i think he would too. he’d always ask, you know? what happened to us. it’s like … he knew something went down, but couldn’t fit the pieces together. i told him … i mean. i guess i didn’t really know at the time,” he explains, the alcohol in his bloodstream making his lips a lot looser. at luca’s question, he eyes the bottom of the empty cup, suddenly feeling the need to loosen up a bit. “one more?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow.

[aiinsworths]

marseille, l.

     "i am seriously, like, in love with you right now.“ lana said as parker told her about the marshmallows. coming to the party without having anything to eat before was not a good idea, not because of the alcohol or anything, but because by this hour of the night all she could think about was finding food. and when you’re in a bonfire at a clearing far away from civilization and surrounded by drunk college students, finding something to eat would be really hard. "come on, let’s go find those sticks. but first, pay the toll for my help.” lana teased, putting her hand out for him to give her even a single marshmallow. dramatic as always, she continued. “or else i might pass out while we search.”

                      “oh, lana –– you didn’t have to say that, i already knew,” parker responds with a soft, cheeky smile. his friends might have rolled eyes at him, considering how PURE and harmless marshmallows were in comparison to other white substances being brought to the bonfire –– but late into the night, like now, he’d be attracting all the crowds. you’ll thank me later, he’d said, stuffing the bags into his backpack. “fine, but only one,” he narrows his eyes at her request, but reluctantly opens one of the bags, holding it out so lana can grab one. he sneaks one, too –– and oh, how good does sweetness taste in his mouth after experiencing only the bitterness of beer for the past few hours. “so i know your night just got SIGNIFICANTLY better now with me and these bad boys,” he gestures to the bag, “but how are you? having fun?” the pair walk slowly toward the edge of the woods, parker’s eyes scanning the ground for fallen sticks.

[aiinsworths]

may, b.

     NO-ONE ELSE.       no-one else guides her,  loves her,  wants her,  adores her-—-  exposes her like the man with the tucked-in button-up shirt.  yes,   it’s about one of the first thing she notices this close-—  and yes,  you guessed it;   deep ruby lips fight the urge to curl up into a smile.   parker dresses himself with such grace  &.  class.  back home,  not even the girls engaged in the self-expression found amidst the stitches of outfit planning.   it’s ATTRACTIVE to blaire that he cares.   all the boys before parker never so much engaged in personal hygiene,  and blaire always had her silent,  judgmental doubts about whether they’d ever even turned on a washing machine— much less an iron.   gorged eyes raise from the non-creased fabric worn across a chest she’s stroked,  a chest she’s used for pillow.              (  stop that !  )     —  &.  she laughs,  a foreign noise that flows freely  &. oh so welcomed in her state.  because she sees,  now,  the damp patches when before she saw only what she knows to be beneath it.  of course,  her LUCK isn’t luck at all;  the students at ashcroft are frightened of blaire— knowing what one spill on her shirt would ignite.  parker probably apologised when he was made a mess of.  that doesn’t seem the sort of thing to say,  though.                   (   &.  what is the right thing to say,  anyway?  if they sit in a burning room,  then they’re pointing at, discussing the wallpaper.  )        “  FUCK yeah,  did you see my girl up there?  “  excitement shines in her eyes,  a fiery burst competing only with the fire’s glow.  blaire remains ren’s biggest fan.  when one succeeds,  the other does too.  hell,  she can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins like the vodka–  all from seeing ren bounce around,  ren completely,  utterly,  own it.       ——- actually…. PRETTY FUCKING SURE someone restrained her from jumping up on stage  &.  exerting some of that dumb, intoxicated energy.  she’ll have to thank eliza for that later.      “ she’s gonna…   she’s just really gonna go so fucking far,  you know? “  for all the hope,  faith,  value she places in her friend…   perhaps there’s just not enough kindness left for herself.  she jokes about not living past thirty.  she discredits her efforts  &.  worthiness of being here after five too many.  and thank god—-  thank whoever’s pulling the strings above their heads that parker met her halfway sober,  not halfway passed out.          “ but yeah.  fuck. “  never much for manners. how many fucks can she fit into a sentence?  please don’t ask her…  she’ll only make it a challenge.           “ uh, what about you?  trust you’ve been on your best behaviour? “

                    blaire may’s laugh might be parker’s favorite sound in the entire goddamned world –– better than wes montgomery’s jazz guitar solos, better than his mother’s lullabies that he’d grown up hearing as a kid. it’s a sound that brings only JOY, even if there is pain associated with its creator, for the memories that arise from hearing that chuckle are only good –– happy, carefree, loving. it brings him back to mornings they laid in bed together, whispering sweet nothings to each other for the sole purpose of making the other LAUGH. and yes … sometimes, it hurt remember that he’d still be waking up on his own these days, but he’d try to cherish the good times they had, too. celebrate them, if he may.

making blaire laugh might be parker’s favorite pastime, but hearing about her passions is a close second –– it reminds him of the reasons he fell for her in the first place. initially, it was her ART. dancing –– she’d taught him everything about the form that embodied physical grace at its finest, but as they talked, as they got to know one another, the energy and excitement in her voice would turn to other things, too. outdoor adventures, carnival games, cheering on her friends. he doesn’t realize how big his smile becomes when she raves over her friend –– ren is someone parker certainly wished he knew better, but he knows they MATCH. she’s good for blaire; someone who supports her even when he can’t. any stranger walking by could tell his face was giddy and happy, for the first time in a while. anyone who knew parker well could tell he was still in love.

“yeah –– yeah, she was amazing. super great energy, had a good stage presence, you know? you can’t teach that,” and he should know. though –– rock music had its own outward-facing aesthetic. jazz … felt a little more personal. he’d often keep his eyes closed during his solos, letting the feeling of his fingers on frets guide the music as he uses his EARS to tune to his music, not his eyes. he always feels like he’s performing for himself, not for anyone else –– even if his goal in life was to make people smile with his music.

parker raises an eyebrow at her question, almost offended that she would expect anything else of him –– it wasn’t in parker ainsworth’s nature to MISBEHAVE ( though, his drunken actions at the masquerade ball weren’t his best moments ). “scout’s honor, only the best behavior here,” he assures, sitting up straight, jokingly putting his hand over his heart. “no puking, tripping, or getting into fights –– yet. though the last guy to spill a drink on me got a pretty menacing glare. that count as trouble?” he asks her with innocent eyes and a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts –– it had once melted blaire may’s, after all. 

eyes flicker from her hazel eyes to the dark, night sky –– one sprinkled with shining, glimmering stars. “you know … i like it up here. like –– you can see the stars from the rooftop, but it’s nothing like this.” it reminds him of their trip together, the first weekend that parker had official called her his. camping out under the stars, snugging up against a fire. it was one of those good memories that he’d celebrate, not wanting their tainted relationship to keep him from remembering that moment. it’s similar, now –– a roaring fire, a ceiling full of stars, but entirely DIFFERENT, at the same time. they’re miles away from where they used to be, with no real path to get back where they were.

[aiinsworths]

beaulieu, m.

parker ainsworth arrived: a marshmallow-bearing angel, in fact, to whisk the author away from the crowded party for a while. 

‘absolutely,’ marinette told him, getting up from the log and brushing herself off. it was growing louder, and she was concurrently regretting caving to the very persuasive lana marseille; she could be in bed, wrapped up in blankets, watching a tv show, overusing her popcorn machine, and facetiming luce during the interval. where is she instead ? here, a couple of wine glasses in ( though she wasn’t particularly feeling it — she was used to stronger stuff ) at a party she’d been dragged to. 

the ring on her wedding finger caught and glimmered in the firelight, and she watched it fondly for a moment before returning her attention to the other: ‘lead the way!’

                     he smiled at marinette with happy, appreciative eyes –– grateful to have a companion to join him on his journey to enhance the bonfire with a little SWEETNESS. not that it already hadn’t been sweet –– it had been surprisingly nice to catch up with everyone, away from campus, away from the fears and worries and scares that ashcroft had to offer these days. and of course, it allowed him to chat with people like marinette, whomst parker didn’t know too much about outside of society meetings and events. 

“follow me to SALVATION –– and perfectly toasted marshmallows,” he chuckles, clearly letting the handful of beers he’d downed choose his words a bit. he can’t help but notice the glimmer and shine that reflects off of marinette’s ring –– he’d noticed it before, at meetings, on her fingers as the rested on inked pages. “hey –– um, i mean, i never really go to ask you this before, but um … your ring. is it … um? well, is that a wedding ring?”

[aiinsworths]

graham, c.

drink in hand, cleo wandered over to parker. it was the invitation she was searching for for the length of the party. she placed the side of her cup against his lips in attempt to SILENCE his apology. he didn’t need to apologise to her, she was the one who owed him the apology. “parker, hush.” she muttered, gaze glued to his as the alcohol seeped through her system. it was an ODD feeling, the almost numbness to her limbs threw her but after all, this was her first time drinking alcohol. of course, she was going to be a lightweight. 

his apology was still ringing through her ears to which she simply shook her head at, pushing him into the chair that was behind him before taking a seat on his knee. “listen to me, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” she slurred, finger prodding at his chest repeatedly. “I’M sorry. i shouldn’t have said anything.” she apologised then took another sip of her drink. 

                   was parker ainsworth just IMAGINING things, or was she slurring her words too? no –– nope, he was probably just … dizzy, from his own choices, a couple beers making their way into his system. he can barely feel the feeling of the plastic cup against his lips –– are they numb? no –– nope, he can feel it now. “cleo … no,” he responds with a furrow of brows. she has to accept his apology. she has to. 

“no –– cleo, come on. i was an absolute ASS to you when you were nothing but RIGHT,” he manages to get out, lips feeling … numb? he doesn’t even notice her body’s weight on his knee until now, and as a reflex, he cups her cheeks with his hands. “cleo. you were just looking out for me, and i fucking freaked out. please accept my apology,” he pleads, resting his forehead on hers. to a bystander, their moment might look tender, and perhaps it was, but cleo was one of parker’s closest friends. he hated being on bad terms with her, hated himself even more for letting his emotions get the best of him.

[aiinsworths]

mattison, a.

where was ansel? by the kegs, of course. people were already embarrassing themselves doing keg stands and whatever and he was there, watching it all unfold before him. he was definitely drunk himself at this point; taking constant sips from the whiskey in the flask he’d brought with him – but ansel was mostly the type to observe and play around with the people around him. that was far more entertaining than having loads of people swarm around him as he tried to impress them in some pathetic and public way. no, he was surprisingly subtle. the next time he glanced away from the idiots around him, he saw none other than parker ainsworth. he was obviously intoxicated, which was only confirmed with his words. favourite guy? where the hell did that come from? not that he was complaining, but the confidence was something he hadn’t really seen in the other before now. “i’m good. just desperately in need of new entertainment,” he spoke with a chuckle, gesturing around them. “and you? you’re looking a lot better,” he remarked honestly.

                      if parker was sober –– well, if parker was SOBER, he probably wouldn’t have approached ansel, let alone clap a hand on his back and call him his favorite guy. but if he was, and he had, then he’d half expect ansel to just GLARE back at him, causing him to retreat into some other section of the chaos. but he’s surprised –– and also not sober, but ansel’s somewhat friendly response. “new entertainment, huh? i take it the band wasn’t your favorite genre of music, or something?” he asks, taking ansel’s statement the most innocent way possible. “me? well –– i am doing much better, how flattering it is that you noticed,” he says, patting ansel on the back. there aren’t many other states that could pass as worse than sobbing uncontrollably on a bench, but still. his semi-drunken, fatigued version of himself is able to let looser than he’d expected. “i’m just CURIOUS, ansel –– why are you so … mysterious? why are you … like … the one person i can’t get a read on?” it wasn’t exactly a lie –– there were others he couldn’t read these days, either. blaire, for one. but it didn’t change his stance about ansel. some days, he’d be confused, some days irritated, some days intrigued. now … it was certainly the latter.

[aiinsworths]

OPEN STARTER !

                     arriving at the clearing with a completely stuffed backpack had caused a lot of strange stares to be thrown his way –– but the reminder of the lack of communal alcohol source had often satiated questions enough to warrant shrugs. sure, a six-pack and a flask or two had taken up a good portion of the space in his bag, but what REALLY filled it up were a couple bags of pillowy sweets. “you didn’t think we could have a bonfire without marshmallows, did you?” he asks the figure who stands nearest to him. “want to help me look for sticks to roast these with?”

[aiinsworths]

della vega, m.

“Yes, the same Diego,” Monica said, sighing. She knew what her reputation was, and she knew that people actually liked Diego, but she wasn’t making it up or exaggerating. “He kissed me once, and then to get out of doing anything else he told me he hated me,” she said simply. “He’d just kind of string me along and after we slept together… it was like he got the urge out of his system and I haven’t seen him since.” She didn’t care that much, but they’d been doing this dance for quite some time. It was weird. “Guys suck,” she sighed, taking another long drag before running her eyes. “Okay, if I tell you something, you have to promise not to tell a soul. Not even June,” she threatened. “I kind of have this… thing going with Luca.”

                     he’s not going to lie –– it’s hard to hear. parker knew not everyone was PERFECT; but diego had been close to it. he’d pulled out surprise after surprise, making him feel luckier to find a friend like him at ashcroft. and he knew monica, too –– she was hard to read sometimes, but she never LIED. “i’m … i’m sorry, mon. i don’t know what to say –– i mean … um, did you want something to come out it, or something?” he figured he’d asked –– not everyone was like the romantic parker was. “we do. we really, really, do.” he thinks back to the mistakes he’d made –– MANY, in fact, in the last few weeks. he rolls his eyes at her request to keep a promise, but nods reluctantly. “… luca? like … imperium luca?” his luca? well –– he shouldn’t have even thought of him like that. it wasn’t like anyone at school knew of his and luca’s past; neither of them really advertised it –– it was a long time ago, before any of them had even attended one day of school at ashcroft. he doesn’t get to act jealous, not when another girl had possession of his heart, still. “well –– tell me more,” he insists. “what kind of thing?”