— ‹ odi et amo. ❜

her shoes themselves would light my room like many candles. she walks like all things shining on glass, like all things that make a difference. she walks away.

[clairemasons]

katherinezhou‌:

Location: Acme Markets

Katie was out of flour again and she was in the middle of a batch of bread so now really wasn’t a great time to be flourless. She had left her bakery and run down to the grocery store, intending to be quick. However, the flour she needed was on the top shelf and even in her high heels, Katie wasn’t tall enough. “Putain,” she muttered and stretched only to roll her ankle and have to catch herself on a lower shelf to keep from falling. “Who does a girl need to screw to get some flour around here?”

The novelty of eating her way through Bayfield had begun wearing off, though Claire was uninspired to make too much of a change. She was uninspired to do anything, really. She was utterly rudderless, and the time for wallowing was coming to an end. The societal grace period of mourning had long ended before she even properly started. She had stepped into Acme, armed with a new recipe, though it did little to maintain her attention when she detected movement from the corner of her eye. She did her best to stifle an amused grin should the other decide to withhold delicious carbohydrates, though she did step forward to pluck the desired object down. “Is this really all that it takes?” She joked and held out the flour. “Is your ankle alright?”

[clairemasons]

Wooden hues flicked over the edifice at which she arrived at a stop. A quick glance at her phone confirmed this as the place Theo had picked. Had she chosen a place where she held the upper hand? Neutral territory? A place with no ties should this end badly? Claire would throw herself into a snake pit if that’s what Theo decided, but she would not throw herself down at her sister’s feet. She was inquisitive to how this would all play out, but she goaded herself to take a tentative step forward. and another. Claire slipped inside the building and was ultimately lead to a table in a secluded corner to wait. This reckoning had been a long time coming, and it was time to face what she had done, though she was willing the door not to open. @thcomxson

[clairemasons]

xdianefay‌:

Suddenly, as though an angel itself had delivered the woman onto her front step, Claire appeared with the exact thing that Diane needed; carbohydrates and good company. Once her eyes had fallen upon the other woman’s face, it was as though a weight had lifted immediately from her shoulders, and a broad grin washed across her visage. “Claire, thank god.” She breathed, “You have no idea what kind of morning I’ve had.” Actually, Diane wasn’t even sure what kind of morning she’d had. Didn’t have much of an idea about why she was in such a mood. It happened, explanation or no. “What have I done to deserve such a visit this morning?” She wondered, “I was just on my way out. Coffee?”

Thank god were not words that usually followed the identification of Claire, but she couldn’t help but smile back. The act felt foreign to her facial muscles, but she was slowly trying to coax them back into shape. Maybe staying in Bayfield wouldn’t be quite as impossible as originally thought, though falling off the face of the earth still seemed slightly preferable. Claire raised a questioning eyebrow but gave a quick nod after the blonde spoke once more. “Purely selfish ulterior motives - I don’t need shortbread and pastries, but coffee is always a good idea. We’re cutting our carbs in half, right? Who cares if it’s with a knife?” She quipped and made a move to link arms with Diane, “where to?”

[clairemasons]

vaguedisguise‌:

                                   If Only We Were Gods II @clairemasons

       Deities decaying and brethren to Atlas - shoulders blackened with hints of blue from unstable weight placed upon ivory shoulders merely covered with misguided parental expectations. They are comrades of sorts, hands tied behind their back, ankles gripped between digits of those who were supposed to love but instead demanded. Minds clouded with steel shards of broken memories of childhood never lived. Basking in the ebony cast of solitude - god how alone could two souls feel in such a crowded environment? Set them free, for how long should they wallow in woe, dragging heavy ankles through thick sand of despair. How their visages deceive all, an apt facade, making all believe they are sedentary, capable of little emotion. He is a mere weapon at the disposal of others, much the same was believed of the analogous figure seated across from him. Eyes pieced together with remnants of fallen sky view her in a different light, rays shining through in comprehension that no other can hold in the center of their palms. For they are too similar to be confused with one another, hide their pain the same. His heart beat out notes of neglected grief contained in a fortified ribcage, emotions doomed to wallow in unexpressed agony, destroying his feeble attempts to reach out to his peers. How his body has become a temple of woe, every fiber yearning for release, for the saccharine taste of joy his mouth does not know. But such was a mere consequence of the life he chose, such things ate at those engulfed in misplaced valiance. He had been doomed to shroud himself in righteousness the moment his digits graced the untouched pages of books meant for those far more mature than he. A fool dressed in the attire of someone far more respectable. What discontent twisted in the pit of his stomach; obeying and following like a mindless canine. What value is attached to a life where free will runs ahead of that who is chasing - their fingers outstretched until tendons scream in agony - an elusive thing he can never capture.

       His ears are strained, his gaze diverted towards the ground, inky hues displaying the fatigue that plagues him. The silence thickened the already strained air, a sigh pushed past the lips of a man already having accepted defeat. There is nothing I can do to assist her, not when she will not allow anyone into her head. She has built walls to protect herself, but in the process pushed me from her. How can I see past them, when I can only climb so high. The temptation to speak leaked into dried veins accompanied by tightness in his throat - as if fingers had curled around it to cut the air from reaching him. Deep seeded discomfort curls gelid digits around his wrist, yanking his attention towards the growing doubt within his raven crown. Eyebrows move to furrow and his lips pressed together. God help her and I, can’t he just set us free. But God cannot save a man adrift with bars encased in alabaster skin; his mind is a prison, his body a mere container for his emotional ineptitude.

       Grief is not foreign to a man such as he, for he knows how it disfigures and destroys the host beyond recognition. Companionship is the only means to placate such pain, sew the holes within tattered souls and mend the mutilated minds left in the wake of death. His lips parted then to utter syllables coated in comfort but closed soon after. How could such things be solved with mere words made by those who could not possibly understand? His weight shifted, gaze had returned to a studied visage as his hand outstretched to place itself on her shoulder.

       "I know things must be hard, Claire… Especially with the way father reacted…I just want for you to know that I will always be here to listen to what you are dealing with…Even if you feel I cannot understand.“ Electric eyes move to scrutinize the countenance before them for a sign of something he can absorb, but it is hard to locate. She is too distant from him, for now. I hope I can reach her, suffering alone is never ideal.

It was almost funny that Claire had ended up with a lawyer. There were things about it that she loved and loathed, adored and detested. Nathaniel’s brain had been wired so similarly - and yet eons away - from the matching set of Edward and Claire. Each could speak in an even, sensible tone that was hard to debate with. Claire held the advantage of being silver-tongued, a razor’s wit hiding behind saccharine half-truths and a magnetic pull to believe her. Each male tempered her stubbornness but knew how and where she hid when backed into a corner. Nathaniel had grown up simply dictating how things were in that agreeable, formal tone and that was that. Things were what he wanted them to be. Most of the time. Claire Mason didn't give in so easily, and that push and pull had launched them into adulthood. Claire liked the challenge of being with someone that had a backbone and stood up for himself, and he helped guide her to put down the sabre and focusing on battles of wit, words, and loopholes.  

Edward coaxed out a softer side to Claire, but it was one she longed to keep hidden. A soft heart couldn’t weather the storm of her upbringing, yet Edward’s was much more intact. Claire had tried to choke her heart out, to disastrous consequences. Nathaniel revived it in soft hands, though it shuddered out when his did. She was convinced two hearts stopped beating that day. In a family of six, there was only one she could lean on, on the rare days she couldn’t piece herself back together. She wondered to what scope was done by own her hand, and what events had lead to this outcome. There was only one set of shoulders, one set of hands, to lean on and to hold in Bayfield’s entirety. How did she let it get that far?  

Her eyes stung and she hated it; Claire had never been one for tears. She willed herself to stop the tears that wanted to come and eventually, they decided to fade away. One part of her mind hated herself right now. Bottled emotions never stayed corked forever - and here was the one person she could bare it all too. The one person in Bayfield that she allowed to see her lows. The same part wanted to turn back time, all the way back to the beginning of this whole problem. She had returned to Bayfield to celebrate. This was a rare occurrence, a genuinely happy occurrence, far from painted & pained smiles and presence out of duty. The collision wreaked far more carnage than the likes of Cathedral Hills ever saw, and the sound of metal on metal still has Claire shrinking in on herself. Why could she pull herself from the physical wreckage, yet still be pinioned by the emotional weight of it all? 

Nathaniel lasted two weeks -- two weeks further than he would have liked. It had been hard to coordinate with his parents. There is no convenient time to end someone’s life. Someone had used the indelicate words of pulling the plug, which lead to Claire storming into Edward’s office, her hysterical arrival announced by “he’s my husband, not a tub filled with dirty bathwater!” It had been hard, so hard to let someone into her guarded heart. It had been even harder to let him go, with a body still warm, a hand still to hold. Claire let herself unravel completely in front of Edward that night, but she vowed never again. It wasn’t fair to displace this upon him with the choices she has made, and she’d find a way to shoulder it on her own. She always did... right?

His hand upon her shoulder grounded Claire back to reality, and she shot him a sad smile. She had volleyed so many his way as of late. It was all the genuineness that she could muster. Claire placed a delicate hand over Edward’s and gave it a small stroke. “I’m not trying to keep you out, Edward. I’m trying to keep myself together, and there’s a difference this time, I promise.” She surrendered into a small hug before taking a small step backward, though they didn’t need any more distance between them. “If I start crying, I don’t think I’m going to stop.” She reached for her scarf and looped it around her throat, trying to make her footsteps away seem intentional. “Let’s go get some dinner, I think we’re done at the office for tonight, anyway.” Please, anywhere would it be easier to deflect.

[clairemasons]

benjaminbyrne‌:

@clairemasons

Fingers curled, the digits pressing against calloused flesh as Benjamin eyed the woman. Finely dressed, and overshadowed in his bar. She hardly blended against the dirty scenery, but he didn’t comment, instead, he just observed till she finally parted her lips, the ruby-colored edges speaking words he didn’t care to hear, and when she finished, he only killed out his cigarette. “My brother send you here, you a whore?” George had a way with actions, and Ben wouldn’t put it past his brother, especially with the number of stresses adding up as of late. “I’m not interested.”

Claire had been all too glad to leave the bar once the hum of electricity had shuddered back to life during the blizzard and freedom had been granted. She had appreciated the shelter, but her curiosity of the current state of the town was not the sole reason for her return. She quirked an arched brow as the other spoke and volleyed a sardonic question of her own, “why, do you need one?” She leveled her gaze after umber hues flicked over the man. “Neither am I, but I would like to settle my tab from the snow storm. I think you still have one of my cards. Claire Ca- Claire Mason.” She really had to stop doing that.

[persephoneslesbians]

Texting meme

[clairemasons]

Send ✆ for a morning text

Send ✉ for a text that wasn’t sent

Send ☎ for a rushed text

Send ☏ for a loving text

Send ⁇ for a drunk text

Send ø for a late night text

Send ✘ for a hateful text

[clairemasons]

xdianefay‌:

As a general rule, Diane wasn’t the type to lose her cool. To remain calm and composed in the face of stress and/or duress was an important quality for her career. But today, everything seemed to grate on her nerves. It was lucky that it had been a weekend, and she wasn’t in any danger of taking out her aggravation on a client. Still, being in the office didn’t seem to do much to relax her, so sometime shortly after noon, she packed up her things and decided it was time to go home. In a bit of a rush, she’d descended the stairs from her second story rental space and forced her way out the front door. She was surprised when she was met with a bit of resistance, the door not swinging open with the same ease that she was used to. It was then that Diane realized it’d gotten caught up on something… Or someone. “Oh my god.” The blonde slipped free from the crack in the door, worry creasing her features for a brief moment before being replaced with annoyance. “Well what are you doing creeping around strange doorways, anyway?”

There were very few people Claire let herself gravitate towards. She had made it a point to breeze back into Bayfield fewer times then one could count on the fingers of one hand in a year. She previously held no qualms of waltzing back out, leaving ends untied or waiting to be picked apart upon her next arrival. Others were packaged up neatly and stored upon a shelf, but she rarely allowed herself - and others - to dust things off and reminisce. Sad memories were stored with happier ones, and she was not quite ready to walk that minefield and potential shrapnel. Her walls weren’t only up to protect her, but to also protect others from the fallout... and the family’s image. Fragility was not an option.

Claire had contented herself with the alliance of someone that knew that on some days, only treading water was okay. Claire was caught between two shores, and couldn’t quite decide which one to swim towards. She was still staying afloat, even if the urge to slip under was more appealing occasionally. On a frigid morning, Claire found herself floating into Sinful Sweets. A few things caught her eye, and it was quickly decided she would foist some pastries onto one of her favored faces. She made quick work of seeking out Diane, but the sound of footsteps caused her breath to hitch. She didn’t want to impose. Relief swept over when the blonde revealed herself. Claire proudly held out the bakery box, tied off with ribbon. “Does it matter if I have these? The kouign amanns looked especially tempting today.”

[clairemasons]

rich-rockwell‌:

Josey’s was the quickest, most inexpensive place to grab a bite to each for lunch. Rich didn’t mind that the food never tasted like it’d been prepared by a five-star chef. He’d be happy with a grilled cheese and a bag of chips as long as it was hot and edible. There was no rush on the afternoon, he’d had a whole hour for lunch and didn’t have any chores to squander over. So he waited patiently for the waitress to bring him out his usual, having taken a seat at the counter in silence. The remainder of the restauraunt was relatively quiet, with only two other people sat in spaced out booths, apparently not having known one another. Rich thought it was a bit strange how the man in the back kept staring at the woman seated closest to the door. She looked lost in her meal, attention shifting back and forth from her cell phone, maybe. Or a book. But there was something about that guy that made Rich feel uncomfortable. He was a little too interested, perhaps, with his phone reappearing over the table every few moments as though he were recording. Or taking photos. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d caught some creep oogling a stranger in public. But he wasn’t the type to cause a scene. Not unless there were copious amounts of alcohol involved, anyway. Richie slid off of his stool, eyes locking with the waitress briefly while his head tipped into the direction of the lonesome woman in the booth. A few steps carried him quickly across the floor, and soon Rich was sliding onto the bench across from her. “Hey!” He piped up, “I can’t believe I didn’t see you sitting here. How are you?” Lacing his fingers together atop the hard table, he leaned in like he were about to share a secret. “Do you know that man back there? The one who keeps gawking at you?” Leave it to Rich to barrell in with very little by way of an explanation. But that was kind of his thing. @clairemasons

A 617 area code illuminated a darkened phone screen, accompanied by a clipped text message. Call me. She did not. Claire flipped the device over, a finger poised upon a button to hush the vibrations against the tabletop. Three, two, one -- not today. It started, it stopped, and the pattern repeated with increasing regularity as of late. The next message had never been a part of this. Come home, Claire. A snort was the only possible retort.

Claire’s roots had not grown too attached to Boston, and most bridges that led back to Bayfield had been torched long ago. She had been inclined to believe that home is where the heart is, but one could not make a home six feet underground. Claire was still picking up the pieces and somewhat reluctant to start rebuilding, but she was carving out temporary dwellings in places such as these. Josey’s, and even that very booth, had always welcomed her with open arms. Several debaucherous nights had ended in the vague, neon glow it offered. Hazy giggles had bubbled out when one slipped against the vinyl seats in the wrong way. No other place bore witness to Claire’s coterie being privy to the sound of faux farts - and the desperate urge to prove things as such. 

She was pulled back to reality with the nearing of another soul. She almost didn’t question his appearance with how swiftly he sat, though she softened slightly when he spoke. “It’s been so long! I’ve never been better.” Claire tipped her head forward, inquisitive eyes flicking over him for answers. She let out a laugh and leaned a bit closer. Claire angled the metal napkin dispenser to catch his warped reflection, trying to remain conspicuous. “I don’t,” her lips pursed as she fought the urge to toss a look over her shoulder. “What is he doing? Do you think I can take him with this butter knife?”

[clairemasons]

alexandrarahimi‌:

She had a second phone, stashed away in her purse that was currently locked in a backroom, lest any of these people try and use the sudden darkness to their advantage. Not that she planned to tell this woman any of this – mystery was power, after all, and not being an open book always left her with a handful of unexpected tricks up her sleeve. So she just hummed vaguely at the other’s words, hovered near her table for a little moment.

Since there was nothing else to do here except entertain herself with the people, she finally decided to settle into the empty booth opposite her, legs crossing slowly and hands locking together in her lap where she kept trying to resend the same text under the table. While not entirely unfamiliar, she hadn’t spoken to this particular face yet and Alexandra supposed she might as well make the most of this dead-end situation. “Who are you trying to get through to?”

Claire had given up on getting through, and she wasn’t entirely sure how either sister would react to her moment of panic. She had always been composed, but vulnerability and emotional defeat were things Claire spent the better part of her life evading. She had grown to love applying strategies and mind games learned from her sport to the courtroom, but outside of there or fencing’s piste, the constant, internal fight was exhausting. She had bit back a cagier response to the other woman earlier. There was a time for venomous instincts, but a dark room of frayed nerves was not the proper place. 

She shifted the line of bottles to clear space upon the table top, not all downed by her own hand. Several others had continued drinking on her tab after the initial round, she was sure, but the end of the blizzard wouldn’t be found at the bottom of a bottle. Solutions to her other woes weren’t, either, but Claire tried to keep that can of worms sealed tight. Claire pegged the face as one only seen in passing during her scarce returns over the years -- one yet to be evaluated. “My sister,” could she still identify Theo as such? “might still be out there. You?”

[clairemasons]

shortfusedwoman‌:

A slight smirk touched Frankie’s lips at the other woman’s question. “The free booze, why else?” She wet her lips with her tongue and chuckled internally. Booze costed money that Frankie didn’t have a lot of and she had quite the habit established. Anywhere offering free alcohol, shitty music and themes or not, was her kind of place to be. What that said about her moral compass or integrity, she really could give a flying fuck. If she bothered caring what people thought of her, she would never leave the house. Hell she probably would have left that stupid town or offed herself years ago. 

“Hey you don’t need to justify it to me, sweetheart.” Frankie held up a hand while she talked. “I’m about the most unattached person you’re ever going to meet and goddamn okay with that.” She wasn’t exactly sure on the whole ‘seeking out something exciting’ part but she supposed that was what she was doing before the woman had interrupted her. “Feel free to run wild, don’t let me stop you.” She affirmed her previous statement. “I’m Frankie, Frankie Momsen, Momsen Investigations. Call me for all your sneaky needs.” Her free hand outstretched for Claire to shake, despite the sarcasm in her tone.

Claire was amused - a feeling she had not felt in quite some time - though she was doing her best to keep them all at bay. There was something refreshing about the unapologetic honesty. There was something refreshing about stepping out of the gilded cage she had been locked into by none other than her own hand. No masked niceties, no inauthentic sympathy, no time for bullshit. “I’ll drink to that,” she gave a quick nod and elevated the champagne. She debated sending the cork flying, but a lonely hallway was not the place. 

Her curiosity was definitely piqued and a genuine smile teased at the corners of her lips, though she deftly turned it into a small smirk to match to match the other. Claire had an innate independent streak, and it had been hard becoming attached, though it was proving harder to stand, reliably, on her own two feet. It had been far easier in the past, in the days she did run wild. “I’ll drink to that, too,” she gave the extended hand a firm shake, filing the information away as she retracted her own. “I’m Claire Mason and in desperate need of a smoke, care to join?” 

[alyciajasmins1]

[dailywomen]

“I really believe that in this industry women have to be very true to themselves about what they’re comfortable with.”

[clairemasons]

《 ‹ claire & alexandra.

She’d been able to deal with the locked-in part alright enough. After all, if she was going to be stuck somewhere, her family’s pub was the next best thing. However, the lack of power was starting to wear her patience thin. She wasn’t worried about Jensen – he’d be able to look after himself – but she’d tried reaching out to make sure Charles was okay a couple of times, only to find that cell service was even more unreliable than the promises of drunk patrons of paying tomorrow, when they had cash on them again.

So her previous glee at living the horror movie reality as the local unexpected villain had turned into impatience and irritability. A voice to her left made her look up from yet another attempt of getting through, gaze cutting towards the offered bottle of red wine. She shouldn’t. Most of the time, Alex tried to paint a picture of herself that was one of sophistication. An image that clashed so much with the rest of the gang and therefore put people on edge from the get go. However, her child was somewhere out there and she hadn’t heard back in an hour and she didn’t give a shit about the image at the moment. So she didn’t miss a beat before grabbing the bottle and taking a heavy swig, then putting it back onto the table with all the delicacy she could muster. “That’s not gonna give me any better reception, either.”

Claire struggled constantly to find the middle ground and walk that fine line, but she knew she could not live a life in black and white. So much of her operated in the grey area – from trying to merge two fractured ends of her personality to discovering loopholes in the courtroom. She swung from a constant state of waiting and the impulse to burn bridges as she determined her path. Claire had spent many years waiting to escape Bayfield and fled when she had the chance. She was waiting to get to the other side of grief, though it was proving to be something she couldn’t conquer on willpower alone. The call to action itched within in those situations — and currently — but there was nothing she could do. She steeled herself to wait a little longer. Things were out of her control, out of any of their control, and that did not sit comfortably with her. She was aware her nervous energy was unproductive, but lining up bottles had displaced anxious thoughts. Claire leveled her gaze upon the figure that spoke as well as she could in the dark and offered an unseen shrug as a first response. “A dead phone won’t get much reception, either.” 

[lifeinpoetry]

i want to destroy myself. / i want to be a secret that nobody but i can ruin—

Salma Deera, from “a girl makes a decision: part 2,” Letters From Medea  (via merrymusings)

[clairemasons]

kclseywilson‌:

@clairemasons

Mere minutes after the forecast came across the radio, a grumble sounded through the room. While many didn’t mind being holed up in the pub, others weren’t exactly thrilled and it showed. Luckily, none other than Claire Mason… Claire Mason-Cabot, now?… She bought everyone a round and Kelsey felt an easy smile come to her lips. It seemed to placate the bunch for now and Kelsey lent half a thought to the possibility that some point would be too much. Hopefully, everyone recognized their limits. Undoubtedly, there would be one or two, of course. But, instead of dwelling on could-be scenarios, she navigated her way through the bodies crowding the bar and, complimentary beer in hand, found the brunette. “Good idea,” she smiled. “How’ve you been Claire? Obvious circumstance aside,” she chuckled before bringing the bottle to her lips.

An icy chill perennially settled into Claire’s bones, finding her on either coast. She had a calculated warmth stored for her short returns to Bayfield with poised frigidity waiting to settle in its place once depleted. The patterns of her personality had evaded her, thrown by recent events. This was the longest she had been without a plan - one of her own schemes or heavy expectations from others around her. No one planned to be on lockdown in a pub, but she supposed there were worse fates. "The next round is on me,” appeared to appease some of the present company, but she was tentatively relieved when a familiar face came into view. Claire ascended her own bottle in greeting. “I could be better, but I suppose all of us could be.” Sepia hues flickered over the cast of characters before settling on the booth she had occupied before the forecast. “How are you? Do you want to sit?”

[clairemasons]

《 ‹ claire & . mckinley’s.

Nervous fingers snaked around the neck of a wine bottle, nudging it betwixt ones emptied of beer. Claire lined them up like soldiers, and any other night she would have been impressed -- with herself and her boothmates. “There’s still some left.” She nudged it further away, concerned eyes searching the dim countenance before her. It did nothing to ease the fluttery, hazy feeling of dread that had settled upon her shoulders. This was a different kind of heavy than the dull ached that plagued her as of late. Her eyes flicked to the window, though nothing else was to be found in the expanse of black that stretched ever onwards. 

Her sister was potentially out there; a fact quickly deduced from inquisitive texts to Edward and Warren. There were many things left unsaid, and even uglier ones that had been voiced over the years, but her stomach was in knots. Claire pressed her lips into a grim line, though one did not need any light to know her thoughts were elsewhere. Nervous fingers typed out another text message, though it bounced back with failure to send appearing as a taunt. She powered off the device, admitting defeat, and surrendered her portable power bank. “It’s still got a charge if you need it.”

[vesselsofmercy]

The silence goes violet.

Pablo Neruda, from “Five Decades: Poems 1925-1970” (via honeyfleshed)