𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔.

COLE CAMPBELL. 22. WITCH.

[cole-campbell]

WHEN: friday july third, 10pm WHERE: the balcony, maeve’s house WHO: closed for @ofxlita

Cole remembers death from her childhood, the long slant of its shadow across her bed at night; looming, lurking, whispering. She wishes it’d stayed that way. She wishes she’d stayed away, never stepped foot in this shithole town. Now it’s sunk its teeth in deep and oh, death is fucking screaming. Carter, Asteria, Belen, Ren, Aaliyah. Lives snuffed out like they never meant a goddamn thing in the first place, and now, she hears them ceaselessly: lost, despairing, begging her to bring them back —

And she’s angry. She’s haunted and most of all, she’s a fucking coward, so she drinks. She smokes and snorts herself into medicated sanctuary, where sound and sensation is smothered. It’s a numb oblivion and she’s like this when the ritual happens, when magic steal away what little is left of her soul, without her say-so. 

When she comes round the following afternoon, everything feels wrong. Cole can’t breathe right for it and she spends an hour gasping into the soft skin of Maeve’s neck. She’s scared too, they all are. It’s what has the last dark witch reaching out to Ofelia, the strain between them from before Salem belonging to another lifetime. 

They sit out on the balcony, staring out onto the canopy of trees lining Maeve’s property and the darkness beyond. Cole lights the joint and takes a drag first before offering it to the other woman. “I’m uh... stupid question, probably, but how are you holding up?”

[cole-campbell]

& thclilith​:

maeve can’t quite place her finger on the source of her irritation. or, instead, she rather not. this connection they share under the night and all things dark and occult is a curse in itself. it laughs on the face of maeve’s independency and ego of someone who used to pride herself in never needing anyone. granted, she doesn’t need cole. however, there’s something deeply upsetting about the woman missing from her house and her chaotic routine. this alone is sufficient to make her less than happy. added to the fact that cole bothered to look for her only when it’s convenient, she’s livid. 

the blonde doesn’t touch her, both because she is mildly disgusted and also due to her nice clothes. her shoes alone cost over a thousand dollars and she wouldn’t want to risk ruining them with vomit. but then again, maeve thinks cole isn’t deserving of her touch at this moment. so she keeps her hands delicately folded over her lap, eyes cast forward and a slight upwards tilt of her chin as they ride the cab back towards her home. 

“ seems like the drugs didn’t make you that less perceptive, ” she says, coldly. only then she risks a gaze towards the other witch, brow raised high. “ no. but i did have to leave my home and find you what, about to OD? ”

“Honestly? Probably,” Cole says because sure, the drugs haven’t dulled her keen powers of perception, but they’ve always made her reckless. “Careful, babe. Kinda sounds like you care. Do you, care?” It’s a stupid question; incendiary. This thing between them pulls at Maeve as much as it does her; they’re tethered, more than the others. She waits for her to bite.

The cab hits a dip in the road and Cole’s head thuds against the window from the impact. Instant karma. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Maeve planned it. Her gaze slithers; it slides up the other witch’s soft thighs, delicate, ring-adorned hands to fix on her face. “I knew what I was... fuck... I called you.” There’s something imploring, desperate and too vulnerable in those words. She casts her eyes away.

It’s not a long ride back to Maeve’s place; Cole’s uncertain if that’s a good thing or not. She staggers out of the cab and leaves her to settle the fee, which is sure to guaranteed to only piss her off even further. Still, she has the decency to stumble past Maeve’s prim garden and puke in the neighbour’s gardenias.

[cole-campbell]

& ren-ofpluto​:

Instead of quipping, Ren only nods and lifts the next glass high, tossing back the drink with more grit than her original.  She’s cocky in her agreement, the suggestion clear in the catlike tilt of those expressive eyes. 

“And I’m sure there’s a truth in both those opinions. You talk quick. That’s common back home, and we got a word for it.  But I think there’s even less mystery when it comes to pity.” She nearly reaches across to touch the carving, the branding subhuman in nature and still puckered angrily despite the time past. “I’ve curiosities about that nastiness as well.” But the pause she takes next is intentional, sure to let the girl know she will not force her to speak more than she wants.

“Hmm, why’d I come,” she sing-songs the phrase, tilting her head to one side. “Because Gen sounds desperate and I’m a sucker for the downtrodden. She made it clear in a not so subtle way that you girls needed direction. So it didn’t go down right with me, thinkin’ y’all were out here lost and dyin’.”

“Well, I sure do hope it’s a nice word.” She’s smiling, something real and suggestive all at once because God, nice is the furthest adjective on her mind right now. “I can promise you, I don’t rush when it comes to everything else.” She’d say more on it too, but the other witch’s hand hesitates over her collarbone and yeah, that’s a mood killer. Cole’s expression shifts; a second later, it resettles into easy flirtation. “Thrown into the deep end of some BDSM gone wrong,” she downs her drink and averts her eyes until another’s in her hand. “Always pick your safe word first.” 

The Gen line helps lighten the mood; if she laughs and it’s more strained than before, she still counts it as an improvement. “So you’ve come to be our She-Ra, huh? Riding in on a rainbow to save us from all our fuck ups?” Cole smirks. “You’ve got a job and a half cut out for you there, mate.”

[zendadya]

This anxiety puts me to shame And nothing could silence this pain Baby, that’s why, I’m saying that I am feeling so…hopeless.

[cole-campbell]

& aaliyahxelectric​:

status: open to all witches  location: outside of the bar where she works time & date: around 2am, just after close - sunday, the 7th 

   despite what lixue said about laying low, staying on the move, and being careful - liyah returned to work the next night as normal. if anyone had commented on it, her flippant reply was simply; a bitch got bills, a bitch gotta work. so, she worked her usual long saturday shift, filling her pockets with tips and biting back her fears with fake smiles and flips of her hair. 

   she didn’t drink, never had, but nights like these tempted her. with everyone gone now, even the old lurkers who linger well after last-call, aaliyah was free to swipe a bottle of rum from the shelf and slip out the back once she’d locked up. apparently being part of a ‘coven’ meant she’d never get a minute alone, and so she was given an escort that night - for safety in numbers, or whatever. 

   “hey, stalker,” she teased, eyebrows raised, holding out the bottle as her gratitude for the walk home. at this point, aaliyah figured getting busted for stealing booze one was the least of her worries, and it wasn’t like the drunk owner would notice, anyway. she and ofelia all but ran the place; so who fucking cared? “all yours. i don’t drink. figured you could use it. damn, this place gets spooky at night, shit, doesn’t it?” 

Cole wasn’t Aaliyah’s carpool buddy for the night; even if she was, she was in no fit state to get herself home, let alone anyone else. The bar she’d spent the past few hours getting steadily drunk at had spilled its patrons out onto the street and it was simply a happy coincidence to see a familiar face. “What, closed already? For your favourite customer and all.” And yeah, she’s happier to see the bottle in Aaliyah’s hand than the girl herself, but Cole never claimed to be a good person. “And you, my friend, are my favourite bar... uh... person.”

She uncaps the bottle and takes a long gulp before the other witch can change her mind. Cole’s past the point of feeling the burn and the alcohol slides down her throat as easy as water. She wipes her mouth clean with the back of her hand. “Shit, you don’t drink ever? You on the whole AA thing? Dunno how you stay around drunk people sober... we’re the fucking worst.” 

[cole-campbell]

& ren-ofpluto​:

“Course.  World needs more love ‘s far as I’m concerned.  I’m willing to do my part.”  When the second drink come Ren only palms the glass, watching Cole more curiously.  “Sure, cher. Men and women are not the same, nor equal.  Why should we treat something so transformative as sex with the same blase nature. A woman deserves far more care than the average cock would provide.” She twists the glass in her hand before raising a brow and looking at the medium. “Hypothetically.”

Poised before her breasts, Ren linked her fingers, a taunt in her smile. “Interesting as it is, fucking wasn’t exactly what I had in mind as far as questions.” There was a quiet squeak as she leaned back in her chair, making an illusion she was taller than she was. “Where do ya fit in all this, Cole?  Do you feel heard? Seen?”

She’s smart and yeah, that’s always been a pull when it comes to Cole’s taste in women. Granted, she could be accused of fancying anything decently attractive with a pulse and it wouldn’t be wrong. She lifts her glass. “I’ll drink to that.

And Cole likes the way that accent curls around the word fucking too; she squeezes her thighs tight together and hums, pretends to give the question some thought. “I’m not exactly vying for Valedictorian. Some of the others would tell you not to trust me. Others probably feel sorry for me.” The reason is there, worn almost as a badge of honour on uncovered skin.

It’s more telling than she’d usually be and she wonders if it’s down to a spell. “You don’t strike me as the sort to come looking for your place. But here you are, right? The newest member of the Brady Bunch. So,” there’s something more focused in her gaze now. “Why did you come?”

[cole-campbell]

& thclilith​:

the absence is noted but keenly ignored. maeve thinks herself above it, though her frazzled nerves put her on the cliff of snapping. she goes through cigarettes like a race and puts herself to sleep with a criminal amount of alcohol. she works, though from home these next days, sending practiced texts and provocative photos. it’s not enough to distract though and there’s this hole inside of her that never existed before. and she is angry about that, too. 

she is on the verge of mixing herself something when cole calls. maeve doesn’t want to pick up and although she agrees to go find the other woman, she isn’t happy about it. the blonde curses the bond that pulls her strings and puts her on the move as she gets herself a taxi to whatever dirty corner cole found herself in. 

when she approaches the other witch, her anger falters for a second. something about seeing cole broken sits uncomfortable with her but maeve promptly pushes it aside. she figures cole barely deserves her pity. “ good to see you still know my name, ” the blonde says, crossing her arms. “ you look awful. ” she adds, for good measure, before sighing. “ come, the cab is waiting. ”

She does look awful; she’d caught sight of herself in the club’s mirrored walls just before leaving, unkempt and slovenly and everything Maeve is most certainly not. Even now, the blonde is as radiant as ever, and some part of Cole’s brain — the part one sniff away from an OD — blinks up and thinks backlit, she looks like an angel. “’Course I know your name...” it takes plenty of help from the pavement but she finds her feet. “I just... I needed... shit.”

If she’s an angel, Maeve must be one the Old Testament kind, all righteous fury and justice. She doesn’t help Cole to the cab and keeps her hands to herself once they’re inside. Cole watches her with a temple pressed against the window. “You’re pissed off.” This is new. She’s never had to answer to anyone before. The motion of the car turns her stomach and Cole presses her fingers to her lips for a long pause before she continues. “Did you have to, uh... fuck... leave work because of me?” 

[cole-campbell]

WHEN: friday june 12, late morning WHERE: CVS, off of highland ave. WHO: closed for @marinachois​

People don’t fucking walk anywhere in America. Sure, things are more spread out than London, but it’d help tackle the whole obesity issue if they tried it out more often. As for Cole, she could do with the fresh air. Granted her destination is the nearest Dunkin’ Donut, but she’ll have earned that cinnamon coffee roll when she gets there, god damn it.

She figures out why people prefer driving on her way there. Salem is fucking bleak. It’s like the Big Gal in the Sky came along and turned the saturation level down to negative 50. That, and what Google Maps promised was a twenty-minute walk from Maeve’s is longer, given how often she almost gets run over by aforementioned fatties in their trucks. Not for the first time, Cole considers turning around, jumping in her car and hightailing it out of town.

Except, y’know, there’s the whole issue of being fully aware now that she can’t. None of them can — they’re bound here, thanks to that hag Genevieve. Divine knowledge is a real fucking pill. 

And speaking of pills; Cole hesitates outside CVS. Her last dabble with xannies didn’t exactly go so hot but that’s never stopped her before. She’ll just have a browse. Window shop. And the bottle is just there, peeking out of some old broad’s bag. She’s bound to have more at home — little old ladies always stockpile. Cole brushes past and snags the pills, stuffing them into her pocket.

[cole-campbell]

WHEN: thursday june 11, mid-afternoon WHERE: salem woods WHO: closed for @ofxlita​

A weekend of inebriation blisters into the week. This is nothing new. Cole’s never prescribed to the 9-5 routine; Friday and Saturday nights simply mean more hot, sweaty bodies to get off with. Still, there’s binges and then there’s this — when she emerges four days later, it’s with a helping (read: shoving, slapping) hand from Maeve, several cold showers and a little magic.

Sobriety is bright and ugly and Cole doesn’t care for it. Still, she made promises and she’s trying this whole thing where she’s not a shit person. Practising magic with Maeve the day prior had been a new high of its own and she seeks out more — but when she knocks on the girl’s bedroom door, she’s nowhere to be found.

Like this, the house is too quiet and the thought of other people too much. It’s a seven minute walk from Maeve’s to the woods. And it’s nice — the sound of the birds and the winds in the trees and all that other shit nature people love. She should’ve known of course that it wasn’t ever that easy; that this thing that had brought them all together was stronger than any of their individual desires.

She runs into her; literally. They collide and Cole’s limbs, still weak from the weekend, fail to save her from tumbling. When she blinks up and realises it’s Ofelia, well, of course it fucking is. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this now, huh? Well, I’d say ‘it wasn’t personal’, but I figure fuckboy lines ain’t gonna fly with you.”

[cole-campbell]

WHEN: wednesday june 10, around 2am WHERE: velvet sensations strip club WHO: closed for @thclilith

Salem isn’t on anyone’s top 10 (or hell, 50) places for a good night out, but Cole’s always been resourceful. Right now she’s desperate too, and that combination proves violent and chemical: it fizzes and blurs and burns all the way into the following week. On any given day, she knows her limits and wilfully exceeds them. Now, any sense of control is far from reach; Cole blows her cash on booze and crushed up fuck-knows-what, unsure if she’s fleeing death or pursuing it.

Still, even the most seasoned partiers hit a wall. By Tuesday night, her own name is a struggle, let alone recalling the last time she ate or slept. She’s not wearing the clothes she started the weekend in which suggests she’s been in someone else’s bed, but they’re vomit-stained and at some point, the high sours. When the darkness threatens to engulf her, she calls Maeve. 

Outside, it’s cold and her teeth chatter where she sits waiting on the curb outside the club. People come up to ask if she’s okay, but it’s all white noise until suddenly, it’s not. There’s that tug — she looks up, and there she is. “Maeve...” 

[cole-campbell]

& rolandbb​:

   At her request, Ro lets go of her hand, only to regret it moments later when her words sent yet another trembling chill down his spine. It settled as a pit in his stomach - he can’t help but wonder, is he included in that? His friends, as well as him, killed in the war he started? Maybe his selfishness showed here, realizing he hardly cared about the news of the little blonde’s death; she was cute, sweet, but not his type. Not anyone he knew, or cared, about enough to give a shit. 

   Instead, he still wondered which him had died. By now, he felt sure of it - it was part of his crew. For Cole’s sake, it was a good thing Ro had dropped her hand from his, for her fingers would be crushed right now, a fist forming as he tried to control his concern, his questions, his automatic defensive nature at her threat. 

   “Nah, they’re not. You don’t know my friends, their names, their faces. You only know the one, and me,” Roland was talking big, full of confidence, but inside he wavered. Deep down, he had a feeling - magic would beat their useless hate, any day. Maybe it already had. “You- you said you didn’t want him to do. Who did you kill? Who did you kill, Cole?” 

If it wasn’t a fair fight before, it’s even less of one now — Cole’s brain is sluggish, her body slow. And still, for all the fucking drugs and booze she can manage, there’s no escape. She absorbs each minutiae through quicksand; the swelling wave of his voice, the hands that roll into fists by his sides. Roland’s anger tastes a burning, putrid red and even when she closes her eyes, it won’t go away.

“You gonna hurt me again? You... you want to.” Like this, he looms over her; it’s a moment that’s haunted her in weeks past and once again she’s fucking helpless, only able to move her lips to murmur, her eyes to stare. “It won’t stop if you do. It’s gonna... gonna happen, with or without you.” Her eyes are heavy and it’s an active fight to stay conscious. “I didn’t kill him.” It’s too late; Cole feels the drugs begin to tug her away. “You fucking tortured me. You both... you both did...”

[cole-campbell]

& rolandbb​:

   She was speaking in some sort of drunken, rambling, emotional code - something Roland couldn’t decipher, even if he wanted to. He knew all too well that hunger for nothingness, the desire to become entirely numb until nothing mattered, and he wondered if she was even going to be able leave here in 30 minutes. The most of death that Ro knew was when he was young, his mom was alive and happy, and then she was sick. For a long time. And then, she simply wasn’t - wasn’t anything, wasn’t here and wasn’t coming back. Just gone. But now his memory flashed back to her being alive somehow, her voice coming through Cole, and the dangerous curiosity snagged at his heart once more. 

   But Ro didn’t say anything else on it. Didn’t know what to say. When Cole swayed, apparently too weak to even keep her own body up anymore, Ro moved instinctively to attempt to catch her, redirect her against the cot and the pillow, where she wouldn’t tumble off. But she didn’t let go; she held on, so he waited, hand in hers, until her final words made his blood run cold. 

   Him who? Who died? Had - oh god, had Jack successfully- did he attack? Did someone- “Someone died?” Roland asked, voice small. He felt so secluded there in the shed. Was Jack dead? Did they kill witches, without him? A flurry of questions and emotions swirled, and Ro felt like his hand in hers was a dead weight. On her fingers, his grip tightened. “Tell me. Everything.” 

It speaks to just how much booze she’s consumed that the benzos are kicking in so quick — already, the room is spinning and Roland hand anchors her. Except there’s something wrong in his expression; it’s familiar in a way that feels like a knife and has the witch shying away.

“No.” Cole’s frowning now and fuck, every movement is molasses-slow. “Let go.” Except she doesn’t want him to. She can feel the heat of his skin through her clothes and she knows then, inexplicably, that she shouldn’t have come tonight — that this thing between them will set the both of them aflame if she allows it. “Don’t... ‘m not gonna tell you shit...” 

She’s too fucked up to be of any use, to even lift her head off his goddamn pillow. It’s pathetic, but it’s what she wanted. “Asteria. Asteria’s... dead.” Before tonight, she’d not know her name, had thought of the girl as little but a persistent shadow and now? Now she belongs to the endless night. And regardless of her reckless pursuit of intoxication, there’s a moment of premonition; Cole meets Roland’s gaze and slurs out a warning:

“And all your friends are going to die too.” 

[lucrezia-venus]

WHERE: b҉e҉t҉w҉e҉e҉n҉ ҉l҉i҉f҉e҉ ҉a҉n҉d҉ ҉d҉e҉a҉t҉h҉

WHEN: 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈

WHO: closed for @cole-campbell​

Lucrezia Bianchi 06/01/2020

There was no adjusting to her now, there only was. She was apart, drifting and abandoned even by her cast away companion.  Half the time she felt completely apart, a soul drifting in nothing. Matter and mass with little between.  Then there were moments of lucidity, where she saw her world in grayscales or negatives, perfectly detailed but not quite right.  She saw the girls easiest - the ones tied to her magic and found herself struggling to reach for them.

It was like that now, recognizing the curly hair and stolen fashion but forgetting the name.  Things like that often escaped her in the darkness and she found a strangled moan left her lips instead.  Remember, she begged of herself, crying out to the tall girl. ’

”Help me,” she called, a phrase she’d never dared to utter in life.

Cole Campbell 06/03/2020

Salem was a magnet and Cole had been arrogant enough to believe she’d been in control of her compulsion to stay. The truth was clearer now - not just thanks to that old hag Gen, her fucking book of spells or indeed, any of the other girls. They were all evidence that magic was real and undeniable, but it was through the eyes of death that Cole was able to truly see.

Cleo’s touch haunted her; in the days that followed, those memories of her and Lucrezia played on a loop, a robbery she regretted. And she felt the dead witch everywhere - flashes of canary yellow in peripheral vision, the lingering scent of a stolen perfume she’d locked away. Not for the first time, Cole felt as if she were going mad.

And madness must have been the reason, that compulsion again that tugged her out of bed at 4am and to a gas station on the other side of town. For a while Cole sat there with the engine off, eyes shut. When they opened it was a hesitant gaze, sliding up slow to the rear view mirror and its view of the back seat. “Luce?”

Keep reading

[cole-campbell]

& ren-ofpluto​:

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I do. I love all women.”  There was an obvious suggestion there before Ren laughed, a warm sound. Her voice was slightly deeper for a woman and frayed at the edges from an overindulgence in smoke. Somehow, the sound is still smooth as water.  But the game had begun all too quickly and she watched with a tempered interest how quickly the witch drank. 

“Interesting you think a strap on would be needed.  Hypoethetically, of course.”  It was fun to play along, the interest clear by the intense turn to Ren’s eyes. She makes a show of downing her own drink, breathing out in a small wince, clearly less accustomed. “Have you found a penis to be so instrumental in pleasure till now? Cause I’d have to challenge that assumption, bébé.”

It’s the kind of voice that people cite when they say ‘God, I love a good accent’; the sort made to croon audiobooks or ASMR or whatever shit people pay good money to listen to. And fuck if Cole won’t blow a small fortune at the bar just to hear more of it. “I bet you’ve got a lot of love to give. You strike me as a big giver, but maybe I’m just wishing things into existence.” There’s a lightness to her smile as she watches the woman struggle, signals for another drink for her and sips at her own.

“Hypothetically,” she leans back in her seat and steeples her fingers. “Reckon there’s a time and a place for cock. I like to think I’m an equal opportunist, but I’m always...” when she leans back in, her body is angled towards the smaller witch; her thighs spread, just enough for her to notice. “Always open to being proved wrong. But speaking of equal opportunities... ask away.”

[cole-campbell]

& rolandbb​:

   “Got that, too,” Ro reassured, though he was pretty sure mixing alcohol, no food, and Xanax was a bad idea. But as promised, he stood again, walking to one of the few bags tossed carelessly in the corner. After a moment of two of rummaging, Ro withdrew a little bottle of the pills, but didn’t throw it towards her this time. Instead, he took the liberty of getting a dose for her, the little promise of peace, on his palm extended to her. “But I’d rather you didn’t die on my bed. ‘cause, y’know. That wouldn’t look great for me right now,” A lame attempt at a joke, but Roland managed to give some half-cocked smile to her, laced with an awkwardness he wasn’t used to. 

   Returning to his seat, Ro didn’t expect her to speak again, didn’t expect himself to be allowed to hear her speak again, not like this, and not to him. It felt like something too intimate for what he should be allowed, and her question was as painful as a bullet. Hadn’t they said the same thing, drunken and tangled together, at the stupid festival? Licking his lips, Ro tried to think before speaking; another new thing to experience, thanks to her. “We all die, that’s not the surprise of it. It’s the one thing we can count on, ain’t it?” A little introspective, and dark to boot, for Roland’s taste. “You tryin’ say fuck it, let’s blow this town? I doubt any of ‘em would let ya, if you tried.” If only Ro knew the weight of the night’s events, but ignorance is bliss. 

Right now, she’s a world away from a witty retort — the teasing lilt of his voice goes over her head but Cole hesitates when their hands touch. There’s a moment where she looks up and it’s an echo, the same soft eyes from moments before all the madness. As quick as it appears, it’s gone. Cole snatches the pills up and swallows them dry; they stick in her throat and it’s a fight to choke them down. 

It’ll be worth it. This particular combination is nothing new and she wants all of it; the numbness, the blackouts, the memory loss. “Fuck all of them, and fuck that shit too. People don’t just die. You think it’s that easy? You die and you come back, and even if you don’t it’s just, just — ” She shakes her head, looks away. Her hands tremble where they lay balled up in her lap. “I can’t leave. I’m tethered.” Things like that are clearer to her now, inescapable even in her inebriation. Using magic apparently will do that to you. “We all are. Even you.” 

By now, her head is spinning and lying down seems like the only way to make it stop. She’s not sure how it happens; maybe it’s him or maybe she reached out, but she’s aware of his hand in hers. “I mean, Jesus, Roland, I didn’t want either of them to die. Not even him. I voted no and now? Fuck... now I don’t think they’ll ever leave.”  

[cole-campbell]

& ren-ofpluto​:

Since arriving in Salem, Ren had experienced the most tame of amorous advances.  She’d patronized one bar in the weeks she’d spent in town and traded midnight kisses with a blonde she’d have described as underwhelming. She hadn’t expected to start anything with one of the covenette’s either - but she was not above a healthy flirtation. There was something far less devious in the act.

“The scenery.” she repeats with a longer drawl, following Cole’s gaze with a brow raised high.  “I can appreciate putting your cards so openly on the table.  Would agree that it’s one hell of a view.”  When the drinks arrive, Ren gives a gentle sip.  “Oof- you take it hard, don’t you cher.” and there’s a naughty lift to her sideways smile. “Shall we play twenty questions.  You then me?” She’s not looking at Cole, admiring the curves around them pointedly whilst speaking.  “Or would you rather I verbally examine you in full?”

Sadly for the scenery, it’s sorely outmatched; now, Cole’s only got eyes for the newcomer. It’s moments like these amidst the madness that seem too good to be true — that for all the batshit craziness, the ‘coven’ is packed full of magically smoking hot women that, for the most part, have the same inclinations as her.

“Don’t you?” Cole grins. She leans back in her chair with a sigh and stretches her legs out, one ankle over the other. “Ooooh. I love a game. I’ll go first.” She knocks back her drink in one and signals for a new one in a single sweeping movement of her hand. “Purely hypothetical, of course. After a few more of these,” she shakes her empty glass, “We head back together. Which one of us will be saddling on the strap?” 

Bright-eyed and smirking, it’s just cheeky enough to miss the leery mark and Cole figures she knows the answer already. As small as she may be, the other woman doesn’t scream sub. She folds her lips around the rim of her new glass without breaking eye contact.

[lifeinpoetry]

How women chance their bodies / for relief from those bodies.

Erin Adair-Hodges, from “Wherein I Attempt to Write About Something Different Than Women’s Anger After an Editor Calls My Work “Single-Minded”,” published in Love’s Executive Order (via lifeinpoetry)