here

Said I can’t go on, not in this way I’m a dream that died by light of day Gonna hold up half the sky and say "Only I own me" Emma Lancaster of the New York's Finest RPG

[emslancaster-blog]

The five stages of grieving | Anger

“She was not to blame" Emma ends up repeating to herself like a mantra. Blood dripping from her hand, a smashed mirror, and the memory of a dead sister: all that’s left. Why is an unnecessary inquiry; who to blame is worth the effort of asking. His name remains unspoken ever since their death, as the face of beloved man brings nothing but fury within the younger Lancaster anyway. There is nothing left to do; still, she needs to believe Ella didn’t bring this upon herself.

[emslancaster-blog]

what ifs

[zerofraction-blog]

[emslancaster-blog]

lies and more lies | Jeb

[jeb-abrams]

Jeb had finally mustered the ability to go back home and not hang around places that reminded him of Will. Of course, even his home reminded him of the man, but it wasn’t like it was the man’s home, or even the gang HQ. The truth was, his mom had begged him to come home. Abigail Abrams knew that if she didn’t, her son would still be moping at the other’s apartment.

They were having a Chinese takeout when he heard the knock at the door. Jeb knew it was for him, so he went to see who it was. He was surprised to see Emma standing on the other side of the door through the peephole, since he was yet to see the text, as his phone had been on silent all day and he hadn’t thought to take it off silent. He thought about how her sister’s death would’ve affected her for the moment he pondered before opening the door. Yes, Jeb and Will functioned similar to brothers, but they weren’t brothers by blood, never mind twins. After giving his mom where he was going, Jeb lifted his box of curry and rice and his plastic fork before grabbing a windbreaker and heading out.

“Hey,” he said to Emma, closing the door behind him as he chewed on a mouthful of rice, “What’d you like to do?” He didn’t see the point in discussing the deaths just yet. It made him sick just thinking of them, and he doubted she was much different.

[emslancaster-blog]

     The sight of him brought relief Emma wasn’t aware she needed. Perhaps she was glad not to be left with only her thoughts; to hear someone else talk was a nice change. Ella was her main go-to, but her scent was the primary reason for which she left the house in the first place. Emma had to find someone else.

     Jeb’s chewing reminded the girl she hadn’t eaten in a while; hunger was not something she felt, though. So she just shrugged her shoulders. “We can do whatever you want; I just couldn’t stand my house anymore.” She offered a simple answer, which Emma thought to be the whole truth. He seemed spent, and, for a second, she wondered how come that was exactly how she felt. Oh, well.

[areswinchester-blog]

While Ares was hoping this interaction would end as abruptly as it began, he couldn’t help but pursue the absurd new change in topic with crass, but necessary surprise. “Well…corpses don’t usually answer the phone,” he pointed out, wondering if this was the introverts attempt at some shitty joke. He didn’t find it all that funny. “Police might have it. Probably got crushed though.” Like everything else. Like Ella. God did he hate that mental image.

[emslancaster-blog]

     A step back marked the denial in which she still was. Corpse usually referred to a dead person. Ella... no. There were many reasons for which Emma didn’t like Ares; his cruel nature was one of them. Why would you talk like that... about your friend? Only friend, might she add. She’d have to be blind not to notice the surprise, but she was foolish enough to pretend they were insane: every single person who hugged her this morning, every police officer who called her cell, Ares. All of them, out of their minds. “Don’t you ever talk like that about Ella.” It was all she had the power to say. 

[archibaldoneil-blog]

Archie waited until the girl sat next to him to give her a lazy glance over, taking in her small form before sighing and turning back to glance at the street. “What aren’t we sad about tonight?” He said cryptically, his eyes shifting back over to the blonde every so often. She was so small, obviously light weight. He looked down at the concrete. He could push her. What would it be like to push her? It wouldn’t be difficult. She would flail, probably scream. They were four stories up, she would could possibly die, unless something cushioned her fall or she landed on her feet. Then her legs would shatter on impact. He imagined the sound it would make, the muted crack of bones crushing mixed with the sound of party-goers pausing and gaping their mouths open and shut like fishes on land, looking for water only to find the harsh, humid New York air. The color of the blood and guts spattered on the side walk. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he barely knew her, it was just because she looked like a dead girl. Her white hair and skin making her look like a ghost. He wondered if he was being haunted. If she was ghost, maybe there would be no blood. No cracking noise. Maybe she would hit the ground and then just disappear, like she never existed in the first place. He took a moment to contemplate the scenario before coming back to reality with a simple shrug. “The world’s a fucked up place.” 

[emslancaster-blog]

     She examined him for another moment, before following his gaze to the concrete. The blonde saw nothing of importance, nothing which could captivate the man in such a measure; he appeared to be caught in his own mind more than anything. Emma didn’t ask. It was none of her business. 

     A huff escaped her lips at his reply, amusement evident in her features. He did not reveal anything, his message conveying no real substance. Of course the world was shitty: in this Universe, her sister was dead. However, this couldn’t be the reason behind his statement. “And the sky is blue. Care to be more detailed?” She dared, marking her curiosity with a raise of the brows.

[claytonsinquisitions]

It was the longest minute of his life.

Her movements were silent, as if she didn’t occupy any space in the room at all, but swift as the wind was – she was out of her seat, and heading out for the door, and he followed her steps. And still, it was the longest minute of his life because he was sincerely bad at being comforting. He didn’t want to be comforting her in the first place, yet the reacted on his instinct once he saw here there, behind the computer, typing and minding her own business, completely ignoring the heaviness of the eyes that were stealing glances of her.

The big elephant in the room.

And of course, the silence was probably unbearable to his consciousness so he just had to say something. He had to. “Judging by your look, I might have done something wrong. If this is about the task I have just finished, I… simply had nothing else on my ‘to do’ list for the day, and no one was taking care of it. That’s really all there is to it.”

Her words poured ice cold water on his head and he felt like there was a freezing wind coming over him, bringing the aftermath. She was… unsuspecting of what he initially wanted to talk to her. Wasn’t it obvious? In a room full of people, looking at her, wondering what the hell was she doing at work, was it possible that she successfully dodged their judgmental, stabbing looks, whispers behind her back – was it possible?

They say every day, people learn something new – which was directly applicable to the situation Mitchell found himself in. He was definitely experiencing something new. His tongue was in a knot, he found himself stuttering and slithering around possibly uncomfortable words. Fuck, he thought to himself, fuck you need to get your fucking shit together. Fine. “Listen, um – no, that’s not what I wanted to talk about with you,” there were many things New York managed to change within him, both good and bad, but his British accent never failed to diminish; present and recognizable as ever, there it was, now in a delicate situation perhaps a little stronger than usual. He indeed felt like a foreigner. “I wanted to see if you would be more comfortable with taking your work at home instead of in the office.” Finally. The sensation of finally having uttered a complete sentence instead of struggling over for air or just plain words overwhelmed him and brought him great pleasure. He was shaken for a moment by the situation he had not foreseen, but he stumbled just enough to make himself walk again, even on thin ice. Successfully dodging the before mentioned elephant in the room, Mitchell was more than aware that it was eventually going to come up. Fuck, did he not want to talk about her dead sister. Oddly enough, he sensed that they were on the same page.

“The work you’ve done is completely fine, you know it, and I don’t think I need to elaborate on that.” He said, still trying to avoid his slip of stupidity. A seed of irritation started growing inside of him: no, he was not used to being this unarticulated around people in general, much less the people he considered his people; one look at the silver-haired girl and he knew that she’d take him for a fool if he keeps stumbling over words because it is an uncomfortable topic.

[emslancaster-blog]

   For the slightest breath of a split second the blonde found his initial response almost comical, contrasting from those she was accustomed with. In the second following, however, she dismissed the notion altogether, as a question rose in her mind: why was his face for the briefest moment coloured in surprise? Um. She was not one to inquire, yet her silent nature allowed for detailed observations. Curiosity lured Emma to linger on that thought — he wasn’t the only one caught off guard by her today. For whatever purpose, the woman had no intention on speculating. She could simply ask. When she entered the HQs, faces turned white, and, more than ever, orbs scrutinized Emma, hoping to see something, someone else —  or so she got the impression. He must have observed the way everyone stared at her earlier, as if she was a bomb ready to explode. She surely noticed him having the same look on his figure.    Assumed projects were not the target of this encounter, it was confirmed. Her irises latched onto the man before her, as a sense of comfort clutched her being. Strangely, this feeling he thought she’d find home appeared here, and his care - Diamonds’ care - brought even more controversy. As much as she had appreciated his praise, pity was thought to be detected in his tone. Mitchell knew more; he always did.     It was easy: in matters of emotions, Ella was the one Emma couldn’t lie to —  to herself came quite naturally. Now, however, the situation didn’t require such desperate measures. The reality held faulty truths. Those she couldn’t comprehend, which is why she gave them no credence. Such new experience for Emma, going through difficulties without Ella by her side; she was not born with this innate ability, so denial built the base of her false stability. In spite of her thoughtfulness, the initial shock numbed a fortune of sentiments. Putting her brain to good use constituted the only escape from whatever feelings resided deep inside. Nonetheless, awareness of this coping mechanism didn’t exist.    She would have wanted him more unrestrained, if not for his pleasing accent, which was reminiscent of family. The Lancasters, even after many years spent in America, still spoke to each other in their sweet British tone. Although she sought blind-sighted in intention of acquiring answers, Emma desired not to startle the man in sudden boldness.  Her voice, a velvet sound and steady cadence, filled the silence she had allowed to settle. “I… am a little bit startled as to why you would concern yourself with my location. Do I seem unwell?” an honest reply was all she eventually had to offer, yet, as Emma remembered her sleepless night (something inside of her kept stirring her awake before she would succumb to sleep once again for an hour or two), she allowed a sigh to escape her lips. “Scratch that. Is there anything, besides my ghost appearance, that would cause you to have such wonderings?”

[demigody]

I am the girl you were warned about. The girl built from fire and stone. The girl who swallows the stars and extinguishes the sun. The girl who will either build empires or raze them to the earth. The girl who leaves ash and moondust in her wake. The girl made to create and to destroy Because aren’t they just the same thing? The girl who reaches out towards the sky, pulling her hand back as though she can grasp the clouds themselves. The girl who rinses her hands with scalding water, contemplating the irony that the water can burn. The girl who sits upon a throne of jewels and bones, Who wears a crown of tarnished gold. The girl who is not manic, nor a pixie, nor a dream. The girl who lives. The girl who survives.

s.g. (via tsardines)

[areswinchester-blog]

Ares met her eyes for the briefest moment, finding the echo of a girl disturbing. Emma had always been so easy to ignore, but now she stood out like a sore thumb. No longer a shadow, but a bright and ethereal ghost, her blonde hair all too fitting for the haunting image. The distraction of her physical presence was enough to make him lose track of her words for a moment, furrowing his brows as he realized she somehow wasn’t talking about her sister’s death. Her twin’s death. She was talking about the Hartwell girl. Wife number four or whatever. ”Right…” he began, buying time as he tried to figure out what she was going on about. When an answer failed to appear, he ended on a surprising note: “Sorry.” Too perplexed to argue, Ares abided her request with his following silence.

[emslancaster-blog]

      Sorry. She deflated somehow, but did not show it outwardly. Detached, pessimistic, cold, heartless  – tragedy changed him, Emma assumed. Ares was beyond her comprehension. Such an explosive nature ought to hurt even the ones he loved most; why? The woman decided that was a question she’d be better off not asking. 

     Emma met the man’s silence with a sharp intake of breath and the seriousness that swarmed her gaze. “I didn’t come to you to scold you. Ella isn’t answering her phone.” She said matter-of-factly.

[archibaldoneil-blog]

Archie felt the colder breeze in the air, from both the height and the season, but it barely penetrated the sleeves of his long shirt. Fall was beginning and everyone was beginning to feel it. The first leaf fall of the year was beginning and the air was turning a little harsher. The stores started dumping back-to-school supplies, instead filling their shelves with plastic pumpkins and fake cobwebs. Halloween was just around the corner, and Archie felt the same knot of anxiety and excitement at the prospect. He loved the holiday, but hated the crowds. 

He swung his legs back and they subtly bounced off the building each time, making his feet fall into a never ending Newton’s cradle type momentum as he consider all these things before he finally decided to respond to the voice of the girl who addressed him.

“Yeah, take seat, join this shitty ‘Sad Adults Anonymous’ meeting.” He said in an almost distracted tone, shifting to the left just enough to come across as welcoming, similarly to when someone pats the seat next to them on the couch. He was inviting her to sit down.

[emslancaster-blog]

    Her cerulean orbs examined him – what could be seen of him in the darkness of the night, as she approached. There wasn’t much to infer, not from afar. Her intent was to sit, indeed, but she ought to admire the view first. Emma couldn’t help but wonder if that was how God saw them: little figurines on a table, with no distinctive traits whatsoever, except their cries for help. Brushing off the divine dilemma, she finally honoured his invitation by taking a seat next to him. An untold pressure forced the intersection of gazes, and she was taken aback by his feminine features, as well as his youthfulness. The man couldn’t have been more than 25. “Sure, what are we sad about tonight?” she inquired, mustering an honest, gentle smile.

[claytonsinquisitions]

@emslancaster

The DiamondHQs were eerily silent.

The lightin the offices was particularly killing his sight as he switched rooms, walkingaround aimlessly, as if he had needles up in his ass. Mitchell was a friend ofanxiety for sure, seeing that it was a regular guest in his mind.  The loss of the two gang members troubled hismind greatly, and as diligent as he ever was, he pondered the question thatwent along the lines: “What is Wren going to do?”

He was wellaware that these deaths were an accident. It was not revenge, it was not anorganized event, but just… an accident. Considering the fact that Nora Hartwellwas recently killed, he knew that the deaths of Will and Ella will definitelyraise some questions, even rumors, when all the spices are finally added intothe gossiping pot. He felt uneasy, and strolling from door to door, office tooffice, somehow made him iron his nerves well, and align his thoughts, at leasta little. As heaimlessly walked around the HQs, not really having any intentions but a blankmind and a thousand questions popping here and there, he walked into thecomputer room and found himself raising his head only to see the spitting imageof Ella Lancaster’s ghost, sitting behind a computer. He stopped – and ofcourse, a sudden break of an action showed how his train of thoughts wasvisibly (too visibly, perhaps) broken – and his eyes met hers. Her eyes were green. Are green. The eyes of Emma Lancasterwere a bottomless pit right now.

It took himten milliseconds to finally sober his brain up and realize that he was just nowstaring at her twin sister. In his mind, it seemed like a century passed beforethe solid fact traveled from the back of his brain to the thinking center. Aman like Mitchell was, meant that he was rarely caught off guard as in here, inthis particular situation. He was staring at her all too obviously. Like a drowning man would cling to a lifesavingfloat, Mitchell relied on his indisputable charisma – desperately. He coughed, “Can I –“ once he caught her attention,the words were clearly uttered after he cleared his throat, “talk to you for asecond?” he motioned to the door behind him.

The peoplein the room raised their heads to look at him. He could read their faces alltoo well, because that was exactly what he himself was thinking: What the holy hell are you doing?!

He startedsearching her face. For signs – for something, for an emotion, for anything ashe waited for her to get up. Bull fuckingshit, he thought, I’m a moron.

[emslancaster-blog]

     The weariness could be read on feminine features by a blind man. The computer did no favours to Emma; her usually pale face was adorned by deep bags underneath her cerulean eyes, now more visible than before due to the light of the screen, as she mechanically went through the days’ tasks. Her list was clear for the day, suggesting that maybe someone thought she wouldn’t be here, which lead her to simply start resolving some of her colleagues projects. Even so, relief was the governing sentiment in her chest. In her line of working, there were no real problems, only challenges. They tended to keep one’s mind occupied, if only one could focus.      Emma could definitely focus. Her mind was racing to find solutions, eager hands moving rapidly across the keyboard. The time, the only indicator of reality, showed the passage of no less than six hours; something the woman was not aware of.  She needn’t no break, even as her mouth started to dry.  A glance towards her phone assured her there were no other urgencies, not even some childish drama of Ella’s. Speaking of her, why didn’t she text or something by now? Emma would have to figure that out later.      It was pathetic, almost, to see Emma Lancaster in such a delusional state. She was the realistic one, the thoughtful one. Well, she was also the only one.      The silence in which the computer room fell offered peace: as long as there were no sudden moves, everything was well. No wonder everyone’s eyes raised when Mitchell spoke. Even if he whispered, the hackers could still hear him. Yet Emma’s orbs bore into his a few seconds earlier than her peers’; by then, he was already staring.      Sometimes, when they were both in the same room, people didn’t offer Emma a second glance, as her sister captivated  most of them. Ella would spoil them with a serene smile, barely a glimpse of what her attitude had to offer. An obsession she created: everyone ought to know Ella Lancaster, to discover what lay at the core of this celestial being.  The younger sister wasn’t bothered by it, attention came at the price of high levels of anxiety for her. She didn’t need it, not like Ella did.      So surprise became the primary thing she felt, as head canted just slightly towards her shoulder, lips pursing with sheer confusion at the realisation that she was, indeed, his gaze’s target. Perhaps Emma should have asked for permission before finishing someone’s job. Shutting down the computer, her reflection – Ella – reassuringly smiled. He won’t fire you, he can’t. A second means you’ll be back.      As silently as possible, she followed his lead outside the room. Cerulean eyes did not find his anymore, aimlessly searching for something, anything, which would help her escape his scrutiny. Inside he looked, for a moment, as if he saw a ghost; not a shadow, like others before him did, but a phantom. The thought sent a chill down Emma’s spine, and she desperately tried to brush it off. An explanation was forming in her mind, before panic could  creep in. Voice was filled with firmness when she spoke, no trace of an apologetic tone being detected: "Judging by your look, I might have done something wrong. If this is about the task I have just finished, I... simply had nothing else on my 'to do' list for the day, and no one was taking care of it. That’s really all there is to it."

[makebeliever]

♕ “To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.” [x]

[areswinchester-blog]

“You really think I give a shit?” he interrupted, cutting off yet another poorly thought out start to a conversation. “People die all the time. It’s New York. Sit in one place long enough and I bet you’ll get to witness it yourself. Then you’ll really have something to talk about.” If they sat here a little longer, maybe they’d get to witness a murder up close and personal. Very very personal.

[emslancaster-blog]

   “Ares – ” she tried to stop him, but it was no surprise he didn’t really pay attention to the younger Lancaster. “I’m not even sure you knew Nora Hartwell, I don’t expect you to be shaken. I am not, either, except I don’t go around blasting how much I don’t care. Perhaps be a little more considerate, or, to put it frankly, shut the hell up. Would do all of us a little favour, sometimes.” Surprise filled her being, surprise at her own reaction, yet she didn’t allow such emotion to colour her features. Instead, Emma shook her head, allowing a sigh to escape her lips. What had gotten into her?

[emslancaster-blog]

lies and more lies | Jeb

     Her nature necessitated time alone, which was the main trait that differentiated Emma and Ella. While Ella fed off of people’s energy, Emma was drained by it. There were a few who managed to infiltrate themselves in the younger’s life, and she had by far less friends than Ella had. It didn’t bother her; they were happiest living their lives differently, while having each other’s back  — the only thing that mattered. 

     So it was a surprise that Emma dressed herself with a clear intention, against any defence mechanism she might normally show. Not a call, but a simple text with ‘coming’, before the blonde left her apartment in order to see Jeb. Her home was redolent of Ella’s perfume, and, without being able to pinpoint an exact motive, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Even if he wouldn’t be home, the woman would still appreciate getting out.

Perhaps she’d later realise: the scent was a reminder of their last moments together. Emma Lancaster wasn’t able to face that reality yet.

     An indie band filled the silence of her car; the drive was comfortable, as Emma deluded in her own mind. “And I'm never gonna be the same|How I like;  She can't tell|I can't tell her”. The lyrics she knew, there was no point in bothering with giving them new meaning. Everything was the same.

     As she stood in front of his door knocking, an overall state of being disheveled seemed to exude from the woman. If he’d ask why she was there, Emma wouldn’t know, yet she hoped now, really hoped he’d be home.

[archibaldoneil-blog]

If there was one thing Archie liked more than anything, it was sleep. Such a small thing, something you usually take for granted, something you push away and sometimes avoid doing. He’s experienced sleep his entire life, the way most people do, but Archie never got sick of it, as sleep was a huge part of his life. He used to sleep for days. He slept through classes, through meals, through everything, simply because he could. But here’s the kicker; he can’t really do that anymore. When he first started working with the people he works with, he used to lie dormant for hours waiting for sleep to come, but it just felt like trying to go to bed at eight in the afternoon when you’re more of a four am type of person. It was excruciating. It was weird, but he still has a form of sleep, not exactly the same, but close. He just sort of disappears for hours at a time, randomly, and he never remembers exactly what happens during those hours. Perhaps he’s sleeping, but there are never dream to remember. Or, maybe, those were the hours he does awful things. That’s an interesting thought. Archie was sat on the roof his apartment building in one of the shitty parts of New York, watching the cars and the drunk people pass by, his legs dangling off the edge of the four story building as if falling was a foreign term. Maybe it was because he had a theory if you didn’t fear death, you couldn’t die at all. Maybe that was a dangerous assumption, but it was still one he followed regardless. His thoughts stopped short when he heard the creaking of the latter as someone else came up. He sighed and didn’t turn to face them as he heard them make their approach.

“Can’t sleep?” Archie asked a loud. “Me either.”

[emslancaster-blog]

     Though exhausted, though ready to shut her eyes and just be, she could hardly help herself from reveling in the fact that this was a mere dream, and, when she’d wake up, she’d no longer be tired. So Emma allowed herself to be vulnerable, to let the raspy breaths reveal how close to the end she really was — ready for the nightmare to end. 

     Company was not expected; then again, she didn’t even know whose building this was. The night embraced her for a few hours by now, contour faded in the darkness of lesser frequented streets. But her legs ached, she needed a refuge. The roof of a block would either bring much desired peace, or... who even cared what else?  Concern for own safety disappeared — a dream in which her own sister died was no dream where Emma wanted to end up living. So, instead of going home, it was preferable to wait for the morning light. Emma knew it would come, and bring her back to her senses, back to her bed, back to Ella.

     “I...” Her arms curled around herself, to mimic a reality of being protected in the cool autumns’s night. The wind here held more power, Emma realised, along with the fact that the man might not be aware he was in a dream. She cooperated; perhaps he was stuck in this alternate state of not really living, but simply existing in someone’s asleep conscious. “I didn’t even try to sleep tonight. Can I join you?”

[alrissala]

We took such care of tomorrow, but died on the way there.

Warsan Shire (via erraticintrovert)

[emslancaster-blog]

even cold in her coffin, i'd still do your sister instead of you