imogen song

    the gasp of air you feel when you jump off a cliff;    the chilling dread of life reminding you how small                                you are.

[imogenxsong]

once or twice a year, i remember this rp and feel sad and guilty all over again that i couldn't see it through. thanks to trauma from a past rp suddenly springing back up, i started having panic attacks every time i opened social media; eventually just opening my laptop was enough to instigate a panic spiral.

i don't write fiction anymore, and i have a complicated relationship with that change in my life, but i'm mostly okay with it most of the time. i do miss these stories though. this account probably stands as a record of my best body of work. i'm still so grateful for how imogen and all the 12signs members who brought all of this to life.

if any of you ever see this, thanks for the memories, and sorry for flaking. i really, really wanted to be here. reach out any time <3

[ofmymuses]

Character Aesthetic  ➙ requested by anon ;; { the fire element witch }

“ we are the     granddaughters of the WITCHES they     couldn’t burn. ”

      -unknown.

[imogenxsong]

dxne-duclos‌:

    “Well my mother always said things that are worth the wait, deserve the best reactions.“ he laughed, thinking of how his parents settled their differences. “Honestly I never understood it until I realized she meant it was about her and my father.” continuing to sway with her, Dane found an ease to their movement as it was obvious their bodies moved to an equal tempo to one another—like a secret rhythm  they only knew. “Whenever they’d argue or had to spend time away, something with waiting out a problem my father always rewarded or reacted with flowers or trips…sound stupid but I guess it took the universe time to reward us I guess…” It was uncharacteristic of Dane to talk about his parents, more so in a light that was positive but he blamed the lights and the music that seemed to sweeten his words. “As for being a little magical…maybe. You more than me I think, Miss. ‘Let me make all the boys follow me around with no promise of ever remembering their names’ “ he chuckled, “Perhaps you should practice love magic as you’ve been a natural in that department.”

   The words slipped by=ut the muted shades of pink that lifted against his cheeks was evident that he let impulsive thoughts dictate the conversation for a split second. Grinning he adverted his eyes from her, watching the sea of others around them. Letting their own smiles and movements distract him, while his finger laced between Imogen’s still with subtle but soft affection. This night wasn’t about the coven as it was completely about them…Their lives were encircled with another, whether in magic or just in living. Dane couldn’t help but just shake his head at her—”I’d like that but lets be real, we all can’t help but muck up or are constantly involved in all of our lives.” he sighed, “I already feel Jude’s energy acting up, Luca looks like a murderer in the corner, and I can’t help but see only our members in the house over any face. Y’know? I’d like to pretend right now, you and I are the only ones here, but it’s hard to switch off everything.” Powers, energy, emotions they were all rivers and streams…a flow of static sensations that if any witch here wanted to, could tap into that flow, as it would lead them directly, while quickly to one of the twelve. Dane felt more sensitive to this kind of magic, along with Ruth and most likely Cleo—even if his sign wasn’t know for intuition, his ability over absorption gave him an edge to not just heat but anything in his surroundings that can have a cause and effect.

    “Sorry, little worked up about tonight.” he was honest with her, “but it’s just you and I…so how about we distract each other? I propose you tell me something…like if you weren’t a witch right now, hung up of responsibilities of everyone her and our families—what would you doing instead of this. Where would you be?”

the rise and fall of the music, the low thrum of their magic, the measured pace of his uncharacteristically soft words- imogen lets the whole atmosphere whirl gently around them and sweep her along, swaying one side to the other in step with dane’s lead. the talk of his parents tugs at a heart string she doesn’t like to disturb, her own grief over the loss of her mother lay in a shallow but largely untouched grave somewhere in imogen’s heart; something about the sweetness with which dane regards his own parents scratches at the surface. she’s grateful for the change of subject and quickly pushes those feelings back below the surface where they belong.

“i never thought i’d have to say this to you of all people,” she answers, blinking up at him with a mischievous smile, “but you think too much, dane duclos.” she runs her fingers over the soft hairs at the back of his neck, it’d been so easy for her to forget everyone else and get swept up in the moment, all while his mind traveled the room without much thought for her at all, as far as she could understand. the vapid nature of her silly little crush lands with an embarrassing thud in her stomach, but she keeps her smile in place. in the middle of all this atmosphere, it’s too easy to get swept away.

“instead of this? oh, that’s easy,” imogen answers. memories of jude’s friend dan and his visit a few months prior flicker through her mind- their conversations lasting well after jude disappeared off two bed as the two of them traded stories about the strange and wonderful people they met while travelling, the way his stubble scratched at the soft skin of her face when he finally kissed her, the absolute reluctance with which she peeled his hands away from her waistband after they’d both had enough of dragging their fingers over each other’s naked upper bodies. she felt stupid, like an awkward teenager clamoring to hold on to the last vestiges of virginity, when she spit out some bullshit excuse about being on her period, only to have to convince him it mattered to her when he insisted it didn’t bother him at all.

she leaves most of it out- even if dane wouldn’t care one way or the other (he’d been the one to bring up her promiscuity only moments ago, after all). but she says enough, smiling softly and answering in a sing-song voice. “we had a visitor while you were in paris,” she says, “you remember me telling you about dan, right? wasn’t here very long, but we really hit it off, total babe, great fun. right before he left, he asked me to run away with him- take a semester off and do the whole backpack-across-the-continent thing we all say we’re going to do but never actually do. it sounded wild, you know? and i wanted to go so badly. but with everything going on... i don’t know. i decided to stay. i still kind of wonder what i missed, though.” she sighs and glances away- for just a moment, she wonders what might be different if she and dane had somehow managed to work their schedules to intern at the same time in the same city- if maybe it really had been just the two of them all those weeks instead of whatever their relationship meant over wires and wifi signals. only fora  moment, however.

“what about you?”

[imogenxsong]

my habit of choice

[imogenxsong]

faye-westaway‌:

“It was beautiful,” Faye agreed, recalling the twinkling fairy lights her cousins and Leo had hung up inside the barn and the wooden benches her father and uncle had carved themselves for the guests to sit on during the ceremony. She had been only a little girl then and had played in the fields with her cousin’s dog while the rest of the family had helped Eleanor get ready. Spot had been a good dog. Were he still alive today, she wondered what he’d say to her now that she had the ability to communicate with animals.

Brunches, socials, auctions… Imogen’s posh upbringing sounded like a movie rather than real life. Faye had never considered the possibility that people under the age of seventy-five attended auctions. Her granny had gone to an auction once to purchase an antique vanity table. A well-worn piece of furniture with a wealth of history embedded into it, her grandmother had cherished that table until the day she died. The vanity table now sat in her parents’ bedroom back in the Lake District. “I never realized that auctions were so fierce,” she said, casting a side glance at her friend, the very reincarnation of power and fire. She had no doubt that the sight of Imogen in a pantsuit was a beautiful and frightening image.

“They’ve got an indoor greenhouse?” Faye glanced around the ballroom. Ruth and Marco’s home was as grand as a castle and bursting with people who probably had homes just as large and expensive as this one. So much wealth under one roof… she shook her head, wondering if they could even understand the value of money beyond the means of their exclusive little world. At least the money being raised tonight was going to a good cause. “I wonder if they’re happy…” She voiced the thought aloud without realizing so.

Sheepishly, she loosened her grip on her champagne flute when Imogen pointed out her stiff posture. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not really a fan of crowds since…” She sighed and took a sip of her bubbly drink without finishing her sentence. “I thought a drink might help me relax. I didn’t want to seem out of place, but I suppose I don’t really belong here anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” Marco, Ruth, Imogen, Ava, Dane and Des were a part of that world, Jude had Imogen and Cleo had Marco, Wren and Rory had each other and Luca seemed content all on his own… where did that leave her?

“oh, they’re happy enough,” imogen answers, dismissing the thought without any introspection whatsoever. old people are only ever so happy anyway, no use dwelling on it. thinking about it meant thinking about getting old, and that simply would not do.

imogen nods slowly to faye’s explanation. faye the lone wolf, she thinks to herself, almost laughing at her own little joke but biting her tongue when she realizes that it might be a bit rude. while imogen was never one to admit these sorts of things, she had been making an effort to be a little more sensitive around faye ever since... well, all the stuff that happened. the whole thing was so bizarre, even amidst the circus that their lives have become these days, that imogen sometimes wondered if she dreamed the whole exorcism up.

“oh, you want to relax?” imogen asks, blurting the response nearly on auto-pilot. while imogen always steers well clear of doctors, she’s always managed to keep an assortment of pills on hand. rich kids with sticky fingers in spite of fat wallets might be a cliche by this point, but imogen hasn’t ever cared one way or the other. stealing pills out of bathroom cabinets at parties keeps her stocked up on any sort of high she might be chasing- even if that high is just her own amusement at getting away with something she shouldn’t be doing.

she hasn’t actually taken any pills herself in a while- ever since that first blow out with the locket, imogen’s stayed away from drugs, alcohol, sex- anything that might accidentally upset her power and send something into chaos again. still, habits die hard and the little bag of assorted side effects always managed to find its way to the lining of her handbags.

“i’ve got something for that,” she says, idly picking through the contents of her purse as if she were looking for a coin, or maybe her lipstick. not that her purse was really big enough to lose anything in, but it takes a few seconds to successfully unseal the bag and pick through for the right poison. “anxiety is all the rage these days, you fit right in here,” she says with a smile, reaching for faye’s free hand and sliding the little white pill into her fingers in one smooth movement. “i don’t have anything more exciting than xanax, but honestly, sometimes that’s all you need.”

[ruthsheart]

from dusk till dawn

[imogenxsong]

ruthsheart‌:

Ruth sucks in a sharp breath as Imogen’s ferocious grip tightens on her arm. “Ow. Stop it. You’re hurting me.” Ruth whines, small and shameful. Imogen doesn’t stop. Her lithe limbs surge with power and her voice growls with menace. Though tears sting at her eyes and blur the edges of her vision, Ruth doesn’t shrink away from Imogen’s scolding. She only wishes the sharp pain of fingers digging into her soft skin wouldn’t feel so much like chains. She holds her chin high and glares down at the dark and fearsome beauty. “I already told you, I don’t want your he- Ah!” Imogen doesn’t wait for her to finish or for the valet to get out of the car. Small forceful hands yank Ruth over to the door and push her in. Tripping over her heels, Ruth clings on to Imogen to keep from falling on her face in the frantic shoving. The door shuts with a rushed slam, closing on the silky pink skirt of Ruth’s dress. She presses herself against the window, pounding a manicured fist against the glass. “Imogen! What are you trying to do, you beastly lunatic? Kill me?”

Her hand immediately throbs sorely from slamming it against the window. So she sinks into the seat in a vehement pout until Imogen climbs into the front seat. Ruth tucks her arms closely crossed over her chest. Violent little wrinkles of anger frame her damp eyes and a hot pink flush overwhelms the light dusting of makeup on her cheeks. She doesn’t look at Imogen, only stares out the window at the lights of her childhood home as they pull away into the darkness of the street. She gives a sharp insolent sniff at Imogen’s threats. “You wouldn’t dare. You need me for your stupid water ritual that’s going to get us all killed.”

Noticing her skirt jammed in the car door, she bends over to tug on the fabric with both hands until it tears free with a tremendous rip. With an exasperated huff, she slumps back in her seat, torn skirt still clasped in her hand. “Where are we even going? Everyone is going to think I’m such a coward for running away. You should have let me stand up for myself, Imogen. Now everyone’s sure I’m insane. I’m not insane, Imogen. I’m not. I didn’t try to kill myself, but I can’t tell anyone what really happened. What am I supposed to do? Sit back and let everyone make me into a freak? I’m not a freak!” She sits up to lean between the two front seats and look at Imogen’s pale cheeks stained orange in the passing flash of streetlights. “Not that you even care. You don’t really care about anything.” The offhand comment slips out in the torrent of her bitter ranting.

ruth rants and raves from the back seat. imogen hears her own name a few times but she’s pretty sure ruth is talking to herself more than anyone else. rather than listen to any of it, imogen shuffles through her own brain for a destination. gym’s out. can’t take her back to the house and have her going mental in front of lawrence. too late to drive back to durham. a hotel? too many people around. if ruth’s powers decide that today’s the day they’re going to incinerate walls or flood the basement with sympathetic tears, imogen figures they should be as far away from living people as possible.

a cemetery? imogen’s done that before. funny how that night keeps bringing itself back up today. god, it’s been over a year, hasn’t it? whatever. imogen grabs her purse from the seat beside her and one-handedly rifles through her bag, rolling up to a red light. she’s about to tell gps to find a graveyard for her when she sees the notifications- unopened texts from jude and dane glare up at her from her lockscreen. shit. she hadn’t thought this far ahead when she’d been busy trying to rescue ruth.

[ text to: jube ] sry i had to help ruth [ text to: jube ] took the car [ text to: jube ] wasn’t thinking sry [ text to: jube ] i can call u an uber

she presses send and scrolls to dane’s notification just as the car behind her lays on the horn; imogen jumps in her seat, her own car jerks forward as she drops the phone in surprise, a small shower of sparks following behind it. “fucking hell,” she breathes, starting down the road again, her phone hopelessly out of reach. apparently gps isn’t in the stars for tonight. fine. fine. back to the hotel plan. whatever.

she casts around in her mind for which place is nearest and least likely to get them found out when epiphany strikes; turning sharply without signalling, she barrels off in a new direction. it takes some concentration to find the place, she’s only been there personally once and the staff parking lot’s off a weird little alley that’s hard to see from the street, but it’s not too much trouble finding it. heaving a big sigh she feels she’s been holding since they left the party, imogen finally parks and lets herself out of the car, standing up and stretching and not turning back to look for her phone and letting ruth manage her own door.

“my dad just bought this place,” she explains, checking to make sure ruth is following before heading for the back entrance. she has to try a couple of her father’s usual comes on the realtor’s lock before it finally gives way, but it barely takes a minute before they’re standing in the ugly back hallway guests aren’t meant to see. “there was a kitchen fire last year, it’s a mess down there. we have to gut the whole thing before we can find new owners. the rest of the building is fine, though.”

if marco’s right about imogen’s powers, she can probably do the whole human-light-bulb thing kind of like des, but she’s not done much to try and it doesn’t feel like the time to practice. instead, she snaps her hand open, sending up a contained ball of fire floating carefully above her palm, like some kind of impossible torch. “i hope the electric’s still on, i don’t feel like powering this place by myself. help me find a light swtich.”

[imogenxsong]

tell me yours, i’ll tell you mine

[imogenxsong]

eltoromagico‌:

Imogen’s babbling so fast and so erratically, Jude struggles to keep up with her sprinting thoughts. Predestination? What? “No, it’s not that-” He begins to argue, but she’s already barreled on ahead with more questions before skipping over to Ruth’s magical foresight and back to… a far-away empty stare. Jude snorts an amused little laugh. “I haven’t the slightest idea where you were going with all that.” He shakes his head with a wide smile. “But—for the record—I know the stars don’t predetermine anything. That’s just avoiding responsibility for your own actions, saying it’s the stars’ fault.” So, maybe he was wrong about magic being scientifically impossible. That doesn’t mean he has to believe in every kind of mystical voodoo. He draws the line at destiny written in burning gas balls in space billions of light years away from him. That’s just absurd. “The only fate that exists is the one we create for ourselves with our own foolish decisions.” He nods with finality, his eyes scanning over the shimmering fabrics of elegant ball gowns and twinkling jewelry. The fortunate few, he thinks to himself with a pensive frown.

A short silence hovers between them, not uncomfortably. Jude’s attention wanders. He admires the stunning quality of everyone’s shoes, the way the fairy lights reflect in the great mirrored hallways and the enormous windows, the heavenly glow of chandeliers over head. On the edge of his vision, he notices Imogen chewing on a response to his question, but he feels no hurry to draw an answer out of her. When she prods him in the chest with a tiny, dainty finger, he turns back to her with a raised eyebrow and a curious smirk. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I can’t make any promises.” His immense shoulders shrug, dragging the suit jacket upward with them. With an unenthusiastic sigh, Jude tugs the jacket back down around his waist before continuing. “You know how I am.” He’s pretty sure he won’t freak out. What’s done is done. As much as the events of a year ago are still reverberating through them now, there’s very little to be done about it. So, when Imogen insists that he keep it a secret, he can’t help but smile at the irony of it. A secret between them had started their argument a year ago, after all. “It stays between us, I promise.” Again, it all comes full circle.

Imogen lightly shoves him in the direction of a side hallway, at the end of which is a roped-off stairway. Serving staff whip past them without so much as a questioning glance. Imogen begins to explain. Absently watching people drift by, breathing in the thick air that smells of perfume and champagne, Jude corrects her without thinking. “It’s not so much feeding as it is a problem of polar magnetism…” His gaze slides back down to the glamorous beautiful girl beside him and his voice falls off into silence. Now’s probably not a good time to go into how energetic radiation is directed through space by the earth’s delicate magnetic field. Not in the middle of her story anyway. “I mean… Yes, go on.”

Imogen finally dives into the story proper, a fountain of words spilling off her tongue without pause for air. His smile shrinks down to a flat line as his eyebrows rise in surprise. She’d exploded again, and she hadn’t told him. Well, they weren’t exactly the best of friends back then. Whatever they were, it was friendly, but not the kind of rapport they have now. He tries to imagine the story as she tells it–an argument, a ball of fire, enough to send Imogen to the floor, Dane’s eyes full of flame… “No, I can’t say I have…” He answers her rhetorical question without thinking. He’s still picturing the poolside and Dane’s scorched shirt and feverish hot skin. He blinks, turning over memories of beers by the pool and the angry tug of sexual tension between himself and Dane throughout that strange week. Underneath all the drunken revelry, they all had been exploding on the inside. He rubs his smooth-shaven chin thoughtfully as loose strands of memory piece back together. Imogen’s aloofness before he’d followed her away from the nightclub, Dane’s inexplicable aggression toward them all… It all tied back to the night in Imogen’s flat with the locket… and forward to Ruth’s sketchbook… “Hmm, I see.” He mutters to himself.

With a small, distracted smile, he glances over at Imogen. “Well, I’m sure there’s nothing I can say that you haven’t heard before. Like… I wish you’d told me when that happened, but…” He shrugs and gives a quiet sigh. “We both know how much fun that conversation would have been. And it doesn’t change much now. You’ve gotten your… fireworks under control, for the most part, Dane’s played nice for over a month now, and we’re all pretending to be perfectly normal lads and lasses at a perfectly normal charity ball with the rich and famous.” His smile is more of a comical grimace. “Everything is lovely now, yeah? Though, I must admit, I’ll be keeping an eye on Dane more often. Sometimes, the way he looks at you gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

imogen’s the one who told jude not to freak out, but she can’t help feeling a little surprised that he heeds her advice- she almost feels a bit offended, if she’s being honest, though she can’t quite tell why or where that feeling’s coming from. it’s a show of progress that jude can take in new information without instantly morphing into a worrying, sciencey, mother hen- imogen’s fairly sure she’s supposed to feel proud or relieved or something along those lines.

“ahh, don’t worry about dane,” she answers when a hint of jude’s fussy side finally does surface. jude gets concerned and imogen tells him to calm down; there’s a certain order to these things, and she feels better once that order is somewhat restored. “we started talking more while he was gone, that’s all.” she shrugs and reaches to squeeze jude’s hand. “if he and i didn’t have such similar powers, we’d probably barely talk at all. it’s just nice to have someone here who, like, understands this whole fire-and-ice thing with me, you know? nothing to heebie jeebie over.”

“anyway,” she continues, realization dawning now that balance has been restored, “i just realized that was a secret.” she’s certain he already knows where this is going- their secret-swapping game was technically pre-dated their friendship, and it’d been one small way of coping with their new, witchy lives all these months. she’s not about to let him avoid his duties. “you owe me a secret now, jude. i don’t make the rules.” she blinks up at him with wide eyes and an oh-so-serious frown. the secrets game is sacred, after all.

[imogenxsong]

bringin’ glamour back

[imogenxsong]

wherescleo‌:

Cleo smiled and rolled her eyes, shutting the bedroom door behind her. She turned her back on Imogen to allow her to fasten the zip up to the top, before turning to face her again. “Why, thank you,” she replied with a modest shrug. Dark, warm colours did tend to work on her. When she was in doubt she tended to stick with them. Nervously, like a little girl in her new school uniform, she took a few steps back and did a little twirl.

“I have one a bit like this,” she explained, looking down at the light, flowing skirt. “I mean, it’s not as nice as this one. But this sort of colour and shape. So at least I know I definitely have a lipstick that’ll go with it.” She glanced in the long mirror, watching the fabric move in perfect little waves as she idly turned this way and that.

“How do you not just constantly look at yourself when you wear things like this?” she asked. “It’s almost hypnotic.”

@imogenxsong​

imogen stands back with a proper critical eye- the endless stream of compliments are honest and all in good fun, but one can’t let their love of a friend get in the way of the search for the perfect outfit. “honestly, if you just remember that everyone else is doing plenty of looking at you for you, you’ll avoid looking in mirrors too much,” she answers. “don’t get me wrong, i love looking in mirrors, but it’s a bit uncomfortable when people are watching you look at yourself.” imogen shrugs and tilts her head to one side in appraisal.

“honestly, you do look incredible, but that’s a given. but why would you pick a dress that looks like one you already have?” she laughs and reaches over to undo cleo’s hook and zipper, enough that cleo can get herself the rest of the way out, anyway. “the whole point of borrowing a dress is to wear something you don’t have, isn’t it? c’mon, pick another one. we’ll sort out the lipstick after. can’t have you wearing something marco might have already seen,” she adds with a stupid grin, throwing herself back on the bed.

[imogenxsong]

bringin’ glamour back

[imogenxsong]

wherescleo‌:

imogenxsong‌:

“oh, darling, you look far too young and hopeful to fit in at one of these galas. you’ll need about twenty more years and another half of your soul sucked out of you before you’ll look like you truly belong.” it’s not entirely accurate- imogen’s been going to these sorts of things for most of her life, there would be plenty of young people in attendance, but there’s a certain level of jadedness that she isn’t entirely sure cleo can pull off, even with that sarcastic streak as wide as the sidewalk.

“when i said show me what you got i expected an actual show,” imogen answers in her grossest, gravelliest, someone-probably-thinks-this-is-sexy-but-honestly-no-one-wants-to-meet-that-person-voice, but quickly switches back to her own voice. for as dramatic as she can be, imogen can only maintain that specific character for a certain amount of time before she grosses herself out. “but if you must~” she rolls onto her back and waves a bored hand toward the door, sending cleo on her way. “right across the hall.”

she hums to herself and holds her hands up to the ceiling, staring at her fresh manicure critically. imogen’s athletic hobbies don’t particularly lend themselves to fancy nails, so aside from filing them down once in a while she rarely bothers to paint them. she decides she doesn’t like having them done up. her hands don’t look like her hands, it’s very distracting. “if i see bra straps when you come back, i’ll cut them off myself, be warned,” she calls in the direction of the door.

Cleo smiled reluctantly at Imogen’s gentle ribbing. Imogen was far from being an idiot, but she certainly liked to act like one sometimes. She had an uncanny knack for cheering Cleo up even when she was in one of her particular doomy moods, and despite Cleo’s mask of disapproval, she appreciated it the silliness. She poked her tongue out at Imogen and disappeared to the bathroom with the first dress. “As if I’d let you see me even if I was in the room,” she tossed back as her parting words.

She shut the bathroom door behind her with a soft click, locking the door in case Imogen decided to bring her horsing around in there, too. She wasn’t quite ready for Imogen Song to catch her in her knickers today. She hung the dress on the back of the door and tugged her jumper off, shaking her hair loose as the static clung to the dark curls. She dropped the jumper on the tiles and wriggled out of her shorts, before gently coaxing the dress off its hanger. The dark red fabric flowed softly over her skin as she stepped into it and pulled it carefully to her waist, thinking all the time that the beautiful garment felt far too expensive for her. She imagined Imogen in the same dress, floating gracefully and effortlessly across a crowded banqueting hall and mingling with hundreds of fabulously wealthy and powerful fellow revellers, her confidence adding at least a foot to her diminutive stature. Cleo had a feeling that she herself would look ridiculous in comparison, mousy and small, no matter which of Imogen’s lovely dresses she wore.

As she drew her hands behind herself to fasten the lower part of the zip, she heard Imogen’s voice cracking across the hall like a whip. Sheepishly, she glanced in the bathroom mirror at the bottle green bra straps poking out from the dress at her shoulder, and pulled her arms free to quickly remove it. She liked that bra. She knew Imogen too well to risk it.

“Okay…” she sighed as she popped across the hall and back to Imogen’s room, the dress half-fastened. “Can you do me up?”

@imogenxsong​

“i’d do you up any time, darling~” imogen purrs in response, draping herself dramatically over the end of the bed before springing up to help cleo, who had quite wisely taken imogen’s bra strap advice to heart. “this color’s to die for on you, honestly-” she says, fastening the little hook at the top of the zipper before taking a step back to allow cleo space for a proper twirl.

“let’s see then~” she says, clapping twice like an excited child or a ballet instructor. “come on, give us a spin!”

[imogenxsong]

tell me yours, i’ll tell you mine

[imogenxsong]

eltoromagico‌:

Jude blinks down at Imogen suddenly leaping to correct the baffled doorman. It’s not that he doesn’t expect her to stand up for him. In fact, he’s come to know she inevitably will, as she has a tendency to do so even when it’s Jude himself she’s defending him from. But rather he’s surprised by her ferocity. It was only a little mispronunciation. Annoying? Yeah. Worth snapping at the poor boy with bitter sharpness? Not really. He turns a pasty pale as he imagines himself in the boy’s shoes, and even clammier as Imogen explains that she was doing the boy a favor. If that is how minor annoyances are handled, Jude has to be extra careful not to break any of these strange high society rules he knows absolutely nothing about. The sinkhole in his stomach drops a little deeper. He parts himself from Imogen for a moment to nervously wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers. Like the boy at the door, one little slip up tonight might cost Jude his job. It’s a bit of a stressful realization.

Imogen’s chatter drowns out the more pressing what-ifs that circle around his thoughts like predators, replacing them with equally baffling talk of timelines that never were. He stares down at her blankly as she goes on and on. Imogen is nearly jittering with excitement and wonder at the way things could have been. Her tone dances and dives, secretive whispers and startled exclamations. The smile on Jude’s lips is small, and a bit sad. He patiently waits for Imogen to babble through her own little world, the history that never was and never will be theirs.

When she blinks up at him, the astonishment clear in her wild, dark eyes, Jude’s smile softens. He offers his elbow for her, as his typical hugs are a bit awkward and unwieldy in the crowded space by the coat check with his wool suit jacket cinched around him. “Maybe. Maybe not. Even if we could change the past. There are infinite ways history could have wrote itself. We’ll never know for sure.” He lets Imogen lead the way forward. He stays close, clinging to her side. For all his size and strength, he’s as lost as a small child in this overwhelmingly shiny new world. He keeps his focus on Imogen, so as not to get distracted and lose track of her. “So maybe we never argued about Ruth’s sketchbook. Surely, we would have found something else to argue over sooner than later. Arguing’s kind of our thing. Maybe you would have told me about whatever happened with Dane, and maybe I would have said something about it you didn’t like, then we’re back to square one. Life is funny that way. It never takes the convenient path, but it always comes back around.”

Now it’s Jude’s turn to stop in his tracks. “Wait. What did happen with you and Dane?” He gives her a curious look of concern. Even if it happened an entire year ago, damaging magic is something to be wary of, regardless. He’s still working on tracking the echoes of such things across the calendar, after all.

“but that’s the thing, isn’t it?” imogen answers, nearly tripping over her own words in the process, not so much struggling to keep up with herself as not bothering to hold back. “does it even have to come back around? it’s like... god, what’s that word? philosophy 101 was a long time ago... umm... predestination! right? like... free will versus predestination and all that? i mean, you barely believe in magic at all, you can’t tell me you believe outcomes are inevitable, do you? you don’t think the stars are up there bossing us around? I mean, i guess you can’t know where your choices will lead in the end- unless you’re ruth, but that’s different. god, that must be annoying for her! anyway, i’m getting off topic- um...” she stares off into space for a moment, her gaze losing focus and letting the decorative fairy lights strung about the hall spiral into blurry, exponential galaxies. “i forgot what i meant to say.”

imogen pinches her mouth to one side- that story’s bound to put a damper on the evening. but it’s so stupidly old, and it’s weird that jude doesn’t know. surely, he can’t find a way to worry about something that happened a year ago. right? “it wasn’t that big of deal,” she begins, just in case. “so don’t freak out. okay?” she looks up at him with a Very Serious Expression and pokes him in the chest with the index finger of her free hand. “everything’s fine now.”

she pauses her endless stream of chatter to choose the right starting point.  “nobody’s even supposed to know about this, so don’t tell him i told you.” as they walk, she gently steers them out of the main pathway, a little further from any prying ears. “you know how dane’s power kind of like... feeds off mine, or whatever?” it isn’t the most eloquent way of saying it, but given how little she or anyone understands the mechanics of it, it’s the best she can do. imogen generates energy, dane absorbs energy. try to complicate it any further and you’re well over imogen’s head. all she knows is that when they touch, sometimes even when they’re just in the same room, it’s like he’s the other half of a live wire, her fire arcing straight for him.

“well, we kind of found that out in brighton. like, okay, so honestly i don’t remember the whole story. we were just chatting, it wasn’t anything interesting, and all of a sudden he just got super mad. i don’t know what i did to set him off but it was a pretty boring conversation and suddenly he’s having a fit, and then the room starts feeling really weird. like, kind of the same as the day at my old flat with the locket, right? so i think i’m about to set the room on fire and i tell him to back off, but i can’t get a grip on the energy in the room and he like-” she stops short of saying he lunged at her. it was such a long time ago, and jude doesn’t need any extra reasons to have a problem with dane. “i don’t know, he was still freaking out and suddenly it was like a bomb went off between us. that’s how all that furniture got broken, by the way,” she adds, finally admitting it hadn’t been that it hadn’t been anybody’s typical drunken holiday shenanigans.

“i hit my head and it took a minute to like, pull myself together, you know? and when i did, dane was right there to check if i was okay, except his eyes were doing this weird thing- have you ever seen when they get all like, fire-y? and his skin was so hot it was like he was boiling from the inside... and you know me and my, uh, issues-” namely, the then still-untreated panic disorder she’s spent the year since learning to manage- “i ran outside to be sick and he followed me out, and then he kind of realized his shirt was all burned and he freaked out again. but like, just scared this time, not mad. and i knew i could control temperatures a little, because i tried in the middle of the whole locket thing at my old flat, so i just helped him bring his temperature down and... yeah, that was basically it. we cleaned up and got the replacement furniture ordered and promised to never talk about it again. and then we went back to the holiday like nothing happened. and that’s why i ended up avoiding everyone most of the week,” she adds with a slightly-too-loud-laugh. “which is how you and i ended up at that wedding. god, it really does all come back around, doesn’t it? i’ve changed my mind, everything is predestined and nothing we say or do matters. pressure’s off!”

[imogenxsong]

[ruthsheart]

from dusk till dawn

[imogenxsong]

ruthsheart‌:

They hit her like a truck. Little fingers clamp hard around her arms and little legs stomp away, dragging Ruth behind them and out into the thick summer night air. At first, she’s too shocked to properly voice her outrage. It’s not until she’s being pulled down the stairs and toward the wide driveway that she comes to her senses. “Don’t touch me! Let me go! Stop it!” She struggles, stumbling and sliding in her heels as she tries to wriggle free, but the grip on her arms is as solid as iron. “I hate you! I hate him! I-”

Ruth’s protests fall silent as she’s jerked around to face the street and for a brief moment she faces her captor. Imogen’s dark eyes are voids of black flame and the muscles of her jaw flex as she hisses through clenched teeth. Ruth’s nose wrinkles up into a fearsome little scowl as she yanks her wrist, trying to tear free of Imogen’s impossibly strong grasp. “I don’t need your help, Imogen. Stop looking at me like that. If he wants to lock me up, so be it. I’ll take the whole family down with me. I’ll spit on the family name so fiercely, nobody will want to look at it again. I’ll make him wish I really had killed myself. Then he’ll be sorry!”

The valet, an older man with a trimmed mustache, glances nervously between the two women who exited the house in a flurry of shouting and wrestling. He’s been around the block long enough to know not to question the fits and furies of the rich, but the sweat on his wrinkled brow is not encouraging. He extends his hand to them. “Your number, please?”

His meek voice can barely be heard under Ruth’s impassioned ranting as she turns back toward the house. “I should have known Eduardo would do something like this, use me as some kind of advert for mental breakdown. He’s always been cold and calculating. I should have seen it right away. Those heartless pigs don’t treat me like their daughter, they treat me like an object they can use when it suits them and throw away when it doesn’t. He never loved me. He never loved anything! He’s a… a sociopath! And everyone’s dancing to his sick little tune! I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit back and let them build Marco up and tear me down all for their profit margins. They deserve to be hurt the way they hurt me! None of them understand what it’s like to truly feel pain.” Her fists clench tight around handfuls of her dress skirts. She’s so furious, she could tear the fabric just to feel the satisfaction of destroying something. She wants to burn the house down, along with all the memories inside it. Maybe then she would feel whole again, rather than this scattered pieces of a broken heart and dying dreams.

imogen doesn’t catch most of what ruth says, more concerned with stopping the torrent of words than deciphering it. she offers the valet a strained smile and her ticket while ruth wails into the night before turning back to her.

“all you’re doing right now is proving him right,” she answers through clenched teeth, her grip on ruth’s arms even tighter. ruth is lucky imogen keeps her nails short. “give those fuckers more of a reason to pity him, go ahead- you’re just putting more money in his pockets. god, you’re playing right into his game!” imogen sees her car come round the drive and it barely has a chance to stop before she’s roughly shoving ruth into the back of it like a prisoner.

“women, right?” she says, turning to the valet with as winning of a grin as she can muster, shrugging dramatically. “she always gets like this when she drinks. i’ll make sure she gets home safe.” with that, she throws herself behind the wheel and peels out of the drive, mind whirring with exactly what to do next. ruth didn’t really leave her much leeway for planning ahead. imogen’s drug of choice when she’s this riled up is an intense date with a punching bag, but she knows ruth isn’t really one for gym activities. in fact, she’s fairly certain if she takes ruth to a gym, it’ll just make her angrier.

“yell and carry on all you want, but if you get us in an accident or you get the cops called on us, i will literally break your neck,” she warns with a sharp look in the rearview mirror. “and you know i’m not joking.”

[imogenxsong]

tell me yours, i’ll tell you mine

[imogenxsong]

eltoromagico‌:

Jude laughs even louder at Imogen’s cursing. He knows well her weakness for abandoning anything that looks like a plan. It’s the bane of his existence most days, but this time it actually feels like his one salvation from this imminent disaster. This time, it likely won’t work, just to spite him. If he can’t get out of this by derailing the night completely, he’ll be forced to out-do Imogen on this “date” as much as possible. “Just imagine,” he had told Imogen when she brought up the idea, “the looks on their faces when you walk in with an East London lowlife on your arm. Wouldn’t that just make the night?”

He just can’t seem to keep his stupid mouth shut sometimes.

He knows exactly what the old Imogen would do, but lately she hasn’t been that girl anymore. Yes, she still vanishes on him unexpectedly, but it’s no longer without its reasons, her eventual returns always coupled with a dozen apologies and cloying guilt. Jude recognizes the feeling far too closely. It’s as if the floor has pulled out from under her, and scramble as she might, she can’t find purchase. Maybe, after all the turmoil of the last few months, Imogen needs something like this–a break from their dark and ugly world where magic rots them from the inside out. In the meantime, he does his best to smile and hold her close. If nothing else can lift Imogen from her fall, he’ll be her foundation to stand upon, just like he had been back when he’d first taken her into his home, just like she had been to him in the winter gloom. Home isn’t a place, after all, it’s a feeling.

This new and thoughtful Imogen still catches him off guard from time to time, however. Her question causes his rambling little pleas to fall silent. “How would things be different?” He blinks around him, as if the scenery might somehow show him a hidden truth. “I… hadn’t really thought about that. It all kinda seems like a lifetime ago now. I forgot the whole thing was about Ruth’s sketchbook to begin with. She got so upset when I pressed her about it…” His smile is strained with a touch of sadness and frustration. Back then, getting them all to simply talk to him was like trying to catch a scattering pack of cats with only his bare hands.

The air tonight is warm and humid, a steady breeze shifting shadowy clouds across the stars overhead. Jude can’t make out the North Star between the meandering clouds and the beaming lights from the three-story disco-ball of a house soaking everything around it in its radiance. Without looking, Jude’s hand finds Imogen’s to slip his fingers between hers. “It’s hard to say.” He finally responds, the cogs of his memory still turning over different possibilities. “Either way, I wouldn’t have left you to… um… your magic all alone.” Saying “your cancer-inducing radioactivity” probably wasn’t the best idea in the company they were quickly being surrounded by as they approached the steps to the front door. “I can’t say much would have changed, in the end, but what do I know? I’m not Ruth, I don’t see things. All I can do is try my best with the way things are.”

At the door, a young man in a crisp black suit and waistcoat plucks the invitations from Jude’s distracted hand. “Welcome, Mr… Castil-lo, and Ms. Song.”

Jude tries to pause and correct the boy’s pronunciation of his name, but he’s already taken the card from the people behind him and moved on to the next set of names. With a sigh, Jude relents to the forward momentum of the flow of other guests. “This is going to be a long night.”

mind reeling with what-might-have-beens, imogen half forgets they’re going to a party at all until the host interrupts. “castillo,” imogen answers with a pointed look at the guy when jude doesn’t jump to his own defense. “it’s not the only spanish name you’ll see tonight. if you’re going to try to hide your phone in your pocket you might as well google spanish pronunciation. it’s fairly straightforward. some people on that guest list won’t be as forgiving as we are.” she doesn’t smile again until she’s entirely turned her back on the boy and gently tugged jude forward into the building. “i know you hated that,” she tells him, barely suppressing a wicked grin, “but it’s important. besides, i really may have saved him his job. he should be grateful i got to him before the donovan-villanuevas had the chance to tear his head off.”

she stops to check her phone and answer a text just outside coat check, then remembers what they’d been talking about before. “honestly, though,” she picks up as if there had been no interruption at all, “just imagine. like... okay, so, the next day. maybe you’d woken up earlier or i’d slept in longer or something and we’d met up before i could go sticking my nose in ruth’s sketchbook. and maybe... maybe we’d gone on just fine after that. and we’d talked more that day. and i’d told you... maybe i even told you about what happened earlier in the week? with, um... i don’t know if i ever told you what happened with dane, have i? it doesn’t matter.” her voice drops lower to avoid eavesdroppers. “just magic stuff. the uh... fairly damaging kind.” she laughs, but it’s not quite her normal laugh- it’s a bit more strained and awkward. with her free hand, she fiddles absentmindedly with her clutch, expecting her phone to buzz any minute now.

“but just think- i might have told you all the weird magic stuff that was going on. you might have talked me into taking my power more seriously months before the fall festival and... well, everything that happened after. maybe none of that... would any of that have even happened?” her mind moves faster than she can explain herself- without meaning too, she stops in her tracks. “just imagine! my pack not going bonkers during laser tag... my car never freaking out... maybe... my flat would have been fine? i might have never made all those people sick- can you even imagine? i’d probably still live there now, with all my plants in tact.” she blinks up at him blankly, shocked at her own imaginary timeline. “you would have never gotten sick- god, it’d all be different now, wouldn’t it?”

[imogenxsong]

bringin’ glamour back

[imogenxsong]

wherescleo‌:

Cleo observed Imogen as she rifled through her quite frankly shocking collection of outfits, trying to find something Cleo could wear to the charity ball. Cleo certainly had plenty of her own cute lttle party outfits, of course. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that the moment she was spotted at the Marino Hart resident, as the date of one of the host family, no less, in a burgundy trapeze dress from New Look’s 2016 Autumn/Winter range (£19.99 in the January sale) and a pair of Primark pumps, she’d probably be received about as well as a leper on a long haul flight to Pitcairn. Imogen had generously agreed to help her out.

She had the good grace to appear as though she was considering going with a Victorian theme for the ball, and allowed a moment’s pause before responding. “I don’t imagine it would help me to blend in much,” she remarked, running a hand through her curls.

She glanced behind her at the bed as Imogen plopped a pile more much more promising and distinctly non-Victorian dresses there, considering the little pile of colours layered on top of one another. “Okay…” she said slowly, reaching for the second one from the top. It looked similar to the New Look one she owned, albeit much more beautifully tailored from fabric that felt like heaven against her fingers. “I’ll try this one first?” She glanced round at the bedroom door before looking back at Imogen, “Um… could I change in your bathroom, my love?”

@imogenxsong

“oh, darling, you look far too young and hopeful to fit in at one of these galas. you’ll need about twenty more years and another half of your soul sucked out of you before you’ll look like you truly belong.” it’s not entirely accurate- imogen’s been going to these sorts of things for most of her life, there would be plenty of young people in attendance, but there’s a certain level of jadedness that she isn’t entirely sure cleo can pull off, even with that sarcastic streak as wide as the sidewalk.

“when i said show me what you got i expected an actual show,” imogen answers in her grossest, gravelliest, someone-probably-thinks-this-is-sexy-but-honestly-no-one-wants-to-meet-that-person-voice, but quickly switches back to her own voice. for as dramatic as she can be, imogen can only maintain that specific character for a certain amount of time before she grosses herself out. “but if you must~” she rolls onto her back and waves a bored hand toward the door, sending cleo on her way. “right across the hall.”

she hums to herself and holds her hands up to the ceiling, staring at her fresh manicure critically. imogen’s athletic hobbies don’t particularly lend themselves to fancy nails, so aside from filing them down once in a while she rarely bothers to paint them. she decides she doesn’t like having them done up. her hands don’t look like her hands, it’s very distracting. “if i see bra straps when you come back, i’ll cut them off myself, be warned,” she calls in the direction of the door.

[imogenxsong]

my habit of choice

[imogenxsong]

faye-westaway‌:

The music, people and sparkling lights of the grand ballroom spun around Faye like a merry-go-round. She tried to keep calm, remain focused on the young man who was standing right in front of her and talking to her, but she couldn’t shake the sense of dizziness that had been plaguing her ever since she had set foot inside the Marino-Harts’ estate. Fear’s claws kept an ironclad grip on her heart and lungs. It felt like her throat was closing up, like her mind was going to explode. Run was the only word that seemed to come to mind. She politely excused herself from the conversation and made her way to the bar. Maybe she just needed a drink to help settle her nerves.

Everything was making her jumpy these days. The loud rumble of a lorry driving past her bedroom window, the sound notification on Cleo’s phone, the slam of a door in the hallway… she had tried her best to return to ‘normal,’ but did she even have the faintest clue what ‘normal’ was anymore? The female presence suddenly at her side startled her. Imogen, looking sinfully beautiful in a dress as black as night and that glittered like the stars when she moved, was here to keep her entertained. Faye loosed the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in up until now.

“Thank you,” she breathed, unclenching her fists and wiggling her fingers to get some feeling back into them. “It was Ruth’s idea… I don’t think I would have been able to pick up something as lovely as this if I hadn’t gotten her help. You look beautiful as always, Imogen.” She gave a friend, a small yet timid smile. “My night’s been… well, to be honest, it’s been a lot to take in. Have you always gone to events like this? The grandest party I ever went to was my cousin’s wedding and it happened on my uncle’s farm when I was eight. I was a flower girl.” She felt her cheeks grow warm when she realized just how much she was talking. “What about you? Are you having fun?”

“ruth does have an eye for aesthetic,” imogen answers, staring off into nothingness, her eyes gleaming in amusement at some joke faye wasn’t even aware she’d told, memories of high school dances and the preceding dressing room mischief imogen and ruth had found themselves in only a few years prior crossing her mind like polaroids swiped across a table to make room for something else. “ahh, you’re too kind~”

“a farm wedding? oh, i’ve never been to a farm wedding. not a proper one, anyway. my father’s secretary’s daughter married in a remodeled barn, but it was so very re-furnished it was hardly recognizable as a barn from the inside. i’ve always wanted to go to a real farm wedding, the photos are just darling.” imogen rests an elbow on the bar, chin in hand as she muses. faye might be uncomfortable at talking so much, but imogen could easily make up for both of them.

“no, not every event is this... formal,” she answers. “don’t get me wrong, there are a few of these a year, but far more brunches, socials... sporting events, believe it or not. auctions. auctions are interesting. you want to dress like you wouldn’t hesitate to slit a rival’s throat, but not in a vulgar way. like you’d do it politely. somewhere between hillary clinton and anna wintour. just know that i have never been without a pantsuit since i was eleven, and i know the staff at the dry cleaners’ by name.” the bartender, a dark-featured, ponytailed boy who couldn’t be much older than imogen and faye, hovers nearby with his widest, customer-serviceiest smile in place; imogen waves him away.

“i’m alright,” she answers. “i keep running into people i know and they all ask the same questions, good god. it’ll be better when i’ve finished my rounds and they can all go back to ignoring me. god, des and i used to get up to all sorts of trouble at these things. once you make sure everyone’s had their chance to say hello, it’s like you disappear. if we didn’t have to hang around for the speeches, i’d probably- oh, i don’t know...” she taps her fingers along her jaw, running through potential adventures, most of which involve breaking into rooms she shouldn’t be in, re-appropriating some alcohol, and possibly fleeing into the night. jude’s offer to skip the whole thing and crash a wedding still rings in the back of her mind, and for a moment she wonders if he’d still be up for bailing, but her clutch buzzes loudly and pulls her back to reality.

“probably... i’ve heard this building has an indoor greenhouse somewhere, i’d probably be pirating cuttings to be honest,” she answers, half-distracted while she checks and quickly answers the text that had interrupted her. finished, she shoves her phone back into her purse and turns her full attention back to faye. “you... are you okay?” she blurts out, taking note of faye’s near death-grip on her drink. “your glass isn’t trying to escape, is it?”

[normal-horoscopes]

The Signs and Magic:

THIS TOOK MUCH LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BUT HERE IS MY COMPILED NOTES ON HOW ASTROLOGICAL SIGN CAN AFFECT INBORN MAGICAL ABILITY BE SURE TO NOTE THAT THIS IS BY NO MEANS THE ONLY DECIDER OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO MAGIC AND THE INFLUENCES OF CULTURE UPBRINGING AND GOOD OL STUDY SHOULD NOT BE DISCOUNTED Aries: People born under Aries have a natural affinity for evocation, the manipulation of natural forces like heat and light. Aries is the sign of firecallers and weather mages. While Aries have an advantage in terms of raw energy, this often comes at the cost of control.

Taurus: Taurus is a tenacious sign. Those born under Taurus have a natural resistance to the arcane. This can be a bit of a double edged sword, as it can make it more difficult to work with the more delicate forms of magic. On the other hand, this thick arcane skin can be useful for handling more dangerous, high-energy spellwork.

Gemini: If you understand how a battery works, those born under Gemini’s dualistic nature have a propensity for the quick absorption/discharge of energy. This manifests as an aptitude for counterspells and redirection. It should also be noted that the more energy one tries to channel, the higher the chance that one may overheat.

Cancer: Cancer is an attentive sign, those born under it often have a talent for the more precise forms of magic like Enchantment or Psychomancy. Cancers tend to be scalpels, not hammers. The largest obstacle a cancer will likely face is a low overall stamina when it comes to magic.

Leo: Leos burn bright. Their relationship to energy is inefficient, often resulting in unwanted side effects. The most common side effect manifests as a mild purifying effect. With practice, this can give the leo an advantage when attempting to rid themselves of unpleasant effects.

Virgo: Virgos are liminal. Their bindings to this plane of reality are a little fuzzier. This makes them adept at breaking those boundaries. Visions of the other side are not uncommon in Virgo children. Know that doors work both ways.

Libra: Libras tend to be a sort of jack-of-all-trades. With no particular astrological affinity for any sort of energy, Virgos tend to be the explorers and experimenters of the arcane arts. All energy seeks to expand. Libra’s have the most naturally harmonious relationship to magic.

Scorpio: Many Scorpio’s can go their entire life not realizing their proclivity for magic. Alchemy is an art that relies on the sort of gut instinct and intuition that actively resists careful thought. More often than not, their friends will realize alchemichal skill before they do. They just make the tea better. Nobody is really sure why.

Ophiuchus: Those born under the serpent bearer have the least harmonious relationship to magic. While this can make the initial learning significantly more difficult, it can lead to significant advantages in the underappreciated arts of unraveling, like hexes, counterspells, obfuscations of magic.

Sagittarius: Equal parts precise and explosive, those born under the archer generally have a great deal of power and control over their abilities. The most common downside to this is little to no control over the amount of energy they discharge, often leading to boughs of exhaustion.

Capricorn: Capricorn is an ever-shifting sign. The fluid nature of magic requires the ability to adapt to and understand new circumstances. Those born under Capricorns are quick learners, but their impressionable, bend-dont-break nature can make heavier lifting difficult.

Aquarius: Aquarians burn cold. Their relationship to the arcane draws energy in from their surroundings like a sponge. They are incredibly sensitive to the world around them, able to pick up on more subtle energies. This is a common sign for psychics, emapths, and those sensitive to spectral energy. If they are not careful to disenchant themselves, this sensitivity can overwhelm, leading to panic attacks and anxiety.

Pisces: Pisces tend to be fickle when it comes to energy, born with the most sensitivity but also the least control. Pisces carry an affinity for glamours, enthrallment, and charms. Untrained, this can lead to Pisces getting themselves in trouble, which is why this sign is associated with faeblood.

[nlbordizzo]

@natashaliubordizzo: We made a short film. It goes live tonight 🔥 @benbriand@thewoolmarkcompany @collider__ stay tuned! X

[imogenxsong]

dxne-duclos‌:

Imogen; Holy art thou

    Mr. Song always had a sense of his daughter, that her spontaneity was under her control and loyal to nothing else but her whims. Smiling graciously at her, Dane found his own amusement rising in him like a pillaring flame as she accepted squashing the fraction of doubt that Imogen might have used this moment to tease him; knowing that a no would drive him stir crazy. Dane was felt like he had to be on guard with Imogen, in the way where he wasn’t sure where he stood with her. One minute they were having lunches, texting non-stop, but with a flick of a mood—the moon shifting—radio silence and excuses being filed. So to say Dane was relieved with Imogen’s response, would be an understatement and with her beside him, feeling as though the night had just started, he lead her to the dance floor. Where her arm curled into his, he placed his other hand affectionately against hers, strolling softly among the gaps in the crowd until a spot could be procured.

   “It isn’t the dancing part I dislike, it’s normally the partner.” replying coy-like, his face barely hiding the enjoyment across his face. The strong features the Aries’ sported rippled with a particular warmth ; his eyes less sharp and more inviting. Matched with a widening smile, the young witch’s expressions were calm while holding youthfulness to him—something that was rarely seen. “Besides, isn’t it a special night?” he asked, “Our families are here, it’s a good cause, and all the while we hide our secrets of being some brady-bunch of a witch cult underneath their noses.” unlinking their arms as he spoke, his hand took Imogen’s to spin her out, “It’s kind of fun, no?” then twirled her back into him so they could unite like the rest around them.

    The music was dulcet, as the violins and cellos played softly against the piano that accompanied the singer. Dane kept his hands at the curve of her back, gentleman through and through, while his bare hand laced between Imogen’s so delicately. Something about this moment left the witch buzzing, even if his magic was mostly being kept under wraps. His nature wanted to less control, to feel and explore without limits—however since the party, he knew where Imogen stood and didn’t want to push. Besides casting an orgy around them with their uncheck, fervorous energy would probably not be the best decision for them. 

imogen can feel the pause in dane’s movements and voice; not hesitation, exactly, but he’s definitely running his thoughts through a filter before acting on them. at some point in history this would have been cause for concern. imogen didn’t have to read the original grimoire to know that whatever sign dane was, it would be one that acts on impulse (though she was more than a little amused when she finally did read it and realize just how much of an aries he was, exactly). however, these days, there’s always that little tug of carefulness in his step, at least when he’s dealing with her. it feels as if he’s watching out for her, though imogen can’t decide if he’s watching out in the sense of trying to keep her safe, or watching out in the sense of trying to keep himself safe from her. in the past, she’d easily assume it was an act of self-preservation, but how could that be when he’s actively seeking out her company? after all these months of therapy, imogen’s built up quite a vocabulary for her own emotions and motives- deciphering dane’s, however, is less clear.

his words give little away, but his expression makes up for it and imogen can’t help feeling a little pleased with herself for finding a crack in his facade. “ah, we’ve always been a little magical, don’t you think?” she answers, dismissing any notion that their families or yet another silly function held any sort of power over their feelings about the evening. “it took the universe a few decades to catch up to us, but we were never exactly muggles.” she feigns an attempt at nonchalance, but an amused grin breaks through her defenses.

“it is a nice night,” she concedes, her smile softening as she glances at the gentle current of couples around them, hazy and glimmering under the glow of the fairy lights strung about the ceiling. she’s too content to cheapen the mood with a joke about the clear and present pinterest influence on the decor. instead, she adjusts herself comfortably into the crook of his elbow, her thumb brushing against the back of his neck as she falls into step with him. a small shiver that has nothing to do with magic races down her arm and into her spine. “we don’t have to be the brady-bunch witch cult tonight, do we? we can just be us for a little bit...”