trying on a metaphor
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
One Nice Bug Per Day
JBB: An Artblog!
Sweet Seals For You, Always
★
wallacepolsom
@theartofmadeline
🪼
Origami Around
Cosmic Funnies
styofa doing anything
No title available
No title available
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
AnasAbdin
todays bird
Kiana Khansmith
if i look back, i am lost
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Israel
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Germany
seen from T1
seen from Portugal
seen from Malaysia
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@infernocte
a private, independent writing blog for bianca di angelo of riordanverse, adored by sena.
(i) guidelines. (ii) bianca. (iii) mains & exclusives.
current interests : jujutsu kaisen, all for the game, chainsaw man.
blog roll: @zeitkeist , @isknvalj.
affiliated with: @feminiurge.
for the time being, i will be moving bianca to my multi account @zeitkeist because lord i CANNOT manage two blogs at the same time... anyway, find her there! <3
nikolai's smile is respectfully placid; ishtar watches him instead of gazing at his friend. bianca wants her the way you want a shiny bracelet. it's easy, an offer that will be diffused into nothing the moment she leaves that room. him, though. his gaze lingers in the space she inhabits when they cross with his friend. his eyes hunger when she places her lips on the traces left by bianca's lipstick on a glass. he doesn't even seem aware of how selective his desire is, how loudly contingent it is on the fact that bianca is there to ignite it. how peculiar. istar smiles, lips a delightful pink. "i ain't." she offers, because she isn't. she does things and she does them loudly. she only welcomes the idea of watching if it means being the reason behind the action: a sandcastle toppling to the ground because she pushed it. "him, though?" nikolai's eyes are on her lips, so one of her fingers brushes them softly. he seems to shake himself out of it, eyes back on hers. good boy. "think he might be. 'ave ya ever done somethin' like this?" eyes switch to bianca, while nikolai sputters his reply. "of course not, we're friends." how delightful. he truly believes it. she finally answers bianca, a bit too late. "i demand what i deserve." it's greedy. it's hunger without end. it's winning every match, without fail. it's drive without ambition. it's doing it because she can. just to prove to you that she can. at her words, nikolai seems almost pensive. "is that how you beat them?" he doesn't believe it. he's a poster boy for tennis. comes from a rich family who has paid for lessons. the best teachers the best rackets. ishtar started with nothing, not even a dream. she is raw talent and absolute filth. "can't beat 'em, join 'em. they're scared before the ball even starts bouncin'— i just give 'em somethin' to be scared of."
THIS WILL EVAPORATE. the sparks that fly like undercurrent of electricity in their eerily similar azure eyes. the veins that beg like a poor beggar for something, anything that will make them topple over crawled skin, each pulse an earthquake. it will evaporate, it is inexorable. it will perish, the moment that high comes crashing down like waterfalls. the moment where secret is no longer a secret and bodies are bodies under the skin. the moment where they are no longer mysterious, and all that’s left will be the incessant craving on her tongue that simply will haunt her. she doesn’t know which is worse: the fact that ishtar stares at her like she’s worth something unraveling, and nikolai never even looking her way in the first place. friends. what a bitter adjective. how inadequate. she feels naked without dominik there, to take the pressure off: nikolai had been difficult to manage always, and ishtar is simply on another level and she’s not sure how to thread the delicate yarn of their sweet offerings. “ what you deserve? ” bianca asks, an eyebrow raised at the outlandish request. never let it be said ishtar atta isil lacks any sort of entitlement. perhaps it’s why it’s her face is on the billboards across the countries. perhaps it’s why bianca has heard her name more than she’s ever heard own. her mouth dries at the sight of ishtar’s fingertips upon her mouth. “ what makes you think i can be ordered around? ” she pulls herself to her scraped knees, her heels digging at the back of her sore thighs. hands on her knees, raven waves cascading down pale, freckled complexion. the mattress seems to keep giving away beneath them. despite her words, there is no animosity in her smile. if there is a mystery in the room, it is the curl of her mouth. “ i’m not scared of you. tell me why you want it. maybe then i’ll reconsider. ”
he turns his best unimpressed stare on the ravens, just a few feet from them. this is not him being antagonistic, just deeply disinterested in the lot of them and their resentment towards him and his team. bianca is a whole different story, one neither of their teammates will probably ever understand in full. it's bloody and messy and entirely their own. let the birds stare and wonder how did this happen, neil won't care.
neil nods, still steady at her side. he has met the fine product of raven conditioning, has seen how deep the poison runs. it will take a while, but he wasn't kidding when he told her she trusted her to handle them. the king is dead, long live the queen.
'' they know better. can't say the same about the press, though. '' he grins instead of faltering, both fiercely proud of his team and amused. but fine, two can play at this game. '' they look like a nightmare, '' he says, shooting a glance at her shoes. '' but make for a good enough chance weapon. ''
they can joke around because they survived hell and made it spit them out. they can, because they're at each other's side.
PRESS DID LOVE A GOOD SCANDAL, and so did the fans. anything to stir up attention, especially after the hell of a year that they had. relentless investigations, trying to navigate the sails of their teams in the midst of a storm. the calls that were made in the dead of the night with exhausted exhales, just needing to hear the comfort of the voice at the other end of the night were endless. it had been busy, and bianca never missed neil’s solid weight against her back more. just a few more years, until they make the court. a promise and a consolation at once. wait until we make court. we’re almost there, sweetheart. riko’s blood turned sweet in her mouth, with each step that has brought them closer to greatness and to one another.
theye know better. she gives a faux, disappointed pout. “ that’s a shame. i do love to hear the ridicule. ” the burning stare of the spotlights against her shoulderblades for years, she had to learn how to turn it into entertainment at one point to keep her sanity. identity could be a fickle thing when one kept seeing their distorted image in every media outlet. she gives neil’s bicep a warm squeeze, as she eventually sits to a chair that was pulled for her. “ can’t say the same about my ravens, ” she mumbles, in oppose to the unbreakable trust the foxes had in each other. the fragile link that held the ravens together were torn with the same gunshot that marked the end of riko and end of their greatness. secrets, lies, trust issues. they all thought her advocating for peace and sportsmanship was a sign of her being head over heels for the new captain of the foxes, which made the older ones turn even more resilient to her methods. they could not grasp why they needed to stop searching to bite anything with a pulse with their canines. they could not grasp that maybe, just maybe, that there had been a better way all alone. a way that let her close her eyes and let herself fall, knowing that he’d be there to catch every single time.
“ don’t go yet. ” even in her chair, glancing up at the man who is now towering over her, her fingers resolve from his bicep but wrap around his wrist instead, thumb pressing against the pulse. she knows it’s selfish, to ask him to sit at a table of ravens, but it can’t be helped. she hasn’t seen him in months. “ apologies to your foxes, but i don’t have the privilege of seeing you every day, mister. ”
@infernocte "why'd ya invite me here, then?" the question does not tumble out. it rolls off with ease, like a well-rehearsed forehand, hitting the ground between them with fascinating strength; the air of the room seems heavier now that their intent is put on trial. it's hot, late june, with two whole months to look forward to and so little consequences for summer flings. ishtar's smile is sharp, like maybe she knows something they don't, but at least she seems benevolent enough, letting them set the pace of whatever little game they're playing at. she should be the prey, she knows, from the way they all sit: bianca's eyes like hawk claws, nikolai's gaze syrupy and warm against the naked skin of her legs. they want her. (they want each other) "ya ain't got all night, babes." she murmurs. she knows she has a better hand and she's willing to call their bluff.
it’s treacherous, how the menace seems to have power over the very air they breathe in, the same power she holds her racket with. from the moment the invitation had tumbled out of her poor, miserable mouth she knows they had been doomed. the hotel room was too small for the confines of such greatness. to think about it, there was rarely any place in the entire world that could house the three of them without crumbling at the foundations. ( there was not. and they’d never be in the same room again. ) still, for the sake of the foolish youth, bianca could sit still in the comfortable duvets, her legs entangled with her ken doll’s and ishtar’s hand too close to dark strands of raven hair. the suggestion had not been totally out of place. she would not blame ishtar for thinking she was invited for a taste of them both, but what the queen of tennis did not know was that bianca could have kissed hundreds of her and one nikolai was enough to be her downfall. she masks the heart that skips a beat with an amused grin. “ didn’t peg you for a watcher, honey. ” short nails clink against the glass of cherry cola, before it’s abandoned on the nightstand with a feline-like stretch that leaves her toned figure disheveled for a moment before she preens back. she does not look at nikolai on purpose. “ are you always this demanding? ”
THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT - THE ANTHOLOGY BY TAYLOR SWIFT PROMPT LIST * assorted lyrics from the album, some lines slightly adapted for meme purposes but feel free to adjust as necessary
even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you.
trust me. i can handle a dangerous man.
i love you. it's ruining my life.
does it feel all right to not know me?
i am who i am 'cause you trained me.
quick. tell me something awful.
i loved you the way that you were.
we were just kids, babe.
i can fix him.
you and i go from one kiss to getting married.
you said i'm the love of your life.
way up there, i actually love it.
i just don't understand how you don't miss me.
do you hate me?
did you think i had it in me?
what if i told you i'm back?
i still miss the smoke.
i'm not trying to exaggerate, but i think i might die if it happened.
you look like stevie nicks.
it's hell on earth to be heavenly.
i still can't believe it.
this happens once every few lifetimes.
didn't you hear? they called it all off.
it's happening again.
my friends say it isn't right to be scared.
i might just die.
fuck you if i can't have us.
tell me about the first time you saw me.
are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?
no one's ever had me... not like you.
stay away from her.
there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you.
i don't think you've changed much.
that's where i was when i lost it all.
life was always easier on you than it was on me.
i hoped you'd return.
do you believe me now?
what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?
what are the chances you'd be downtown?
is it something i did?
oh, we must stop meeting like this.
they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware.
i'm not a donor, but i'd give you my heart if you needed it.
looking backwards might be the only way to move forwards.
the story isn't mine anymore.
what a charming saturday!
none of it is changing.
wild winds are death to the candle.
one bad seed kills the garden.
i'm bitter, but i swear i'm fine.
this place made me feel worthless.
i didn't want to come down.
everything had been above board.
blood's thick, but nothing like a payroll.
you can mark my words that i said it first.
the professor said to write what you know.
all of this to say, i hope you're okay.
your words are still just ringing in my head.
i built a legacy which you can't undo.
who do i have to speak to to change the prophecy?
the effects were temporary.
no, i'm not coming to my senses.
babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it.
you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.
i guess a lesser woman would've lost hope.
thought of calling you, but you won't pick up.
you're a professional.
long may you reign.
you're an animal. you are bloodthirsty.
now i seem to be scared to go outside.
i don't believe in good luck.
i hate it here.
if i'd been there, i'd hate it.
only the gentle survived.
i'm lonely, but i'm good.
you have no room in your dreams for regrets.
i thought it was just goodbye for now.
are you still a mind reader?
let it once be me.
i haven't decided yet.
i still dream of him.
i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.
it was always the same searing pain.
i can't forgive the way you made me feel.
it wasn't a fair fight or a clean kill.
she used to say she wished that you were dead.
tell me all your secrets.
they tried to warn you about me.
you're in terrible danger.
i'm the life you chose.
yes, i'm haunted, but i'm feeling just fine.
no one asks any questions here.
tell me i'm despicable. say it's unforgivable.
i'm running back home to you.
you should see your faces.
you knew the price going in.
was any of it true?
who the fuck was that guy?
i don't ever want you back.
did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?
you don't get to tell me you feel bad.
you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.
am i allowed to cry?
there's no such thing as bad thoughts. only your actions talk.
they're going to crucify me anyway.
i know i'm just repeating myself.
that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.
challengers was insane but bianca as a pro tennis player is a concept im in love with so im running with it
THE ACCUSATION WAS SO OUTLANDISH, it would still have been false if no such word was breathed into existence. the auburn-haired sun, the best part of her rotten soul & limbs. the tailor, her childhood. her genya, her beloved. now staring at her like she doesn’t know who she is and bianca is unsure which turns the knife that had been already lodged between her frail ribs: that she is the reason why such anger, such desperation shines behind the azure eyes she had adored since her existence, or that she is the object of the baleful stare? her own blood betrays her, a guttural sound akin to a gasp for air leaves her throat as a harsh exhale as she chokes in her own shadows. bony, pale fingers flex with an incessant itch to do something but there is nothing that can undo the fact that somehow, all those years of hands in hairs & laughters pooling each other’s ribs as they hid their sinister mouths against soft collarbones was somehow got lost in the translation. and it left a bitter genya.
‘ i’ll be your slaughterhouse , your killing floor , your morgue and final resting , walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause i couldn’t make you love me and i am tired of pulling your teeth . ’
“ what else it could be? ” bianca asks, no, pleads. dark eyebrows furrowing with the horror of it all, palms shown: the first one to surrender in their fatal duel of knives, as she’d rather eat her own hand than to press salt into the girl’s wound. it lingers somewhere between a prayer and a beg, an unsure step taken further, desire to run her fingertips in the golden details of her off white kefta almost unbearable. “ look at me. ” she mumbles, oh so exhausted of fighting a war impossible to win, the almighty opponent on the fractured mirror an entity of endless lives. she remembers aleksandr’s words. how she will live on and on and on, until hers are the last lungs breathing in the ruins of everything she has ever loved, empires spread out underneath her futile feet. “ i am who i am. see me for it. ” a descendant of a mistake. an anomaly. a destruction waiting to happen. if she were to close her eyes, she is certain she could have oh so easily drawn a distant image from a distant truth for herself. a where one she gets to fall asleep to genya’s heartbeat and wake up to find the warmth of her at the other side, an eternal hearth & an an altar where she’ll be cleansed of all the mistakes that tainted her timeless visage with grotesque colors.
“ i could love you until my breathing stops. it would not unmake me. ” the confession feels like kvass down a burning throat, raspy & hoarse. she stares at genya’s kaleidoscope eyes, desperate to find something strong enough to make her yield. she wants to yield. she wants to find safety in @goetiya's arms, like she used to, when they were children. but there is nowhere safe and they are no longer children.
not gonna lie a makima blog looks enticing right now...
ADMITTEDLY ALPINE SENSITIVITIES ARE RUFFLED BY THE NOVELTY OF A HUMID, SULTRY MIDSUMMER — but she is quickly rescinding a deep-seated disfavor, finding nothing to censure in the sun’s insistent grin, and the way the cloudless sky indulges them in swathes of ultramarine. the pool area is a cacophony of daytime revelry: bright-bodied tourists puttering about the pool, others calling out drinks to the bartenders who comply with a sun-soaked joviality. others still, like herself, perch like peacocks upon barstools, clad in their colorful swimsuits and wide-brimmed hats. before her, two cosmopolitans have begun to sweat in their glasses, leaving rings of cool water on the wooden surface of the bar; elsa’s brows pull tight for a moment before relaxing, electing instead to take a sip from her own drink, carmine lips wrapping around a coral straw — red on red on red — to soothe a glaciating temperament. be back soon, was the beloved’s rakish drawl, yet bianca has been away long enough that elsa may need to revisit the meaning of the word, with utter disrelish.
bianca’s return is heralded by the warmth of a palm, soft but weighted against the flushed skin valiantly veiling her ribcage, (the way it swells with the sweet bloating of the heart it engirds). the woman settles into the seat beside her with all the grace of a danseuse, writing herself into the peacockery of the barstool roster; relief escapes elsa in a rustling breath, the line of her shoulders amending itself to a more genuine relaxation, rather than simply a facsimile. she is belabored with a cliché, snaking between grinning lips and nipping at her dwindling impatience until elsa finds herself smiling back, even through a primly arched brow and an exasperated roll of the eyes. ❛❛ that’s all? and here i thought you’d pull out the, “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” i fear you may be losing your touch, darling. ❜❜
arctic eyes watch intently as bianca dips her head and pilfers elsa’s drink, despite there being a perfectly respectable — and frankly rapidly warming — glass of the same constitution not even an inch to its left. she levels the other with a knowing glance, a manicured hand coming to rest on a cheek, pausing her as she straightens up; now it is elsa who leans in, elsa who steals a sip of her own drink from between bianca’s lips. pulling back, she uncoils her spine, once again the picture of immaculate calm. ❛❛ which of us actually vacated whose side, hm? ❜❜ she asks, the corner of her mouth conquered by a most mischievous urge, now upturned. ❛❛ and you know i have no care for them… you, on the other hand, have been nothing but a blight to my good sense. ❜❜ elsa’s head tilts, narrowed eyes belied by the flash of teeth in her smile. ❛❛ you’ve tortured me, leaving me to my lonesome for so long… who have you menaced while you were away? ❜❜
[ O’ THE PRAISED SAPPHO, WHAT HAVE I DONE FOR SUCH BLESSING? which god have i pleased to drip sunlight down my sore throat, which altar rewarded me with the eclipse eyes upon mine? ] just like the first day she’s seen her, bianca can’t help but melt under the woman’s administrations. the serene smile that curls the corner of her girl’s lips leading her to believe that in her home country, she seems to get an inkling what people mean when they say holy. the unfortunate lose of her touch, responded with an enamored pooling of love in her eyes. “ what can a girl say? you rob me of my words and my good sense. have mercy on a poor girl. ” is murmured akin to a chirp of songbirds, thick lashed gaze heavy lidded with the ease of the sun and the love. the pleasant embrace of the golden rays on her sternum and the even more pleasant presence of her love radiating warmth to her bones, there is nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.
no mercy is to be found in the gardens of bacchus, it seems, for elsa must surely know that there is no chance of survival after the cruel press of her mouth against hers, bianca drinking the nectar that drips from loving lips like a parched beggar on the desert, only to groan at the loss of it. completely selfish and demanding, her arm spends no time wrapping around the lean frame she’s memorized every inch of, pulling the girl flush against her, until the only thing that stops them from merging is mere flesh & bones of an achingly human body, impotent. there is nothing about elsa that she doesn’t love. nothing about her that she’d wish gone. the silent promise of it is pressed to the junction of the pale, sharp edged jaw where it meets her soft shoulders. “ mhm, ” the hum is belated in response, too occupied in collecting the memory of her skin beneath her lips. a practice of carving the girl to herself in manners that could not be taken away from her by anything so mortal such as time or space.
“ i thought you’d return with our drinks, ” comes the protest, but it rings as rather a plea than a protest, as nothing else is possible when it comes to elsa. her nose indents the soft skin of the column of her beloved’s neck, eyes fluttering shut with the scent of her mingling with the seasalt of earlier and the strawberry scented sunscreen she had been so adamant on putting, knowing for elsa and her northern complexion, the road would have only led to be burnt like a lobster. and while she thinks it would have been a cute sight to see her red cheeked and sunblessed, she thinks she would spare the love of her life the pain. her fingers trail up the side of her neck in slow strokes before they find the blonde strands that fall on her beautiful visage, tucking them behind elsa’s ear swiftly. “ i have tortured the poor birds and the poor bugs, i’m afraid. ” she mumbles, though obviously distracted and mesmerized by elsa’s proximity, still not finding a reason good enough to pull away from her. “ i have been telling them about my snow white endlessly. her luminous hair, ” a strand of hair is twirled between her skilled fingers. “ her sweet, sweet lips, ” her thumb is brushed against the corner of the girl’s mouth, adoring each crevice & each line. “ her snowlike skin. ” knuckles run down the girl’s exposed bicep, before bianca grins. “ i may have told them other things too, things that are not in the tale, but y’know… ” her grin promises mischief, her eyes promise devotion. “ it wouldn’t be very classy of me to say here. i’m a refined woman, if nothing. let’s keep the suspense, love, shall we? ” eventually, elsa’s hand is brought up all the way to her mouth for a chaste kiss upon bony knuckles. “ are you hungry? let me take you out. i have a dinner reservation for us. ”
THE SUTURES ON HER MOUTH SNAP, ALL CELERITY AND NO NOTICE; she finds her tongue disgorged, rotted through with a love turned metastatic, cankerous overgrowths that might once have been floral. i wait for you, i watch for you — what lunatic would regurgitate such sentiment without even a morsel of shamefastness? she has no moral promontory upon which to stand, all obliterated (by the self, and by the demilune that watched wordlessly as she stole away beneath the canopy of night.) this is what it means to be a ghost story: a sudden death and a too-slow putrescence thereafter, until all that remains is stubborn effluvia reeking of regret. all of this is to say, the sutures on her mouth snap, and out tumbles her necrosed tongue, dyed sanguine by love-gore and wine. she wishes to swallow it again. she wishes to cut it out.
have you not grown tired of being the kind of person who leaves? she cannot accuse the years of an unkindness that she herself had inflicted; time had been a clement consort, if a little too open-handed with forgiveness, and it sowed the fledgling hope (against all hope) that perhaps rectification was not so forlorn, that decaying into phantasm did not mean expunction from existence. she knows now, however, that from her would come no apologia. it is clear that bianca has turned heedless — had cauterized the wound of elsa’s departure and would not abide by any further lesions, least of all by this fair-haired butcher of sentiment. your savagery! your mercilessness! this is what you have made her into.
❛❛ i’m sorry, ❜❜ she says, when the silence has stretched itself into an asphyxiating hand, coiled about the throat. the words are waxen in her mouth, exhaled in a waft of malodorous breath. ❛❛ it was wrong of me. ❜❜ a flinch, minuscule, spoils her slipshod pretense of aplomb; it sounds so facetious, laid bare like this. ❛❛ i came… i came back to see how you were. and to apologize. ❜❜ but i see now that maybe i should have left you in peace. her lips are brittle, seismic in the curve — symptoms of her avine affliction, that of pinioned wings seeking release. ❛❛ i think i’ve sufficiently accomplished both, and i've taken up too much of your time. ❜❜ the body shifts, readies into a pivot. have you not grown tired of being the kind of person who leaves? (apparently not.)
[ AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. YOU SAID THE ANGER WOULD COME BACK JUST AS THE LOVE DID. ] an unceremonious bitterness burns through her throat, the rage of a wounded bear coiling in her gut: it takes her by the surprise, rattling the very bones she took entire winters to reinforce. it was stupid, absolutely unreasonable and even outlandish: that a single pair of cerulean eyes should be her undoing. many nights had turned into mornings , staring at the beige ceiling fantasizing ill dreams of what she would say to her, if they were to see each other again, in the corner of their favorite street or in one of the tables of their beloved coffee shop. the scenarios were endless. some were boiling blood in her veins, the hurt of abandonment still fresh like a bleeding cut… and some were cold and callous, numb to her fingertips, a frostbite. it played over and over again like a broken record that for better or for worse, did not know any other name than elsa’s.
apologies spilling from the mouth that she had once adored kissing red, her palm grazes against the rusted railings like it would stop her free fall, stomach sinking endlessly. she looks the same as the day that she had left her, her grace and beauty untouched by the cruelty of time, even the poor old beggar stepping away with respect in the face of such magnificence. she remembers how it felt, to have it right there in her faithful palms, even if it had been for a glimpse, for a brief blink… the idea that she might have never had it to begin with in the first place is a possibility she denied all along, not strong enough to face that kind of monster yet.
but elsa in front of her brings all those questions back, unravels the careful bandages bianca barely managed to put on, the stitches coming apart. her nod is dazed, like she’s still trying to pinch herself awake from a cruel fever dream. it was wrong of me. right. “ wrong of you to leave or to come back? ” she blurts out, before she even thinks it through, raw heart spilling all its contents to the hems of her pretty emerald dress. they were both crimes of different degrees. they were both murders. elsa, standing as tall as she does, reminds her of a serial killer that walks the grounds of her murder, a graveyard haunted by bianca’s pleading love-me eyes. and there she goes again, a quick babble of words that don’t mean anything to neither of them, watching the snow fall away from her once again.
“ aren’t you tired of leaving? ” bianca asks, exhausted, her battle scars exposed on surrendering limbs. she won’t play the game anymore. let it consume her, swallow her whole. what was left anyway, other than shattered lungs and cold sheets? the lump in her throat stops her from swallowing but she tries anyway, feeling the burning at the corner of her thick lashes. “ if you were… if you were unhappy, ” the words are a gunshot to utter, almost wincing at the invisible impact. “ and you felt like you couldn’t tell me, ” a sharp draw of breath, shivering shoulders. “ i’m sorry for making you feel that way. i wish you felt safer, with me. ” and happier, too, happy enough to stay at least. she doesn’t say that to elsa.
IT’S THE SUMMER TIME, AND THE LIVIN’S EASY: brutally humid, pleasantly lush, luminous, and picturesque. tangerine shadows that fall upon tanned olive skin much a reflection of the wide, inverted chinese umbrella that provides a relief against the hot july day and the traitorous sun that seem determined to overwhelm them. chartreuse lines that envelop her has been hand picked by the winter sun that is displayed on the bar stool like the painting she is, a sight for sore eyes, the anticipation of the cool touch against the sunkissed shoulders a celebratory cause for a grin across maroon lips. two cosmopolitans, two tiny umbrellas tucked against the citrus kissed golden rim, the other is waiting patiently for. and it’s an amusing sight to behold, bianca must admit. the lingering gazes are impossible to miss, boys with open mouths near pathetic in their attempts to get a glimpse of her and there is no twist to her stomach, the cruel hands of jealousy remaining graceful away from her brittle throat. she can hardly blame them, elsa looks ethereal as she had always been and the classical off-white swimsuit only enhances her allure.
the vacation had been much needed, much anticipated, and the mediterranean resort is not disappointing in the slightest. the wicker sun hat with a white ribbon wrapped pretty around it, the scent of the distant sea burning salty at the bridge of her nose: it makes a woman oh so serene and peaceful, it makes her grow restless in contrast. the rush of enthusiasm only to be shared with her beloved, beloved girl. the breathtaking moroccan tiles are hot against the bottom of her feet as she walks across the side of the enticing pool, cold water that splash against her ankles soothing as she makes her way over to the bar elsa had been waiting patiently in. her presence requires no announcement, as the woman had always been able to tell her arrival in her own magical ways, yet still, she hopes that the warm palm that presses against the back of ribs will be forgiven.
“ pardon my boldness, ” she mumbles, heart-shaped, rose colored glasses tipped down her nose as she smoothly slides to the next stool, taking a good look with an intrigued jade gaze as if it’s the first time they’ve seen each other, a playful grin curling at the corners of her mouth. “ noticed you across the pool. had to say hello. ” leaning over, strawberry straw of the cosmopolitan in @frysse’s hand tucking in between white teeth for a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. “ you’re too riveting to vacate my side for so long. ” a hand waves in dismissal, gesturing to the rest of the pool. “ you’re torturing the poor souls, sweetheart. they’ll have a heart attack from your grace. ”
the foxes had been no less hesitant at first. they had bristled and murmured, claws at the ready beneath the fur. but they had seen her laugh and stand close to neil ( closer than most would be allowed to without him turning to rigid alertness ), his teammates had seen a glimpse of the human behind the raven and they had seemed to ease around her. not fully, but just enough to avoid looking on the verge of collapse. and neil has to take that as a win.
he doesn't bother looking at kevin before rising to his feet, doesn't care a bit whether he would find him scowling or not. and despite having been made to swear on his best behavior, neil can't quite suppress the curl of his lips as he walks bianca back to a table full of people dressed in black.
'' seriously, how much shit are they giving you? '' amusement grinds to a slow halt, as he turns towards her. for this, he means, for them not letting go of each other's hand. he is serious, but unworried — after riko, a few ravens with their feathers ruffled mean nothing. for either of them.
THE MUCH ANTICIPATED WALK BACK TO HER TABLE IS AN OLIVE BRANCH ITSELF, to both teams, walking on the foreign court of the trojans who had been tasked with the duty of hosting this year’s winter banquet. neil is warm against her, a solid presence, a man of steel and fortitude. never let it be said that he does not rise to the occassion, ready to haul bianca up to her feet in a particularly cruel match where they never fail to be joyous for the other, or to walk her to a table full of suspicious ravens when the thin heels of her much beloved diors are grazing her ankles raw.
though, his question makes a fine job of distracting her, bianca’s gaze trailing to the man next to her rather than trying to walk a proper line on the faux grass. he really does want to know, how this show of affection is received by her overzealous team. she tries her best not to look at them, meeting neil’s azure eyes instead. “ freshmen and sophomores are fine. ” she waves a hand in dismissal, a roll of her eyes before she lets out a bored exhale. young members of edgar allan ravens did not have the misfortune of being indoctrinated to the cultish nature that once dominated their ambitions, but the older ones… “ juniors and seniors are… you know, ravens. ” her smile is apologetic at best, knowing it was not what he was hoping to hear. “ nothing i can’t handle. don’t worry about me. ” she glances over his shoulder, to the table of confused foxes. “ how are your foxes taking it? ” she grins, nudging his elbow with hers, wanting to embarrass him into distraction. secrecy & privacy came with its own price, like the rumors of fans and the press. “ how are the bets looking on our highly anticipated love affair? ”
the urge to delete all my inbox and start fresh is overwhelming... esp with the new book a.ftg brainrot is consuming me
𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 : 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔
‘ i’ll find you again , wherever we end up next . ’
‘ the enormity of my desire disgusts me . ’
‘ please , one more kiss in the kitchen before we turn the lights off . ’
‘ i’ve been lost but i’m here now . you’re the only person who has ever been able to find me . ’
‘ almost dead yesterday , maybe dead tomorrow , but alive , gloriously alive , today . ’
‘ you are not broken . ’
‘ you can love and be loved , despite what may feel like the eternally brutal nature of the world . ’
‘ i did violence to my own heart . ’
‘ will i be forgiven for the sins i did not commit , but created ? ’
‘ i would never kiss anyone who doesn’t burn me like the sun . ’
‘ i would rather break the world than lose you . ’
‘ i think you and i have known each other in a few lifetimes . ’
‘ i didn’t know . i had no idea how greedy my heart really was . ’
‘ is that why the idea of losing you torments me so much ? ’
‘ how long have i been without you ? ’
‘ am i foolish for wanting this ? it will end in flames . it always does . ’
‘ sorry about the blood in your mouth . i wish it was mine . ’
‘ if i love you , is that a fact or a weapon ? ’
‘ tell me how all this , and love too , will ruin us . ’
‘ and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be . ’
‘ it cannot be a mistake to have cared . it cannot be an error to have tried . it cannot be incorrect to have loved . ’
‘ finally , i plead guilty of adoring you . ’
‘ a child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort . ’
‘ without realizing , i find it in myself that i cannot stop thinking about you . ’
‘ tomorrow , when i wake up , i promise , i will be better . ’
‘ someone has to leave first . this is a very old story . there is no other version of this story . ’
‘ when i imagine myself , i am always leaving . i couldn’t draw my own face if god asked . ’
‘ do we simply stare at what’s horrible and forgive it ? ’
‘ i wanted to let go of the pain even though it was the last thing that felt alive from you . ’
‘ have i endured loneliness with grace ? ’
‘ i’ll be your slaughterhouse , your killing floor , your morgue and final resting , walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause i couldn’t make you love me and i am tired of pulling your teeth . ’
‘ and then my soul saw you and kind of went , ‘ oh , there you are . i’ve been looking for you . ’ ’
‘ sometimes it feels like someone else is wearing my body . ’
‘ i spent my life arguing how i mattered until it didn’t matter . ’
‘ who knew my haven would be my coffin ? ’
‘ dead is the safest i’ve ever been . ’
‘ i’ve never been so alive . ’
‘ you know what i was gonna tell you before , but didn’t have the nerve ? you got your name written all over me . i got my name written on you , too . ’
‘ you already are something . you always were . and you still have time to be . ’
‘ you know me by heart . it infuriates me that you know me by heart . ’
‘ why am i waiting for you ? hungering and thirsting for you in every cranny of my soul and even in my ribs ? ’
‘ you came with a handful of pain and a smile which broke the ground under my feet as the earthquake does when two people meet . ’
‘ the only good thing is that i’m getting used to suffering . ’
‘ the return to time was not my choice . ’
‘ we are built to live inside each other . this means we are built to ruin . ’
‘ time does not bring relief ; you all have lied . ’
‘ time does not know how to keep our hopes safe . ’
‘ you needed me so much that you had to end me . ’
‘ there are days where i am morbidly in love with you , and this is one of those days . ’
‘ i know no end to desiring you . ’
‘ i fear that i am both too much yet not enough . ’
‘ yes , yes , yes , i do like you . i am afraid to say the stronger word . ’
‘ a heart’s a heavy burden . ’
‘ life , as i see it , is all about farewells rather than reunions . ’
‘ heaven is real and you only had two minutes to prove it to me . ’
‘ it was already love . ’
‘ everyone desires love but also finds it impossible to believe that they deserve it . ’
‘ i’ll love you until i forget how to . ’
‘ i’ll love you until i forget how to and then i’ll fall like my knees aren’t already bruised from doing it and i’ll remember why you’re worth the ache . ’
‘ of course i’ll hurt you . of course you’ll hurt me . of course we’ll hurt each other . but this is the very condition of existence . ’
‘ nothing makes me sadder and nothing makes me happier than you . ’
‘ i love you and i do not want to love you , it is too much and too difficult . ’
‘ grief is just love with no place to go . ’
‘ i felt my life with both my hands to see if it was there . ’
‘ you do this , you do . you take the things you love and you tear them apart . ’
‘ i hope it’s love . i’m trying really hard to make it love . ’
‘ if you touch me again i might burn up in the cold air . ’
‘ i asked you not to leave several times . ’
‘ i’ve only adored you lifetimes ago and here we are . it’s nice to see you again . ’
‘ all time ever does is pass and all i ever do is remember . ’
‘ i feel as though we were never strangers , you and i , not even for a moment . ’
‘ i’d choose you ; in a hundred different lifetimes , in a hundred worlds , in any version of reality , i’d find you and i’d choose you . ’
‘ nothing about this is soft but we pretend . ’
‘ maybe you and i are just a dream . ’
‘ i know you loved me too , you knew me , and it gladdens my heart . ’
‘ i promise i shall never give up and that i’ll die yelling and laughing . ’
‘ i don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision . ’
‘ the world was made so that we could find each other in it . ’
‘ you don’t meet the people you love , you recognize them . ’
‘ i think you and i have known each other a few lifetimes . ’
‘ this body knows fear like a front porch knows welcome – it is always coming home . ’
‘ i miss you more than i remember you . ’
‘ if i could have done it all again , i would have loved you better . but i could not have loved you more . ’
‘ we could have been happy . i know that , and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know . ’
‘ you want a better story . who wouldn’t ? ’
𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂: 𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝚅𝙸𝚁𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙸𝙰, 𝚄𝚂𝙰.
… “ that’s impossible,” neil said.
“ not really. they’re the only NCAA exy team in west virginia, so it was as easy as a vote and a couple of signatures.”
“ that’s impossible,” neil said again. “ we can’t play the ravens. what sane board pits the best and worst teams against each other? ”
𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴, 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙽,
“ everyone knows the ravens are all about being the best. best pair, best line-up, best team.they drill it into you day after day, make you believe it, make you forget that in the end best means one. they let you forget until other people buy into it, be it fans swaying too far the wrong way or ERC calling them out on their schemes. then they don’t want to play that game anymore, and they skip straight to the elimination round. ”
"i've never cared for anyone the way that i care for you." ( @infernocte )
Jean cannot hide his sneer at that; it twists his features unpleasantly and renders his grey eyes even colder and more distant. Even now, a year free of the Nest, her admission is unwelcome. If you cared, you would have stopped when I asked, he doesn't say, because, when he looks at her, he can't not think about her begging Riko to stop and Riko's cold, sadistic answering smile.
He looks away and rubs absently at the 3 that still marks his cheek. He can feel the faint texture of the tattoo scar; he drops his hand almost guiltily.
"I know," he allows, instead of the vitriol and accusations that he might have once spewed. Things have changed. Distance might have been the best thing for them.
"It was not always welcome." It was once a weakness, a wedge driven between them, a stick to beat him with. Even now, he feels a prickle at the back of his neck though he knows that he's not doing anything wrong by speaking to her alone. Jeremy is not Riko; Riko is not here; Riko is gone; Jean and Bianca can speak for as long as they want without fear of discovery and the ensuing punishment.
He steps away all the same.
"You have a team to consider now. You do not need the distraction and I do not need your concern."
SOME THINGS CHANGE AND SOME THINGS DON’T. california had done him well. no longer the sickly victorian child, with technicolors for bruises that never seemed to completely disappear, he seems healthier than he had ever been. he looks much, much better and there is certain relief to be found in that. trojans had been taking good care of him, it seems, especially with the way that their curious gaze follow their precious backliner as he has a conversation with an old friend. friend, if the years of back and forth of desperate pleas in secrecy and mending wounds could be called that. it seems like a stretch, but she does not know anything other like it, the way that jean’s heartstrings tangled with hers unique in their texture. he looks so different, it almost feels like looking at someone else: save for the mocking glare of the storm eyes and the number 3 etched into the sharp cheekbone.
it was not always welcome, he says, and the snort that is stuck between her throat and her nose is almost amused in a bitter way. “ when was it ever? ” it escapes her, the sullen mumble, before she can stop it: quiet, with her head hanging low. when had it ever been welcome, honestly? in the seven years they have known each other, from innocent adolescence to the battleground of exy, when has he ever reached her back when she held out her hand for him? he did not have to hold her back, but she feels that he also did not have to close the door on her face. her confession tastes like a mistake in her mouth now. tastes like iron and salt. her nod is a feeble thing, having danced this dance with jean for years. her oldest friend, her numbing pain. “ i know you don’t. ” she tells him, shifting her weight from one foot to another, eyes trailing over to the benches behind him, then back to jean, ready to head back to her ravens, pausing. “ was it just riko or was it me? ” she asks, figuring the opportunity may never arise, staring at him for an answer. “ why you ignored me for years, i mean. was it just riko or was i that insufferable? ”
