roma★
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Jules of Nature
Keni
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PR's Tumblrdome
Peter Solarz
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
art blog(derogatory)
Acquired Stardust
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Sade Olutola
JVL
wallacepolsom
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i don't do bad sauce passes
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dirt enthusiast
cherry valley forever
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seen from United States
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seen from Canada
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@monochromctic
muse list
total: 04
connor jiang (intro || connections || musings)
joshua steele (intro || connections || musings)
penelope sinclair (intro || connections || musings)
'night' rungthip wongsawat (intro || connections || musings)
credits
afia retracted her hand with mild offense at the potential jolt of electricity that may have surged straight through her if she held on any longer. there was no way this was up to code. "whoa there cowboy, can we roll back a second, why the hell are you the one doing all the connecting? did you have a electrician dude walk this place or are we just playing a wish version of russian roulette? j-baby this is dangerous and i believe it to be within my rights, as your big sister, to point this out." she tucked her hands into her back pockets in wait as the kettle slowly came to temperature. "that is equally as dangerous. why didn't you tell me? we can go down to the mall and pick you up a new one. ma needs to be able to get into contact with you since you're her baby and naturally the second favorite child. it's not use in attempting to contest it since no one will ever top anthony's space in her heart."
Joshua contorted his face at Afia's request. With most people, he likely would have considered her warning, but this was his sister. Joshua's very being rejected the idea of her being right. "Why would I pay someone to do it when I can do it myself?" Joshua asked and crossed his arms. His annoyance did not last. With the base of his palm, he gently shoved his sister's forehead. "Boo! Boo, Fi. Boo! Ma doesn't have any favorites, and you know that." Which was a lie. Joshua knew very well that their mother had her preferences, especially when it came to Anthony. He was her little angel after all... But he wasn't going to let his sister talk down herself in his establishment.
"What are you putting into your oven that's exploding?" Kitty laughed, shaking her head. She most certainly did not want to clean out an oven, not matter what exploded in there. Joshua's antics were always so amusing, she could always expect something from him whenever she popped into LG Bean + Tea. "Trying something new out for the menu? Or just bored enough to experiment?" Kitty knew how that was, but she experimented with fashion and makeup, not anything that could explode.
"Sometimes if you don't get the air out of stuff, it kinda does the implosion thing they teach you in school, I think?" Joshua replied. But, in actually, he wasn't quite sure what he did to warrant such a thing happening behind him. All he knew for certain was that he didn't need any help, nor did he want any help, even if he truly needed it. "I can, of course, suggest you try one of the pink petal cookies. They aren't made with flowers. Just look like them." At least, according to Joshua they did. He was never really an art student, but he tried his best to make little icing drawings of flowers and petals before putting them in the display for sale. Joshua pulled one out for Kitty. "Fair trade. Skincare for cookie?"
the grandeur of night’s retaliatory performance unfolded within the cluttered theater of the kitchen, and juniper did not merely receive it. she absorbed the display with the rapt, unblinking intensity of a connoisseur discovering a rare, dangerous artifact. as night adopted the very cadence, the low cantor, and the physical semantics that juniper had spent most of her adulthood weaponizing, any potential for offense was instantly obliterated, replaced by a profound, intoxicating fascination. when night’s shoulder brushed past hers to seize the territory by the stove, juniper merely executed a fluid, microscopic pivot, her bare feet adjusting on the worn floorboards to maintain her view. she watched her swivel on the balls of her feet and drop her voice, and juniper’s dark eyes lit up with an unmistakable, sassy relish. it was like watching one of her own dark fantasy manuscripts manifest a pulse and turn its narrative teeth upon her. she wasn't angry; she was utterly spellbound by the sheer aesthetic brilliance of the rebellion.
"well well, the imitation is practically an act of reverence," she murmured under her breath, a velvety purr of pure entertainment that scarcely interrupted night’s monologue. as night advanced, cooing her meticulously mirrored accusations, the distance between them evaporated until the air grew dense with the heat of their competing gravities. juniper did not retreat into the safety of the shadows. she stood her ground, her chin remaining tilted at that characteristically arrogant angle, studying the flush on night’s cheeks, the tension in her hands, the wicked mimicry of the smirk. juniper was utterly captivated by the realization that night wasn't just a beautifully sullen archetype to be sketched from afar; she was a volatile, hyper perceptive counter weight who could match her stride for stride in a psychological waltz.
yet, as the accusation reached its crescendo; the suggestion that juniper was actively manufacturing a scenario to absolve herself of the consequences of her own sharp tongue. the words struck the heavy walls with the force of an absolute truth. for a fraction of a second, the insufferable, smug brilliance of juniper’s fascination faltered. the mask slipped just enough to reveal the jagged defenses of a woman who used words as high walled fortifications against a world she was terrified to traverse. night had read the subtext perfectly, stripping away the armor juniper wore to keep the universe at bay. when night finally retreated to the counter, spinning back to face her with that burning countenance and the heavy weight of her concluding demand, the silence that followed was thick, melancholic, and entirely devoid of its previous theatricality.
juniper uncrossed her arms slowly, letting her hands fall to her sides. the sassy, unbothered posture dissolved into something far more grounded, though her intrinsic pretension still clung to her like a vintage silk shroud. her fascination had evolved from an interest in a potential muse into a genuine, albeit complicated, respect for the real person standing in front of her text. "an exceptionally elegant counter offensive," juniper finally spoke, her voice stripped of its operatic volume, returning to a quiet clarity. "your accusation of hiding behind the omniscience of a creator because the alternative, actually navigating the unpredictable, unedited wilderness of another human being, is a terrifyingly unstructured narrative. a fair thesis, wildflower. perhaps even an entirely accurate one. i must admit, i find your capacity for analysis to be thoroughly riveting."
she took a slow, deliberate breath, the floral and musky aroma of the kitchen settling around them like a truce. her wild curls framed a face that had grown suddenly weary of its own brilliant performance, though her eyes remained locked on her guest, sharper than ever. "your request for a question devoid of authorial bias," juniper continued, her gaze locking onto night’s with an intensity that was no longer clinical, but raw. "very well. let us strip away the ink and the archetypes. tell me, night...when you look into the dark, into that vast, unread space you claim to occupy, what is the specific terror you are running from that made a reclusive on a hill seem like a reasonable refuge today?"
It was hard to see that flicker in Juniper's eyes. Night was already too far gone in her anger to think clear enough to what it meant, but there was still a primal, gut feeling that stabbed at her. That little glimpse of the person behind the smugness was enough to give Night pause and her body relaxed, just slightly, as if to draw attention to the fact that Night had taken notice.
And she let the silence between them linger in the air. After all of that, she needed a moment to breathe anyways. It wasn't likely that she was going to be able to calm down, but at least Night could steady her breath and not feel her heart pounding in her ears.
Night could not help, but roll her eyes. Why did it have to be a terror she was running from? Perhaps it was an impasse. Juniper seemed to have a flare for the dramatic and, disregarding her very dramatic reenactment of Juniper's behavior, Night liked to think of herself as more down-to-earth. More practical. More simple. So, she answered just as simple, "The garden's quiet. And I like the flowers."
Of course, this didn't answer the extent of Juniper's question because, if Night was honest with herself, there was no real answer to that question that she was willing to offer. The only hesitation that she had before entering the house was if she was going to be able to behave in a civilized manner. But Night knew, now, that it would have been best if she had just gone home. She wouldn't have lost her temper and jeopardized whatever first impression she made on Juniper. And Juniper had not earned such truth from Night, anyways.
Though, perhaps, it would be fair. Juniper had met Night's argument and conceded by exposing some vulnerability. An even trade; or, more crudely, blood for blood. "Kinda nice to talk to someone a bit, too, I guess," Night added. A small admission, but an admission nonetheless.
Another silence feel between the women. Night kept her gaze equal to Juniper's. The same intensity laid in her stare and the steam from her anger hadn't quite cooled off. It wouldn't be until later that Night's heat would simmer out and she'd be able to recognize how poor her reaction to Juniper was.
For now, there was still a sharpness to her words, an edge to her sentences. Even if she didn't intend for it to cut, she asked her own question in the same way she used her blade when cooking, "Inviting strangers for tea a pass time for you?"
dante paused momentarily, his hip jutted out and his lips pursed into a tight, glossy pout as he mentally debated whether to treat that sarcastic moniker as an offense or a backhanded compliment. it was the absolute essence of their dynamic; a beautifully calibrated, high maintenance tennis match of insults where neither of them was allowed to hold the court for too long before a fresh wave of sass leveled the playing field. "that's doctor mcdreamy to you, baby girl," he trilled, his pout melting into a slowly broadening, devastatingly photogenic grin. it actually had a fabulous ring to it. "and don't you ever forget it." he strolled ahead of her into the darkness, completely dismissing her practical warning about live wires as if the laws of electricity simply wouldn't dare violate his silhouette.
"active love life, that's the funniest quip you've said yet," dante purred, turning on his heel to face her, walking backward into the shadows with the effortless grace of a man who owned the room. "honey bunny, who are we lying to? the only thing active in your love life is the dust collecting on your nightstand, or perhaps a little battery operated friend that goes vroom vroom in the top drawer," he knew that particular remark was a death wish. he was practically begging for a lightning fast piece of physical retribution, but he couldn't help himself. "if you were juggling a roster of secret paramours, i’d be the first to know because i’d be the one approving their jawlines and vetting their credit scores before they were even allowed to buy you a drink. duh."
he stopped, leaning hip first against a graffiti stained concrete pillar, looking her up and down with a warm, wicked glint in his eyes. he wasn't actually going to tease her about her lack of friends, not genuinely, anyway. because he secretly quite liked being her primary source of entertainment. "now keep close to me. if a rat jumps out, i need you between me and the rodent."
Dante made it all too easy. Night jutted her tongue into her cheek. Such an easy jab just waiting for her to bite. How else was she to say no when given the opportunity to pop Dante's ever-growing ego. "What's your name, again?" Night asked, innocent enough, though most she know better than to assume Night's innocence. "McD... McDickhead?"
She followed close behind her friend, one of the few she had. Though Night would never say it to him. Such thoughts were ones she kept guarded deep in her psyche. Dante was already full of himself. He didn't need to encouragement for his behavior. "You're welcome, by the way. I set that up for you, fucknut. Don't say I don't shit for you," her teasing continued. "How'd you know my type isn't losers with bad credit scores and jawlines? Someone's gotta date them."
The wet musk of the building tickled Night's nose and she could only imagine what mold existed on these walls. Whether or not the wires were live plagued her mind, but she would never touch them herself. If her curiosity got the better of her, Night figured she she could goad Dante into playing with the wires. But she wasn't sure if she wanted to be responsible for his demise.
Night's phone failed to find itself in her pocket. Instead of pretending to scroll through her non-existent text messages, she opted to open her camera app and center Dante in frame. A dangerous game, knowing her friend' large ego. But how else was she supposed to show she cared? "You're right. I should be recording this in case you do get attacked by a rat."
saffron’s throat clicked as they swallowed back that instinctual defense mechanism that usually triggered whenever someone got this close to the bone. they didn't pull their hand away from under connor’s; instead, their fingers twitched beneath her palm, a subtle, trapped bird flutter before settling into the reality of the touch. tracks don't last forever. it was a devastatingly simple piece of logic. a plain fact wrapped up in connor's trademark, mercurial delivery. saffron’s internal monologue, usually a languid scramble of intrusive thoughts and cynical commentary, completely ground to a halt. the needle didn't just skip; it stopped dead in the groove, leaving nothing but the heavy, analog warmth of her hand pressing into theirs.
they stared at her, their brow crooking further as they tried to process the sincerity radiating from her eyes. it was maddening how effortlessly she could bypass the entire, over complicated architecture of saffron’s brain. they'd spent their whole life treating their identity like a meticulously curated vinyl archive; fragile, easily scratched, hidden behind layers of protective plastic sleeves. yet connor just walked in and treated it like a living, breathing song. when connor leaned in, that specific pitch of hers seemed to fill the entire room, drowning out the ambient noise of saffron's own doubts. a low laugh escaped, half sardonic but mostly just defeated. defeated by her capacity to care.
"you're a piece of work, you know that?" they murmured, thick with an unfamiliar vulnerability they were desperately trying to mask with a lopsided grin. they finally shifted their hand, turning it over beneath connor's palm so their fingers could loosely thread through hers. "turning my lingo against me, hmm? i won't stop you if you're determined to decode the b side lyrics and sit through the static to find the hymn." they squeezed her hand, a brief, anchoring pressure. "if the track doesn't last forever, then i guess we’re burning daylight just talking about the runtime." saffron’s smile softened, losing the last remnants of its protective edge.
Saffron had calmed down and the laugh signified that Connor had gotten what she wanted. While she was here seated next to them, Connor wanted to hear nothing of Saffron's negative opinions of themselves. Connor squeezed Saffron's hand as soon as she felt the pressure against her palm. Her smile still lingered on her lips. Her shoulders leaning forward towards the other person and her eyes never failing to maintain eye contact.
Even with her parents barely giving her attention, they replaced showing actual affection with making sure Connor was provided with everything she could ever want. It was shallow love and it considered Connor to expect what she wanted, scheme to figure out how to achieve that very thing. She had gotten what she wanted, and Connor smiled wider.
"Are you going to play any new tracks, then, to see what I think of them?" she asked, not knowing if she wanted or needed an answer to it. Perplexing. To ask a question and not really expect a response. Maybe she just wanted to see what tracks (or thoughts) Saffron was talking about that made them so nervous to share with her. There wasn't anything she could think of that would distance her from Saffron, or at least nothing she assumed Saffron was capable of doing.
Connor wasn't a force to be stopped, anyways. She spent too many years feeling caged to let anything impede her path or impact her choices. Everything Connor did was done with full autonomy. And if anyone tried to limit her otherwise, she fought or ignore their wishes.
the vision of her wife nesting herself so seamlessly into her side was a familiar, exquisite gravity that temperance never grew accustomed to, only more deeply entangled in with each passing year. as those two wine glasses emerged from the cupboard, miraculously unburdened by any rogue volumes of poetry, at least for the present moment, temperance’s smile merely deepened, its edges softening with a warmth that seemed to radiate from her very marrow. she watched with a quiet, baseline adoration as penelope drifted just a fraction out of her immediate vicinity, bending to inspect their modest cellar selection. tracking the elegant curve of her wife’s movement with the same rapt, reverent attention she might bestow upon a rare, illuminating text by candlelight, eternally captivated by the enduring existence of the woman before her.
when her wife's voice cut through the tranquil hum of the kitchen, delivering that wiley, unmistakable simper alongside her wicked little query, temperance let out a soft, breathy laugh. naturally used to the occasional cheeky remark, she still found it never ceased to rouse a sudden, youthful flutter in her belly. their domestic candor remained just as passionate as it had been when they were young girls, tentatively flirting with the grand notion of falling for one another. "always a creature of exquisite and devastating taste, my love," temperance murmured, her fingers lightly trailing along the smooth expanse of the counter as she stepped closer to close the brief, unbearable distance penelope had created. she leaned in just enough to catch the familiar warmth radiating from her wife’s skin, her eyes locking onto that playful smirk that had possessed her heart for decades. "though i suspect the favorite you speak of requires very little culinary preparation, and entirely too much of my undivided, thoroughly helpless attention."
she reached down, her hand gently brushing against penelope’s in a lingering, tactile reassurance as she peered over her shoulder at the vintage bottles currently under consideration. "let us be thoroughly adventurous with the wine tonight. if we are to court a magnificent culinary disaster within the pages of this cookbook, we might as well have a bold, unfamiliar vintage to either celebrate our unexpected triumph or graciously wash away our sins." turning back to the workspace, she cast a shimmering, sideways glance at her wife that held all the devotion of their shared lifetime. "but do stay close, penny. the recipe demands the presence of a muse, and i find myself entirely dependent on your counsel."
The many years spent apart gifted Penelope with the memories of eagerly awaiting Temperance's correspondence and the occasional thrill of a small snapped polaroid. So many of the letters Penelope penned were laced with words hiding what she truly felt. Even though anyone who dared to read the teenage letters between her and Temperance would be able to see how deeply in love they were, Penelope still structured her sentences to avoid any potential rejection. Now such worrying felt ridiculous considering the ring she now had on her finger and the house they shared and the family they had built.
So such thoughts were ones Penelope felt compelled to express as much as she was able to. So many years of not being able to do so felt like a lifetime. Besides, it was addicting to hear Temperance's small laugh that followed after Penelope's dictations.
Her eyes looked up towards her wife. The smirk did not leave her face when she finally looked back to the bottles of wine. As she pulled a bottle out and pulled herself up to be back in Temperance's orbit, Penelope cocked her head to the side. The smirk on her lips now replaced with supposed bewilderment.
"I'm not quite sure what you mean." Penelope placed her pout of her lips, as if Temperance was accusing her of something she had not done. Of course, Penelope knew very well what she had said and the implications of her words. But what fun would there be if she revealed her hand?
Penelope's small pout soon ended as she dug through the drawer to find a corkscrew. "I am still right next to you," she protested, though she understood Temperance's clinginess. "How exactly do you expect me to pick out the wine if I don't go to the wine cabinet?" It was rare for either woman to be away from the other for too long if they were not at work. However, they were still sharing the same kitchen.
As soon as Temperance's eyes were off of her for a moment, Penelope began to unscrew the wine bottle on her own. Her arm was not strong, but she felt as if she was just as capable as anyone else, even if it was not as easy to her to do some tasks. Poor the wine would be a different story, unless she wished to risk staining anything in the kitchen.
orion let the question settle over her like a heavy, damp shroud. she didn't move, remaining tucked against connor’s side, though her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the other woman's hand in response to the squeeze. it was a beautiful sentiment, she supposed; the idea that the impact remained, that the memory of the flash was etched permanently into the wood. but where connor perhaps saw a poetic testament to survival, orion only saw the disfigurement. a scar was still a wound that had run out of blood; it was a permanent monument to the moment something tried to destroy you. "it keeps the scar," she murmured, perpetually somber beneath the weight of a dozen unsaid grievances. "but the wood is always weaker where the strike landed. it’s the first place to rot when the next storm comes."
she shifted her head slightly, her cheek rubbing against the fabric of connor's shoulder as she looked out at the darkening horizon. she knew she was being difficult, that she was willfully tarnishing the silver linings connor so generously offered, but compliance felt like a lie she wasn't strong enough to tell tonight. the connor was offering a counter, a typical, transient thought that made orion’s chest tighten with a cold, familiar dread. she let out a slow breath, the sound swallowed by the rustle of the wind through the balcony's potted jungle. it was the core difference between them, wasn't it? connor was the wind, always calculating the trajectory of her next flight, while orion was the dirt, heavy and stagnant, accumulating the debris of everything that passed through her.
"you wouldn't," she said softly, a statement of fact rather than an accusation. "by the time the hull touched the ice, you’d already be looking at the horizon, wondering if the sea looked bluer toward greenland. it’s your grace, connor, and it is endearing" her smile was small but devoted, even as orion imagined every destination connor might flutter to where she would no longer exist to her.
Connor had spent her life so alone before. Though she knew of others in the professional musician field, most of them did not want to deal with a child or a teen. So, they rarely paid attention to her anyways. Her parents had done the same in favor of her brother. Such connection with another person, one she found in Orion, was not one she had expected, but she cherished it nonetheless. When Orion tucked into her shoulder, Connor responded by wrapping her arms around the other woman, gently cradling her.
"Aren't you the one who finds the beauty in the scars and the rot? The darkness you draw?" Connor asked. She turned her head towards her friend while trying hard not to knock her off her shoulder. "Do you really feel as if your scars are making you rot faster when you cut the blight off that caused them?" It was an honest question and she seemed to speak it as if she didn't realize how heavy those words might be. As light as the air she breathed, her words drifted into the rain around her and Orion.
Though she was no oblivious to the shift in her friend. Leaving Pinehaven would forever be the hardest thing Connor might do. The people she had met, the souls she had gotten to meet, and the community that seemed to adopt her would be hard to watch get small in a rearview mirror, but wasn't there beauty in such heartache? And who said that Connor had to get far before she decided to turn back?
"Maybe one day when I feel like travelling internationally," Connor hypothesized, but her cantor made it hard to decipher if this was merely musings or actual thoughts she was flirting with. "I'll find myself over the Canadian border instead. But there is so much to explore here even if so much of it is just corn and grass."
Odette sat down, smiling at how welcoming he was. She nodded when he mentioned that he hadn't seen her before, her way of agreeing with that statement, but she realized she was supposed to be talking, not just nodding. "Oh, yes, I usually prepare my tea at home but..." Odette glanced around the place. "I've passed this place so many times and decided today was the day to stop in. I need to get out of the house more..." Odette chuckled softly, trying not to feel embarrassed about being such a homebody.
"I'm Odette," She smiled again. "Nice to meet you Joshua." She couldn't tell if he liked being called Joshie or not, but she didn't want to be a least favorite patron, so she'd stick with his given name. "Oh, hot chocolate would be lovely, thank you." Odette so rarely indulged in sweets, but that didn't mean she didn't like them. Hot chocolate had been one of her favorites drinks since she was a child, so she certainly wouldn't decline an offer of a cup on the house.
Joshua allowed himself to step away to pour Odette her hot chocolate. While he was still learning how to do foam arm, he did his best attempt as a little bear of whip cream at the top. It was lopsided and one eye was clearly bigger than the other, but he hoped that it had some character in it.
He set down the deformed-foam-bear decorated hot chocolate in front of Odette and placed himself back next to her. He nursed his own, mostly melted, ice coffee. "I hope you make a point to stop by more often. I try to get a lot going on so there's always something for someone," Joshua noted. Sure, was it tacky to be campaigning for a new costumer so blatantly? Yes, but nothing is as tacky as karaoke night at LG Bean + Tea anyways. "You just got us at a slow time."
"The good news is that the aux is free. Got a favorite singer? I can pop them on the speaker if you want?"
Kitty plopped the bag of goodies down onto the counter for Joshua to take a look. "Take whatever you want," She said, smiling. She nodded along with his words, thinking that everything was indeed, great, but then a noise from the back startled her. Kitty jumped, her hand flying to her heart, and a gasp escaping from her lips. "What in the world is going on back there?" She asked, peering around Joshua and the counter for a better look into the kitchen. "And do you need help with it?"
Joshua was strategic when he ignored Kitty's concern. His face immediately went into the bag as he pawed around for something that might be of use for him -- or anyone that he might know. "Everything is just fine," Joshua lied through his teeth. It was rare that anything was ever going fine. But that's what happens when you insist on being a one man show. Maybe one day he would learn and pick up a partner to help him out with his business. He was resilient... Or so he hoped. "Unless you want to clean out the oven from whatever exploded in there."
a low, breathless laugh escaped the cavern of juniper’s throat; not a sound birthed from genuine offense, but rather the rich, thoroughly enchanted amusement of a veteran dramatist who had just witnessed her most tightly bound marionette abruptly sever its monofilament strings to lunge directly at the puppeteer. she didn't turn back from the hearth immediately; instead, she allowed the steam from the copper kettle to mist across her face, silently savoring the spectacular, incandescent escalation that had just detonated within the confines of her kitchen. when she finally turned, settling the swell of her hips against the lip of the heavy wooden counter with the piping hot teapot balanced precariously in one hand, her expression was a study in wicked, unbothered fascination. before she spoke her rebuttal, her voice dropped an octave into that slow, melodious drawl as she surveyed the magnificent tension radiating from night's stoic frame. "the sheer, unadulterated venom. and here i had erroneously cataloged your your spine as a column was made of nothing but self deprecating sighs and reluctant compliance."
she deposited the teapot onto the cluttered surface with an agonizingly deliberate clink against the dark timber, flatly refusing to grant night the satisfaction of perceiving that the sharp, perceptive laceration regarding her narrative detachment had grazed a microscopic, heavily guarded nerve. a detached narrator? she allowed the accusation to suspend itself in the humid air between them, a beautifully bleeding specimen of psychological warfare, before she deigned to dismantle night's defensive thesis. " to answer your rather indignant query, if my ego requires me to hover above this dreadfully mundane town like an opulent, bloated cloud just to survive its utter lack of imagination, then yes, i float," juniper countered, tilting her chin up so her curls shifted over her shoulders in a haughty wave. "the panoramic view from this particular altitude is nothing short of transcendent, i assure you. though i must gently adjust your syntax. an oracle does not possess an inflated ego, she is merely saddled with the unfortunate, exhausting burden of perpetual infallibility."
juniper executed a single, near silent advancement, her bare soles anchoring themselves against the grain of the worn floorboards as she matched night's forward inclination, adamantly refusing to concede the monopoly on gravity within the room. her eyes, dark and unblinkingly analytical, locked onto her irises, systematically tracing the subtle, subterranean heat smoldering just beneath that calculated, boreal exterior. "you accuse me of rewriting you, of forcing you into a mold of my own design because you are a real person. how deliciously naive," juniper scoffed softly, a teasing, sassy glint dancing in her eyes. "do you truly believe there is a difference between the two? real people are nothing but characters, wildflower. they are a collection of deliberate contradictions, curated armor, and tragic flaws, wandering around in search of a plot. i am not authoring your story for you, i am simply the solitary entity in this entire, culturally barren hamlet possessing the literary literacy required to read between your heavily redacted line."
she glanced down at the papers night so pointedly refused to look at, then back up to her face, her smirk returning with an almost insufferable, smug brilliance. "you demand to know why I adopt the rhetorical styling of the antagonist. perhaps it is because the antagonist is always the most honest creature in the room. they do not placate with flattery, they dissect. and you? you chose, of your own volition, to breach my threshold, to bypass my seating arrangements, and to stand within my kitchen trading intellectual barbs with the local eccentric rather than retreating to the absolute safety of an unexamined life. you covet the inherent risk of this encounter. you crave the friction of my proximity, even if it threatens to incinerate your internal equilibrium."
juniper sighed dramatically, a theatrical, mournful sound as she gestured to the teapot, which was now steeping in solitary confinement. "but refusing my tea entirely? that is a tragedy. and a terribly petty one at that. i hardly believe a soul as restless as yours even sleeps properly anyway, it merely negotiates with the dawn." leaning back against the counter, juniper crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze utterly unblinking as she watched the smoke clear from night's outburst. "no honey, no bitterness. just a stunning display of scorched earth. i must admit, wildflower...as far as third act confrontations go, your monologue was utterly magnificent. now, are you going to continue standing there looking like a beautifully tragic statue, or are we going to acknowledge that you are far too intrigued by my large ego to actually walk out that door?"
Despite her anger, Night still found it in her to laugh at Juniper's assertion. Her head hung back as she brought her hand to her mouth in a half-hearted attempt to stop the chuckles from bubbling through. Through her laughs, Night managed to query, "The only honest creature in a room? I haven't lied to you. And, yet, you avoid my question. It's only fair, Juniper. I have my bitter defense mechanism. Is this narrator persona yours?"
Once the laughter subsided, Night glanced back towards Juniper. It was a wicked thought that had graced her mind and a part of her that was buried deep beneath her frustration and anger hoped that she took more than a second to think all of this through.
"Or maybe I should play the same game you are?" Night stated instead of letting her previous question hang. Maybe it was a bit much to now spin the bullshit she was dealing with back onto Juniper. Scorched earth only described half of Night's intentions; though these intentions were completely clouded by the burning red anger that caused her face to flush.
It was definitely a little much to emulate Juniper's mannerisms, but how else was Juniper supposed to see exact what Night was experiences? Night moved through Juniper's gate, not caring if she had bumped into her at all. Now she positioned herself in front of the stove and brought her hands up. Such daintiness was not mean to be a farse, but it was clear that such posture was not natural to Night.
With a roll of her shoulders Night swiveled on the balls of her feet just as Juniper had down before. To add dramatic effect to her mimicry, Night dropped her voice in the same low cantor she had heard the other woman dictator to her in. "The narrator or oracle, depending on who you might ask, narrators the person in front of her and playing with what this person might or might not do. Instead of actually getting to know her, it is safer to concoct some image of her in the narrator's mind."
Night took a step forward. "And she pokes," she cooed with another step forward, "and she prods and plays with this person because that's really the only reason why she was invited into her house, right? Just a play thing. Not a person, but a character to manipulate."
By the time Night had finished this part of her monologue, the distance between her and Juniper had shrunk. She mirrored the tut and presented a wicked smirk on her lips. "And the only thing she can think of as to why the person she invited in might leave is that they are just not enamored by her personality," Night bemused. "So, she builds herself her little story about the person in front of her so that the reason they might walk out that door is because of her character -- her personality and something out of her control -- and not because of how she's been treating them and something she definitely chose to do."
Then she spun back around on the balls of her feet and slinked back to the counter. Night looked over her shoulders for a moment, just enough to get a glimpse of Juniper, before she turned her attention back in front of her. "Now in order to make sure the story goes the way she wants it to go, she poses a question," Night hummed as she turned back around. "One that makes it to where it is an insult of her character -- ironic that she is a character in this as well (Because isn't that what all real people are anyways?) -- if the person so happens to leave. Again, not the actions she is choosing to do."
Night let an ounce of silence fall between her and Juniper. There was still heat at the edges of her cheeks. The sting of regret already filled her chest just a little bit and Night knew how badly that would swell into a dull ache by the next morning. "Instead of pretending that you already know me, maybe ask me a question and let me tell you who I am instead of making your assumptions?"
the groan of the rusted metal door echoed through the alley like a dying gasp, a cue that dante considered his official invitation to receive her adoration. instead, he stepped out into the night air only to be greeted by the top of her head and the unmistakable glow of a smartphone screen. he paused in the doorway, arms crossed; he didn’t need a medical degree to diagnose exactly what she was doing. it was her signature move; the performative apathy, the deliberate calculation to ensure his ego didn't gain a single inch of ground. he could practically feel the stubborn aura radiating off her as she stared down at what was undoubtedly a thoroughly depressing lack of notifications.
"baby girl, please," dante purred, his tone dripping with a smooth blend of pity and absolute self assurance. he leaned his shoulder against the brick frame, looking down at her like a disappointed fashion editor at a tragic runway show. "if you're going to pretend you have a bustling social life to ignore me, at least change the brightness on your screen. you’re giving yourself wrinkles, and quite frankly, the internet has absolutely nothing to offer you that can compete with the view right here." he stepped closer, his boots clicking sharply against the pavement to explicitly claim the space in front of her, whether she looked up or not.
"and if i were flirting with you?..." he let out a rich, theatrical laugh, tossing his head back. "you wouldn’t be blushing. you’d be hyperventilating and reaching for your credit card to buy me something shiny. calling you a gremlin is simply an accurate biological assessment." he reached out, gently but firmly tapping the top edge of her phone to tilt it downward, forcing his way into her line of sight with a devastatingly charming smirk.
"now, put the ghost town away. i didn’t just risk my perfectly sculpted limbs on a ladder that belonged in a museum just to watch you scroll through bed bath and beyond coupons." he paused, cleared his throat with dramatic emphasis, and did a fluid little shimmy before sweeping his hand behind him, gesturing into the dilapidated, gaping darkness of the abandoned building. "what's up mtv, welcome to my crib!"
It was far too easy to bruise Dante's ego. Perhaps that was part of the fun with their friendship. Their insults were traded evenly. Never did the other one stay on top for very long. Eventually the other would bring them back down to a more manageable temperament. Night relished in the energy shift as Dante realized that she was not going to greet him like all of his own friends did. Why inflate his ego when it was already so large? Besides, where was the fun in that?
Night rolled her eyes. She gave Dante a playful push once he replaced her phone with his face. She didn't mind the comment about possible wrinkles. Age wasn't something Night worried about. It was only egotistical and narcissistic people who thought wrinkles made anyone less desirable. "I do have other friends besides you. You know that right?" Night asked, genuinely. Maybe this was another thing he intended to tease her about: her supposed (and true) lack of other friends.
"I'm keeping up with the many people I have an active love life with." Night knew Dante was going to see this lie; she made no effort to hide it. An easy jab for him, if he so chose to take it. After all, it was only fair. She spent most of the night -- and most of their time together -- pulling his ego through the mud as he stubbornly tried to hold onto his image she was tarnishing. "Interesting enough none of them are named Dante McDreamy... Maybe you're really not that dreamy?" A little frown danced on her lips and was clearly hiding a small smile.
Night took a cautious step forward. There could be just about anything littering the ground of this place. It was best to let Dante walk in first, anyways. He seemed to think that he was immune to just about anything that might happen to him, as if whatever could kill him would simply bounce off his ego like a projectile hitting a shield. "Make sure not to touch any live wires."
it wasn't that yasmin felt like the townsfolk of pinehaven were beneath her; granted - she wouldn't lie if anyone asked her if she thought she was above small town life, but she wouldn't disparage the folks who lived there. the world needed slow-movers, slow-talkers, slow . . . blinkers. simple-living people made the world go 'round. where else would they get their meat and dairy and all of those other things so important they need not be mentioned? it was more that yasmin admired the fast-paced world of city life. she adored new york, the hustle and bustle of it all, the way the city felt so alive all twenty-four hours of every single day. pinehaven was not like that in the slightest.
❛ a librarian you say? ❜ she responded coolly. if there was someone around who could give her the town history in a much less boring fashion, yaz was all ears. anything would be better than reading about it through plaques and scribblings. someone who could entertain her with a bit of lively discussion wouldn't hurt, either. ❛ please, point me in their direction. that ' old parchment paper ' smell is starting to wear on my nerves. ❜
"Don't tell her you dislike that unless you want a tangent. It's definitely a smell one gets used to over time," Penelope conceded with a laugh. "The only thing I cannot promise is her showing you whatever old things might be at the library, but she will definitely make it more entertaining." Old parchment was a smell Penelope was far too used to. Whenever Temperance found the rarest of her collector pieces, they almost always had the classic worn smell of leather and parchment. It was pleasing to those who understood the coveted item in their presence. But there were countless people who couldn't get the smell of wet clay out of their nose and found it equally as detestable.
Penelope paused for a moment and flicked her wrist. She studied her watch and took a few seconds to count how long it was until she needed to move onto the next part of her schedule. It was clear that the person she had planned to meet up with had not shown and Penelope didn't have much time to spare. "I'll be passing by the library anyways to get to a meeting. If you so choose to accompany, that is."
the atmosphere of the house seemed to thrum with a golden weight; the kind of heavy, heart deep comfort that only settles upon a soul after several decades of anchored devotion. penelope always made temperance feel less a grounded being and more a spirit buoyed by a fathomless well of nectar, brewed specifically to her vintage. and with penelope in her orbit, the world was a malleable thing; no low was too steep to be salvaged, and every high was merely a platform from which to soar into some new, undiscovered stratosphere of affection.
she meandered away from the fresh stack of literary acquisitions, her footsteps light as she drifted toward the corridor leading to the kitchen. but her intuition; that keen, sharp eyed sensitivity to things being out of their proper alignment, stalled her progress at the threshold. there, perched with a familiar, reckless precarity atop a leaning tower of french literature, sat penelope’s spectacles.
a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. she rescued the frames from their literary cliffside and detoured toward her wife, who was currently embroiled in a tactile expedition through the depths of her handbag. with a grace that bordered on the ethereal, temperance reached out and slid the glasses onto the bridge of penelope’s nose, her touch lingering with the doting precision of a woman who had memorized every contour of that face.
"don't pose the challenge, my love," she warned, her voice a melodic trill as she patted penelope’s cheek dotingly, a lingering touch before resuming her trek. "i’ve become quite impressed with these unique recipes. if you tempt me, i'll be forced to order the entire series for our shelves." she paused at the entrance to the kitchen, casting one last, amused look over her shoulder. "i think this one might require a bit of teamwork," she added, though they both knew teamwork meant penelope acting as the moon to temperance’s sun, a muse for taste testing and a target for the adoring glances temperance intended to steal between pinches of spice.
"and certainly a glass of wine for the architects. i’m feeling brave enough to risk a culinary disaster if it means finding a new favorite with you." while she waited for wife's inevitable, silver tongued response, she reached into the pocket of her trousers and produced a simple length of ribbon. with the practiced grace, she began to gather the heavy silk of her long brown hair, binding it up and away from her neck.
By the time she had pulled her face out of her bag, Penelope was greeted by the familiar visage of Temperance. Her vision sharpened as her wife slid her glasses onto her nose. It amazed Penelope, even after all of these decades of being with Temperance, that the other woman had always known where anything was. But that was her job, as a librarian, finding things that people might be looking for. To peer into her mind and see that catalog at work was the only mystery about her wife that Penelope had not uncovered.
Without skipping a beat, she followed her wife into the kitchen. A smile was fixed upon her face and hadn't moved since her wife's presence back into the home.
Penelope's brow quirked at the prospect that Temperance might order the entire set of cookbooks. It wasn't that she denied her wife anything. As long as the bills were paid on time -- and they were -- Temperance could buy whatever she liked as long as it made her happy. It was only a matter of space that concerned Penelope. Their home was already up to the brim with books. How many more cupboards would find their glassware replaced with books by the time Temperance was finally satisfied with her collection?
How amazing it was that Temperance managed to get more beautiful with age? Penelope watched her wife gather her hair and tie it back into a neat little bow and she absorbed it as if she had never seen it before. And just had she always had done, Penelope slotting herself right besides Temperance. "Are we being adventurous with a new bottle or are we stilling to one of our favorites," she asked as she reached up, open a cupboard and pulled out two glasses.
As expected, Penelope's lips formed into a sly smirk a she removed herself from Temperance orbit for a second as she bent down to study the wine they had. "I doubt it will top my favorite thing to eat."
orion knew from her tales that connor’s feet were never entirely planted in the earth. and sometimes she could swear she felt the wanderlust vibrating through connor's frame like a low frequency. it was a bleak philosophy, but one orion understood all too well; safety was a phantom, a trick of the light before the dark swallowed you whole. the thought that pinehaven, that this, was just another temporary pit stop for connor sent a cold ripple through her chest, but she simply dug her fingers a little deeper into the fabric of her shirt, anchoring herself to the present before it could vanish.
a breath was let out, half sigh half hum, not pressing for an explanation. she knew the language of contradictions intimately; she lived in them. to her roomate, perhaps feeling the entirety of the wound was a testament to being alive. but to her, it just felt like bleeding out. orion’s gaze dropped back to their joined hands, her thumb tracing the smooth skin over connor's knuckles. "because some of us are terrified of the reclamation," she murmured, her voice a low velvet that seemed to blend with the rising wind. "it’s easy to let nature take what is hers when you don’t mind being scattered to the wind. but I..." she paused, the confession tasting heavy and bitter. "i'm greedy. i want to keep the things i love from rotting. if everything spoils, then what is the point of holding on so tightly?"
she leaned her head back against connor’s shoulder, cold drops continuing to splatter against her bare ankles. "a car boat to iceland is a nicer thing to visualize than the alternative. tell me about an impossible destination."
Connor would admit that it was hard for her to understand the need to hold onto things. Maybe it was because she knew what it was like to bet eh very object that was held onto? But it did feel a little silly to empathize with anything that was inhuman. It opens the paradoxical question of does the wind move a leaf where it wants to go or does the wind just help the leaf where it wants to go? But now was not the time to ask someone such a thought. Not that Connor didn't expect Orion to understand or entertain such ideas, but this conversation didn't need to be that kind of philosophical when Orion looked so saddened.
But maybe there was one paradox she was willing to engage with Orion on. While nothing lasts forever, is everything truly gone? "A tree still has its scar after a lightning strike, does it not?" Connor asked. She gave her friend's hand squeeze before pulled her closer. When Connor rolled into Pinehaven and applied to be Orion's roommate, she hadn't expected to find someone who matched her brightness with the right amount of darkness. And it was impossible for her to lie and say such a friendship had not changed her. Like lighting leaving its mark on a tree long after its flash.
"What's to say I'd still want to be there by the time the car boat arrives in Iceland?" A true counter to Orion's suggestion. Though, Connor should try to get out of the United States before her time floating on earth was over. But there was still so many places to drive just within the borders of the country she occupied. Maybe if she had a taste for bitter wilderness, Canada into Alaska would be best. But for now, she was content here in Pinehaven until the wind tells her otherwise.
saffron felt that familiar internal itch to crack a joke, to find some obscure reference to a forgotten 1970s cult film just to break the tension of being so thoroughly seen. when connor looked at you, it wasn't just a glance; it was a deep dive, a frame by frame analysis of every flicker and flinch. it was elevating. it was also, if they were being honest, top five territory, the only thing that made them feel like they weren't just drifting through the background noise of the world. as connor’s fingers slid from the warmth of their cheek to delicately hook a stray loc behind their ear, saffron felt the cool air hit the spot where her hand had been, a sudden absence that felt louder than a chord change.
"the moments where i'm not?" saffron repeated, the words rolling out slowly and their voice dropping an octave, stripped of their usual performative, sardonic punch. they paused, weighing the honesty of the answer against the safety of a witty exit and looked at her. really looked at her, beyond the whimsical surface and the shared eccentricities. "well," they started, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corner of their mouth, here goes. "the thing about being good is that it’s a lazy descriptor. it’s a filler track. most of the time, when you’re not around, i’m just…static. you know that dead air between stations, that low frequency hum of a tube amp that hasn’t been fed a signal yet. it’s not a tragedy, it’s just a lack of content."
they leaned a fraction closer, their gaze steady even as their heart did a nervous little skip track. "but you? you’re a very specific, very loud frequency. and if i’m ever not good around you, it’s probably because you’ve hit a pitch I haven't figured out how to tune yet. which, for the record, isn't a bad thing. it's a lot more interesting than being chill." saffron let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding, their eyes tracking the movement of connor’s hand. "and if i’m being completely real with you, the only time i’m ever rattled is when I think i’ve finally played a track so dissonant or so bizarre that you’ll decide to change the station." the metaphors and the musical terminology they spoke every day felt like the only bridge sturdy enough to carry the weight of the truth. as the words hung in the air, saffron could only wait, hoping connor was picking up exactly what they were putting down.
There wasn't a moment Connor wasted not keeping her eyes on Saffron. There was an importance in her friend's voice when they spoke in riddles instead of their usual jokes and references. And Connor treated that with the appropriate amount of reverence. Her focus, which often was flighty and deep in thought, was present for Saffron because that was what her friend needed. Connor felt no reason not to comply. It was a rarity that someone treated her seriously, and Saffron was one of those few. It was easy for her to give such the same in return.
And all of it was so easy. To just observe Saffron process Connor's insistence on her question, on what happens when Connor is no longer there. She had seen look in Saffron's eyes; the shift in their body language; the usual sarcastic remark. There was more to the story than everything just being fine. That was a statistical improbability. Everyone had times where they were not fine and that was just another universal truth to life that Connor had accepted.
"Tracks don't last forever, Saffron," Connor replied. "Why be bothered by something that is temporary?" To her, it was all that simple. Things come and go. That was the nature of things. Nothing lasts forever, which was why Connor felt the desire to experience all that she could. It was not for her to determine how many days she had to experience everything, but she wanted to make the most of her time.
The gentle smile never left her lips. Connor place her hand on top of Saffron's. Even if Saffron didn't look her way, Connor kept her eyes on her friend and leaned in just a little bit. Another idea sprang forth from behind her eyes. "Besides," Connor concluded. "Is it not up to me to take the time to understand what the track or song or melody might be saying?"
✿ fifi »→ the boys: well damn. i was off by a day. i had it on the calendar which was last years. why the hell do people use paper calendars anyway???????? ✿ fifi »→ the boys: the very fancy edible arrangement is in route but won't make landfall until tomorrow. ✿ fifi »→ the boys: i'm going to get written out for the family will, aren't i? ✿ fifi »→ the boys: tone tones, it must be annoying to be the favorite. ✿ fifi »→ the boys: joshie, we need to velcro your phone to your chest because this is like the third one.
@monochromctic @cryforlxve
angel ✉︎ little steeles: angel is typing angel ✉︎ little steeles: you good lil bro? angel ✉︎ little steeles: you do know it's aight to finish one task before starting another? not sure batter and electronics mix well, you feel me? angel ✉︎ little steeles: and don't worry about the flowers angel ✉︎ little steeles: angel is typing angel ✉︎ little steeles: don't you got a calendar built into your phone fi? 😂 angel ✉︎ little steeles: you def getting a little side eye the next time we go down to visit, she be living for the ammo angel ✉︎ little steeles: i don't find it annoying at all, actually. it's very fulfilling ✌🏾
@cryforlxve joshua to tweedle dee & tweedle dum: jksdui😊wnjkj ..............99 9 huy👶gj jkiuuiohbjb ...........d.......👶 joshua to tweedle dee & tweedle dum: *voice memo* [how the hell are you using a calendar from last year? don't you move each month? did you just start this one over again. how did you even do th- *scream and scamble noises*] joshua to tweedle dee & tweedle dum: *voice memo* [everything's fine. just a little shock from the phone.]
