Slow Dancing In The Dark

Pandora Phan I am a woman searching for her savagery, even if it's doomed.

[portiaphan]

matthiaswarren‌:

WHEN: March 23rd WHERE: Matthias’s office WHO: Closed @portiaphan

Storms are brewing in Verona.

Matthias thought the clouds would drift off into the distance, or at least remain their usual light overcast once Rafaella had been reunited with the Capulets and the thunderstorm he had orchestrated settled. He thought the pavement would dry with a few days, including those spots where the water stubbornly hung on, in cracks and beneath the shade of dripping trees. He thought the soil would be saturated for a while, that Verona would find satisfaction in the balance it brought and settle into a quiet springtime dawn, at least for a moment.

There was no room for hope in Verona, however. While it was not quite the next day, it was a few days later when Matthias awoke to nearby sirens and the smell of smoke in the air. While Pandora didn’t live too close to him, it was close enough within this city for him to hear the wailing bouncing from brick wall to brick wall, close enough for him to see the smoke rolling against the night sky from his bedroom window. He didn’t think too much of it, at the time, assuming it was smaller than it truly was or a building not housing someone he knew. He didn’t realize the smoke brought back the storm clouds he thought were finished raining.

It wasn’t until this morning, sat at his desk with his coffee and his laptop open to some news site to skim before class, that he realized the images of the building looked familiar. He remembers that door he walked through, the stairs he climbed, and the face of the person he greeted within those walls. He studies the before and after photos. Smoke pours out a specific window on the top floor. Realization hits him with almost impeccable timing as the owner of that apartment makes her presence known in the doorway. “What the hell happened?”

There isn’t much Pandora can do once she realizes everything she owns has burned and become ash. She’s angry, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from pretending she’s fine. If she can get through the next 24 hours without saying anything to anyone and snapping, she can do anything, right? Besides, she has better things to spend her time doing. If there’s one thing she has now that she didn’t before, it’s that she has a good reason to go after Priam. 

Checkmate. 

And instead of wallowing in her own pity, she goes to the one person that would listen to her complain. Matthias Warren, one of the few people she can confide in when thoughts of violence or revenge twist around her mind until she becomes obsessed with the idea. She’s grateful to have someone to spill her plans to and not feel guilty indulging in them. He was the one she trusted when her hands were bloody. 

Pandora leans against the doorway, smile plastered on face. “What do the articles say?” She waves a hand at the laptop in front of him. Any number of articles could be across his screen. but she’s sure of what he’s reading; there were too many dodged calls from reporters on her phone for it not to be. “Did they mention how annoyed I looked while standing outside the building?” 

[portiaphan]

henryzhxng‌:

Henry blinked at the clock. No, he had not overslept, Pandora was simply at his door at 7 in the bloody morning. Phone resting on his cheek as the other side of his face pressed into his pillow, he mumbled something that must have resembled let her in, because there was a cheery reply before the line clicked and Henry realized he actually had to be presentable.

Well, vaguely presentable. Pandora better not expect him in his latest from the Valentino Street Wear collection at 7 in the morning, or she’d be sorely disappointed. Instead, he slid into grey lounge pants and the house slippers by his bed just in time to hear the elevator chime. Running to the bedroom door, he slapped his hand on the buzzer there in order to unlock the elevator and allow it to open, yawning as he shuffled into the living room.

There she was, bright as ever, put together and flawless. What, did she not spend the entire evening previous drinking her way through a collection of rum she’d found stashed under the desk in her study? No, that was him. Henry held up a single finger in her direction before heading to the kitchen. ❝ Espresso, ❞ he mumbled, starting the delicate process of brewing himself a shot. Pandora could either accompany him and talk at him in the kitchen, or she could snoop through his house, he didn’t really care. The secrets were locked in the safe within the weapons safe, which not even Grace could access. Anything else? Fair game for someone who might one day be family to him, and who already was in so many ways.

Everything is the same as the last time Pandora stepped foot into the apartment. Though she couldn’t remember when that was, she didn’t let herself dwell on it; if she did, it would only allow the walls she’s set up to crumble even more than they already have. It’s something that’s been happening more often than not lately and it’s dangerous. She plans to stop it before it can even start now.

“Don’t forget to make me one.” She trailed after him into the kitchen, swallowing a comment about how they can go another day if she’s crashing whatever . Instead, she concentrates on marble beneath her fingertips, painted nails tracing over the patterns created. It gives her a moment to think of something to say. “Late night? It seems like you’re struggling more than I am.” She can already tell that their day will be delayed, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be silent and let Henry get away without so much as a a joke about his appearance. Even if she tried, she knew he would see through the act. It wasn’t worth wasting either of their times. 

It’s during moments like these that she wonders how this exact moment would be different had their history been different. Would the lack of that weight be enough for them to be friends or would they simply be acquaintances? “Should I pick out your outfit while I’m waiting?” 

[musingmeme-blog]

ship meme  !

send me a ship and i’ll tell you who

001. .   .   .   kills the spider

002. .   .   .   proposed

003.  .   .   .   kissed the other first

004.  .   .   .   initiates things 

005.  .   .   .   would leave the other

006.  .   .   .   is more jealous

007.  .   .   .   is lazier

008.  .   .   .   sends weird texts at 3 AM

009.   .   .   .  is more experienced

010.   .   .   .  said i love you first

[portiaphan]

czarnichego​:

Feeling bereft, she seeks out Alexander, as she so often does. The walk toward the door of his villa is as familiar to her as the walk to her own home, at this point, and when she knocks, she expects to see the familiar Rallis features at the door, whether in the form of Sasha himself or in Ilya, who may still be lingering, she can’t be sure.

Instead, she gets neither; standing in front of her is a familiar face, though one that she hasn’t interacted with overly often. Having just shut the door behind her, Brielle’s eyes widened. If she was interrupting something… Well, she was prepared to tease Alexander mercilessly, but at least Pandora didn’t seem to feel awkward about it.

❝ Ilya, you are looking less tall, ❞ Brielle says, feeling out whether or not Pandora is the type she can joke and tease with, or if she expects something more respectful. She is, after all, a ranking member of the Montagues in a way Brielle is not, and not everyone is so kind as Alexander. She sits at the kitchen island, yawning. ❝ Si, please. ❞ Resting her arms on the counter, she puts her head down atop them, chin digging into her arm. She tries to think of something to say, bouncing her foot beneath the counter. ❝ Do you… uh. Come here a lot ? ❞ Brielle buries her head in her arms. Great start.      

Pandora knows what this might look like to Brielle, what it might look like to anyone who walked into the villa and didn’t know about their friendship. It wasn’t something she had considered when accepting Alex’s offer. But, it didn’t take long for her desire to sleep in an actual bed to win out over her pride. 

The joke is enough to make the corners of Pandora’s mouth turn. “Alex is letting me stay since mine is nothing but ash now.” She busies herself with coffee maker. The last thing she needs is pity from someone else within the Montague ranks; far too many of them gave her “I’m staying in the guest room.” It’s more than she wants to say, but it’s enough to pacify the other until she can slither back to her room and hide away for a few hours. 

She isn’t sure if Brielle is one for small talk but either way, Pandora isn’t one to waste time with it. Instead, she turns her attentions towards the cabinets, looking for the mugs - even after time spent there, she still has no clue which one they’re stored in - and placing them on the counter without so much as looking over her shoulder. “How do you take it?” 

[portiaphan]

paoladamasco‌:

I didn’t want — it’s all the confirmation Paola needs to balance herself, see that Pandora is more unwilling enforcer than vengeful punisher. There is kindness even in broken ribs, though Paola’s stomach still churns at the thought of Tomas suffering. Better injured than dead, she tells herself. She isn’t so naive to believe that there is a way to dwell among the Montagues without violence; but she’s foolish enough to have assumed she could have been spared the heartache, too.

Paola studies Pandora’s eyes carefully. This is more sincere than she usually sees Pandora, a willing confession of all that she feels and even regret. The truth lies between every word: Pandora chose Tomas in whatever way she could. Tomas won’t understand — but Paola does, and she supposes that’s enough.

“Will she be warned?” Paola asks dryly, wondering if the Montagues truly care for a noble and upstanding man like Tomas over their own.

Her eyes are soft as she tells Pandora, “I understand, Pandora. He will recover from a broken rib, but if he died—“ Her voice breaks, betraying all that she carries for Tomas. The love of a child, the longing of a girl growing up without her best friend, the grief of a woman who knows their friendship will never be the same as it was. “One day, I hope he’ll understand too. Tomas is too great of a friend to lose.”

Pandora can see the moment Paola trusts her words and relief floods her system. For a moment she lets herself relax in the chair, sinking into it for the first time all day. The problem with taking on initiates is their connections to others in the city and coming to terms with their jobs when it came to those friends. It’s something that Pandora knew she’d have to deal with eventually, but she never thought it would come in the form of Tomas. 

“I’ll warn her.” It comes out harsher than she wants, her annoyance at Paola’s lack of trust slipping through the cracks for a moment. But even she can understand where it stems from. Celeste is one of them, not an outsider, and so she’s treated differently. For Paola’s sake, Pandora will try.

Pandora shakes her head. “I don’t believe he will, but I’m okay with that. He’s alive and that’s what matters.” She lets her mask slip back into place, the impassive look she normally wears taking over whatever emotion was there before. For whatever reason, she finds it hard to keep her emotions in check with Paola. Each day she catches herself revealing a little bit more than the day before and it worries her. 

A sigh leaves her lips at Paola’s optimism. Pandora knows better than to wish for something that’ll never happen. “Do you understand the position we’re put in at times? The things we must do even if we don’t want to?” 

[portiaphan]

ofrallis‌:

the bones you’re made of // @portiaphan march 17th, streets of verona, early evening

Memories lined the streets that stretched out before them, shining beneath their feet in fleeting pulses; as though each one of them was a living, breathing creature carried in the womb of an age-old cobblestone, eagerly roused by the familiar touch of their steps. Indeed, they had mapped out the secluded streets and quiet corners of Verona until they were certain that no inch of the city was bare of their imprint, until they were certain that it was theirs; taken over time and time again by their reckless dashes and aimless runs.

As they walked the same winding paths, their steps were slower now; patient and purposeful. It highlighted just how much they have both changed over the years, and how far they have detached themselves from the young, free-spirited wanderers that they had once been. However, as much as they had pushed against the ties that bound them to those versions of themselves, harshly and savagely enough to leave them raw and taut and spread so incredibly thin – the chains had never been severed. And it was clear in how starkly this moment was echoing all the others that they had once shared; from the measured, calculative undertone to Pandora’s silence, to Alexander’s breezy nonchalance as he walked beside her and indulged in a smoke.

It seemed like there was something weighing on Pandora’s mind, and although Alexander was unwilling to dismiss the instinct, he was inclined to consider other possibilities. After all, he couldn’t count the times that one of them had sought the other out purely for the comfort of their company, and that could easily be the case in this instant. But on and on they walked, and still Pandora remained withdrawn into the cavernous corridors of her mind. Either she was genuinely troubled by her thoughts, or she was mischievously relying on Alexander’s ingrained sense of impatience. Regardless, he was rather quick to oblige her. “So… what’s on your mind, Pan?”

Aimlessly walking the streets with Alexander was easy. It almost felt as natural as breathing, something that she had done for so long that it felt odd not doing it at times. These moments allowed her to slip into a version of herself that was relaxed, someone that wasn’t on edge or carefully considering each of her words so they wouldn’t come back to hurt her. It reminds her of times when things were easier and neither had to worry about the glaring targets on their backs. It made a flicker of a smile grace her face for the briefest of moments. 

His question came as no surprise to her; the only thing that did surprise her was how long he let her get away without saying anything. After a few moments of opening and closing her mouth, she finally managed her thoughts into a sentence. “I think I’m turning soft,” a brow quirking in his direction as she spoke. It was useless lying to Alexander; he would get to the truth that was hidden within the darkest corners of her mind eventually. She had granted him the keys to her mind years ago and he learned how to map the corridors to get from A to B. “I”m assuming you’ve heard about Tomas by now. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be to hurt a friend.” She emphasizes the word friend as if saying she had one was unbelievable. And maybe it was for most people, but she knew who she held close to her heart even if others didn’t. 

Pandora brings her own cigarette to her mouth in an attempt to buy herself some time. “What do you think?” The way she asks is almost a dare, challenging him to tell his opinion. Was it childish of her? Absolutely, but she had revealed her thoughts already and didn’t need to let anymore fall from her lips before hearing his own. She would eventually tell Alexander all of them, as she always did, and that took time. Pouring these truths took more effort from her than most, used to swallowing any thoughts in order to keep the cool exterior that she’d become known for. 

[portiaphan]

paoladamasco‌:

Pandora asks how she’s feeling, and Paola is tempted to respond with a question of her own: how am I supposed to answer that? She feels like a living wound, raw all over; a target with eyes watching her in the dark, waiting for just the right moment to tear her apart. It aches where Lucrezia and Ivan touched her, though sometimes Paola can’t tell if it’s physical or if it’s just the ghost of a memory. Her hair is chopped short, crooked and jagged; for a woman who learned to use her beauty to win the trust of those in Rome, it feels as if she’s lost the protective veil she wore in every moment.

She wants to tell Pandora all of it, but the words don’t come. She can’t feign the indifference that her sponsor has mastered, and she can’t pretend that she isn’t badly shaken. She wants to tell Pandora all that is warring inside her; mostly, she wants to ask Pandora why this happened to her. What threat does she pose to the Capulets? What do they have to gain from hurting an initiate, still unsure of how to pose as a Montague at all?

When Paola opens her mouth, she means to say: I’ve been better. Instead, the words that fall out are, “They should have just killed me.” It would have been a relief to die. She would be free of Gabriele’s last words, played so often in her head that Paola isn’t sure if it’s a memory of it’s something she dreamt. She would find a home in the afterlife, whatever it looks like. She can even imagine the strategy behind it: trim the Montagues’ power by uprooting its recruits, and stunt their growth by plucking the initiates, one by one.

Paola shuts her eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “Did you see what they did? They put… his name on me. They…” She swallows the tears down and continues to fight for her composure. “I’m never going to be free of him. What’s the point of living when it’s not my life anymore, but his?”

She’s never told Pandora about Gabriele. Afraid it would make her seem weak or lovesick, Paola has kept her secrets tightly to her chest. Already, too many people know; already, too many people have used it against her. She is a puppet on a string, and all of Verona has been playing with her. It’s easier as a child, when you know only how to be yourself, whatever that looks like. But she’s seen lives hurt and stolen; she’s seen familiar faces beaten on the streets for being caught with the wrong watch in their hands.

She wanted to be better. She wanted to protect herself by killing the girl she was — but now, Paola wants nothing more than to see that girl again. She was stronger, willing to do whatever it takes to come out alive. Where is she? Paola meets Pandora’s eyes, not bothering to hide her the anguish that seeps out of her. “I don’t want to feel anything at all.”

"Paola,” Pandora’s voice is softer than she expects it to be. It reminds her of the times Matteo tried to calm her down as a child. Now would be the appropriate time for a joke in an attempt to pull a smile onto her face, but Pandora has never been the person others turn to when they needed some cheering up. 

In fact, she was quite the opposite for most people. 

Instead, she reaches out and grabs Paola’s hands to bring them to her chest. “You’re more than whatever they made you think. Your life is yours regardless of what they said.” The words feel almost unnatural as they form in her mouth. After years of telling herself the same thing, hearing them spoken to someone else feels like sharing a secret. But while Pandora’s strings have been handed over to another puppet master who has given her slack, Paola’s are being tangled together to cause more pain than ever before. 

Her mind is full of questions as she listens to Paola, swirling around her mind faster than she can keep up with. She wants to know who Gabriele is, wants to know why the name is such a burden on the woman in front of her. How did they find her at the exact moment she was vulnerable. The obvious question weighs heavy on her tongue - who did this to you - but she swallows the urge to say it. She swallows any of the questions she thinks of asking because, at the very least, Paola deserves privacy for now. 

She closes eyes for a moment, remembering what the doctors told her in the hospital. It was as if they knew she was unqualified to take care of another person, nonetheless, one as fragile as Paola is. Pandora wasn’t the type of person to sit there and coddle her, no. She was the type to learn why this happened and stoke the spark within her to get revenge. It would just take some time before that came to be. 

There’s another opportunity for her to spew some nonsense about how pain creates a better person, how this is what turns a person into a Montague. But, she spares that bullshit for one of their softer companions. “I can give you anything but that, Paola.” Pandora’s sure she sounds pathetic, like some sort of robot created to give a specific answer depending on what’s said. “I’ll make sure that your life is yours. But, I can’t take the pain away - not yet at least.” 

[portiaphan]

WHERE: Alex’s Villa WHEN: March 29th, 2019 TIME: Whenever baby graces Pandora with her presence  WHO: @czarnichego

Sleeping had become easier as she settled into the guest room. It was still hard to grasp at for more than a few hours at a time, but something was better than nothing. Thankfully, she was able to down enough coffee to sustain her through the day so she could at least work - and better yet was the fact that Alex had a decent selection of coffee. Slipping through the villa and into the kitchen had become a new morning ritual that made her feel like something was back to normal even if most things certainly weren’t. So, she slipped on a pair of slippers to get started. 

Seeing someone else in the space that wasn’t one of the Rallis brothers made her stop. Pandora didn’t know much about Brielle and she assumed the feeling was mutual. “Oh.” She made a vague gesture towards the kitchen. “I’m about to make coffee. Do you want some?” Even if she was reluctant to share, it was the polite thing to do - and she wasn’t about to be rude to someone when she didn’t even live here.

[portiaphan]

WHERE: Pandora’s Apartment WHEN: April 22nd, 2019 TIME: Whenever Marcelo climbed a tree and broke into the apartment jk or am I? WHO: @ofrosso

“Do you know who did this to her?” 

Perhaps it was a stupid question to ask Marcelo, but nonetheless, one she had to ask. They came by to check on Paola, but Pandora pushed them into the kitchen to speak about the woman without her overhearing. She pointed at a corner for them to stand in while she set up the coffee maker in order to do something, anything, with her hands. Marcelo was one of the few people she decided to allow into the shared apartment for one simple reason and that was her trust in them.

“If not, do you have an idea of who did it?” There was an edge to her voice to let them know what emotions she was feeling regardless of the expression on her face. She had learned how to keep herself looking neutral, but they were well aware of her tells by now. The pair of them saw their anger reflected in the other, causing matching cracks in their respective mirrors. If there was anyone who understood the fire simmering beneath her skin, it was them. 

[portiaphan]

A moodboard for  Pandora Phan

I bend until I break so I know the limits of human preservation in the dark should I outlive the sun - in the dark should I outlive the sun. 

[portiaphan]

paoladamasco‌:

APRIL 19, 7 AM AT PANDORA’S PLACE. closed for @portiaphan​

She rises with the sun, content with the blanket of perfect silence over the world. It’s a peace she welcomes after several days in the hospital, the chatter of nurses in the hall and the screaming sterility of the hospital walls a distant, jarring memory. Pandora’s home is not home, but she’s not alone; that, by itself, is more than Paola can think to ask for. She wonders who she might have called, if left on her own; a few names come to mind, but they all carry a weight of burden. Tomas, who she cannot bear to face knowing all that she knows; Isabella, who has thrown her name to wolves and scorned their friendship at all; Roman, who she is still embarrassed to see after a mistake fueled by emotions, and her desperation to be rid of them.

But Pandora is steady. A straight line in a chaotic world, an anchor in the midst of a storm. She has made mistakes, but she is not alone in this; Paola has made many of her own, too.

The doctors told her she couldn’t walk, and Paola does her best to resist the temptation to try. But she’s always been able to walk and run and skip, feet slapping the cobbled roads as she zigzagged through a sea of tourists and nimbly plucked their watches with every other step. It seems almost offensive to think she is trapped to a bed, trapped in her thoughts and having to relive every moment.

She doesn’t mean to cry out when she moves to sit up, but she does. Loudly enough for Pandora to come as if summoned — though Paola has to admit, she essentially has summoned for Pandora with such a weak and pathetic sound. Paola tries to smile weakly at Pandora, but even that is too much effort; it falls flat and appears as a grimace instead.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” The two haven’t spoken much, with being admitted to the hospital and fighting through the pain. It’s the first time in days that Paola has felt well enough to carry a conversation; a part of her is terrified to have it at all. The question lies just around the corner, a threat waiting to reveal itself. “Have I thanked you yet?” She smiles softly. “If I haven’t — thank you.”

The view from Pandora’s new apartment is different now that all she can see is a blood-covered street even if it’s been cleaned by the city. Her eyes scan the length of the street from corner to corner, curious how quickly one could drive away from the front door and around the corner. She wonders if she was quick enough or if the apartment wasn’t so high up she could’ve caught the car model or anything worthwhile that would give her information. 

But now, she’s glad that Paola is miles up from the sidewalk and the bed isn’t close to the windows in the guest room. 

Her head snaps toward the cry, the worst scenario flooding her mind before the rest of her body moves. The mug in her hand is forgotten on the nightstand as she makes her way down the hall. Only after a quick glance at her, do her shoulders loosen a fraction of an inch and release the tension that built up in the few moments she took to get there. “I was already awake.” Not that she slept much these days. It escaped her most nights and on others, her dreams would be haunted by terrors that woke her before long. She settles in the seat next to the bed in an effort to give the other breathing room; the doctor made sure Pandora knew not to crowd Paola at all times. It was a strange thing to feel like she needed to keep her eyes on her at all times, and one she couldn’t remember feeling before. 

“You don’t have to thank me. Honestly, I’m glad you’re okay.” She wants to say alive but decides that’s too morbid. The memory of Paola in her arms has been burned into her mind since that night. Seeing her so small and broken snapped something inside of her chest, perhaps it was her heart or the last fleeting thought that Paola was just another initiate she was supposed to guide. Now, they were bonded together and she was another addition to the hearts Pandora would protect. “How are feeling?” Pandora knows better than to ask if she’s okay because she’s not, that much is sure. The cry that she heard is proof of that and she’d rather not waste either of their times. 

Whatever the other woman doesn’t remember isn’t something Pandora will burden her with - not yet at least. She spent days at her side, interrogating nurses and doctors about her condition and when she was allowed to leave. Every injury that they informed her of lead to one thing. Torture. A sick twisted game they played with Paola as if she was a mouse meant for nothing but that. Anger settled in the pit of her belly as she listened to the machines and planned how to settle the score. 

[portiaphan]

WHERE: Castora’s Apartment WHEN: March 27th, 2019 TIME: Idk past midnight when it’s still dark but not close to sunrise what is time WHO: @ofcastora

The image of Valentina strung up and bleeding makes Pandora’s hands shake as she storms from the car to the apartment building. She knows exactly how many steps it takes to get from the street to the building and through the building to the apartment in question. On a good day, she’d wave to the doorperson and take the elevator. And on a bad day, the scowl on her face is enough to warn them to stay away. But now she’s sprinting through the building, covered in someone else's blood and taking the stairs two at a time. By the time she takes a moment to breathe, she’s sweating through her shirt. 

As always, her first thought is always what if was Castora? But this time, it was how dare they do that to Valentina. How dare they treat her like a puppet they were allowed to break at the joints without so much as worrying about what would happen. 

How dare they. 

Pandora needs Castora like the Capulets damned priest needs God, consistently and unwaveringly. She’s the lighthouse shining through the storm, calling Pandora to safety and warmth. She’s the tether that keeps Pandora from falling too far, plunging herself into the darkness below. Without Castora to pull her back, she would have lost herself years ago. But the person she’s attached herself to is enough to keep her soul intact for her sake alone. 

Her knuckles brush against the door, “Cas, it’s me,” Her anger causes her voice to waver, something that she would attempt to hide had it not been for the person beyond the door. “Please.”

[portiaphan]

WHERE: Henry’s fancy penthouse WHEN: March 25th, 2019 TIME: Morning time idk when but wake up henry  WHO: @henryzhxng

Pandora hated Henry’s building. She also preferred the classic villas in the city over high rise apartments purely for aesthetic reasons. But, she couldn’t blame him for wanting to live in a newer, fancier building. All of the apartments were beautiful - and were less likely to end up in flames because they were guarded. 

But more than anything, she hated the doorperson who refused to remember her face after countless visits over the years. It was as if they tried to piss her off before seeing him; she wondered if he managed to piss them off years ago and they took it out on any guests that came to visit. “I’m visiting Henry. Can you call up to him?” She places the coffees in her hand on the desk between them and arches a brow. “Tell him Pandora’s here.”

Visiting apartments while her own was still cooling from the fire was the last thing she wanted to do, but it had to be done. As much as she knew Alex wouldn’t mind her staying in a guest room, she didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity. Instead, she would take advantage of Henry and whatever available apartments he had access to. 

[portiaphan]

A moodboard for Paola Damasco and Pandora Phan

The war ain’t over, little toy soldier, this is the calm before the storm. You wanna raise hell with your dead friends and burn the candle at both ends. @paoladamasco

[portiaphan]

paoladamasco‌:

It takes a moment to register. Tomas — her Tomas, who resembles more shooting star than human — is hurt. Beaten by soldiers, with broken bones for it. She can’t imagine a Tomas who does not dance. The two of them used to run together, often holding hands so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd. They’ve long outgrown their wild childhoods, but does that mean Tomas has to suffer in his adulthood?

He has already suffered enough. Paola frowns at Pandora, searching her eyes for something. Something human, something wrought with emotion. “Why?” she asks, her voice steady and still as if there is something horrible just behind her. “Because of Juliana?”

Of course it’s because of Juliana. Even she’s seen how displeased the Montagues have been with Tomas — but she never expected this. He is, after all, on the outskirts. “Why punish him when he has no part in this?” Slowly, a tremor reveals itself with each word, Paola’s heart beating frantically in her chest. Tomas, Tomas, it’s unfair, unfair, unfair. She looks at Pandora with a plea in her eyes. “I’m trying to understand, Pandora, but if not choosing a side is worthy of broken ribs, then why not call an ambush on every citizen in Verona? If anyone is to blame, it’s Celeste.” For choosing someone who was never meant to touch this darkness. For keeping him chained to Verona’s demons, where he must choose between his love and his soul.

featuring @tomassabello

Pandora watches as the realization dawns over Paola. She watches as the words hit her heart and work their way to her mind, leaving a trail of pain. She doesn’t bother answering the question, Paola already has her answer by the time she asks it. As with all things, la principessa is the reason behind this tragedy. Pandora wishes she didn’t place the blame for what she’s done on the other woman, but it’s too late for that now. 

“I didn’t want-” She cuts herself off before her emotions can slip through. But, she’s willing to give Paola some part of the truth. “I took the assignment because I was afraid one of the others would kill him.” She could only imagine if Genevieve had given the assignment to Marcelo; the thought alone makes her press her lips even tighter together. At least now, she knows that Tomas will heal one day even if it’s from a distance. 

Her emotions from that night are reflected in front of her like some work of twisted carnival mirror. But now she keeps a cool face, trying to school any emotions behind her eyes from swimming to the surface. Whether Paola thinks she’s an emotionless monster is something she’ll deal with later. “I’m sure Celeste will be warned.” She doubts it. Unlike Tomas, she’s one of them and that ensures enough safety for now. She runs a hand through her hair, a nervous habit that she picked up in the last few months. “He was my friend, Paola. I lost his friendship in order to protect him.” 

[portiaphan]

DV Characters as Things Hannibal Buress Has Said

Alex: "I'm a gangsta, and gangstas don't ask questions." Yes they do ask questions! I thought that was a main point of being a gangster. "Hey, mothafucka, where's my money?" That's a question. "Do you want to die tonight?" That's a question too. "What? What?" That's two questions.

Alva: Gibberish rap is - I freestyle all the time, just hangin' out with friends. And sometimes when I'm freestyling, I'll lose my flow, you know, but I'll still wanna - I don't wanna just stop rapping because I lose my flow. So I'll just put in nonsense words till I can bring in regular words again.

Brielle: I couldn't imagine only being an actor or a writer. Because what the hell do I do when I'm not working? Mope?

Battista: I’m a dumb guy. My point of view is limited.

Bellamy: Why are you booing me? I'm right!

Beau: SIX PACK ABS! TEN PACK ABS! TWELVE PACK! What if I want an odd number of abs? What if I want a five pack to show people I'm still humble?

Bernadette: My other airport nemesis is airport security. I don't like them at all. They seem so dedicated to keeping bottled water out of the sky.

Calina: I acknowledge that I jaywalked, I apologize not for the act of jaywalking but how my jaywalking made you feel. I'll try not to jaywalk in the future while you're watching but trust that I'll do it for the rest of my life - it's the best way to go about being a pedestrian.

Castora: There's a lot of dudes in my neighborhood that have handlebar mustaches. Which is cool if you want to have a handlebar mustache but don't try to have a conversation with me like you don't have a handlebar mustache.

Catherine: He said, "Man, we are right by the Adige River. These buildings are 200-300 years old, they have rats everywhere. Even the five-star restaurants have rats!" Somehow he made me feel like the asshole for bringing up rats! I don't know what kind of jedi mind trick that was - it confused the hell out of me because I still ended up ordering food then.

Cyrus: So we talk for a little bit. She says stuff, I say stuff, she says stuff, I say stuff. You know how a conversation works.

Celeste: I get upset easily by people. I saw this guy- he was on the phone. He had the phone between the ear and shoulder like that, but he didn't have anything in his hands. Which is really upsetting! Who the hell do you think you are? This action for people that are multitasking. Where's your other task? You're not doing anything else.

Daphne: He'd be the worst real estate agent ever. "Right here we have a 34 bedroom house. Let me show you around the property. Great features to this place, some of the rooms have extra, smaller rooms in them."

Delilah: I was in Scotland for all of August and it was the darkest time of my life. Mostly 'cause they call cookies biscuits. I don't like that at all. It was an incredible culture shock for me, tough to adjust but I tried for a few weeks. Pass me the chocolate chip BISCUITS. Let's have biscuits and milk, everybody. I love Oreo biscuits. But, in the fourth week, I couldn't handle it no more. THOSE ARE COOKIES THOSE AREN'T BISCUITS. Those are cookies. Cookies are cookies and biscuits are biscuits. If you call cookies biscuits, what do you call biscuits 'cause I'm not saying scones.

Everett: I did not move to Verona with a plan. The first time I moved to Verona, I just popped up. My sister was living here in Verona. I just popped up. She had her baby and a husband, and I just popped up. "Hey, what's up? I got $200 and dreams. Let's do this."

Genevieve: I can't just look at a status and move along. I see a status got 36 'likes' — can't accept it got 36 'likes' and move along. I got to click on it and start reading the names of the people that liked it. "Oh, yeah. Jim would 'like' some shit like that."

Grace: Yo ma, money over everything.

Halcyon: Awe man, I gotta get a team. I don't have a team, I just have friends. I call up my friend, "Hey man, I know you're my friend but I need you on my team right now."

Hazel: You have a regular-sized tub and a miniature tub, the sink.

Henry: You never know what could happen when you go into a store - somebody might pull a Tonya Harding on you and break your knee cap. And now you got your knees all fucked up just ‘cause you wanted to get that vinyl.

Hugo: It sounds like God owed someone some money and they couldn’t get to him, so they murked his son. That’s what I really think happened. Jesus got stabbed up in an alley… but it’s easier to sell crucifixes. You can’t sell a pendant of someone getting shanked up in the alley. It’s a marketing scheme.

Ivan: Come to your place at 5:00 in the morning, eat your food, drink your drinks, leave at 6:30 without fucking like it’s cool. That’s a passive burglary.

Isabelle: Two separate charges $400 at Barnes and Noble. Who balls out of control at Barnes and Noble?

Juliana: Believe in yourself like one of those weird-ass clothing stores that only have six shirts in them. So many questions. How much do these shirts cost? How long have y'all been here? Why is there a DJ?

Katarina: Kill people, burn shit, fuck school, I hate spam emails! That's annoying! You think you have an email from a friend but it's spam.

Lucien: I believe in my ability to not spill food in my pants 'cause I'm a goddamn adult. And I've mastered the art of getting food from my plate to my mouth without messing up my jeans. You need to believe in yourself, too and get your life together, that's for babies. Have some confidence in your eating abilities and hand/eye coordination.

Lucrezia: I'VE ALREADY SEEN LIMITLESS.

Lillian: I'm not a club person, I'm more of a bar/lounge type of person. But, I'll go anywhere if you give me a free bottle of alcohol.

Mikael: I have weird aspirations. Like, I really want to kick a pigeon.

Matthias: It's a weird emotion when you're flattered and cynical at the same time. "Oh, that's nice that you would say that, but what the fuck are you up to?"

Marcelo: I just wear black and gray all the time. If you Google Image me, you'll just see a bunch of black and gray. It's simple. If I like a shirt, I'll buy six or eight of them, wear them back-to-back, and just wait for somebody to say something. "That's the same shirt you wore yesterday." "Yeah, but this one is fresh."

Maeve: When people go through something rough in life, they say, "I'm taking it one day at a time." Yes, so is everybody. Because that's how time works.

Nikolai: But this time, it was me and this old lady we were jaywalking together. We weren't together like that. But if we were, so what? Mind your business.

Odessa: It was a phone interview and sometimes when I do phone interviews and the journalist is boring, I just start saying crazy stuff to make it fun for me.

Olivio: There have been times I’ve been out, and my phone battery is at nine percent, and I was like, "Time to go home."

Orion: Don’t thank the lord. I gave you that compliment, thank me.

Priam: I lost my debit card recently, had five charges on it before I caught it. First charge, $30 Chuckee Cheese. Who goes to Chuckee Cheese as soon as they find a debit card? Are you serious?

Paola: I applied for a job at Starbucks. One of the questions was, 'Why do you want to work at Starbucks?' Uh, because my life is in shambles.

Pandora: I don't even know how to use a semicolon to this day, I use a comma every time. And you know what? If I email somebody and they get upset about me using a comma instead of a semicolon, that's not a person I want to work with anyway. And that's how you weed people out of your life.

Ramona: I went into this restaurant in Verona called The Two Gentlemen. Went into the bathroom at The Two Gentlemen, huuuuge rat in the bathroom at The Two Gentlemen and the rat looked at me like "the fuck you doing here?" That was his vibe, very negative vibe.

Rafaella: Sometimes I get drunk and I get into arguments with taxi drivers. And I get out the cab and I slam the door. That's not the way to win an argument with a taxi driver. The way to win is you get out of the cab and you leave the door open.

Regina: And that was the first time in my life, without any sarcasm, I could say, "What? You want a cookie or something?" Because any other time you say that, you being mean, but I meant it from my heart. "How many cookies you want, man? You want seven cookies? That's way too many cookies. You're being ridiculous right now. You can take, like, three or four cookies and get out of my face. Otherwise, you're taking advantage of my generosity."

Ronan: Wack.

Roman: In my hometown of Verona, I'm kind of a medium deal.

Theodora: We got interns at the job. You can just tell them to do stuff. You gotta be nice, though. I had this cat fax something. I handed him a couple of pages, and I handed him another page. I said, "Hey, man, fax something for yourself, too."

Tomas: Rap videos confuse me cause they have to be continued at the end but the never make a sequel. Where’s the second video? There’s so much suspense!

Trinity: I was at the airport and there was this kid, four or five years old walking with his mommy, fixed his fingers in a fake gun, and then took a shot at me. And I'm looking at the wall to see if there's something on the wall he could've been shooting at 'cause I'm in denial. I look back at him, he looks me in the eyes and takes too more shots. Now I'm hit three times, that's an act of aggression. I need to defend myself.

Valentina: Morpheus, Dorpheus, Orpheus, go eat some walruses. Orifices, porridges. Morpheus, Morpheus. Going to the Buffet and Walruses. Confidence, corpseses. Worcestershire sauce. Go into your orifices. Red pill, blue pill. Morpheus, walruses. Seashells by the seashorpheus. MORPHEUS DRINKING A FORTY IN THE DEATH BASKET.

Vivianne: "We'll keep you in our thoughts" With the other bullshit in your heads? No, keep me out of your thoughts, because I hear some of the stuff you talk about and if that's close to what you're thinking about, I don't want to be around that, so keep me and my family out of your thoughts, unless you're thinking of making me a sandwich.

[paoladamasco]

AU MEME 🔆mermaid au featuring @portiaphan​

The more hearts you collect, the stronger you become. It is an age-old truth that lives on in the sea’s memory, so far deep into the ocean that even the Queen cannot see into it. They say that every mermaid can recall the first time they dug their fingers into a sailor’s chest, digging for the thrashing and violent thing inside. They say that no other heart will ever taste quite the same after your first: the rush of power, the sweet smell of fresh sunshine, the taste of rust and blood that lingers on the tongue.

Paola wouldn’t know; she’s yet to take her first heart. Pandora isn’t happy with her for it.

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