#ellaetal

[livesaved]

@ellaetal ; randomly generated one-liner! (for al because i had to!)

❝ i just need a moment to catch my breath. ❞

[emotionealie]

continued with @ellaetal

it's easy to look at him. she's still worried she'll fuck him up somehow, but since elsie helped her put two and two together, nealie's been way more comfortable putting on the moves.

"you just look good." she smiles, shaking her head to dismiss any worries he could have. the difficult part is that her adoring gaze goes hand in hand with the devastating instinct to touch him, to squeeze and appreciate and get carried away. for now, she's grateful just to look, but uncharacteristically shy, she's holding her hands in front of her.

"am i being rude?" a tease, because they both know she doesn't generally care about being rude.

[emotionealie]

@ellaetal sent: I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want this moment to end, because I’m not ready to leave you yet.

"you wouldn't keep me here if you could," nealie chastises, uninterested in feeding any narrative that alfendi could be so selfish when he's loved her so well. it was a beautiful night, ice cream still lingering in the back of her mouth, her ankles still sore from the sandals she wore on their walk. now, naked and in his arms, was the ideal way to drift into tomorrow. and they would, regardless of how badly alfendi wanted to dig his heels in and clamp his jaw around this moment.

"you have to meet me in the future." it's easy to say this when she's not the one who gets trapped away. there's always some version of him that she can reach to. she hopes her faith will embolden his own, whatever trace of it there may be, that they needn't be so scared of what lay ahead. "that way i can tell you the, like... ten million new things i've found to love about you." there are sides of her, after all, that aren't as easily confided to his mirror. her lips press to his forehead.

"i'm not going anywhere." she'll be here when he wakes, whether that's at sunrise or days from now. "okay? neither are you."

[iichiraku]

cont'd┆@ellaetal ft. beyond birthday and yoo min-woo °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The lack of acknowledgement did not deter Min-woo. He was used to peculiar behaviors, having surrounded himself with colorful characters despite his own innocent appearance —  deceiving as it was at times.

“Have you thought of going into an establishment just for clothing and purchasing your own?” He nudged Beyond’s elbow with his own. It was a nice jacket, though. He wondered where the original owner had found it, not that it mattered much.

“Do you really believe in karma? That something is keeping tabs on us?” He hoped the answer was no.

[livesaved]

" you deserve better than a night i can't remember. " // from al

@ellaetal ; inbox clean out!

head tilts towards alfendi, a pang of sadness hitting her when he admits that he can't remember what happened the night before. belle on the other hand? she knows all too well. she could replay every second between them if she had to. but rather than linger on that, she has a thought, a way to resolve this issue.

❝ there's an easy fix for that, you know. ❞ a smirk appears on her face before she climbs on top of him. ❝ because i remember every little thing that happened last night. so, i can either tell you everything in detail or- ❞ then she leans in to kiss him quickly. ❝ i can show you exactly what we did. ❞

[fukstar]

" the tour manager found coke in your guitar case. " // cillian from elsie

VELVET AND VINYL, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING ELSBETH BUNNEY & CILLIAN ROSEINGRAVE.

It  was  as  though  they  had  found  a  fork  in  the  kitchen.  Not  exactly  the  most  scandalous  piece  of  information  that  had  ever  been  acquired,  and  likely  could’ve  been  easily surmised  from  a  quick  glance  at his  blown  out  pupils  and  the  near  constant  nose  drip he was currently sporting.  Cillian  appears  at  ease  as  the  statement  settles  into  the  space  between  them,  lifting  the  mouth  of  his  beer  bottle  back  up  to  his  lips  to  take  another  slow  swig.  Pale  blue - greens  are  trained  steadily  on  the  woman,  unalarmed  and  unsurprised.  

❛ Well, that's good, 'cos that's where I put it.   Are  you  telling  me this  because  y'wanted  some,  or   ──  ? ❜  These  are  the  first  words  that  come  out  of  his  mouth,  spare  hand  gesticulating  loosely  for  a  sense  of  emphasis.  He  was  altruistic  in  this  way  ──  always  willing  to  share,  a  real  giver.  The  big  stupid  fucking  rockstar  with  his  big  stupid  fucking  problems  …  the  kind  that  made  every  heroin  chic  shaped  it  girl  of  the  week  want  to  party  with  him.  If  he  had  any  cares  left  to  spare,  he  might  even  be  upset  at  his  own  state  of  disarray.  Instead,  deft  fingertips  scrounge  through  the  inner  lining  of  the  coat  he’d  shed  and  laid  next  to  him  an  hour  ago,  retrieving  another  small  zip  bag  filled  with  cocaine. 

❛ Plenty  to  go  around  for  everyone,   pal,  all  you  had  to  do  was  ask. ❜

[fukstar]

" so, where'd you get that confidence from? " // magdalena from robbie

OLIVIA RODRIGO, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING ROBERT BUNNEY & MAGDALENA RIQUELME-ZAHER.

It  had  started  as  a  tip  from  a  friend  of  a  friend,  word  of  mouth  luring  her  into  the  pits  of  a  private  boxing  gym.  The  scent  of  stale  sweat  and  worn  old  leather  was  one  she  was  well  acquainted  with,  pulling  her  back  to  the  training  halls  from  her  childhood  the  instant  she  had  stepped  through  the  door.  Magdalena  often  found  herself  craving  a  sense  of  familiarity,  even  if  her  sense  of  where  home  was  had  been  stretched  thin  and  erased.  Home  was  less  of  a  place,  and  more  fragmented  bursts  of  recollection  that  spanned  continents.  It was the  intimacy  of  a  soft  memory  ──  the  few  good  ones  she  held  close  to  her  heart.  If  she  was  to  be  contained  in  London  for  the  next  month,   she  might  as  well  find  something  she  enjoyed  to  occupy  her  spare  time.  

❛ I  get  paid  to  be,  that’s  where. ❜  Her  words  are  taut  with  a  sense  of  complete  honesty,  fingers  lifting  to  wipe  the  droplets  of  sweat  accumulating  above  her  eyebrow.  Magdalena  laughs,  seemingly  at  herself  ──  or maybe at the   absurdity  of  a  life  she  had  never  anticipated having. 

❛ Also lots  of  martial  arts  classes  when  I  was  a  child  …  but you’d  be  surprised  how  many  fashion  models  box  as  part  of  their  fitness  routine.  Helps  with  agility  and  posture. ❜ 

[inthecemetery]

" let's get you cleaned up. " // ophelia from robbie, who does have a hunter verse, i just haven't written it up :))

bloodied  and  beaten  but  not  dead.  but  being  a  beaumont  -  that  last  part  won't  apply  for  long.  the  blood  is  drying  on  ophelia's  left  arm,  clenching  and  unclenching  her  first  causing  it  to  crack  and  flake.  blue  hues  stare  in  morbid  numbness,  far  too  used  to  ending  up  this  way  and  too  exhausted  to  force  herself  to  clean  it  all  up.  there's  still  a  fresh  flow  from  split  skin  just  at  her  hairline,  slipping  down  her  temple,  the  side  of  her  face  until  finally  following  her  neck  and  pooling  in  her  collarbone.  how  many  more  times  can  she  do  this  and  get  away  with  it  ?

the  first  time  -  eleven  years  old,  one  werewolf,  a  handful  of  wolfsbanes  and  a  gun  with  one  silver  bullet.  her  older  brother  had  made  an  attempt  to  french  braid  her  hair  out  of  the  way.  an  excuse  to  hide  an  extra  blade  in  his  baby  sister's  boot.  a  blade  she  hadn't  needed  and  took  offence  when  she  found  it.  but  she  couldn't  shout  at  him  then,  jaw  dislocated  from  the  fight.  the  blood  took  over  an  hour  to  scrub  off  and  ophelia's  jaw  still  clicks  when  she  yawns.

she  should  get  up.  but  for  the  love  of  god  she's  tired…  then  she  hears  him.  let's  get  you  cleaned  up.

her  gaze  lifts  from  her  arm  toward  the  other  and  ophelia  despises  the  relief  that  runs  through  her  at  the  sight  of  robbie.  it  makes  her  feel  weak,  this  constant  inner  fear  of  being  alone  and  how  easily  it  is  eased  by  company.  but  instead  of  facing  that,  ophelia  lets  her  head  fall  back  against  the  wall  and  exhales.

❝  why  ?  heard  red  really  makes  my  eyes  pop.  ❞  her  voice  sounds  like  hell,  a  dried  out  desert  full  of  gravel  from  yelling  her  way  through  a  fight.  she  has  always  been  a  talker,  even  in  the  middle  of  battle  she  could  never  shut  up.  her  father  hated  that.  but  he's  also  dead  so…

ophelia  adjusts  her  position,  a  slight  hiss  escaping  before  she  finds  a  better  way  to  lean  against  the  wall  without  putting  pressure  on  her  ribs.  god,  she  misses  them.  she  misses  all  of  them.  her  six  brothers,  her  father,  her  grandparents  and  when  she  hates  herself  the  most…  her  mother.  the  latter  walked  away,  there's  no  grave  for  that  one  even  thought  ophelia  wishes  there  was.  death  is  softer  then  willingly  being  abandoned.

she  hates  how  emotional  and  raw  she  feels  post  hunt.  it's  as  if  all  her  fight  was  spent,  nothing  left  to  keep  her  cold,  to  keep  her  usual  bite.  but  she'll  have  to  find  some  with  the  other  here.  she  can't  spiral  in  front  of  anyone,  she  can't  be  weak.

❝  does  my  nurse  got  a  smoke  ?  ❞