#s0fias

[ataviisms]

@s0fias: we're working with @imperiouslex on this.

waylon: a white man? no!

[starrstained-a]

there's  a  bittersweetness  to  hosting  any  of  the  major  bosses  in  her  club,   not  that  harlow's  ever  been  one  to  shy  away  from  the  drama.    sweat  and  glitter  sticks  to  her  skin,   warmth  to  spill  from  a  slow  smile.      ❝   you  look  like  you  could  use  a  drink, @s0fias.   ❞      there's  an  art  to  her  movement,   exposed  thighs  and  vested  interest  as  she  tips  the  mouth  of  a  bottle  to  sofia's  glass.    (  usually  honed  to  the  taste  of  men,   but  it's  not  a  crime  to  hope  ).    harlow  isn't  unaware  of  the  talk,   the  boss's  work,   what  others  speculate  to  be  a  madwoman's  violence  and  instability.    she  knows  violence.    sofia  falcone,    the  hangman ?    —doesn't sound  right.    and so tone  falls  in  syrupy  syllables,   cognac  gaze  to  match .      ❝   long  night ?   ❞

[embodies]

SPOTIFY WRAPPED STARTER CALL. ACCEPTING. drunk with my friends — ashnikko.

@s0fias. from lisbeth salander. ♡

❛ you already know i'm not shy. ❜

[babydxhl]

i think we're past the point of analysis, don't you?

the penguin sentence starters | still accepting.

"Gotham City, America's little science project," Mary murmurs. She has the rim of her glass resting just below her bottom lip, can feel the condensation, the cool of the fast-melting ice cubes. The liquid reflects back the glittering light fixtures overhead, forming a shifting glow at both poles of her peripheral vision.

They're playing wallflower, listening in on the new toy of the night — a Central City expert, still in his coat and hat, here to study the link between lead poisoning and a high crime rate. A reedy, barely-there milksop kind of man. Tiny glasses. Beady eyes.

Mary Dahl hates feeling studied.

She turns on her heel and heads for one of the open patio doors; the curtains, unrestrained, catch on the evening breeze and billow wide into the air.

"Everybody wants to know what makes us all tick."

[starrstained]

❝ hey . . . you're not looking so good. ❞ maybe it's self - indulgent, the way she coos. it's all business, right? all selfish, pushing to look after someone like sofia. but harlow's good at this— making people feel good. gentle fingers brush a few strands of hair behind the heiress' ear, hum low and soft against the evening fire's burning. business. ❝ why don't i get us some tea ? kitchen's down the hall on the left, right? ❞

@s0fias ♡

[stagborne]

It was easy to tell when a person had been backed into a corner. There was something terribly feral about their eyes, the way they managed to stay coiled for attack even in times of peace, and how with every shift in their environment, they responded. They have no allies, and they’re always ravenous for a sense of self-sustaining purpose. The storm never ceased, pouring into the outcry of their gaze. Hers was a tidal wave.

@s0fias reminded him of a shrike, a smaller-sized bird and killer, doe-eyed and pretty, but when it opened its mouth, it was either a song or a scream. An overlooked carnivore. And it devoured its prey in one shift, efficient bite.

His hands clench then unclench as he studies her. Truthfully, he should not get involved with her if he could help it. He was smart enough to know he should avoid the scrutiny of the people who were invested in not seeing her around. The city talks, and unfortunately, Will is aware of how awful Gotham could be. He is dumb enough to try to clean up the trash anyways, as if his civic duty got him anywhere. That’s not why he fully does it, but those details were of no one’s concern but his own.

“We have the similar problems, Ms. Gigante. We want to bite into the same people.” / continued.

​

[starrstained]

❝ i can't tell you anything like that— ❞ palm slips beneath sofia's chin, show of affection against gentle refusal. ❝ s'too close to home. sorry, sugar . ❞

one liners ♡ / @s0fias .

[priscus]

animal. for the first time in her life, she feels animal.

she understands now, what her father always spoke about in hushed tones and reluctant whispers. how the shadow of arkham asylum stretches out far and wide over the city; how once you've been inside the walls, you never really feel like you leave them again.

they'd done it to her too: caged her, chained her, muzzled and sedated her like a wild animal in a circus act gone horribly wrong. they'd taken one look at her fur and her scales and decided that there was nothing human about her; nothing worth treating as personhood. just a dark cell and solitary confinement and raw meat because that's what an animal like her eats, right?

cleopatra doesn't feel clean. her tawny fur is clumped, disheveled, her scales dull and lifeless in their shade. she twitches and jumps at every sound like a prey animal in flight when she should be the predator. red eyes dart nervously, some movement that isn't really there flickering at the edge of her vision. @s0fias walks in and she nearly leaps out of her skin, whirling blindly to face her, hissing abruptly before she realizes who it is.

the fear fades back down to nervousness, and cleo wraps her arms and tail around herself, sinking into a low crouch in the corner of the room. she should feel safe here. she knows this house. she practically grew up here. she looks up at her aunt, unable to suppress the shudder that runs down her spine.

" was it like this for you too? "