#sailor-tenchi

[n0irangel]

✏️

Send me a ✏️ and I’ll doodle your muse! [accepting]

inspired by this and the art style used in-game for Max’s journal

can you tell I got wayyyyy too into it

[mad-artistmax]

😷

Max coughed and snuggled into her bed more, groaning at the bluenette punk. "Chloe...you really don't have to do this, I'm fine really." The brunette shrugged slightly.

[theirlamentarchivedblog]

🏆 The LiS girls! (I'm not familiar with a lot of the others' fandoms, though I'm sure you do great there too. And I have an obvious bias towards Max, but yanno, lol.)

( 🖤 : @sailor-tenchi )

This means the world to me honestly. I hope you know that. I really want to get back to Max, Chloe and Rachel. I am just having a hard time with all my characters right now.

[unangenoir]

sailor-tenchi replied to your post: femmeveined: I wAs ToO bUsY kEePiNg ChLoE aLiVe...

Chloe: I WOULD BE A GRATEFUL CORPSE, JUST SAYIN

yes but she makes a very compelling argument, Chloe.

[n0irangel]

❛ 07 . a kiss to say what you can’t say aloud . (from @fire-walk)

A year ago, Max would never get drunk like she is now.

She despises the taste of alcohol. Despises the smell. She’s deathly afraid of how stupid she may act under the influence. 

But the past couple of years have been insane -- after enduring some hardcore time-fuckery, a goddamn storm that wiped her hometown from the map and then didn’t, more deaths than she even knows how to count, leaving the love of her life behind in a timeline she’s pretty sure there’s no getting back to... fuck, she thinks she damn well earned herself a drink or two.

Or ten.

Yeah, ten’s more like it. 

Following a Rachel outburst that may or may not have ended her and Chloe’s relationship (they fight a lot, so it’s hard to know if it’s really over or just temporarily over), Chloe had pulled out a bottle of vodka from the cupboard and somehow roped Max into sharing it with her. 

They’ve gone through a few of the stages of drunkenness: there’s been music blaring from the TV speakers and getting furniture out of the way so they can dance like crazy idiots, there’s been prank-calling and even a failed attempt to cook something. 

Now, though, they’re tired and miserable and Chloe’s telling Max about something or other that happened with her and Rachel. Max is only half listening, but she doesn’t need the full context to know that it’s largely just complaining -- Chloe’s waving the near-empty bottle around, gesturing widely; Max’s vision is blurry but she thinks she can see the telltale glint of tears in her friend’s blue eyes. 

Beautiful, ocean-blue eyes that... goddamn, she loves more than anything in this entire world. 

Either the best or the worst idea ever pops into Max’s mind. 

She could kiss her. It’d stop her talking about Rachel and thinking about her and suffering so damn much because of her, hopefully.

In a matter of seconds, everything Max has been thinking about vanishes from her mind and that’s the only thing left. Kiss her, damn it. Do it. Just fucking do it. You can rewind it it goes badly, anyway...

Fuck, it’s so loud. 

She wants it so bad. 

Max feels like a spectator, rather than the protagonist in this insane display of bad judgement, as she watches her hand move towards Chloe and snatch the bottle away. She sets it down on the floor by the sofa and shifts closer, tongue swiping over her own lips. God, her heart feels like it might explode as she guides her hand to Chloe’s cheek, touching soft fingertips to even softer skin. 

She feels just like she remembered -- just like her Chloe. It’s déjà-vu mixed together with the nerves that come along with doing something for the first time ever; Max’s fingers tremble a little as she considers retreating, but she’s already this far in, she might as well go all the way. 

So she does. 

And finally, two sets of lips that have always belonged together meet again in a kiss that dares to defy the tightly-woven fabric of time and space itself. 

[n0irangel]

" look at me, hey... it's okay. you're safe now. "

Always take the shot.

The sting of a needle, then nothing. Darkness.

She opens her eyes again to the polar opposite -- so much light that her eyes hurt. Camera flashes, and the low, distant rumble of a man’s voice. Mr. Jefferson’s.

“Chloe,” she weakly calls, and gets a scoff in response. She blinks and there she is, lying on the ground with a bullet lodged in her skull.

“Oh, yeah.” Jefferson carefully puts his camera down and starts to move towards Chloe’s lifeless body. “She told me to give you this.” Not quite so carefully, he removes her bullet necklace (Max flinches at the dull sound Chloe’s head makes as it hits the floor) and puts it on her. Looking down, Max sees it’s covered in blood. Chloe’s blood.

“No!” She yells, writhing as she tries -- fruitlessly -- to rid herself of the restraints around her wrists. She’s crying, warm tears streaming down freckled cheeks and mixing with cold sweat. 

It takes a moment for her to realize that she’s not in the Dark Room anymore. She’s in her room, at home, in Seattle, and it’s Chloe’s hands restraining her as opposed to duct tape -- probably just trying to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself. 

“I’m s--I’m sorry,” she stammers, chest rising and falling violently as she slowly comes to her senses. Without thinking, Max reaches out with her hand and yanks Chloe’s beanie off her head, checking for a bullet hole on her forehead. Of course it’s not there, you idiot, she internally berates herself, do you think she’d be talking to you if she had been shot in the head?

“You’re... okay?” It’s both a question and a statement. Max throws both arms around the other girl and squeezes her tight against her body until she can feel her breathing along with her.

“You’re alive,” she adds, much more softly.

[n0irangel]

“ what’s your dirtiest fantasy ?” (from Chloe, giving her """joking""" bedroom eyes @fire-walk)

“My dirt--Chloe!” Max giggles, the sound of her voice coming out a little shrill, thanks to what little rum she’d consumed (Chloe’s idea -- naturally --, which she couldn’t say no to. It’d been on their collective bucket list for ages now). “I’m not answering that.” She puts her metaphorical foot down, all while remaining in her position, lying on her stomach on top of Chloe’s bed. Her cheeks are a little pink, though that could be from the question or the alcohol, just as easily. “Next question.”

[n0irangel]

📔

SEND 📔 FOR A JOURNAL ENTRY WRITTEN BY MY MUSE.

(this is p. much a prequel to here tonight)

Nov. 7th, 2013.

For the past week or so, it seems all of Blackwell can only talk about one thing, and that thing is the Vortex Club party that's to be held on Friday, the 15th.

Almost every wall at school is plastered with posters for it, too (and I gotta admit, the design for them is pretty cool... even though they were made by Victoria. Ugh!) So, today, while walking through the halls to get to class, I had an idea: what if I asked Chloe to go with me?

Now, I know what you're thinking. In what world would Chloe Price be caught dead at a Vortex Club party (and for that matter, in what world would Max Caulfield?) but hear me out.

Ever since I came back to Arcadia about two months ago, Chloe and I haven't been as close as I had hoped we'd be. Sure, we're past the initial awkwardness and I don't particularly think she hates my guts anymore, but we just... don't really hang out much (at least, not as much as I wished we would, and definitely not as much as we used to as kids). I want to change that. The party seems like a good opportunity for that, right?

I played around with the idea in my head all day (I realize that makes me sound like a total teenager with a crush) and I just couldn't concentrate on homework until I got it out of the way. So I texted her (rewrote the stupid text like 50 times before deciding it was good enough, but nobody needs to know that).

She took a while to respond, so naturally, I freaked. I started to write a follow-up text, saying it was totally fine if she didn't want to go, I don't know what came over me, I pretty much hate the whole Vortex Club, etc, but then she replied.

She said yes.

Well, actually, she said "free beer? Fuck yeah I'll go with you". But it was as good as a yes.

We texted back and forth after that for a bit while I avoided homework and also tried not to let it show how excited I was that she said yes (which I realize doesn't really help me out with the 'not a crush' argument, but whatever, I've given up at this point. It is what it is).

Maybe I do have a crush on her. Maybe I'm just confused. Who knows? Maybe I'll find out on November 15th.

PS: I told her she could crash in my room so she doesn't need to drive home after drinking and I'm kind of freaking out about it. We've shared a bed countless times growing up, but this is definitely going to be different. I guess worse comes to worst, either she or I can sleep on the couch.