seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Vietnam
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Vietnam
seen from Philippines
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Luxembourg
seen from Germany
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from Finland
seen from Australia
;;
( @scnguis )
“-- And so I told Calypso to keep the shed locked, and I trusted the girl with a key. And you know what that got me? A nest full of flame salamanders, and half the training yard in singed chaos.”
....How long had she been ranting again? The redhead was lying on her back on the office sofa, tossing a green apple between hands. Her scowl on the ceiling still held, as if doing so would fix all of the fire damage and get rid of all her stress.
strawberry
{ @scnguis }
A dark purple backpack and a head of fluffy dark brown curls. Jeans and a dark brown button-down tossed over an old Marina & the Diamonds t-shirt. Black converse.
A high school gymnastics duffle bag hanging from one hand, a strawberry cream frappucino in the other as she steps into the gym for practice.
It all glosses over well. Afterwards, she rewards herself with a (strawberry) soda, which she spills nearly all over someone’s opened book as she’s trying to collect her things from the bleachers.
“Merda, I-- Ugh. My bad. Damn it.”
She mutters as she looks down at the sugary spatter on the stranger’s black combat boots.
danica lawrence. 19. freshman.
{ @scnguis }
Blue eyes scan the pages in front of her, lips moving as she zones in on the words. Loud laughter towards the back of the room draws her attention, and she glances over her shoulder. Frat boys. Trying to chat up a girl who looked more interested in rummaging through her duffle bag on the floor than giving the time of day.
She bites her lip. Looks to the faces of the boys clustering the back. Um, did one of them just wink-- Oh, hell no. She pulls her backpack off the seat next to her, clearing her throat and pointing at the empty space when duffle bag girl looks back up. Girls should stick together, right?
sharing
{ @scnguis }
She doesn’t care who just strolled into her room. She just got out of practice, she’s starving. She’s going to devour the last of her King-Sized Reese’s stash if it kills-
A pause as she looks up, mouth full of one peanut butter cup. Looks to her mate. Hooman mate. Whose stomach just rumbled quietly. A puppy whine.
...
Offers the last chocolate treat, because she is a good mate.
RP PHOTOSET;CRESCENDO: {GIANNA VIANNI AND CARMI.LLA K,ARNSTEIN}
crescendo noun 1. music a) a gradual, steady increase in ʟᴏᴜᴅɴᴇss or 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒.
gianna’s lover
She knows. She knows about all of it. Everything that happened first with Gianna, everything that happened a few days later with Danny.
She’s not speaking to either of them, really. Not after she had to barge into Danny’s room to find both girls at each other’s throats. But the least she can do is try to make up for whatever this poor girl’s been through. So she slides a tupperware container of brownies across the coffee table the next time she catches the girl in the Lodge common room.
“Carmilla, right?”
“I’m Claudia Bäer. I’m...pretty sure you’ve heard about me recently.”
after dinner
“You sure you ate enough, Gianna?”
“Yes, mama. I’ll work my way up to three heaping plates instead of just two and a half.”
Some more lighthearted teasing between mother and daughter before Gianna makes her way into her room. It’s a pretty room made of mostly purple, maroon and black. She shuts the door behind herself and smiles at the vampire already occupying her california king-sized bed.
“Comfortable?” She asks as she strips down to a lace bra and panties. Carmilla looks paler, more like herself. The pills must be wearing off for today, and that’s just fine with her.
relapse
She was bent down, rummaging around in her duffel bag when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
Straightening up and moving to see who was trying to get her attention is her worst mistake. She shouldn’t have turned around. Shouldn’t have.....shouldn’t.....
It’s impossible to tell what she’s looking at. Who. A ghost? A cruel hallucination from withdrawal? (God, the scar on her hip itches. Prickles, drives her crazy.)
“...Can I help you?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. Her brain is on autopilot, and she expects for the girl in front of her to just fade away.
