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"If something's wrong, you'll tell me." This time, it doesn't come out with a plea. Her request is plain and Cosima tries to speak it into place upon her first inquiry for it. "I'm not asking you to fix it, or save me— just to tell me if anything's awry. I can do the rest myself."

I've made it this far, but Cosima keeps that to herself. She doesn't need to prove her resilience. Sympathy was far from what she needed, and she knew better than to expect it and let alone seek it out. If her family's trials were to be acknowledged, it was to be where she found herself now as a doll on Alessandro's lap under florescent lights. She'd be a prize until her worth was enough to pay whatever debts her family's name required to sever it from her.

#i want the end on my blog ahahahaha #ch: cosima bianchi

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Harris Reed at the 2024 Met Gala

#DEVOURED

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GLUE (2014) | Episode Six

#ch: eden yorke #ch: vance wilder

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new semester just started and it's sm longer than i thought it was gonna be, mother's day is coming up and the men of my family are ofc last minute shopping and i have to help, and my bday (and official complete development of my frontal lobe ahahaha) is saturday and there's a hundred things to do tldr i will be doing replies slowly this week 👁️👄👁️ i have not forgotten and dream of replies

#literally got heartburn seeing summer semester is until august 11th bc wtf #summer semester was never that long during undergrad #━━ ooc ft. danii ｢auroras and sad prose｣

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#an icon, a legend, and she is the moment

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#wanted plot.

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"Those things aren't made for human eyes, but those of souls."

LA CHIMERA (2023) dir. Alice Rohrwacher

#ch: lysander rhodes

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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s i know fire like i know my home; they burn the same.

#ch: eden yorke #ch: edward gable

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if your teeth do not graze my bones / i do not wish for you to kiss me.

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘coffin heart? bury me’.

#ch: vance wilder #━━ vance ft. beatrice ｢your heart is a coffin and i want to be buried｣

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Beatrice Kiddo, which Vance questions from time to time if that's even her real name, is the comforting chaos he's been chasing ever since he swore he'd do better— another word he doubts the integrity of, but he still pursues. Every hellish haven his mother twisted him to believe was fit for the kindest kind could fall apart as long as he had her to believe in. Vance could never admit it out loud, but his fleeting sense of faith was given to her.

"You tell me when you're playing pretend, or it's for real," He pleaded, but it's rough around the edges. "So I can know the stakes."

Fingers calloused by her doing, he was sure of it, rise and fall over the arch of her back. Too easily he can abide to her demand as she's cut from temptation and certainty. It's his first thought to doubt her, but his body already trusts her as he follows her direction. When did he become so stupid— or did he finally find a place he could stand, even if it was still?

His reward is a sunny smile, because she's not entirely obtuse to her effect. He's immediately settled, and all it takes is a crumb of her immediate focus and attention. Knees squeeze his hips gently, but B is no less agreeable. In fact? The blonde is rather pleased with his adjustment. He asks decent questions and has a good grasp of the situation now that he has more information. His ire has lessened considerably, too. 

"Probably both." She murmurs with a hint of a grin, amenable to the idea. Duality was important; one could be a complete terror and also utterly beautiful while doing so. Why not? He takes her hands as he lays back, and she follows easily, bending at the waist so she's blanketing them in a curtain of her golden hair. "How can I help make your hellacious torture a little more bearable, hmn?" B teases through glossed lips. They make a beautiful picture—two half-clothed youths basking in the sunshine. There's less of a doubt he's absolutely besotted, his complaints are performative at best.

#ch: vance wilder

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CALLUM TURNER the boys in the boat

#ch: rhodes burton

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"If something's wrong, you'll tell me." This time, it doesn't come out with a plea. Her request is plain and Cosima tries to speak it into place upon her first inquiry for it. "I'm not asking you to fix it, or save me— just to tell me if anything's awry. I can do the rest myself."

I've made it this far, but Cosima keeps that to herself. She doesn't need to prove her resilience. Sympathy was far from what she needed, and she knew better than to expect it and let alone seek it out. If her family's trials were to be acknowledged, it was to be where she found herself now as a doll on Alessandro's lap under florescent lights. She'd be a prize until her worth was enough to pay whatever debts her family's name required to sever it from her.

He's momentarily stunned by her words, but there's no denying the warmth that follows in blue eyes. "It'd be my privilege, Signorina Bianchi." It's a fair request, and he'd be glad to know her in any capacity she'd allow. 

She stands suddenly, resolute, and much more alert. After a couple of bites of breakfast and sips of coffee, Enzo follows. A sign of respect, one he hadn't quite wanted misrepresented when he'd thought her a stranger. 

The doctor hopes she'll take the opportunity he's offered—a moment's respite—to gather her thoughts and find the words to state her case to his father. After all? The final decision hardly belongs to him. If he's surprised by her statement, Enzo hardly shows it in his expression. "I hope it's a lovely evening." When she moves to his side, he offers her a smile of bemusement for her practical streak. "No, I don't suppose that'd be wise." A dark brow perks. "What's that, Signorina?" the little miss is confident, and he can't help but be immediately charmed. 

#ch: cosima bianchi

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OPEN TO: any male muse 25 + ! MUSE: arden olivier, twenty-seven. lawyer. PLOT: arden, a lawyer being held as collateral by a crime syndicate while his firm works a case for them at trial, finally hooks up with your gang affiliated member after a lot of tension and denial.

The sunset was long gone, and the orange diluted hues of their anger splayed across naked bodies was replaced with a pale blue. The fire was cold, and soon enough the room would be covered in the dark color of ash. Arden hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep for just a moment, and ask he pulled himself back to the moment, he found the other side of the bed cold. He thought that maybe it wasn't real at all, but he could still feel his touch on his throat. His body already ached, remembrance to putting the pieces together almost building a longing alongside it. A shuffle on the other side of the room contrasted his turn against the sheets, and Sterling damned himself for being awake now. He pressed his fingertips into his brow, closing his eyes tightly to will them away into the dark he forced upon it all. "If you're gonna go," Arden muttered out into the room. "Close the door on your way out."

#open starter #indie starter #indie open #indie open starter #bringing this muse back from the dead with a starter i was desperate to get replies on way back when lol #ch: arden olivier #reduce reuse recyle names aahahahaha

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OPEN TO: any muse 25 + ! MUSE: henrietta thomas, twenty-five. publicist.

"Why is she calling you at this hour?"

#indie rp #indie starter #indie roleplay #indie open starter #open starter #indie open #ch: henrietta thomas

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He was cut with fine lines, and it was almost too sharp. Why Callie kept running at him, she wasn't sure yet. Maybe she needed proof that it didn't hurt— or maybe she needed to ensure this was a bad idea over and over again. He had to worse than the affiliation she was after, far more dangerous than comforting. His right had to be wrong.

"This is a set up," Calliope hissed, grabbing his face in her hand. "You have to take me in to prove to them I won't say a word. I'm gonna stick to my story, and I'm going to get off with a slap on the wrist— and if you want betters leads than this, you guarantee it."

Twisting back around, his hands sat on his hips. His annoyance beyond what he thought capable, but he knew better than to underestimate how mad she could make him. Sucking at his teeth, he shook his head. "You know if you ever want to actually make some money off this, your tips actually have to pay off. Literally. You can't do this halfway."

Now, he was the one to look like an ass. Calling in a team to show up to nothing, lips moving to speak into his radio quickly. "You do realize my job is being in the thick of it. There's no staying out of it when you tell me there's shit stashed in a house." Voice elevated, gesturing toward the door.

#ch: calliope adler

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DUA LIPA for Saturday Night Live

#just want her pretty face on my blog ty

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"I'm getting my way to have a proper goodbye," Eden interrupts her, cutting into her kiss with one last attempt— one last fight, one last chance to tell her how much he loves without wasting on three little words diminished in a single breath. "I think that's just as much my right as it is yours. We made a promise, Cordelia— the three of us. If we're going to break it, we better make it worth it before we put it back together."

He doesn't want to say it, and he's sure she can taste it on his lips even he doesn't. Their third piece, the charm, isn't here to uphold them to their word. He's buried, even without their lack of trying, and he serves as what will happen to them if they don't preserve delicacy of their perseverance. Eden lives in his garden of artificial mastery, but every passing thought belongs to what flourishes between them now.

"You're not some bad habit that I can shake off," He reminds her, voice soft as his kiss melts against hers again. "There's no such thing as giving you up. You're what I want to be. Everything we were that was put away, the better parts of me, the best of this world. I can breathe again when you here, but we're not meant to move on without suffering after what we've done, right? We don't get to win. We get to survive, and we're lucky if we never have to scream against some order or agony again. The rest of our lives, we will have to tread carefully and just dream of this. You know it's true, Cordy."

She's content to stay on earth, provided the stance is comfortable. Out of the three? It's always Cordelia who's the most practical. Creature of habit surely... But more keen on safety than all the most luxurious threads woven together. No, she leaves fancy and fantasy to the men. Perhaps unwisely in Jamie's case. But Eden is still in her grasp. 

They're pressed so close that she can feel the beat of his heart against her own chest and how it slows to match her own rate. Cordelia offers up a soft scoff. "No kiddin'." It'd been an idle threat in the grand scheme of things, but his head is inevitably affixed back on his shoulders. She doesn't loosen her grip so much as ignore the words tumbling out of his mouth. 

The corners of her mouth twitch with mirth as she stares into the weary blue of his gaze, as if reading his very mind. If Cordelia asked, he'd lay his very heart in her palm without question. It's not a figure of speech, either. Much like their beloved Irishman? She is just as etched in Eden Yorke. He wouldn't have looked for her so eagerly in that ballroom the rest of that evening. 

"No," She's cutting in her accuracy, even as her fingers sift through his hair and she leads his mouth back to hers. Teasing with pause rather than rewarding. "You're pretending to be pious and still getting your way." 

#ch: eden yorke