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moon-rivcr-s · 5 years

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She wasn’t entirely sure why she had to be the one to go meet him at the edge of the forest. Surely they had people to do this, they certainly had when she was in charge. But Jasper had sounded so sweet on the phone, and Selena had missed him. Which is why she was now driving to the outskirts of town alone in her black SUV.

He wasn’t there, but she was habitually early. She’d always hated the forest the enclosed the town, the forbidding trees seemed to glare at her with an accusatory silence. You do not belong, they say, we know what you did in the dark. When ever she spent too long in their gaze, she felt an indescribable chill. Even now, in the late summer heat, Selena shivered.

10 minutes late, and she felt the growing sense of anxiety. It always started with a dull ache in the back of her head and then a steady pounding in her chest. What if he didn’t come back? What if he was running again? What if she’d wait here for hours and hours until the darkness came and he never did?

When he walked out into the clearing, her skin was buzzing. Selena let out the breath she’d been holding in for she didn’t know how long. Her fingers slowly unclenched from tiny fists as Jasper walked closer. “You’re late, cariño.” Selena tried to sound stern but was unable to maintain it for long.

@anachroniisms

#( selena / come home to my heart ; jasper )

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moon-rivcr-s · 5 years

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&&. —(selena leon)? yes, (she) does look a lot like (summer bishil), but (she) is/are just a (33) year old (witch) and last i heard, they were (a lawyer for the o’haras) . around east end, people say (she) is/are known to be quite (callous), but can also be (tenacious). maybe that’s why (selena)’s theme song is (team - lorde)?

hi hi this is my second babe! like and ill come bother u for plots

The Moon - illusion, fear, anxiety

The moon, you sometimes wonder, could be your mother. He never speaks of her, only of the two of you. He is all you need, your father says, and he teaches you what it is to be powerful and proud. The freedom promised is an illusion as he has pledged your life to another. You grow up trailing the O’Hara boys, learning to use your fear like a weapon, a sharp smile dipped in venom. Your father has no time for your anxieties or the silly concerns of a young girl, and you learn to wear the mask better than anyone. Princesa, when you are good, a disapproving glare when you are not. You go to school and do well, the boys are sent overseas to get an education. Homework is done at the end of the bar and you study for the SAT in the back office, headphones in to cover the sounds of the fights and the crowd. By the time you’re ready to take the LSAT, you could work in any sort of conditions thrown at you. Anxiety is your constant companion but you’ve mastered the art of illusion.

The Lovers - harmony, balance, choice

Somewhere in the intervening years between lost child and master of illusion you find yourself falling into place with the twins. Particularly the older one. No one is quite sure exactly how it happens, but one day you are more than just you. He smiles that grin, and your mask seems to almost melt. You write letters and emails and stay up late or wake up early for a few minutes on the phone. When he comes home for the summer he sneaks a bottle from behind his father’s bar and the two of you get drunk for the first time. He knows your fear and anxiety and you know his heart and soul. Before he starts college you ink your love on each other’s skin. A moon stands at the top of his spine, and a sun warms your rib cage. You aren’t sure when the break happens, likely around when you start looking at Law Schools. And then you’re balancing classes and clerkships and haven’t been back home in years. Maybe you hear that he’s gotten married, maybe you tossed the invitation. The big city calls and eighty hour work weeks leave little time for anything or anyone else. But this is the choice you made, and you can’t let yourself feel any pangs of regret. Your father calls you home after three years away. Time to pay the debt of a bargain made on your behalf long before you were old enough to consent. And now you think, did you ever really have a choice? Or was everything pushing you to this point, the life you cannot escape and the love you always wished you could? But he is yours again, and you are able to slip back into the carefree love of teenagers with bodies who have felt and minds who have seen more. Loving him is easy, you and he are harmony.

The High Priestess - intuition, sacred knowledge, divine feminine

He whispers his confessions into your skin and you wear his mother’s ring. Your magic, intuition, and small ferocity make you invaluable to the gang. He is the golden prince, trained to rule and you are the princesa who was always meant to be at his side. And suddenly your love story is a tragedy, you’re curled up in a chair by his hospital bed and his brother tells you both his father didn’t make it. You don’t sleep. You hold his hand at the funeral and look beautiful doing so, a face made for sorrow your father said. You wake to an empty bed and an even emptier note.

“Gone, but not far. Please don’t look for me. Will check in soon.”

His brother is just as lost as you are, and you both spend the whole day lying to everyone. The cards you lay out on his desk offer no guidance except for her. The High Priestess, appearing again and again, staring up at you with her serene wisdom - asking again and again with sacred patience

Are you stronger than a mountain?

And so you do the only thing you can - lead. He has gone, you tell everyone, to find those who have hurt us. You lie and say he’s left you in charge (your father smiles from the back of the room). You lie and say you’re in contact with him (his brother looks at you quickly, but doesn’t ask). And you fight like hell until you are not a princess, you’re a goddamn king. It’s not enough (it never is) and the whispers and glares grow sharper and more pronounced. Sometimes you fear you’re growing paranoid, sometimes you fear closing your eyes lest some unknown sneak up and reveal your falsehoods. They want him, they need you. So you go find him yourself, drag him back from the self induced pity party and try not to resent how much they all love him, how easily he slips into the throne you fought tooth and nail to keep for him.

Are you stronger than a mountain?

TL/DR -

Spanish pronunciation of the name Selena. Se-len-a - len like Lenin, not Se-lean-a - lean like leaning

margo hanson meets elle woods with a little bit of kay corleone (thx Rey for that one).

A tough bitch who will get the job done, went to duke undergrad and Harvard law school - what like its hard? Will def tell you about it.

Small but will destroy you verbally and emotionally. hates violence, yet spent two years running her fiancé’s fight ring/gang (she made sure there were lots of medics around for the fighters, but they were far less lenient with gambling debts- those people were responsible for their own medical care).

people hate a strong women and also she wasn’t an O’Hara so she went and dragged his ass back from Paris. Wore the ring the entire time he was gone and still loves him even though she knows it hurts her. Not a nice girl, but loyal as all hell to those she loves and cares for.

wanted plots/connections: give us papa Leon!!! selena needs gal pals, ride or dies, old flames from school or college or NYC. basically just come love my babes

#( selena / i’m little but im coming for the crown )#( selena / this dream isn’t feeling sweet )#eastend.intro

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moon-rivcr-s · 5 years

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“Mad Girl’s Love Song” by Sylvia Plath, born today in 1932

#( charlotte / a mythic bitch )

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moon-rivcr-s · 5 years

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We live in cities you'll never see onscreen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Livin' in ruins of a palace within my dreams

#( selena / i’m little but im coming for the crown )#( selena / this dream isn’t feeling sweet )#working on her intro PROMISE

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moon-rivcr-s · 5 years

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&&. —(charlotte calhoun)? yes, (she) does look a lot like (eliza scanlen), but (she) is just a (25) year old (witch) and last i heard, they were (the chief of staff to the mayor) . around east end, people say (she) is known to be quite (calculating), but can also be (charming). maybe that’s why (charlotte)’s theme song is (candy store - heathers the musical)?

Hi all its gracie here is my baby brat Charlotte!

Judge & Mrs. Calhoun were childless, though not from lack of trying. They’d given up, though, grown older and focused on careers and the Charleston high society, when the knock came in the night. It was too early in the season for a hurricane, but the rain and wind pounded the historic house on the battery regardless. It was a miracle, they would later say, that they could hear the knock at all else the baby left on the porch might not have made it through the night. Using their considerable assets and influence to speed up the adoption process and gloss over the less than orthodox method with which she came into their life, Charlotte Elisabeth Calhoun came into being.

WIth a father on the US Court and an adoring, if not a bit overbearing, mother, Charlotte grew up with everything a girl could want. The golden princess, miracle child, a gift from the angels-- stuff like this could go to a girl’s head. But she was polite and charming, all blonde curls and colorful bows, meticulously dressed in pastels, the darling of the country club set. She was smart (something the Calhouns privately worried over, not knowing her lineage) if not a bit obsessive and idealistic, but they’d long ago accepted a child of unknown origins would have some quirks.

She was a generally pleasant child, if you don’t count the outbursts and strange occurrences that tended to happen when she did not get her way. All of the windows of the downstairs burst at once when a ten year old Charlotte was not permitted to stay the night out. The maid was utterly perplexed by the shards of mirror stuck into the ceiling in a perfect circle, but it was more than the job was worth to question. Her nose always bled before a hurricane hit, and all of the flowers in the yard died overnight when Charlotte battled a particularly rough bout of flu. People had a tendency to do as she asked, and whether that was due to natural charm, a talent for manipulation, or perhaps something supernatural, she did not know. And no one mentions that time in ninth grade when they decided to play with the ouija board. Really they should have known better, living in the middle of one of the most haunted cities in the south, but Charlotte’s friends always regarded her with a bit more fear after that.

She skated through high school- prom queen, queen bee, and less than a tenth of a GPA point from valedictorian. Then surprised everyone by choosing Columbia over a variety of much closer schools. Maybe she wanted to get away from her overbearing mother, or maybe something about New York called to the part of her she’d never been able to explain, but she went gladly and quickly. The City was a dream and she adored the way other students viewed her as something new and exciting. Charming with the soft southern drawl making her sound like she was in a film from the 1950s, Charlotte soaked in the attention and the way people seemed to underestimate her. Being away from her mother brought out a subtle sort of cruelty shown through sharp glances and cutting remarks delivered with a poisonous smile. The manipulation and charm got her what she wanted, and the mean streak kept her at the top. Still, it was easy, so it must be natural. She never guessed there might be another reason behind this, and comfortably clung to rose colored glasses and her idealism.

Four years and two terms as president of her sorority later, she graduated from the journalism school with a concentration in politics. Charlotte found a job in communications for a congressional race, but the candidate was so bland she didn't entirely care if they won or not. Next cycle, she pledged herself, she’d find someone worthwhile. She interviewed a couple of places, and found nothing. Until she felt the pull to some no name mayoral race in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Charlotte couldn’t explain it - this urgent need to get in her car and drive to this no name town. He was young and inspired, she felt an instant connection and in her interview he looked at her as if he could explain all of her secrets. Jameson Leroy was running an insurgent campaign for mayor, and Charlotte was his campaign manager.

There was something off though. Donations seemed to come in from nowhere and the polling numbers never quite added up. But they were playing in a race thought to be a lock, and she was a natural so she never questioned it. They were preparing for the first debate, and he’d sent the rest of the team home at midnight. Perhaps it was a heady combination of adderall, caffeine, and exhaustion or maybe she was hallucinating, but something seemed to spark between them. Charlotte had long ago decided she would not be a monica, would not throw away any chance and slip to her knees at the will of a handsome face. Face slightly flushed, she had nearly made her exit when the door slammed in front of her seemingly of its own accord.

The lights flickered, and she turned slowly to face her boss. Now she had to be hallucinating, the desk couldn't possibly be in flames, he couldn’t possibly be looking at her like this was normal. You're just like me, he said, you know you are. You can stop it, Charlie, you know how. Just let yourself feel it. She shook her head violently, panic seizing in her chest. No, it wasn’t happening, she would wake up and everything would be fine. The fire edged closer and her feet seemed almost cemented to the floor. He kept pushing, his voice steady and seductive, the fire moved faster, she could feel the heat oppressively close, too close. And then all the glass in the office shattered at once, the fire was gone and Jameson was smiling at her.

And just like that, Charlotte had an answer for every strange occurrence of her childhood that her parents painfully overlooked, the reason she seemed always to get her way, and it felt like she was breathing freely for the first time. He took her under his wing, teaching and sculpting, filling Charlotte’s idealistic mind with whispers of all they could achieve with this power. She was instantly hooked. Dark Magic, he told her, is not inherently bad just far more powerful, and clearly it was what her talents were suited towards. They won the race, and even though she knew exactly what he’d done to do so, it did nothing to cloud her idealism.

TLDR: TL/DR: charlotte is basically heather chandler plus cj cregg/amy brookheimer and stockard channing in practical magic. a mean girl, but also a proper lady who wouldn’t be caught dead without lipstick. runs the mayors office, low key in love with her boss, high key new too magic

#eastend.intro #( charlotte / a mythic bitch )

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