ofvxcious

[ofvxcious]

THE NICE GUYS (2016) dir. Shane Black

#muse | blake. #inspo | blake.

[ofvxcious]

#muse | nate. #visage | nate.

[ofvxcious]

#muse | vivian. #inspo | vivian.

[ofvxcious]

intc-ashes​:

Sunday, 21st August || late afternoon Quick Fix Garage ft. Blake Sterling ( @ofvxcious​ )

Seven months of keeping a relatively low profile. Seven months doing their best to fly under the radar. It was the smart thing to do, Raf knew, making sure the early stages of their induction were normal. Uneventful.

It was also kind of fucking boring.

Getting involved with the altercation against the Narcos wasn’t a slip-up, per say, and Raf certainly didn’t have regrets, even if part of it was letting his roiling impatience get the better of him. He just had to make sure he spun the fallout judiciously, or the split lip and tender shoulder weren’t going to do much for him other than get in the way of his work. An opportunity presented itself soon enough: as Raf straightened up from the fifth oil change he’d done that day, his ribs complained and his wandering attention landed on Blake Sterling.

Raf had been trying to play it particularly cool when it came to engaging the head of the Wilds, and even now — wiping their hands on a dirty rag, making a face when the abrasions on their knuckles stung — they paused. But not for long.

“Hey,” Raf spoke up with a subdued nod, half-leaning against the sleek car’s open hood, still trying to scrub a persistent splotch of grime from the heel of their hand. Their eyes skimmed Blake’s face, lingering on the stitches. “How, uh. How’re you holding up?”

♠

Blake liked these late afternoons and early evenings, when the light slanted, faint an lovely, and cast long shadows around him. He’d pick a task then, something familiar to keep his hands busy and his mind wandering, and he’d remain this way, in a near trance state until the only light that remained was the yellowish cast of a lightbulb and the sounds around him ebbed away into silence. 

He was vaguely aware that there were people around him, but the garage was the sort of uneventful place where Blake could afford to be vaguely aware, and so his gaze remained fixed on the laptop screen where it sat on top of the engine. His arm was still not well enough to actually do something physical, or rather, he begrudgingly listened to the medics when they told him not to do anything physical for the next week or so. Therefore, he was remapping one of the BMWs parked outside when he felt a gaze at the back of his neck. There was not enough time between when he felt it and when Raf spoke for Blake to think anything of it, and he tore his gaze away from the graphs slowly to look at the new mechanic. 

Raf’s features weren’t as familiar to Blake as some other faces around here, but he was aware of them still - young and withdrawn, Blake figured they’d talk when they felt comfortable enough with it. “Would you look at that.” There was a hint of faux incredulity to his voice, though mostly it was amusement. “You do talk.” His eyes slipped to the dirty rag in their hand, the oil painting all too familiar dark smears on their skin. Blake raised an eyebrow. “They still got you working on oil exchange? That’s just cruel. You should rebel.” 

The hood of the car next to the one Blake was working on was still warm, and Blake leaned against it languidly, like a cat might, before chuckling. “Can’t seem to do anything interesting. Medic orders.” At that he made a face, just a passing expression of childish vexation - they had a point, Blake just didn’t like that they did. Then he shrugged, unperturbed. “Not much difference from my usual fights in the ring.” Especially those that involved Blake intentionally letting the opponent get a few blows in just because he felt like it that night. His eyes rested on Raf then, a slow smirk slipping across the corners of his lips. “I’ve had worse. And I figure you haven’t talked with the rest enough to hear the really savoury gossip?”

Everyone always wondered about the gnarly scar at the base of his throat, and wondering usually led to gossip, which led to ridiculous stories that Blake loved hearing about. “I’m sure by the time it gets to you my head will have been hanging by a thread. Do tell when they inform you of it.” He sighed in defeat before reaching to grab a can of coke from one of the small soda refrigerators, his voice carrying over as he did, “Want one?” His fingers hesitated on the lip of the can, and Blake raised his eyes back to Raf. “What about you? You know... didn’t actually get to thank you for distracting them. You really went all out didn’t you?” Or maybe that was just Blake projecting. Some part of him wished he could be that young and unmoored by responsibilities and logistics and the fallouts of things that came attached to his position like a ball and chain.

#i have no excuse for the length of this #so i won't even try to explain #pls no need to match!! ignore me hahahha #interactions || blake. #ft. raf

[ofvxcious]

nathaniel vale.

i don’t know how to stay tender with this much blood in my mouth. pinterest.

STATS. 

full name: nathaniel vale ( real name: unknown )

nickname: nate

age&dob: 36, April 25th

place of birth: glasgow, scotland

current location: london, england

gender: cis man (he/him) 

sexuality: bisexual 

education: university of edinburgh, law school 

occupation: owner of arcane gallery & lounge  

affiliation: advisor to the silencers

postive traits: level-headed, cunning, clever, resolute, charming

negative traits: ruthless, obsessive, manipulative, vengeful, reticent

vices: smoking, alcohol (in controlled environment, usually alone)

languages spoken: english, scots, german, latin

family: unknown parents (murdered), adoptive brother (murdered)

PHYSICAL.

fc: daniel sharman

height: 6′2′’ (188 cm)

build: muscular, lean

scars: gunshot wound in his left shoulder, several minor knife scars on his arms, gunshot wound in his right thigh

injuries: deaf in his left ear (ruptured ear drum) 

tattoos: 'exitus acta probat’ on his back, serpent wrapped around a dagger on his left forearm with ‘memento mori’ written beneath 

piercings: none

HISTORY.

tw: violence, murder, abuse

tba

TLDR;

he has vague to nonexistent memories of his childhood, and only sometimes has nightmares about a bleeding woman shielding him before someone shot her and left the house they were in. after that he just has a lot of memories of bureaucracy and the system - orphanages and adoptive homes that never lasted 

the last adoptive ‘home’ he was in was shared with a boy named colin whom nate grew to think of as a brother. it’s where he suffered the head injury that resulted in hearing loss after which colin and him escaped the abuse and the system in general, decididing they were better off on the streets and on their own. they were both only thireteen.

soon they joined one of the gangs in glasgow as runners, there to do minor jobs and carry messages. it was a way to survive and a way for them to feel more secure - the gang offered money, protection and a community. 

as they rose through the ranks the two were always inseparable, but nate was also the hungrier one, the one who strived to prove himself, and the gang heads knew how to use that well. they were particularly fond of his skills as a thief and his interest in genuine art as well as forgeries. he could make them extra money (on top of weapons trade) if they gave him the resources to operate with colin. 

since he was obsessed with being ‘more’, nate attended university to get his law degree - it offered connections and opened doors to people with money, and nate was good at networking. 

towards the end of his uni, he met a girl with whom he fell in love with, but kept his true identity from for years. essentially he led two lives, one with the gang (he’d told her it was a law firm) and one with her (probably because some part of him longed for the sense of normalcy she offered) 

eventually, with high enough rank, nate started to find slivers of truth that slipped through the cracks - that his biological parents might have not been mere civilians, and that his nightmares might have actually been memories. it became his obsession, to find out who they were and what had actually happened to them. 

some of the higher-ups noticed this was happening and decided it was better to cut him off now, before he found out, than deal with the aftermath of him finding out it was their gang that had them murdered. 

this was why colin and nate were sent on a job that was meant to end tragically in their deaths, had the people pulling the strings not underestimated nate. when he realised that they were sent into a trap he fought tooth and nail for both colin and himself, but only one came out alive, and barely. 

with colin dead and heavily wounded, nate turned to his fiancee for help (there was no one he could trust anymore). he’d promised her he’d explain himself, but the moment he was strong enough to run he did just that, leaving her behind in the dark with a promise that she wouldn’t look for the truth and just forget about him. 

nate is not his real name, it’s after this event that he decided to pick a new name (’nathaniel vale’) that he saw on one of the graves. it was a symbolic way of ‘killing’ the man he was as well as hiding his true identity from people in his past. 

he made his way to london and contacted the silencers, offering intel on the gang and his expertise in exchange for membership. he’d been with his original gang for more than 15 years and could offer detailed intel on their trafficking routes, suppliers, buyers and members. 

for years he focused on weapons exclusively, though eventually the itch to go back to artwork, antiquities and forgeries won him over and he opened Arcane the gallery/lounge that operates in the gray area of legality. there’s genuine artwork there, and the lounge is open to anyone (buyers or not), but there’s also theft, forgeries and black-market trading involved. especially if someone’s interested in pieces of art you can’t exactly acquire legally. 

these days he is fiercely loyal to the silencers, if not from the goodness of his heart then from the desire to work against his previous gang and eventually destroy them slowly and throughly. he’s also still looking for the truth about his parents - who they were and why they were killed.

MISC.

blames himself for colin’s death. if he’d been more careful about his research they might have not put a hit on him, and colin wouldn’t have been there that day. he also mourns the fact that he couldn’t save him that day and still doesn’t know where colin is buried so he can come pay respects to his brother. 

regrets leaving his fiancee behind in that way, without an explanation or even a proper goodbye. still, he promised himself he wouldn’t check up on her ever again for fear of it somehow being noticed and connected. his selfish desire to know is not worth putting her in danger. 

he’s really good at lockpicking and theft planning. though his main job had always involved weapons (and he is good with those too), he considers the thrill and art of stealing something of a favoured hobby. 

he actually likes art and antiquities, it’s not just about stealing. his flat is full of them and they bring life to otherwise clean-cut aesthetic of it. the only rule is that everything in there has to be genuine, so if he’s sold you something that’s actually on his wall - it’s not the real deal. 

has always really liked latin and has worked on translating some of the works on his own, just as a method of relaxation. (nerd)

he’s very mistrustful, even when it seems that he’s easygoing it’s mostly an act. he’s been deeply wounded by the betrayal of his previous gang-members since he considered them practically a family. if someone knows him enough they can probably tell how jaded he is on the whole topic of loyalty and trust. 

he’s a good shot with handguns, but prefers sniper rifles. it’s his belief that outright violence is unnecessary if you can plan ahead well enough to just take someone down with one shot from a good vantage point. 

he has a tattoo saying exitus acta probat (end justifies the means), and though he grapples with his morality this is something he’s stuck with his whole life. he’s very methodical and if he believes something has to be done, he will do it. 

he’s a bit money and power-obsessed. it’s a byproduct of his childhood and the constant fear of ending up as nothing as he’d often been told that’s all he was. you can tell from the sharp way he dresses to the way he holds his knowledge in high regard. though he wouldn’t admit it, he’s always afraid one can see the dirt he’s come from in him and tries very hard to hide it. 

no one actually knows his real name outside his fiancee and previous gang who are unaware of his whereabouts. he has forged documents with his current name and a whole identity built around it and has only told the head and second-in-command that it’s a fake. 

more to come!

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tba

#muse | nate. #divide : intro. #this is just a quick overview so i can throw him out there! #will do WCs as well as the monstrosity that is his 'history' tonight probably #but till then you can read about him from tldr and HCs

[ofvxcious]

#inspo | blake. #muse | blake.

[ofvxcious]

CHLOE BENNET photographed for VIOLET GREY (2021)

Ph. Lena Abujbara

#muse | vivian. #visage | vivian.

[ofvxcious]

elodie-divide​:

♟

Elodie glanced over at her phone as it lit up for a moment buzzing on the desk simply to make his little point. At this point she wasn’t quite sure when this little game started, when she’d started ignoring his calls or simply hanging up on him. Four months was all it took for it to become a given between the two however. Boss or not if Elodie wasn’t in the mood to give attention or wanted him to work for it then that is what happened. Unfortunately today was the former and he seemed to be just as determined none the less. “I have a few ‘air ties in my purse and ‘air can on occasion get in the way when I work you are welcome to do so if you please.” She retorted with a perfunctory smile at him. Snapping her book shut the blonde rose from her chair walking over to one of the bookshelves to see if any of the other bookmakers had stored their recent record here so she could compare it to her own. They’d been trying to grab any pieces of information from the mess that was the fight and the last thing Elodie wanted was any sort of cross over. That would just cause a headache for them all.

She let out a soft huff at his words, fingers trailing along the bindings while she searched back to him. “You are correct it was a chair. Wooden, we might want to invest in metal instead bolted to the floors, it shattered quite easily.” It was a needless remark, although a good suggestion, made purely to prod at him for what she knew was about to be brought up. August 2022, she’d found it, pulling out the book she checked the name under it pleased with her find before suddenly Elodie froze over a cold wash through her before she spun, her ankle protesting the sudden movement, meeting his hard look with her own sharply narrowed eyes. All she wanted to do in that moment was declare that he couldn’t tell her what to do, that he wasn’t the boss of her. But despite her instinctive protest Elodie would be wrong. Blake was not just her Boss he was The Boss. He had a point too, her ankle was sprained, there were several bruises on her arms and ribs, a suture on her forehead and various scrapes and burns from the friction of harsh surfaces on her skin. “I can take a hit.” She spoke instead defiantly as ever, he didn’t even know. The blonde had been knocked around enough in her past to be familiar with the aches and pains. Even if they used to be covered up, hell the bruise on her cheek had been perfect covered with a mix of foundation and coverup. 

♠

Blake made a sort of noncommittal sound at the back of his throat, the edge of the table digging into his palms where he rested his weight on it. His knuckles were the angry pink of broken skin and scratched-away scabs. This was not new for him. Blake ignored it, turning his gaze back to Elodie. “You’re no fun”, he said, though his voice lacked the usual teasing edge to it as if it’d been sanded off and blunted by reality. It was like he was going through the motions of his personality on habit alone, while his mind wandered elsewhere. She was too, he thought - rifling so dutifully through those books, precise and organised. Nothing about all this felt precise or organised, and she must have sensed that. “I like the way you say it - ‘air’-” The imitation was more awkward, less lyrical in his mouth, but Blake thought it’d serve its purpose. Annoy a normal reaction out of her if he couldn’t get it otherwise. 

Blake crossed his legs at the ankles, leaning further back as he raised an eyebrow at her, voice languid, “How would we use them to break skulls then?” He ran his tongue along the inside of his lower lip, thoughtful as if he were pondering aesthetics rather than the functionality of common objects as murder weapons. “Seems... impractical.” Blake was rather fond of the idea of improvising when in trouble, and bolting down perfectly good weapons didn’t particularly appeal to him, not when those things could be swung at heads or shoved in paths. He was interrupted from his reverie by Elodie spinning back around to face him, looking wound up and ready to fire. His eyes were on her features, head tilted to the side in silent observation. He’d been around the block long enough to learn that watching for tells could give you a much-needed edge in desperate situations, and even if this wasn’t one of them, he could tell by the way she held herself that something hurt. A leg? But which one? “Go on,” he drawled as he pushed himself off the table, amused. “You can say it. ‘Shut up Sterling, you don’t get to tell me what I do.’ Was that it?” He made his way across the room, his back to her, picking at random knickknacks around the office. He would take them and play with them for a moment before putting them back down. “I’d like to sometimes get to retort that yes I do get to tell you, considering the number of times you’ve demanded or ordered something - quite rudely, might I add - and I’ve listened.” 

He stopped his perusal and turned slowly on his heel. “Thing is”, he started, a faint, thoughtful frown between his eyebrows at odds with the edge in his voice, “it’s easier to just fight, instead of fighting and making sure you or any other of our less... violent members still have all their bones in the right place. Less people get hurt. Or should I say less of our own?” He focused his gaze on Elodie’s then, intense and silent for a few moments, as if he was considering his words, or perhaps hers. She’d snapped her teeth back at him, and though it was hardly unexpected Blake still raised an eyebrow at her. Maybe if he hadn’t been dealing with the fallout of the fight for the last 48 hours and running on an ungodly amount of caffeine and sleep deprivation, he might have been amused. Instead, he said, “That’s not really the point, is it? I’m not asking whether or not you can take a hit.” His words became slow and pointed, “I’m saying you shouldn’t have to. And that you won’t, as long as you get out when it’s time to get out.” A gang or not, Blake wasn’t in the business of putting civs on the front line, and he certainly wasn’t in the business of preaching every man for himself. He threw a pen he’d been playing with on one of the desks and strode over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to look out into the darkness of the lot. “I do wonder why you’re hiding them”, he said, voice vague, more a statement about his inner thought processes than a question. It wasn’t like he expected an answer, those were not given out easily in his world. “The bruises I mean.” Blake’s skin was a roadmap of wounds stitched up in a hurry or scars that could never be wiped away. He wore them like a snake wore its colours. They warned so he didn’t have to - handle carefully, this species is venomous. He let out a breath, shaking his thoughts away before turning around. “You’ve seen the medic, I hope?” 

#interactions || blake. #ft. elodie #injuries tw

[ofvxcious]

Character solidifying!

#ask memes. #going to bed #i’ll send everyone asks tmrrw morning 💕

[ofvxcious]

Sassy Stefan in season 4

#muse | blake. #visage | blake. #inspo | blake.

[ofvxcious]

damnedfm​:

Fey chuckled. “I’m sorry, Vi… You look better than cute… dashing, incredible and exquisite. Anyone who speaks to you would be so lucky… Myself included.” The brunette smiled brightly before flipping her hair off her shoulder. 

The bookmaker nodded when her friend mentioned the fight. “Yes and no. I mean…” She shrugged before offering a bigger smile. “The fighter tonight is a lot bigger and he’s been winning the past few nights.” She told her friend with a shrug. Fey leaned in and raised her brows. “Plus… I heard they were having trouble getting someone to fight him tonight.” Fey wiggled her brows and let out a small giggle. “Plus, I got a good look at him and he’s like… barely taller than I am.” Fey continued. 

The brunette wasn’t lying. Lying to Vivian wasn’t something she wanted to be caught doing, even on the big fight nights where her pay depended on her charisma. “Oh come on, I’ve never lied about a fight. I just…. simple persuade people in the right direction.” She admitted with a wink. “Take my last better, for example… I know he’s got a decent amount of money… I told him our guy was going to lose tonight. Hurt his hand in the last fight.” Fey shrugged. “He put down double his bet.” Fey paused. “I can’t help it that I’m charming and they’re dense.” 

⚜

Vivi laughed and it was a true laugh. Not one of those pleasant chuckles reserved for jokes said in passing or formal smiles in cafeterias - this one rattled in her chest and felt like she’d been holding it in for days. “You’re delightful, have I ever told you that?” And she was. Vivi liked Fey, with her unbridled smiles and clever eyes and the ability to make Vivi feel just a bit more alive. And she needed that, in a very essential, bone-deep way - friends who smiled brightly and made her laugh and interrupted the routine. 

As Fey spoke Vivi’s gaze slipped across the crowd, curious in its perusal. She was wondering if there were places like this at home, if some of the bruises on the wilder of her two brothers had originated from an event such as this one. She used to ask about these things, when she still had hope one of them might actually answer, so having Fey narrate it meant more to Vivi than the other girl knew. She was tired of half-truths and non-answers. A chuckle slipped from Vivi’s lips as she turned back to her friend. “Fey, you don’t have to justify yourself - it’s not your problem you’re good at your job.” She shrugged, unbothered. “Besides, they’re itching to place it anyway, you just make things smoother, and definitely more fun.” 

Something was thrumming beneath her skin as she looked out over the crowd - anticipation and defiance and the feeling of being somewhere illicit. She didn’t say it though - it would probably sound silly to Fey who seemed utterly at home here. Suddenly she felt a bit self-conscious, so instead, she said, “I’ve never been to a fight. Does it get ugly?” She wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be. No felt a bit boring, and yes felt a bit dangerous, and Vivi was eternally suspended between the two, uncertain. She looked at Fey then, as if caught off-guard by her own thoughtlessness. “Oh! Sorry, am I interrupting your work? I can wait till you’re done. Really, I feel bad about barging in already, I don’t expect you to babysit me.”

#interactions || vivian. #ft. fey #pls no need to match #i'm notorious for my lack of self-control

[ofvxcious]

closed starter for loren ( @ofthedivide​ ) location central london, near their respective homes time evening

The houses here were brick and pure white stone, taller than they were wide, and bordered by wrought-iron fences drowning in greenery. They were quaint and lovely, and Blake had always found them comforting, a distant reality from the utilitarian concrete and bleakness of high-rises he used to live in as a kid, drenched in bad memories and desperation. He sat now on one of the steps, twirling the cigarette between his fingers and worrying the stitches on his arm, waiting. It was the right place and time, and every so often he would direct his gaze down the street, expecting to see Loren come around the corner with fosters tagging along. They hadn’t yet, but by the way Hades twitched his ears and Persephone raised her head, Blake could tell they were near. 

“I thought I’d intercept you on the evening walk”, he spoke once they were within earshot, ignoring the urgent stares of his two Dobermanns as they quivered with the desire to get up and go greet the fosters. Still, they stayed put and Blake toyed with Hades’ ear as he smiled at the nurse. “I also brought you a plant. It’s somewhat nursed back to health, though there’s still some work to do with it. Figured you’d prefer that than a store-bought one.” He also knew if Elena saw the succulent back in the word of the living, she’d want it returned to her, and that was practically a death sentence for the poor thing. He’d just tell her it died a tragic death and fought valiantly before that. With everything still aching from the fight, he stifled a grunt as he got up. “Done with the walk or shall we follow you?”

#interactions || blake. #ft. loren #hope this is okay!

[ofvxcious]

elodie-divide​:

Closed for @ofvxcious​

Elodie sighed eyes scanning the pages in front of her, the books were an absolute disaster. The fight that devolved into a fight a few days ago had resulted in all sorts of repercussions, from the injuries she herself was even sporting to the absolute mess of the funds and bets that went to waste. Typically Elodie tried to keep her work as a Bookmaker in the Headquarters if she wasn’t at a fight or race, but following the fight she’d begun spending more and more of her free time somewhere behind the walls where only The Wilds could reach. The safety of it was just comforting, knowing the only people who could reach her here were of the same group, who had only an interest in protecting her and each other.

Hearing the door the the Bookmakers office opening she could already tell who it was. She’d been rejecting enough phone-calls to know what was inevitably coming. While on occasion Elodie found it a little funny, this time around she’d rather do just about anything than talk about the brawl that had broken out. “I do not want to talk about it.” The blonde began sharply flipping a page over and frowning at the book before flipping back and penciling in a new number. “Nothing has broken.” She assured as if that would satisfy him and send him on his way. But for the short time she knew him despite how distasteful she occasionally found him one of his few good traits was that he seemed to genuinely care about all of them. 

♠

The HQ was oddly quiet this time of day, as if the sound had been sucked out of it along with the members who’d scattered to follow whatever distraction the night offered. He didn’t blame them. With the tensions running higher than they had in years they were all itching for a distraction, Blake included. The problem was, his distractions either involved more injuries (an underground fight) or required mental acuity (racing) and Blake couldn’t afford either of those two things, not after the fight. So he was here instead, peering into the kitchenette only to find it vacant and smelling faintly of chemicals - someone had relieved their stress by cleaning the thing to a standard of a sterile operating field. Blake vaguely wished he’d been built differently so that stress could be scrubbed away, and not beaten away. It just seemed like a more appropriate adaptation. 

But really, he was loitering. He’d meant to head for the bookmakers’ office since the moment he’d parked by the warehouse and tried Elodie’s phone for the umpteenth time. It was almost like a ritual - he dialed, he let it ring, the answer never came - a formality rather than an action that was supposed to yield results. Now he took out his phone and dialed again as he headed for the office, the screen light eerie and casting strange shadows through the darkness. “Your phone’s ringing,” Blake said once he was inside, rising an eyebrow. “Might want to answer.” Then, not really waiting for a response, he hung up and shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. The door clicked softly behind him. Here too there was silence, interrupted only by the irritated flipping of pages, but the faint scent of paper and records and something archival soothed him more than an empty, disinfected kitchen. “Why assume I want to talk? Maybe I came here so we could braid each other’s hair” he drawled as he made his way across the office towards her desk. Elodie didn’t particularly hide her distaste for him, and Blake didn’t particularly care, so he leaned his hip against the side of her desk and crossed his arms, determined to stay. “I know you’re a newbie Laurent, but I’d like to think you’ve figured out by now that ‘Nothing’s broken,’ won’t really do it for me.” 

She probably didn’t think he paid attention, and Blake didn’t bother correcting her, but it hardly meant he hadn’t noticed the increase in time she spent holed up in this office. No one could be that interested in their numbers, especially not when they were so headache-inducing. “Actually, I came to thank you.” And check up on her to see if she’d offer any explanations for her behaviour, though he omitted that, doubting it’d be well-received. He continued, reaching out to steal the pencil out of her hand, “You bought me some time with that... I want to say chair?” He was silent for a moment, eyes trailing along a neat row of dated books on the shelf, considering his words carefully. Then he spoke again, his voice flatter this time, void of its usual playful insolence, “Next time though... get out.” His gaze slid back to her, intention clear in the hard set of his eyes and the thin line of his lips. “Unless you’re willing to learn how to fight I don’t want you getting in the middle of these things. And even then. We can hold our ground in a fight. However, with numbers... I’m doubtful at best.”

#interactions || blake. #ft. elodie #PLS why did this get so long #pls ignore like the entire first paragraph and half of the second one hahaha

[ofvxcious]

Everything about her seems to scream - listen, listen, I fought to be this soft.

Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers)

#muse | vivian. #spilled ink | vivian.

[ofvxcious]

#muse | blake. #visage | blake.

[ofvxcious]

elodie-divide​:

♟

“Ah–”  Elodie responded a bit Arms laden with grocery bags having been on her way to the bus stop back home. “I would not even know where to begin with a vehicle problem.” Elodie apologised glancing over at the car in question. Despite not knowing a lot about cars even she could tell it was in pretty horrible shape. In fact she was fairly certain it might even be a hazard to drive it even if it did get sorted out. Then again while she’d seen the occasional car be fixed the blonde had spent most of that time talking and less of it focusing on what was actually happening to it. “However, I know of a good car repair location I could give you their number?” She offered adjusting her hold on the bags and weight of her stance. “I do not know how much it would cost to get that…” Elodie trailed off fixed, might actually be too strong a word and expectation. “running to a similar level it was before.”

⚜

 Propping her hip against the car Vivi twirled the car key thoughtfully between her fingers. "Yeah, it was kind of a long shot to expect a mechanic to just walk by, especially considering my luck." Though, to be fair, the rational part of her assumed it might have been better that it died now rather than when whoever was driving the car she was tailing spotted her. This current part of her, however, itched for a less boring ending of the day. "Oh?" Vivi made a hopeful sound, turning her gaze back towards the woman. "Oh! You're an angel! Let me get my phone." With the heel of her boot she pushed herself away from the car and peered through the window to search for her bag. From inside her voice was muffled as she spoke, "Please tell me you'll wait with me? I'll call someone to come pick it up, I can't leave it lying around, even if I am resentful. Leave no man behind and all that crap." 

Half suspended on the door she finally grabbed the bag and wiggled herself out. "I could do with a gelato, or an iced coffe. Ooh, or cake. Any kind really, I find it helps with the burning rage against this thing." With her phone out and ready she caught Elodie's suspicious gaze and followed it back to the Jag who in this late hour seemed more black than green. She had half a mind to say it was much prettier in sunlight, but she had a feeling Elodie wasn't actually too invested. She frowned. "A fortune. They keep rising the price every other time at this place I've been going to. Sure, it's a hassle to work on an oldtimer, but I suspect they're simply doing it to get rid of me." Which was fair, considering how often the Jag decided to break, but that didn't stop Vivi from rolling her eyes now. "Anyway - gelato. Please? I'm paying for everything, of course."

#interactions || vivian. #ft. elodie

[ofvxcious]

Daisy’s yellow sweater appreciation post.

#visage | vivian. #muse | vivian.