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Ana de Armas photographed by Steven Yatsko for Wonderland Magazine (2017)

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Which gender do you prefer?

“For what?”

#Anonymous #answered

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#sdaskday

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sarah-dear-w‌:

The hair on the back of Sarah’s neck tingled. The longer she watched the girl move about like a spooked pup the more she was sure the girl was another wolf. Sarah suddenly felt at ease. Her pack back home might have been turbulent and toxic– but they understood. This girl was a stranger, but Sarah knew she could start bitching about the cycles of the moon and this girl would just get it.  

She took Naomi’s hand with a firm grip. “Naomi,” she muttered the girl’s name to herself. “You smoke, Naomi?” She pulled a box of cigarettes from her back pocket, offering it to Naomi. “If you don’t, now isn’t a bad time to start.”

It should have been comforting to know another of her kind. To feel the familiarity of the wolf within another, even a stranger, but Naomi felt a touch of sorrow at the notion. The sadness that came with knowing the darker possibilities that came with what they were. It wasn’t anything she expected people to understand, to it remained something she kept hidden. Save for the flash of softness that came every now and again. 

The grip caught her by surprise, and for a heartbeat, she tensed. But there was nothing malicious about this one. Odd, perhaps, but not harmful. “Smoke,” she repeated as attention dropped to the box she pulled and, curious, as she was, she took it. Fingers fumbling just slightly as she pulled one of them out, haphazardly handing it back to her. 

She rolled the cigarette in her fingers again, finding far more enjoyment of the feel the second time around. Bringing it up, she ran it under her nose, taking a breath. “I don’t smoke.”

#ch: sarah

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constantin-davy‌:

He can practically hear her startle. In the off beats of her heart. The slight shift in her scent. It piques his curiosity almost, which is a feat, all things considered.  He’s not used to being idle, and tonight’s an idle kind of night. Even the breeze in the air is none existent, just the sound of the buzz in the neontubes. Electricity zapping like cicadas.

 Constantin spends a moment stalling his answer, cigarette placed again between his lips. He shifts, turning to face her. Eyes off-kilter on the woman’s face. Still, he can hear her breathe well enough, each draw of air as it slips between her lips, for it to be a near thing.

“You can carry a tune.” He repeated his meaning. “I’ve heard that song before. Where is it from?”

Still without movement, she watched him. Always cautious with faces she didn’t know; always waiting for the strike. For the grab. For the warning, but it had yet to come. Not completely, at least. Finally her stance shifted, some of the tension falling from the stiff position of her body. There was less of a knot to her brows and the thin lines of her lips softened just a touch, glancing down to look at his hands. 

She knew his meaning wasn’t literal, but it was still an interesting thought. 

But the question of the song brought back another wave of confusion - not on his part, on her own. Mostly because that song was tucked away in a memory that had been fogged over for some time. As much as she wanted it to have come from something happier, warmer in her time, it hadn’t. “The cages,” she finally said. There was no pinpointing the face, the Arena was a revolving door with people around her and to save her own sanity, Mimi opted to try and not know as many faces as possible. 

“Sang it,” her head cocked as she spoke, each word just barely cutting above a whisper, “before hunts.”

#ch: constantin

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sarah-dear-w‌:

She pushed her hair away from her face as the girl spoke. “What are you doing up here?” Sarah took the cigarette and slipped it behind her ear. Her eyes were locked on the girl. Normally Sarah didn’t care much about the average stranger, but anyone else living here wasn’t exactly average. She didn’t match the girl’s smile, her lips remaining in a firm line. “I’m fine. Bored. But fine.” 

Despite her blank face, Sarah put out a hand. “My name’s Sarah.”

The question seemed to catch her off guard, just slightly. Blinking, Naomi glanced around them, trying to remember why she had come up this way in the first place, before she got distracted with the light. Between her brain and her tongue, she couldn’t quite manage to find the words, so she pulled what she could from the other’s, offering a small shrug. “Bored,” she repeated. 

Again, the wolf blinked, her head cocking as she looked to the girl’s hand. Taking it, Naomi’s grip was light. Careful. “Naomi.”

#ch: sarah

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constantin-davy‌:

Constantin could scent a wolf in the air like nothing else.

A little earthy, not all too pleasant, it would cling in the air long after the little monger was gone, leaving him stuck with that tune in his head.

His head dropped against the wall he was leaning on, the cigarette fitted between the vampire’s fingers burning down to the very filter. Blind as he was, he could hear the wolf’s heart beating steady, like a drum.

“You ain’t too bad at that,” Constantin spoke, voice little more than a raspy whisper, carrying with it that Louisiana drawl. 

It was a survival tactic, the hyperawareness she normally had with her. All people noticed was her unusually quiet nature. Her odd reactions or behavior, but they didn’t take into consideration the fact that she was watching everything. Calculating everything. Mapping paths and exits should she need to run. 

This, though, was not one of those moments of hyperawareness. She’d let herself become infatuated with the lights, with the buzz of electricity in the air around it. So much so she hadn’t noticed him standing there. Instantly, her stand stiffened and despite her attention locking on him, she was already trying to find the best way out. Just in case. 

Her brows narrowed at him, the confusion against her features not something she bothered trying to hide. Silently, she mouthed the words back to herself. 

“At what?”

#ch: constantin

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sarah-dear-w‌:

Sarah twirled an unlit cigarette between her fingers, her eyes fixed on the city skyline. Before coming here she wasn’t sure what to expect– but her mids eye had certainly pictured something more medieval than all this. Maybe it was the nature of the deal. Give yourself, body and soul, over to some powerful being. Or maybe Sarah just expected the vampires of this place to have more nostalgia for gothic architecture. 

Either way, she was oblivious to the woman dancing a few feet away from her. Seeing something out the corner of her eye, Sarah yelped– dropping her unlit cigarette. “Jesus,” she breathed. “You–!” she stopped herself, taking a breath. “Sorry,” her voice was much softer now. “Didn’t see you there. I swear I’m not always this skittish.”

She had, clearly, been in her own world. It was a rare occurrence for her, the obliviousness to the world around her. Most days she was almost hyper aware of everyone around her, trying to figure out moves, reactions. Trying to read tones, take in the words and phrases said around them - doing her best to store them for future conversations. It wasn’t until she heard the yelp come from beside her that she blinked, breaking the almost trance like fixation she had on the sign.

Turning to look at the girl, her head cocked as she watched her. There was something entertaining in the way she moved, reacted to her. The touch of a soft smirk was there, pulling at the corner of her mouth as she stepped toward the girl, leaning to pick up the cigarette she dropped. “Sorry,” she repeated, a phrase she had been accustomed to giving out to people. Apologies were easy to maintain the chaos that was her mind. “Skittish,” she repeated again, rolling the cigarette carefully between her fingers before handing it back. “Are you 'kay?” Each word was spoke slowly, intently. 

#ch: sarah

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undeadfelix‌:

       He watches her carefully as she pinches her bottom lip. He doesn’t move, not wanting to startle her. Felix finds he’s missed her, the quiet and beautiful way she looks at the world. He can’t imagine how she finds the good in the world after what she’s been through. “If it’s too loud, then we go away from it.” His eyes drift to communal housing. It was probably filled with a litany of things that were unsavory. “Come on then. I was in the mood for a walk. Did you want to head for the water or the woods? Your choice.” 

If she had learned anything about herself during her time in town, it was how people took to her. She may not have been able to verbalize a lot of what went through her mind, but it was there. She understood the desire to protect the weak, and she understood that she came off as such. It was in her shortcomings, in the seeming underdeveloped ways she acted and reacted. She knew there was a comfort in knowing a monster was, ultimately, harmless. But Naomi was neither weak nor harmless and the moment people saw that of her, their outlook on her changed. Understandably so. Felix, though, was never a person who shunned her for the trouble she brought. He, as well as she, knew there was nothing to be gained from their sponsorship, and there was a part of her that respected him all the more for recognizing that. 

The mention of the woods caused a slight twitch to her ears, perking up as her attention shot back to him. “Please,” she said, already shifting her weight where she stood. “Trees.”

#ch: felix

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undeadfelix‌:

      He watches her quietly, glad she’s okay. She was the one rescue he couldn’t seem to help. It was easier to stop after her than to continue and disappoint more. He allows her to touch him, a luxury not afforded to most people, but she wasn’t most people. He nods as he looks up the lights briefly. He looks back at her, the smile on her face making him feel light in a way. She always knew how to easily disarm him. He closes his eyes to focus on the noises around them. Focusing, he can hear the popping and sizzling of the neon lights. It’s a faint hum usually lost to the sounds of the town. He revels in it for a little bit before opening his eyes and looking at her again. “I hear it. It’s relaxing. Calming. Do you want me to leave you so you can enjoy?” 

Naomi wasn’t the kind to harbor grudges, she barely held her memories together as they were - there was no room for ill will of unpleasant thoughts surrounding anyone who hadn’t tried to outright kill her. Her time with Felix had been unfortunate only because her wounds had been so fresh, her mind was still too fragile for sponsorship. But she was grateful for him all the same - she could have ended up with a hell of a lot worse in those moments. “No,” she said, fingers coming to pinch at her own, bottom lip. “Stay. Too loud to go back.” Pulling her gaze from the sign, it fell into the direction of the communal housing. “We can walk. My eyes hurt anyway.”

#ch: felix

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strikertheblackdog‌:

The woman’s laugh was musical and he was relieved to see the tension releasing from it. Didn’t do anyone any good when stress levels were high like that. He chuckled with her and nodded, tickled by the whole thing. It was endearing. The shove was unexpected by harmless enough so he nodded yet again, still smiling. 

“That’s right, Striker… Naomi, such a beautiful name, d’ya know it means ‘nice’, like ‘pleasant’. I think it fits you.” he said the last with a definitive, single nod, considering the matter closed with no room for arguments if any were coming, “What were you lookin’ at, before I ran into ya?” he asked, looking up but not quite sure where she had been engaged. 

He was unusually nice. All too open for her comfort, and a part of her felt both sorrow for him, and envy. Pain came with the openness that he held, but she had a fascination in the notion that people could still feel as such. His explanation of her name, however, got another little laugh from her. 

Or, well, more of a snort really. A dismissal of the idea. “Then, perhaps.” it was the only thing she still carried of her pack: her birthname. And maybe it did fit the girl she had once been, but not now. Most people wouldn’t call her nice. Giving him a face, there was still a touch of a smile there, hidden at the very corners of her mouth. She would let him believe that, if it was what he wanted. But then her attention flicked back to the sign above their heads, and her expression shifted once more. 

“Lights.”

#ch: striker

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strikertheblackdog‌:

There was something a little… off about the woman but despite it looking like she might attack him - maybe she had expected to be hit again? - she didn’t seem much of a threat. Her words, succinct and a little juvenile - maybe she didn’t speak English very well, or didn’t understand his accent, that was a common enough problem when he had left the UK - only threw Striker for a moment before his protective instincts kicked back up into high gear and he chuckled quietly with a nod.

“Bit of a boom, yeah.” he agreed, shifting his weight as he observed her observing him, “Thankfully not a big boom… I’m Striker, you have a name, beautiful?”

Off was a nicer, kinder way of stating her obvious shortcomings. She knew her development had been stunted, she knew his growth had been hampered. She may not have been able to voice her thoughts as well as others in this town, but she saw the difference between her and them. Their vocabularies surpassed her own. The ability to reason and understand, better. But, none of it shook her confidence in who, and what, she was. 

 She didn’t let it bother her, people had a way of understanding her regardless of what came out of her mouth.

Both hands came up at his words, held some distance apart between them. “Big bada boom.” But, they were said with a laugh, the tension in her body melting a bit as they stood there. Staring up at him, her brows furrowed just slightly as she put the name to his face. Faces, she could remember, names... not so much. 

“Naomi,” the name came with an almost sing-song kind of tone to it, softer in volume before she, albeit awkwardly, shoved her hand at him. “Striker.”

#ch: striker

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#broken cigarettes & bullet holes: photos

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strikertheblackdog‌:

Striker had left the… communal house or whatever the hell it was called and headed out for a walk to try and clear his head. He still didn’t really understand what was going on, a few bits and pieces gleaned from here and there were starting to paint a picture but it was still far from complete. But it was late and Striker was far from tired and maybe he could find someone to give him more answers. 

Finding himself down town, Striker slowed his pace and took in the sights. The faces, the businesses, the lights obscuring the stars. Such a diametrically opposite view to the one he was used to in the wilds. Eyes locked on the faint stars, he didn’t notice the woman until he had bumped into her, nearly running her over though he was able to grab her arm to help keep her from falling. Fuck’s sake…

“Sorry, sorry, shite…” Striker immediately let go once he was sure she had her feet under her, “Sorry, darlin’, didn’t see ya.” He gave her an award-winning smile, chock full of apology, “You okay?”

She was, almost always, in someone’s way. And while she liked to think she was always on her game, it was moments like these when it was apparent that she was not. Her curiosity could get the best of her, her mind even more so. there seemed to be no middle ground for the wolf, she was either high alert or completely oblivious. 

Her body tensed the moment they collided, and instinctively, she pulled her arm from his grip, or had tried to at least. The hit had jarred her from her thoughts in such a way, that she had expected another blow. But her arm came free and no other hit came to blindside her. it took a second to regain her composure and her thoughts before she could take in who had run into her.

She blinked, head cocking just a notch as he spoke. “You okay,” she repeated, her words soft. “Boom.”

#ch: striker #hallo

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battleworns‌:

Margeaux recognizes her, even though she’s not covered in dirt, or trying to make herself invisible currently. The memories aren’t as hazy as she’d like them to be, instead, they are clear as day - as if they happened hours ago instead of years. Naomi was by definition a warrior, just like her, but she’d been forced into it. The arena was a place she should have never been, and it was the Valkyrie who had started the movement to end it. Fighting, killing, for sport was an offense to who, and what she had always been.

“Mimi.” It’s softer, it’s the way she’s addressed the wolf in the past. A certain level of endearment is there, of caring. “It’s nice to see you’ve managed to make your way here.” She is genuinely pleased, the small town would be a good place for her, hopefully, it would give her back some of what she’d been missing. Maybe, it would even teach her, help her unlearn some of the painful shit she’d had to fashion into coping mechanisms.

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War, in whatever sense it may have come, knew war. And while Naomi’s was considered a traditional battle, it was one all the same. something Margeaux had helped her learn all those years back. But that face wasn’t one she was expecting to see again. The woman walked through her present just as clearly as she walked through her past, and for a moment, it made it hard to separate the two. 

Her name came, the shortened version she had grown to love hearing fall from people’s lips, and the wolf blinked back the threat of memories passed to look up at her. She was trying to get her body to relax, to lose the fight or flight instinct that kicked in. It took a moment, but when there had been no screaming that accompanied her, no smell of blood or gunfire, it was easier to relax. 

“To you,” she questioned, her words deliberate and slow, “or town.”

#ch: margeaux

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undeadfelix‌:

      Leaving the Sanguine, Felix decides to roam Folie. At this time of night, only his kind or similar are caught walking around usually. There’s a stillness to the town, only cicadas and fizzing neon lights fill the air. It’s easier for him. Easier to avoid, easier not to interact. It felt like it was just him and the city on the night he chose to do this. Sometimes the blood bar got too loud, too loud for him to block out. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he lights one – a bad habit he picked up at least a century ago. He can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter either way.

      As he walks, he listens – a heartbeat, something familiar. He knows it’s Naomi immediately, can tell in the way a soft humming falls atop it. She’s swaying in the street looking up. He follows her eye line and sees the neon glowing. She always liked vibrant things. The smile on her face gives him pause, but he pushes past it to slink up beside her. “The lights catch your attention? Or did you only want to stop and hum a while?” 

His scent was familiar, which was unfortunately welcomed in the mass collection of smells this town could throw at someone. Her stance only stiffened at the intrusive voice, the sound cutting through the song that had been playing. But even then, it was a struggle to pull her gaze from the lights that had locked her attention however long ago.

After a moment, she turned, albeit hesitantly, to look at him. It took a second before the light of recognition took to her features. He was one of the familiar faces she tried to find in the outage, despite their rocky past, he still promised a level of comfort she couldn’t get in the communal housing. “Bright lights,” she chirped, reaching to take hold of the arm of his shirt, fingers wrapping up in the fabric. Her free hand came up, index finger pushing against her own lips. “Shhh. Listen.” Slowly, the smile she wore grew. “Hear it?”

#ch: felix