albctrcss

[albctrcss]

❛ This is where we kiss, right? ❜ (more day ruining)

? SENTENCE STARTERS  |  @conflicticn.

   there was a point in time the ring on her finger didn’t feel like an anchor – or, she wishes there were, anyway, and in the hardest hours, she lets herself be fooled. she sinks into the same delusions; HAPPINESS, she swears she felt it with him. and she did, absolutely. not the heart fluttering in love kind, no, the rapid beating in her chest was sorrow, as though it were a person banging at her door. hard, unrelenting, with intent; ignored. she loved him, no one ever bothered to question it, no one had reason to, but some days, she wanted to shout that for crying out loud, she loves him. did it make her weak or egotistical that when she walked into a room with him, she felt all eyes on her?  —- it doesn’t matter. there are very few on her now, just a pair. brooke wants to raise a hand to them, flash her ring to quell whatever state elliot lives her life in; she doesn’t. 

     elliot lives her life faster and more dangerous than brooke could have ever grasped – she knows. she tried. she wanted to be something more. she wanted to move to new york, or out to california, or seattle, even. brooke was handed her place and received it with a painted smile. someone with more spine than her with admit it was CARVED, every work after a cruel reshaping of the original. she would frown in confusion, elliot would understand. she was never good at art herself, just running. yet, she’s not fleeting. she stood still in cheyenne, she’s still grieving. it doesn’t stop her from smiling at the suggestion – it’s in jest, she knows. the sirens stopped hours ago, she doesn’t question the concept that elliot would consider physical intimacy a ritualistic part of celebration, just debates whether or not the other would care at all so long after they’ve ended. she seems like the live in the moment type.

    she’s worn this face so often; uncertainty hiding under a thin veil of courage and sociability. track meets were colored with it, her wedding was, everything since has been. she misses being thirteen and so sure taylor was the one. there was never the question of sexuality with him, it was taboo in her household. HIM. she was with him, they were meant to be – destiny, the two of them being born so close. now in a dusty warehouse during light conversation isn’t the time for it.  ❝  right now, here?  ❞  even, almost sounding scripted in it’s tone. the pondering hum that fills a space that would otherwise sound silent sounds it too. it’s just one of those nights; DELUSIONS of truths being jokes and lies being sage.  ❝  maybe if you had brought some candles.  ❞  

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exdcus

he sat on a barrel, giving up his seat to the lady as he worked on the engine of a muscle car he found ABANDONED a few blocks outside the skirts of springhill. he occupied himself tinkering with the machine but also by telling stories, keeping his guest ENTERTAINED to some extent. ❝ so, i’m not talking to a brick wall ?? ❞ he joked at her response. nixon polished his wrench while he stood on his feet. he walked towards his desk that was CONSUMED with various tools — some newer and obscure than the rest. he exchanged the wrench for a smaller one before returning to his previous position. ❝ yeah — shelburne was a great place to grow up. small towns have it’s downsides but just as you said. it was peaceful. ❞ he failed to mention that the peace had run thin within the walls of the hale household. he, of course, omitted this information — maybe for another time; the girl had already managed to sit through this LONG of his nonsense rambles. maybe she was worth keeping around. —- nixon wiped the sweat from his brow. he looked down at the engine before looking over at her. ❝ you’ve managed to have me sit here and open up to you about shit i don’t tell anyone. so, blondie — it’s only fair that you do the same. so let’s start simple, where ya’ from, kid ?? ❞

@albctrcss said: ❝ that sounds very peaceful ❞

CA: CIVIL WAR SENTENCE MEME + BROOKE NEAL / NOT ACCEPTING

it’s hard to imagine a place other than cheyenne. the city itself doesn’t make an overwhelming impression, it’s just that other cities lack -- or, maybe they don’t. she wouldn’t know. shelburne though, it comes closest. the way he talks about it draws interest, and she watches his back while he goes on. when he looks, she makes sure to flash a smile; she doesn’t want him to stop. she knows what comes next. brooke folds her hands in her lap briefly, then unfolds them to twist the ring that sits atop her finger. every bone in her body wants to ignore that he’s asked at all and instead pose a question of her own. and, she will. not ignore him, but she’ll ask. when it’s her turn, of course, because anything else is improper. she recalls a birthday party, wishing the kid well before her parents. what was she trying to do? -- show them up. of course she was. OF COURSE. everything is timed; she waits until he’s well and done to speak at all, she makes sure not to stutter. with how set she is, he may as well be talking to a brick wall; that’s a joke for another time.   ❝  here. ❞   despite the memories plaguing the city, she answers his question with a pleased tone  (  fitting to a stepford, not a grieving woman  ).    ❝  it was nice,  ❞   lie entirely or be unabashedly honest; it’d be hard to imagine them as part of the same coin if she hadn’t been flipping it her whole life.  NICE, she thinks, is subjective.    ❝   still is, if you know where to go.   ❞   the addition of  ❛ where to avoid ❜  goes unsaid. 

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which are u: wine mom, beer dad, or vodka aunt

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conflicticn

“…Like I was going to ask anyone else to be my tour guide.” It sounded as if Elliot had bothered to ask other people where they came from. If it wasn’t given, Elliot didn’t tend to ask. The last thing she’d ever need was life stories for people who didn’t matter. She was sure that Brooke had brought it up at some point or maybe she was just set on the idea that even if the intel was wrong, the blonde was the type that let her politeness get her into awkward predicaments. There was something truly satisfying about watching people who didn’t want to make waves, they floundered so tirelessly. “Alright, I say this: I want to see the prettiest place in Cheyenne. Where do we go, gorgeous?” This was not going to be a lone adventure, Elliot expected a full service out of this unfortunate escort. 

( @albctrcss )

           ❝  i mean, really, i can’t --  ❞  on instinct, she stops speaking by sinking her teeth into her cheek. truly, a tour is harmless. the only way it’d hurt is if she refused to do it at all.   ❝  i can’t, today. i have things to do back at camp.  ❞  not a smooth correction by any means, but it’s not a lie; she had told someone she’d take over their shift. before, this problem never came up. her scheduling was meticulous. nothing ran at the same time as anything else, no one was ever let down like this.  and, if she were to be honest, elliot scares her. the moment the words leave her mouth, she fears a multitude of outcomes; shouting, physical violence, the cold shoulder. the scrambling might be comedic to some, but it only reminds her of a painful shrieking sound.    ❝  -----  how about tonight, though?  i can make time.  ❞  more than anyone else, she’s talking to herself. it’s all an attempt for brooke to work herself into an agreeable state.  

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contritium

     tightly wound is the best phrase to describe this girl as. it doesn’t appear to him as an obvious truth, but rather a feeling that’s been burrowed beneath pale skin for god knows how long. he doesn’t know, but he does assume. it’s not something that he likes to do. the mindless guessing games he plays & the light tip-toeing around subjects and questions that he does in order to prevent discomfort. all of those things were frowned upon in his ‘family.’ being forthright with another was what garnered respect — but this girl compels him to behave differently. her doe-eyes and rounded edges are a softness that nathan has never known before. & sure, some of it may come from the fear that he is the real danger & she’s trying to avoid certain death, but nathan wants to believe otherwise. parts of him want to believe that there’s still people out there who aren’t quick to render him useless, to label him as the devil & to keep their hearts open to the idea that looks were indeed deceiving. though, parts of him also searched fervently for a reason to EXPLODE, to let the anger & fury flow through him like lava. & still, this delicate woman has him on a leash & makes him want to watch his words and his steps. but perhaps that’s fitting. “guard dog among other things.” among other things? sounds too inconspicuous. “hunting, growing, trading. i don’t like to do just one thing.” he’s always been too restless for that, his mind easily being numbed by the patterns & routines throughout the day. & he doesn’t put much thought into her words, though. whether it was meant to be an insult or not — nathan doesn’t really care. besides, he’s been called much worse & in comparison, being called a guard dog is a god damn compliment. “—but patrol. that sounds,” his voice trails off as he contemplates: truth or kindness? “interesting.” nathan’s jaw tightens at the lie, knowing that she’ll see right through the paper-thin walls. “must be weird living there, though,” he comments. though, it’s not for the reasons that most would assume. it’s not because of what used to be, rather what could have been — the childhood he never truly experienced. 

     whether she feels anxious or not shouldn’t matter; it didn’t before. it mattered how you looked, how you reflected on the people around you. track star? it was a dream meant for nowhere. take away the star, take away everything that is admired about them and take away the awe people feel in them. leave the cold, leave the dark and the loneliness. then, and only then, would a star named after her be fitting. regardless of whether or not she’s anyone worthy of company, she listens intently -- with greed, even. she’d be fine listening to him talk for days, so long as it drowned out the sound of her own voice.   ❝ that’s nice,  ❞  but that sounds like her mother, doesn’t it? a phrase too easily taken as dismissal, as nonchalance. she doesn’t mean it to be void of sincerity, not the way it’s always been said to her.   ❝  really, i mean it.  ❞  and the scrambling to make sure she’s understood? oh, that’s from her parents too; if you don’t speak directly enough no one will ever make the time for you. no one will care what comes out of your mouth. so if you’re going to lie, go all the way. if you’re going to be honest, be blunt. GO ALL THE WAY. she lets a smile ease it’s way onto her face. patrol isn’t interesting, she gets the feeling neither of them actually think it is. if she’s right, at least she knows he’s trying. it’s a simple kindness she can appreciate. while not exciting, it gives her purpose. it gives her something to do when breaking isn’t acceptable. there are parts of her she’d rather not speak of; not of the blood that pools in her mouth from days of holding her words back, not about the shouting and misdirected anger. but there are nicer times, the memories she’s meant to live in and embody.   ❝  i went there growing up,  ❞  she admits this easily.   ❝  so it’s . . . familiar,  ❞  the good memories are tainted, she thinks. they were all with him. it’s her own fault that they’re in ruins.   ❝  and the people are great.  ❞  it’s offered as a condolence. he probably doesn’t care if she’s in good company or if living there is actually hard. she can’t imagine someone genuinely interested in her well being, not now when up-keeping your own is so difficult. but it’s conversation, it’s best she doesn’t let it taper off.   ❝  do you trade with the camps here?  ❞  she almost hopes he does; getting attached is tricky. every person who’s kind to her, anyone who gives her a moment of their time is hard for brooke to shake. there must be something purely good in them if they put up with her.

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someone: quit bouncing your leg me: hesitates but continues to lowkey bounce my leg

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winglessrossi

        “i’m sorry you had to see that,” he says after a moment, a softness to his voice only learned after he’d gone clean and taken up the bible in replace of prison heroin.  “i try to keep that away from camp, he was    —  the WORST kind of person, the kind of person that there is no coming back from his crimes and his sins,”  everyone who KNEW angel was aware that he could be found, almost every morning at daybreak, on what he called the prayer rock - praying for his own salvation, for his family, his friends, his enemies and the dead… but sometimes there was only one way out.   ( though he took NO pleasure in it - his blood stained hands. )

           “you’re always welcome to come and talk to me - no matter what,” he says after a moment ——  - his keen ears (not god-given, more an acquired skill from leading in MS-13 prior to the outbreak) - he was always good at telling a lie from a truth - but this was not his job, to call out people and BADGER them for their person details.   “i’m always alright, brooke - i have my camp, my friends - my life despite the odds. i have god on my side, so i know it must be okay somehow,” he gives her a soft smile.   “are you sure you’re okay?”

      ❝  i know.  ❞   maybe she didn’t before, but she does now, and she trusts him. it may be childish to simply default to finding safety in your elders, or it may be something ingrained in her. brooke’s parents were always all-knowing, righteous. they set an example and she followed it.   ❝  you’re just doing what’s best.  ❞  for herself, she can’t say the same. they’d be best off purging them all, wouldn’t they? according to their actions, anyway, but she lets them walk her home, she lets raiders pass her by.  ❝  people get what they deserve,  ❞   and being valued feels nice. it felt nice with taylor and it feels nice now. it doesn’t feel RIGHT. they weren’t a religious family -- she threw a fit in the middle of a service when she was six and they never went back. another thing ruined, her father lamented.   ❝  you’re certainly no exception to that.  ❞   but she’s glad angel has faith, she’s glad he has something. 

    all she has are lies and empty reassurances. he deserves better, brooke knows she’s depriving him of what he’s earned.   ❝  yeah, i’m sure.  ❞  and maybe one day she’ll be able to bare the blood on her hands to him. not today though, not any time soon.   ❝  but, listen, i wanted to talk to you about my home. there’s blankets, and pillows, and other things.  ❞  she won’t complain about hard floors or uncomfortable chairs. it’s not the sort of thing that bothers her. she just thinks some comfort would raise morale.   ❝  i could make a trip out there.  ❞

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   futurama, season four, episode eleven, ❛  love and rocket.  ❜  |  @piouswicker.

            she holds the bottle of pop tight in the crook of one elbow, her other hand grasped around the cap. the scrape of the ridges against her hand is familiar, comforting in it’s burning. it keeps her from speaking out about her embarrassment at not being able to open it. she looks at her company, smiles, and on her last real effort to open it, the cap gives way. brooke lets out a sigh of relief; it’s not her choice of drink, it never has been, and she’s almost certain it’s not good anymore. she holds strong to her upbringing: she plans to hold water in it and dump the liquid in it now down a drain somewhere. she sets it aside, flipping the cap over in her hand. imagine the shock, a girl born in cheyenne and raised with no real form of amusement. it was always a dream, leaving the city for at least a week to visit parks and hiking trails. the money they had set aside is worthless now, but it sits in the bottom of her sock drawer anyway.  ❝ hey, i won free admission to six flags. just one more reason we must survive this.   ❞  there would have been excitement once, but now it’s something DRY, hollow. it’s forced out her throat with the intention of sounding otherwise, but it falls as flat as it feels. brooke offers the cap to florence..   ❝  can i bribe you to walk with me?  ❞  

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winglessrossi

            he feels instant regret that brooke ( of all people ) stumbled across him in this moment - he is never one to play judge, jury and executioner all in one.  but there are crimes, he reasons late at night when the blood soaked memories torment him, that god can understand.    he believes, as he wipes the blade clean and helps one of the others dump the body on the back of a truck to be taken offsite and AWAY from where the smell of a fresh kill could lure the walkers in, that this was one of them.    “i’m sorry brooke, i didn’t realize you were there,” he washes his hands free of the grime and blood and gore and dirt before turning to face her.

             “of course we can talk, let’s get away from this fuckery - i’ll have one of the others relieve you from patrol,” he motions to one of their camp mates and hands over a few cigarettes before clapping him on the back with a soft word of gratitude.    they wander - away from CURIOUS eyes and ears, and he lights a smoke before he looks to her; “alright, carina, - what’s up? has something happened that i need to know about   — and more importantly, are you alright?”

            it’s a betrayal of her emotions, the way the forgives him with a dismissive wave of her hand; the part taught by her parents want her to speak up, to lecture him about sinful things that are better done in private. she won’t though, she can’t. there’s a grateful thank you in the direction of the man who’s taken her place. she waits quietly and without question until he poses his own.   ❝  no, nothing.  ❞  she shakes her head.   ❝  i just thought there might be a few places worth checking out.  ❞  she’s only ever been encouraged to be useful; to a man, to her school’s team, to her parents. they taught everything she could learn in being perfect. her execution is poor though and most days, she feels like people know it.

            ❝  and i’m fine.  ❞  she’s reasoned before that this lie is fine. it’s normal now, she’s not so out of the ordinary for telling it -- and though it is a reason, it may not be a good one considering the guilt that still tugs at her.   ❝  are you?  ❞  brooke can’t claim to know anything about psychological trauma, not in the cold, logical sense, just the same as she can’t about injuries. all things considered, he seems fine.  making sure is habitual -- the flow of conversation is something she knows well enough.

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“fight for your future! fight for your children! fight for your immortality!” ( dysnomia / angel bc i am a sucker for angel being protective of all the saddle ridge homies tbh )

  CLASSIC  🔥  |  @winglessrossi.

        iris is no fool; you do not fight a man like zeus. you wait until he is well and finished, lest his wrath strike you twice.  ❝  to fight would likely endanger my child and a future where i have caused him pain is not only undesirable, but it is impossible –  ❞  her words are calm. the decision is final, there is no fuss to be had.    ❝  i will not allow it, dysnomia, not even if hera herself wills it.  ❞  she is not ARKE, she will not stoop to betrayal, she will not be so selfish. 

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chcrmingkiller

          “what could we have done that made him so displeased?” she said with an exclamation of frustration.   it was not her place to be here. she’d done multitudes for the human race and LEFT because she could stomach no more of their discourse.        in the heavens she had watched over, tried to do her best to maintain the innocence and PURITY of the human race, assisting dike with the balance of justice.       astraea did NOT deserve to be here.    

           “i have no sins, none that i am aware of.    i do not claim to be without fault - but sin is something that i am not familiar with.  as well as this - most gods have been tainted by sins of the flesh - i have not.”      she twisted her hands before her; “this is unjust, iris.”

       ❝ i believe you. ❞  she has no true answer, nothing that could justify casting out those that have done nothing wrong by him. dare she speak out against him? she should. he’s done her no favors. all she has ever done is give. alongside selfishness, anger has held a place in her once before, when the titans struck, and pity came in the aftermath -- for her sister, corrupted and traitorous. she was found a balanced being otherwise.  ❝  you are good, i cannot imagine you would be deserving of this. ❞  but they all have to be, right? to keep the darkness from flooding her mind, to keep her from thinking there were some people who were collateral damage to her poor choices.

       ❝  you will be allowed to return soon, i’m sure of it.  ❞  it’s the only comfort she can offer now, and she pairs it with a smile. anything to help.

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chcrmingkiller

            “but pleased with what?” astraea said with a light sigh, “i fear that for all my knowledge and wisdom, for all that i thought i knew of him and of the mortals we preside over - i have come up blank.”    she cast her eyes around - curious and confused.    she believed wholeheartedly that it could not have been her who triggered this ANGER.    leaving earth was the right choice when the humans showed such intense disregard for the other mortals that they coexisted with.         “how can you be so…. accepting of this, iris? does it not drive you mad wondering WHY ?”

      ❝  us.  ❞  her posture emits confidence, despite answers that have plenty assumptions to be had over. to her, it’s simple; there are wrongs that need to be made right. she’s not sure this is the way though. it endangers too much, upsets too many lives. she would prefer peace.   ❝  i do not wonder. i know my sins.  ❞  she will not leave a bitter taste as arke did. her wings have been taken, just the same, but she is different. she will be, so long as her malice is kept under lock and key.  ❝  to be driven mad is not what i think best for you, astraea.  ❞  stop wondering, she means. their king does that for them, or at least makes their time wallowing pointless -- that’s no life. 

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chcrmingkiller

           M OR T A L I T Y.    not a concept she was familiar with, nor enjoyed.   what had they done to insight such RAGE from zeus?    surely it can’t have been all of them who had angered him so.     the ground beneath her feet felt wrong - she’d not set foot on earth since the iron age of man - spent decades amongst the stars watching… and since then she’d NOT been impressed by what she’d seen in humankind.    HUBRIS, GREED, VIOLENCE, PRIDE - and now she must walk amongst them.

              “how long do you think we will be banished down here for?”

       ❝  until he is pleased,  ❞  iris speaks softly, a product of acceptance; he has always been a difficult king, she is no stranger to him. in that belief, she knew there would be no mercy to be had. their ruler is cruel, he has to be. IRIS though, her hands were not so forced. her mind? it is weighted, buzzing with remorse at her choices. being mortal has nothing to do with it.   ❝ or until our home begins to fall.  ❞  what is he meant to do without them? she worries over his pride. she would not have been sent from the sky to the sea to the mortal earth if he did not need others to keep order.

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THE PANTHEON.  027  &  017.

❛ i’m done falling on grenades. please, indulge in your self-destruction elsewhere where pieces of your brain won’t get on my coat.  ❜

basics.

name; iris / bryony. goddess of rainbows, messenger of the gods, sea & sky goddess.

family tree.

daughter of; thaumas, electra. sister of; arke, aello, and ocypete. mother of; pothos. faceclaim; rose williams

lore.

she was married to zephyrus, the god of the west wind, and had a son, pothos. It was said that she travelled on the rainbow while carrying divine messages to the mortals. she was depicted carrying a pitcher filled with water from the river styx, which she gave to anyone who perjured themselves, putting them to sleep. iris had golden wings.

headcanons.

hera was the silver lining in iris’ eyes, and though her favoritism lied towards her, she never had any distaste for zeus himself. she thought him a responsible and, more often than not, fair king. her life up to this point was spent in peace; she got to travel, to assist in any way she could. a GIVER, that’s what they called her, was it not?

there was always a strain. such a pure creature as herself, her siblings harpies, carrying out the violent work she would never be capable of stomaching, and her fraternal twin becomes a traitor come the wars. it was unexpected, but thus was war. iris forgives those that are able to be forgiven -- arke is not among them. 

she carries messages out, no matter how cruel. their blood does not stain her hands as they do zeus’, but she feels heavy nonetheless. 

who is she protecting? iris has not muttered their name, but their king knows. he knows of her disobedience and believes a punishment deserved. iris understands. iris is calm.

bryony though, oh, bryony. again, zeus has torn the wings from a daughter of electra and thaumas. MORTAL emotions, the mortal fear of uncertainty. she was bound to the king once, and now, by his own hand, is freed. she heeds hera’s call and none other.  

connections.

tba!!

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“I’m sorry, I’m having trouble hearing you. I’m getting a lot of bullshit on this line.”

ALIEN DATING SIMULATOR.   ; 

@sarahetroyer.

   ❝  oh.  ❞  it’s apologetic in nature, a sound to stop herself before anything else comes out.  brooke nods, probably for a longer time than most people consider usual. once she stops, her brow furrows – she’d thought herself to be being TRUTHFUL. no, she knows it. but she’s not got the will to argue, or the heart to shut someone down. she’s at a loss for words that mean anything. ❝ i can speak up, if you want. ❞  and she gets the saying, lord does she, but the quip feels both obliging and light enough to not spark a fire. or maybe she’s mistaken, maybe she’s overestimating humanity again. she tries a smile, falters, and though she wants to stare at the wall, at her feet, anywhere but at her company, her eyes steadily drift over prominent features; eyes, mouth, so on, so forth. if she were any good at reading people past  ‘ they’re about to yell ’ it may be useful. it’s a learned mannerism, obvious enough to anyone who could see her fighting the inborn emotional reaction wanting to happen.

   the longer she lets the silence linger, the more worry she starts to feel. uncertainty puts anyone on edge.  ❝ or i can just be quiet. ❞  she withholds a shrug.  ❝ your choice. ❞

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ctstrophes

it really impressed lights that this girl somehow never once got mad at her for lashing out, was she intimidating her or had she just come across too many people with the same type of rude personality like the one lights had?, she didn’t know but it did make her curious to know more about the girl. “ thank you..” was that genuine? she didn’t even know if it was but if felt odd to say. lights didn’t even know if it was her father’s gun but she had to take the chance since it was the last thing she had to remember her father.. he was the only person who really believed in lights, the only person who seemed to love and care for her. “ find out who they got it from, then i’ll tell you if i want it or not but if i do don’t worry i’ll give you a way better one in return, that thing’s old.” it had quite the history, one that lights knew all too well. 

❝ no, i -- ❞ maybe she’s foolish for having held onto her humanity so long, maybe someone is going to call her out on it. she’s always hesitating, always one foot off the ground and the other firmly rooted.  ❝ it shouldn’t be a negotiation? ❞ it sounds so harsh to her own ears, despite the uncertainty, despite the intention: if the gun means something to her, she’d be glad to give it back, no trade required. it’s not the way she perceives the world, she doesn’t see people’s worth based on their possessions. she would never make it on her own.  ❝ but, would you like to . . . stop by saddle ridge in a few days? or, ❞ she pauses. the other has been calling the shots up until now. is this too much?  ❝ maybe, if you want, you can just tell me where we should meet instead? ❞  

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theanti90smovement:

Regular person: oh it’s 3:13  Jock: do you mean 3 days 16 hours 26 minutes and approximately 32 seconds before THE BIG GAME?

How jocks tell time