gemmaismss

[gemmaismss]

The lights shatter and Adrian is bleeding – but Gemma can’t comprehend any of this, can’t feel the fullness of her magic because she’s being dragged through the house. Dragged, then lifted – and the dark streets rush by in a blur of streetlights and fear. She’s being carried – by Gael, moving far faster than she thought possible. But none of this registers; she can’t hold on to a single thought. It stops as soon as it starts, they arrive to a familiar porch but Gemma’s too concerned with not falling over to recognize it – her father steadies her easily.

Morgan. Gabe. That’s right – he left her, Gabe ran! Did he see the magic? Did he watch her panic shatter the sanctity of their childhood home? Does her twin, the one person she’s known and loved all her life, fear her? A fresh wave of emotion crashes over her, electric and raw down her arms – Gael’s hand on her shoulder like a static shock. The porch light flickers as she nods frantically in response to Morgan’s question.

A cleverer girl would recognize the shift in his tone. A better hunter would instantly sense the danger, know the truth of vampire’s power. But Gemma has never claimed to be clever, she’s never wanted to be a hunter – and right now she’s far too focused on containing her panic ( and magic ) so no one else gets hurt.

Gemma. Her eyes snap up at the sound of her father’s voice, smooth and confident. Yes – he always knows what to say! Pupils widen as she’s locked in his gaze, grey eyes going a bit glassy like they always get when she plays with drugs – but this is fine. Everything is fine! Of course she will get Gabe, there’s nothing she wants more in the world!! Getting Gabe will fix everything! Gemma nods again frantically, then pushes past Morgan without a second thought, jerking her hand out of the desperate grasp of someone she loves and idolizes – single minded in her quest for her twin.

“Gabe!” She shouts, tearing up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. He lays curled up on the bed, and she reaches for him without a second thought. “Gabe! There you are! You have to come downstairs! Please – Daddy is here he’s back everything will be fine if you just come downstairs!” It's an echo of the word she spoke earlier this evening, but far more manic and breathless – almost desperate. She needs him to understand, needs him to come downstairs and see their father more than she’s ever needed anything before in her life. The need is so great it's a vice on her heart, closing tighter and tighter with each passing second that he doesn’t move. Why can’t he understand?! It’s so perfectly clear – Gabe comes downstairs and talks to Daddy and then they will all be happy!

“We have to go, please Gabe, you don’t understand this is gonna fix everything, you’ll see! Please, please just trust me!!” She’s desperate now, pleading and tugging on his arm, tears threatening in her wild and wide eyes. It's got to work, she’s got to get him downstairs, it's the only ONLY thing that matters in the world! The vice is tightening, and Gemma is tugging on her brother’s hand until she’s not, she’s lost her grip in her panic and she’s flying backwards with the sudden loss of resistance.

CRACK!

The dresser breaks her fall, head slamming into a drawer with such force her vision swims and the lamps flicker. Pain jolts through her skull, down her spine, and radiates out through her body with such ferocity she might be sick. But she’s still got to get Gabe downstairs! Gemma groans, reaching for her brother. “Please, please come downstairs”

@gabrielismss

The night splits open like a wound. Gael moves like a blade through it—cutting across streets, through fog-thick alleys, following the threads Gabriel left behind like scent trails in blood. There are only so many sanctuaries in Port Leiry that his son might still believe in. Only so many people Gabe would run to when the dead won’t stay buried. Morgan’s house is one of them.

By the time he sets Gemma down and knocks, it’s less a polite gesture and more the warning beat of war drums. He hears the dog, smells the adrenal pulse of the home. Knows, even before the door opens, that his instincts were right.

Morgan cracks the door just wide enough, placing herself squarely in the gap like a ward of flesh and bone. Her voice is calm, but her eyes flick to him like a match waiting to strike.

Gemma, are you safe?

Gael should sneer. Should call her out on the insult buried in the question—but he reins it in with the ragged edge of restraint. His hand drops protectively to Gemma’s shoulder, anchoring her with something that looks paternal, even if his grip is colder than it should be.

“She’s with me, Morgan,” he says, low and dangerous, voice hoarse from restraint. “Of course she’s safe.”

The emphasis is deliberate. Accusatory. A slap made of syllables. Like how dare you suggest otherwise. And yet, her words hang there. A confirmation. A betrayal. Gabe is here. Adrian is on his way.

Gael lets out a sharp, humorless laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Perfect.” Adrian. “Another chance for him to show up late, fumble the moment, and choke on his own goddamn self-righteousness.”

He paces one slow step forward, but the threshold holds. Morgan holds. Gael seethes.

“I want to see my son,” he says, the words vibrating with fury. “We haven’t had a chance to talk. I died, Morgan. And I clawed my way back for him and his sister. And now he’s hiding?”

There’s something ragged in the way he says it—not grief. Wrath. Wrath wrapped around love so tight it’s hard to tell one from the other. His voice is low, but it vibrates with that singular, lethal intensity—the kind that has razed cities in other men.

“I’m not here to hurt him,” Gael grits out. “But I will not let him run from me.”

Morgan doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. And that silence—so calm, so final—sets something off in him.

The decision comes on like a fever—sudden, unwanted, but unstoppable. One second he’s trying to hold the line, to stay civilized, to remember that this is Morgan, the woman who once babysat his kids and watered his plants. The next, the fury curdles into something meaner. Hotter. A flash of humiliation twists in his gut—she’s the one keeping him out. She’s the one standing between a father and his child, and for what? Something old and monstrous rises in his chest, slick with hunger and certainty. He could make her. It would be easy. Just a flick of his will, a look, a word. He wouldn’t even have to cross the threshold. She wouldn’t scream. She’d just move. A slow horror unfurls inside him even as he starts to speak the shape of the compulsion aloud—because he’s still trying to justify it. She’ll thank me later, he lies to himself, even as the predator inside him begins to smile.

Gael’s eyes darken as he steps closer to the threshold, the stormlight carving sharp angles into his face. He lowers his voice. “Morgan,” he says, and her name is almost a whisper—almost tender, if not for the weight of power behind it. His gaze locks with hers, unblinking, inescapable. “You’re going to step aside now. You’re going to let me in, and you’re going to take me to Gabriel.” The compulsion weaves through each word like silk soaked in blood—insidious, intimate, irrefutable. Magic hums beneath his voice, ancient and cold, pulling at her will like thread from a spool. For a heartbeat, he watches her pupils tremble, the reflex to obey flickering at the edges. And then—nothing. The spell slides off her like rain over stone. Morgan doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t break. Gael’s gaze narrows, confused for a heartbeat—and then he feels it. Not just resistance. Recoil. The magic didn’t miss; it bounced. He leans in, scenting the air, and there it is: a bitter, green tang, threaded through the space between them like a living barrier. Verbena. Yes—but not just that. Morgan’s spine is straighter than he’s ever seen it. She’s not trembling. She’s rooted, like she finally figured out her fear wasn’t armor—it was dead weight.

The failure clings to him like smoke—bitter, choking. For a moment, there’s only the sound of his own breathing, jagged and tight, and the dog barking behind her like it knows he’s about to do something wrong. Gael's gaze snaps to Gemma. And the shift is instant. The realization clicks into place with a sickening elegance: she’s not warded. She’s not shielded. She’s his daughter. His blood. He doesn’t even have to break the threshold. All he has to do is look at her the right way, speak the words with just enough weight. It’s a terrible thing—to know you could bend someone you love. Worse to know you’re willing.

Gael turns to Gemma swiftly, the storm still boiling beneath his skin. “Gemma,” he says, and her name is a tether, a hook, a plea. His eyes catch hers, hold them, and something deep and ancient stirs in the space between them—familiarity, blood, the terrible ease of power shared by lineage. “I need you to find your brother,” he says, the command silked in compulsion, in love. “Bring him back to me. Do whatever you have to do to get him here.” The words twist, subtle and heavy, sliding into her thoughts like a seed finding fertile soil. His expression never changes. Controlled. Kind, even. Gael only knows he can’t wait anymore. He has to see his son. Has to. Even if it means using his daughter to do it. "Please, sweetheart."

@gemmaismss

[gemmaismss]

when: hurricane day 1, evening who: gemma & dad ( @sclviagant ) where: sweetwater

Jameson leaves and Gemma pouts. It's quite pretty, but he’s not here to enjoy it or call her a brat. The storm is raging and she’s angry and bored. He said he’d be back soon, but her wounded pride wins out over any sort of lingering self-preservation. And so Gemma steals a raincoat and ventures out into the storm.

Several blocks later and she’s made a terrible fucking mistake. Goddamn Anderson Cooper always makes it look so effortless, and he’s like old – she should be able to handle way more than him! But she’s miserable and terrified and has been narrowly missed by several flying bits of debris. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where the hell is she? Why has she never paid attention to the landmarks near Jameson’s? Why on EARTH did she let him pick her up the other day, essentially stranding her without a car?

Fuck!

The wind picks up – a jolt of lightning splits the sky, illuminating the surrounding buildings into some sense of familiarity. And there it is – the neon glow that once felt something like home. Fucking Sweetwater with the lights on and the open sign illuminated in the window. She’s shaking now, from fear and cold and emotion, and for just a moment there’s a sweet sense of relief. Dad! Dad’s there and he’s going to be so cross with her for walking in the storm, but he has coffee and wine and always knows what to do! And then she remembers shattered lights and blood running down his face, the haziness of Aunt Morgan’s house – and the fear is back, sharp and acrid on her tongue.

“Dad?!” Gemma bangs on the door. “Please! It’s Gemma! I need help! Please Dad I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

[gemmaismss]

“Fuck,” she practically moans, leaning in closer – one hand wraps around the back of his neck while the other drifts lower, greedy fingers lightly tracing the waistband of his pants. “Of course I remember and that’s the exact intended reaction,” her voice is breathless and low, just for Avi, “babe you can’t say shit like this to me right now I’m –“  but he keeps going and despite the strong urge to drag him off into one of the many back rooms and see if he truly means it – Gemma shuts up and listens.

She’s distracted by the spark in his eyes, the way that one fucking curl falls just so on his forehead that she stares up at him in wide-eyed admiration, only half understanding the deluge of information. Harford? Warwick? Names she knows vaguely, inter-wolf dynamics that her fathers & the brotherhood either found unimportant or were unaware of. They’ve been dancing around the realities of their truths for as long as they’ve been in bed together – Gemma knows what he is, and he clocked her magic long before she herself was even aware of it. But there’s something more here, an explanation for the heaviness he wears so well, the weight of expectation and responsibility that Avi hides behind bravado and laughter that she’s only caught glimpses of before now. He talks of betrayal and family and she feels it too – that raw edge of emotion like where something has been torn away and the jagged remnants have yet to be smoothed down.

“They don’t move on. Not all of them.” And suddenly, Gemma is matching his earlier intensity. “Sometimes they come back, and you think that everything will be wonderful, that it doesn’t matter that he’s a vampire, because you get to have your family back and everything will make sense again.” Grey eyes go a bit glassy, pupils too wide from all those pretty substances, and she’s clutching the hem of his shirt just a bit too tightly.

“D’you remember when you asked what I am and I said a Gemini and then got offended that you forgot my birthday? Yeah well I lied but also not a lie because like this was also new information to me. You were right – I’m a witch and my dads lied to me about it for like all of my life until one came back from the dead as a vampire and I accidentally magic exploded all the lights in my house and maybe possibly blinded my other dad in one eye because, oh yeah did I mention that he’s a hunter and also we were raised to be hunters? And now I’m terrified that half my family wants me dead and the other half like is dead.” She finally takes a breath.

“So like – I get it. But it's fine, I’m totally fine because I still have Lis and I’m here and god, magic feels so fucking good, it feels right – like there was this thundering hollowness in me for my whole life and I only realized how empty I’ve been once I found magic.”

Avi is all flushed cheeks, eyes sparkling and too-wide. He beams when Gemma approaches, sways into her touch like a flower towards the sun. He lights up at the prospect of a secret. He trades in secrets, he adores secrets, he holds them so close to his chest.

"I want to hear all your secrets," he says. But then he's thinking about his own, and the mask he'd kissed compels him to vomit all of his thoughts. The magic flows through him and without warning, the words begin to spill. His mouth races his brain to the finish line.

"Speaking of secrets, he blurts, "do you remember that thing you did with your tongue last week?" He leans in closer. "I was thinking about it at work. Like mid-sentence, I completely blacked out thinking about it. I'm pretty sure the DJ thought I had a stroke."

Avi's snowballing. Helpless. He bulldozes forward, everything tumbling out at once.

"Sometimes when you're on top, I think about just letting you kill me. Like. Right there. Just take me out. Death by Gemma. That's the way to fucking go." He hiccups, continues, uncaring of whether or not this is appropriate to discuss with Gemma, but he just needs to talk talk talk and talk, "Y'know, I was planning on wearing Harford like armor. I was gonna be bulletproof. Who cares what happened to the lot of them as long as I got my mine, right? Send 'em to the slaughter, why the hell should I care? But shit's complicated, babe. It's so fucking complicated. Cesar is there, Flick is there. It'd be so much easier if these fucks were awful. Remi's got a heart of gold, and Jasper's just -- he's just a kid with all this fucking light in him ---" He laughs, mocking himself. "How am I supposed to use that? Some days I wish I were a vampire. They don't have to feel this shit. I heard they can just turn it off, like a switch on the wall. They just move on." He flashes a crooked grin, boyish and reckless, all at once. "I wouldn't hate my family so much. I wouldn't feel so goddamn betrayed, I wouldn't miss Matias like this." Finally a proper breath, and he looks a little wrecked now. "But you know what? Fuck it. Fuck the guilt. I need Warwick wiped of the face of the planet. What better fitting end for all of us than to be for love, right?"

He turns confused, he's got Gemma in his arms, and he wonders if he actually said all of that or if he just thought it. Avi takes a sip of his drink, a drink that definitely isn't just alcohol. And he snaps back, like none of this even left his mouth.

"So anyway, what did you want to tell me?"

[gemmaismss]

“Oh shit, is this what you took that one night?” Gemma tosses her head back and laughs, a pretty sound that attracts the attention of a few people nearby. Good. Gemma loves attention but focuses in on her best friend. “How is our dearest pookie? He has cer4tainly won himself some Gem points with this.” Gorgeous drugs, glorious magic all twisting and turning their way through her body and she brushes away the warning with another swallow of champagne, grey eyes already scanning the crowd for a challenge. Or Jameson. “How dare you, you know I have far higher standards than that, besides – I’ve got someone in mind already.”

"Very personal experience." Annalise grinned at her best friend, watching as she experienced the liquid gold magic for the first time. It wasn't anywhere near as much as she had had the first time, foolishly downing the entire contents of the vial and putting herself on display all night for AJ. Arm wraps around Gemma, kissing her temple. "From our gracious host himself, dear Gem. Isn't is so beautiful?" The blonde took her own turn, allowing a few golden droplets to land on her own tongue. It was never as good as the first time, it never would be, but it was still enough for ever nerve to stand on end, to feel like electricity was flowing through her body. "Careful though, babe. As well as making you feel good, it's an aphrodisiac. Don't go fuck everyone that looks your way."

[gemmaismss]

[gemmaismss]

“Please, that would only happen if there were some like, major disaster that closed the club early, and even then we’d find somewhere else to go easily.” Gemma knocks on the bar top once, assuming there must be some wood somewhere in this place, then reaches out to link pinkies with Lis. “I love secrets,” then she shuts up, because this has got to be magic, no human drug Gemma’s played with before looks like bottled sunshine and promises such results with a few drops. “Speaking from personal experience are we?” She teases, then obeys, feeling the instant heat spread through her body as the drops hit her tongue, currents jolting up and down her spine- she flexes her hand and sparks jump from her fingertips. Gemma leans over and kisses her best friend's cheek. “Fuck. Lis, where the hell did you get this?”

@gemmaismss

where: Khaos grand opening.

"If we don't get completely fucked up tonight, we've failed miserably." Annalise looked over her best friend, a grin on her lips as she was already sipping from her drink. "I'm going to let you into a little secret, but you're only going to have a little bit because too much will have you stripping for anyone you find remotely attractive." The blonde pulled out the vial of golden liquid, a smirk on her lips. "A couple of drops, I mean it. It's an aphrodisiac, and I don't want to be rescuing you from literally fucking someone in the middle of the club. Stick your tongue out for me, babe."

[gemmaismss]

Ok so maybe she googles the plot of the movie. What of it? She’s making them drinks in his tiny kitchen ( a rather impressive bar for the size of this place ) because she insists that she’s the better bartender despite his establishment appearing more high class. So Gemma googles the plot and makes negronis ( she’s been on a gin kick lately ) and thinks about the spectacular sex they just had and decidedly nothing else.

She’s curled around his side, bare leg tossed errantly over his uninjured one while her head rests on his chest, pink lacquered nails tracing patterns across his skin in time with his heartbeat. And no, she’s not watching the movie, not that closely. Because she told him she doesn't really like gory movies. Because all she can think of when she looks at Woody Harrelson is The Hunger Games. And most importantly, because this movie is not working, and Gemma’s starting to sink into that electric storm of emotions that’s been looming on the horizon for days.

Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.

“Whatever you say baby,” she hums then sighs, shifting to rest her chin on his chest and peek up at him through her lashes. “Jameson?” There’s an edge of something like desperation in the way she breathes out his name – a baby witch who’s been using magic and sex like drugs to avoid dealing with anything, needing her next fix. “Can we play with magic, pretty please?”

When? 11:59pm.

Where? Jameson's apartment.

Who? @gemmaismss

His fingers trail down her frame. A gentle touch. Mindless motions. They're laying together in his bed. There's a movie on the screen, Woody Harrelson says the lines and Robert Downey Jr follows. Natural Born Killers, one of Jameson's favorite films. How has Gemma never seen this movie until now?

The movie is a distraction. Gemma, herself, is a distraction and Jameson's favorite one at the moment. They both need this. She needs an escape from the everloving cluster fuck that is her family and Jameson needs the distraction from his favorite little C word. The wound on his leg makes it difficult to not think about her, Gemma does her best to nurse him back to health. She's careful with how she lays, making sure not to put pressure on the healing injury.

Together, inside of his tiny studio, Jameson and Gemma find solace from the outside world. They find solace inside one another.

"Hey," Jameson murmurs into her ear, "Are you watching the movie? This is a good scene." There's many elements to this movie Jameson enjoys. A young Juliette Lewis. A young Woody Harrelson. Bloodshed. Tripping balls. The absolute batshit craziness of it all. They're at the part where Woody is being interviewed by Robert Downey Jr from prison. The riots about to happen, but Jameson won't dare ruin the scene for Gemma. It's a gory movie and Gemma didn't want to watch anything of the sort. He didn't get what the big deal was. The horrors and gore they've both seen in their real lives beat the imagination of Oliver Stone ten times over.

"Shit, man… I am God!" Jameson says along with Woody Harrelson right on cue. He laughs and looks at Gemma. "Great line."

[gemmaismss]

Lis’s golden droplets taste like sunshine and hit her skin with a jolt of sensation. Buzzy, fluorescent buoyancy that carries her through the rest of the party, aided along by champagne and all other manner of illicit goodies. Gemma needs this, desperately – the distraction and chemically enhanced magical joy, otherwise she will think too much and drown in the weight of it all. She spots Avi laughing near a mask and bolts towards him.

“Hi lover,” fingers drift up his chest and she can feel the electric tension growing with the promise of touch, Gemma knocks back the rest of her champagne. “D’ya wanna hear a secret?”  

who: open, but only (0/3) unlock the secret cutscene. everyone else gets a very confused and oddly silent avi. see under the cut! where: khaos grand opening.

Avi can't feel his feet anymore. He's not certain if he's walking or just being carried by something otherworldly.

Which is fine. Who needs solid ground when you're the prince of the fucking world?

He drifts, half floating, half stumbling, a fancy glass dangling off his hand. He's fucked up out of his mind, all manner of inebriation squeezes him until the world tilts just right. Just right enough to finally properly let loose and dislodge his focus from showing up his old pack. traditional old-timey fucks don't know what hit 'em.

Avi crashes into the wall of masks and howls laughing. The masks grin back, simultaneous empty and knowing. He rolls messily along the wall until he looks up at one, then another. Then a step back so he can pin his eyes on all of them at once.

His gaze narrows suspiciously, "Are you judging me?"

He hiccups. "I'm fucking fabulous," he tells the masks. One mask gleams at him. Brighter, drawing and compelling him closer. THE VENGEFUL SONGSTRESS stares straight into him with her dark eyes. Through him. She calls him a farce. A fraud. She dares him. She dares him.

Avi answers the call. "You don't wanna see what happens when you flirt first." There must have been something else in all those drinks because Avi is 22 again and he's invincible. The wall shimmers under his touch when he leans in, and the mask breathes a sigh -- he's so sure of it. It's all it takes for Avi to surge forward and lay a kiss on her stained lips.

When he pulls back, the room sways sideways. He turns around victorious, laughing, feeling a torrent of everything tear up through his chest. There's someone in the sea of bodies looking at him, he sees them through unfocused eyes, and he grins.

The Vengeful Songstress— The first time the Songstress is kissed; the kisser is blessed with a hypnotic and irresistible voice like a siren. The urge to speak or sing impossible to ignore; they drawn the attention of the first three individuals they speak to, forcing them to listen, but to not necessarily obey. The second time the Songstress is kissed; the kisser is silenced. No sound, no scream, no whisper for the rest of the night; the voice comes back, when the club closes.

[gemmaismss]

Gemma Castillo-Fiori attends the Khaos grand opening with her dearest darling Lis.

( this is a vibes based fit - imagine her tits are out there's vague religious themes and also cards and definitely champagne and cigarettes )

[gemmaismss]

send REFLECT for me to explain a traumatic event in my muses’s past and talk about their perception of events,  which parts have stayed with them longest and how it affects them now.  (  sender can request specific scenes/backstory  )

[gemmaismss]

when: around five years ago, late night where: clearing in the woods who: @ofreardcns

( trigger warning for allusion to attempted sexual assault, violence, murder, blood )

“You’re stunning,” he says for the fourth time, and she laughs, giving into the attention. “Let’s go on a walk,” he says and she’s nodding, half drunk on adoration and champagne. This house boarders the forest, and he heads out the back, slipping an arm around her waist as he leads her deeper in the trees.

It's all fun and games until it's not. Her fathers warned her about every monster known to man, raised her to be lethal and cruel – but perhaps not like this. Alone in the woods he’s aggressive and impatient, nearly twice her size. It's fine, she lies to herself, until it's not and her knife is buried deep in his neck, and she’s covered in hot sticky blood in the middle of a fucking clearing. Gemma can’t think. She can’t breathe, it's a blur of deep fear and righteous rage. So she calls her father.

Voicemail. “Daddy?” it's only when she speaks that gemma realizes how distinctly not ok she is; voice trembling. She swallows quickly. “uhm, something terrible happened and I did something and,” here the sob breaks through, “it's bad, it's really fucking bad, god there’s so much blood,” her voice hinges toward hysterical, “I was just trying to get away from him, I’m sorry – I don’t know what to do, please please can you come get me?”

[gemmaismss]

get to know me meme: [18/∞] favorite fictional characters → marie [the aristocats]

↳ “I’ll show you whether I’m a lady or not!”

[gemmaismss]

Lis hesitates and Gemma knows – this is more than just displaced rage. Gem has always been perceptive, uncannily so as a child, unnerving even, so she learns to suppress and mask it, to use these little character revelations as tools to craft her own social power. But now it's something else, she recognizes the hesitation and maybe a touch of fear in the other and instinctually reaches out to grasp her hand. Gemma always needs touch and affection to feel anything real.

“Of course, anything, for you I’m a locked tomb babe,” it’s an important distinction, for Lis Gemma will keep any secret, despite careful manipulation of secrets being a core part of her whole social power bit. Lis is different – Lis knows Gemma at her core, knows the trauma she refuses to admit to just as Gemma sees the pain Lis carries within her rage. The Veronica to her Heather, the Buffy to her Faith - if Gabe is half her heart, the Lis is the other side of her fucked up coin ( affectionate ).

“What’s happened? If it's that slimy motherfucker Nolan again I will break my second promise and destroy him in ways that are so profoundly creative they will give me a goddamn Pulitzer.”

she hesitated for a moment, glancing to gemma as she thought about what to say. there were so many times that annalise had almost told her the truth, but if she were honest she was scared of the others reaction. right now though, right now she needed her friend, even if no one could talk her out of what she was about to do. "i need to tell you something, and i need you to promise to tell no one, and to not uh. . . do anything about it, i guess." the tv humming in the background was a constant for lis, hating to sit in silence anymore for fear of her own thoughts creeping in too much. she sat on the sofa, knowing that this conversation was going to take longer than she perhaps cared for but if the blonde was telling gemma the truth, then she was sure there'd be questions.

[gemmaismss]

Everything has gone to shit, and so Gemma is at the mall. Yes, fine. She’s a goddamn cliché, get over it. Retail therapy is like a real thing and it's not like she could talk to an actual therapist about her fucking problems. So she spends her Italian grandparents’ money on pretty and often times expensive things. She’s made a spur of the moment decision to get back into glitter, a callback to her cheer days, but also fun as hell and very memorable. Besides she’s constantly surrounded by militaristic and hyper-serious hunters, Gemma sees it as her sacred duty to provide whimsy and fun.

Her absentminded wandering through the fragrances are suddenly, and perhaps quite rudely interrupted by the shouting of some stranger. Gemma is startled and nearly drops what she’s looking at. “Okay, hi, uhm I’m fine, are you?”  Her head cants to the side, brows arching slightly with a pitying smile – she’s a predator posing as a house pet. “It’s Juliette Has a Gun Pear – definitely not what I would call spicy. Are you sure you’re fine? You’re not like having a stroke or something? That totally fucks with your sense of smell, and like, general ability to read a room.”  

WHO: @gemmaismss WHERE: Aftcastle Mall, Generic Make-Up Store

Port Leiry is a quirky little town. Bhavana is not sure if it’s something in the air or some unnatural, yet-to-be-studied phenomenon like a giant magnet for misfortune that lies somewhere deep underground but she knows she shouldn’t be picking up on strange, fucked up aura this frequently. Is this becoming a regular thing? Bhavi hopes not despite the sinking feeling in her gut that it probably will. 

What spurred this revelation is that blonde at the other end of the fragrance aisle. Bhavi was minding her own business, generously spraying and sniffing free samples, when she walked by. Bhavi freezes. Immediately, all the hairs on her nape stand at attention. Blinding heat both contained yet brimming to the surface. The shrieking tea kettle rattling on the stove. Bubbling magma on the brink of exploding out of a volcano. A ticking time bomb seconds away from detonating. 

But something is wrong with this picture. The bomb wires are tied together, double knotted. A boulder blocks the volcano air duct. Locks and nailed boards keeping the kitchen door shut. No one goes in: Nothing gets out. How can anyone live like this? In a constant state of arcane constipation, enough stifled anticipation to drive someone mad. It’s too much. Her head might just explode.

Make it stop. Make it stop! “Hey, girl! Hey!” 

Bhavana calls out but finds herself impatient. She briskly jogs to meet her halfway with an antsy pip in her step. “Are you doing okay, diva?” Too forward. Bhavi forces a chuckle and smiles, “Sorry to bother, what kind of perfume are you wearing? It’s hot as hell—I mean. In a spicy way, y’know!” 

[gemmaismss]

☎️

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What Their Ringtone Is: n/a

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse:

Gemma: omg did you hear about the buffy reboot????    Gemma: how do we feel about this ? Gemma: i’m like a little out on it rn bc like just make something new and fun and interesting and they are gonna be weird with the cgi and whatever and it's not gonna have the same level of Camp as the og but I guess we will see?

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone:

[gemmaismss]

☎️

Send ☎️ And I Will Tell You:

What My Muse Has For Your Muse's Contact Info: J

What Their Ringtone Is: n/a

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse:

Gemma: it's gonna hurt like hell but idt it will make it worse like medically?   Gemma: no wait use vodka instead it feels cleaner Gemma: what do you mean by stab wound? do you not have a first aid kit? i stg if you bleed out before i get there

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone:

( Jameson and Sir Lentil, seconds before disaster ( someone got bit ) )

[gemmaismss]

☎️ for gabe

Send ☎️ And I Will Tell You:

What My Muse Has For Your Muse's Contact Info: Gabeeeeeee

What Their Ringtone Is: n/a

The Last Text They Sent Your Muse:

Gemma: going to be a little mia this afternoon/evening Gemma: promise i’m golden, and will fill u in asap, i’m just following a lead Gemma: will you cover for me w dad tho? pretty please hes been really on me lately like literally nothing i do is right

What Image My Muse Has For Your Muse In Their Phone: