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[secretceremvnials-blog]

aiinsworths‌:

                    he tilts his head to the side, smiling at her easily, given the kick of confidence that his good friend rum has provided him with. “well … you don’t have to be a damsel in distress. more like … an adventure companion … to find sticks, if you will,” he remarks, not wanting to degrade her part in their little quest.

parker was certainly glad he hadn’t reached the point of no return when it came to retaining his memories –– after all, parker liked to REMEMBER his conversations, for the most part. they were often painted and decorated with words of passion, interests that he’d never heard of, stories that sometimes probe him to color life a bit differently. it’s what he loved about university –– it was like a playground, with the amount of people parker could meet and learn from. marinette beaulieu seemed to be one who had a lot of wise lessons to offer, interestingly, he learns, in the romance department. he can’t say he has met anyone at ashcroft who has been married, before.

they trudge through the grass, making their way to the edge of the forest, heels scraping at rocks and debris as he listens intently. it may not be clear, only lit by the dim light of the moon, but parker is smiling. a goofy grin, one that makes an appearance every time the topic of LOVE is brought up –– it’s not a foreign smile, no, but the one person who would have seen it most no longer resides in his life in that way anymore. and he misses it –– the feeling of unconditional love that she describes through her words. she doesn’t say it in specifics, but he knows. 

“west end? no way –– that’s incredible. she must be insanely talented,” he responds, incredibly impressed. “ … and, wow, broadway. tell her i wish her the best of luck. what’s she performing in now?” he asks, slowing their pace as he falls back into step with her. she mentions pictures, and parker’s heart sings. “i’d love to see them!” he does like to put names with faces in his mind. “if … if you don’t mind me asking, um. is it hard? i mean … to be away from her. if she’s in london, and you’re here most of the time?”

"an adventure companion." the parisian allowed for a pause to consider, but nodded in seeming approval: “i like it; an adventure companion on your quest to find sticks — all i’m saying is that i want to be the wizard.” she’d be the bard, of course, but it’s hard to be the bard and the true bard resided miles away, in london, after all. her steps bounced along to a hummed rhythm, that only halfway adhered to ian van dahl’s intentions, but marinette knew what she was trying for and that was all that mattered.

university felt like less of a playground to her. it was something she’d always taken entirely seriously, due to her reason for coming to ashcroft in the first instance, but his perspective would intrigue her. while she didn’t see it quite as he did, the author ‘magpied’ (stole, but good writers borrow and great writers steal, this was known; thank you, t.s. eliot) pieces from people she knew. these interests, these anecdotes, the same passion parker sought to colour words, found their little home in her words. 

( there is a reason why ‘be careful, or you’ll end up in my novel,’ is a quote often used between writers — but really, you don’t even have to be trying, and sometimes you won’t even know you’re there. )

marinette wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to call anything she could teach wise. not even about love; after all, she’d tumbled into it headfirst at a remarkably young age, and had never tried — nor wanted to — recover herself. her perspective isn’t informed by relationships that didn’t go right, or losing someone you used to love, or heartbreak. she knows it happens and has seen it happen, but has no personal experience of how it can tear you apart, since she ( quote ) got it right the first time ( enquote. ) however, the title of the only present married woman who was not a lecturer, she could, and would have to, take on her shoulders, as the one who the questions were directed at. 

not that she ever minded answering. when it was about lucile, it was when she was lightest of heart, and happiest to speak, a golden glow of happiness sweeping through her being and keeping her warm in the absence of the woman’s arms wrapped around her body.

his goofy grin was returned with as much brightness and vigour as he offered her. comfortably. “she is. she’s amazing — i’ve never seen anyone inhabit another psyche so well,” she nodded enthusiastically, love shining in her dark irises, “oh! she’s doing therese raquin at the moment. it’s very dark. she’s amazing at it and i think she might be having just a little too much fun with it. she’d have a field day if she were here, i think.” 

when he accepted the offer of pictures she’s quick to pull her phone out.

at his question, she exhaled a sigh. “...absolutely it is. it’s the hardest thing i’ve ever had to do, not fall asleep with her at night and wake with her in the morning. even if she does steal all of the covers, the little git.” ( even ‘the little git,’ was filled with adoration. ) “we facetime whenever we can both find the time, but you miss the physical presence. but she still calls me at 3am to ask me why simone de beauvoir’s wikipedia image looks like elizabeth ii, and i can’t reach her to smack her with a pillow and tell her to go to sleep. that’s okay, though, because no matter how tired i am, i want her voice with me as long as possible. it’s so melodic, and beautiful, and... her. it’s just her, you know? that’s what’s irreplaceable and indescribable about it. she’s indescribable.”

a pause. “there are days that it’s like aching. days where i ask myself why i’m doing this. why i’m not in london, with luce, when i could be; but she reminds me. she visits whenever she can, but obviously — being in theatre — that isn’t that often, but i love her, and her job makes her happy. so i’ll always support her, and be proud of her, even if it’s hell on my worst days to not see her. no matter how much you miss them, it’s like flying when you come together again. literally — she says she has to work out extra in the time before she comes to see me so she can catch me when i jump at her.”

finally marinette comes down from whichever world she was residing in, blinking, a burning blush tracking across her cheeks as she reaches down to pick up a particularly good marshmallow-stick. when she comes back up, her smile is sheepish. “i’m sorry, you probably just wanted a yes. i just... i love her and she talks people’s ears off about me at stagedoor, so maybe i’m returning the... no, i’m gonna start again. sorry.”

[secretceremvnials-blog]

marscille‌:

     “excuse you, that makes it even funnier. why would you drink wine at a party ? and how much did you drink to have the hiccups ?” he teased with a chuckle. j.p. took a sip of his coke & rum and looked at his cousin, shaking his head, feeling happy she was finally out of bed – and just a tiny bit jealous of all the attention she got. “but anyway, who was ‘somebody’ and what was ‘incredibly stupid’ ? tell !” he asked, wanting to know all about the gossip – as usual.

     “honestly, it’s one of mankind’s mysteries, but it’s worked out for me so far.” he admitted with a light shrug. “but i think you should ask lana, she seems to have a stronger opinion on the topic. i think a good portion of us is actually kinda gross.”

'it isn't that i drank too much, it's that i drank too fast,' marinette corrected ( and quickly, too — her pride was at stake ) and pulled her knees to her chin, ‘and i like wine. is that not allowed? even if it is the diluted tesco stuff it’s better than spirits to me.’ she allowed herself to watch lana a moment, lacking the jealousy j.p. felt... or did she? it wasn’t that she wanted, nor needed, attention from anyone here; she was just thinking about the woman she did want attention from, in london. ‘now if i tell you, you’ve got to promise you won’t say i said anything ‘cause it’s lucile’s cousin lena.’  

her brows didn’t unfurrow, but she nodded, pensively, in response. ‘i just really like girls, dude. or . . . one girl, obviously, and all the frwnt players.’

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT THREAD FOR @lauderholmes !

'josh!' 

after the set was over and she had zeroed in on his presence, an excited squeal betrayed the arrival of ren de reignier mere moments before her arms were thrown unceremoniously around the other. pulled tight against her, with a slight ‘i’ve missed the hell out of you’ starfish-dance to boot. 

disclaimer: ren was not a dancer, and that much was plainly obvious — she was atrocious, and could probably do with more a few lessons from professor lauder-holmes. 

‘you came!’ the girl swayed violently, giggling a little bit and almost treading on the toes of one of her boots with the other foot, ‘my blood’s gin at this point,we just did shots, i think ace might’ve puked —’ was she joking? who knew? — ‘but you came!’

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what were the odds that — of them all — juniper alexander's hand would land upon the arm of florentina de reignier, lead singer of orpheus? the concert was over, the band members were free to indulge, and ren certainly had done so; her words are slurring at a similar rate to juniper’s own, so perhaps they seemed a little more understandable to each other than they might to other people at the given moment. she’d drunk mostly gin, some with the tonic, others downed as shots because she couldn’t be bothered to find the damned stuff. 

‘monica della vega?’ an eyebrow raised as the singer swayed back and forth on her toes, out of restlessness on this occasion, ‘god do i wish i’d seen her, she’s a sight for sore eyes and i’m a single disaster. but nope — sorry — y’ want help looking, maybe?’ 

(( open starter for the BONFIRE event !! assume connections or dm me for plots !! ))

juniper alexander was…..drunk. it wasn’t her first time, but normally it involved a lot more wine and a lot less liquor. but the last few weeks had hit her like a fucking train, and so vodka and hennessy sounded a lot more accepting than her usual red. 

she was stumbling around, having lost monica somewhere in the growing crowd. not that she was too concerned–death seemed more welcoming than the hangover she was bound to have the next morning. suddenly, in her directionless stumble, she bumped into another person, causing her to tilt back. “oh, shit, sorry.” she mumbled, her scottish accent thicker than she would normally allow. she hiccuped, putting a hand on the person’s arm, half bracing herself. “y-seen monica? bitch left me…got my phone too.” juniper hiccuped again.

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT THREAD FOR @dangerovss !

lena ricci pushed her way through the throngs of bonfire-goers circling around orpheus, knocking into shoulders and sliding through gaps until she reached nathaniel — ace — wolsey, who she would often affectionately name ‘little drummer boy,’ or ‘piano man,’ much to his chagrin on both counts. tonight, though, it was his chosen moniker that fell from her lips as she brushed her hair from her face: ‘i see why you call yourself ace now,’ she said with a decisive nod, as if this were the first time she had seen orpheus live ( far from it. ) ‘you killed it! i should get you lot to play at my birthday party.’

[secretceremvnials-blog]

aiinsworths‌:

                     he smiled at marinette with happy, appreciative eyes –– grateful to have a companion to join him on his journey to enhance the bonfire with a little SWEETNESS. not that it already hadn’t been sweet –– it had been surprisingly nice to catch up with everyone, away from campus, away from the fears and worries and scares that ashcroft had to offer these days. and of course, it allowed him to chat with people like marinette, whomst parker didn’t know too much about outside of society meetings and events. 

“follow me to SALVATION –– and perfectly toasted marshmallows,” he chuckles, clearly letting the handful of beers he’d downed choose his words a bit. he can’t help but notice the glimmer and shine that reflects off of marinette’s ring –– he’d noticed it before, at meetings, on her fingers as the rested on inked pages. “hey –– um, i mean, i never really go to ask you this before, but um … your ring. is it … um? well, is that a wedding ring?”

'follow me to salvation, and perfectly toasted marshmallows!'

she chuckled, a soft sound that carried on the air laden with smoke and alcohol: ‘well, i suppose i can play damsel in distress if it gets me marshmallows.’

it had been a regret thus far that she hadn’t gotten to know parker ainsworth, not when she was the freshman with three notebooks tucked beneath her arm whose last name had, as it always did, handed her an immediate ticket to a pedestal and privilege. it seemed, no matter how high up it became, that marinette — as she was named, ‘the one who rises,’ — must rise impossibly still, afraid of the possibility of some icarian fall.

( only ever once had she fallen — in love with a spunky half-italian whose cousin also found a place in the imperium. she always had to avoid her gazes; she knew far too many embarrassing anecdotes no one else did for her to hold eye contact too long, and lena ricci was the kind of woman who was prone to teasing. ) 

the noise faded behind them and some of the tension eased from her shoulders, a breathy ‘dieu merci,’ falling from her mouth as leaves crunched beneath her shoes. 

‘oh!’ a grin brighter than any flame ignited upon her features, brown tresses bouncing with her nod of confirmation before it softened into a gentler, loving smile, ‘yes — yes, it is! my wife, lucile — luce, my light, god am i missing her right now! — is an actress. she’s on the west end; she’s actually got a call-back for a broadway audition soon. i fucking love her, i’m so proud — i knew she’d get there.’ 

her thumb ran over the diamonds in-set in the ring as she bit back the ‘i’ve got pictures,’ rising up in her throat; a special kind of excitement came when people asked her about her beloved. 

[secretceremvnials-blog]

mallory segoléne brennan, unfortunate daughter of sorrow, watched the flames consume all the kindling given it. licking, searing, merciless — wouldn’t it be truly admirable, to be like fire? to possess its hardiness, its determination? or . . . to fling oneself upon it, to become joan of arc and see if that makes you holy. 

( her attentions strayed from the promethean and found, instead, the meteorite become human. )

‘i smoke too,’ she indicated to his cigarette with her own. she’s done worse, not that many know of such. one advantage of playing detectives is you know how to cut off others’ lines of inquiry better than some; it’s why cops, or relatives of cops, make better criminals. unless, of course, your opposition is detective inspector alec hardy, in which case you may still have a problem with your copper’s ingenuity. but, thankfully for mallory, the man brought to life by david tennant remains a fictional one. 

‘there’s no need to look at me like you want to start the ashcroft witch trials. honestly.’

CLOSED STARTER FOR @secretceremvnials !

                      cigarettes were joshua’s biggest VICE –– his biggest regret, after trusting someone blindly when he was seventeen. he had gotten hooked his senior year of high school, the feeling of smoke drifting through his lungs had once been the only thing that had been able to calm himself down. and it was important, back then, during a time when joshua was so PARANOID that anyone who talked to him would turn on him, he needed to learn to relax. and he did –– it probably just wasn’t the healthiest manner of doing so. he knew it, and hated it, even when he lit one more cigarette by the edge of the crowd, far away enough from the music and the rest of the chaos that had hatched since the beginning of the night, but close enough to stay near the light. one puff, and he already felt a load of tension be carried from his shoulders –– but it fell immediately back down when he saw who was approaching him. “can’t rat me out for smoking cigarettes, brennan. they’re fucking legal,” he slings at her before taking another drag. so –– perhaps he’d never forgiven her for ruining his life. he had no reason to, after all.

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @anselmattison​ !

( the last time marinette had been well and truly wasted was more than a year gone by now. the fifteenth of july, two thousand and eighteen, the night that antoine griezmann, paul pogba, and kylian mbappé brought the world cup home for a perfect end to the two decades after their win in ninety-eight. she didn’t intend to be again before the euros commenced. and commenced for real: qualifiers, as she’d told lucile, didn’t count. she’d been drunk since then, yes, but had never completely taken leave of her senses. ) 

and thusly: '...that looks hazardous,’ marinette narrowed her eyes sceptically at the offered liquid, ‘i honestly have better ideas for my night than ending up at a & e, but if you want to drink that —’ she waved a hand toward it, ‘then be my guest.’

[secretceremvnials-blog]

parker ainsworth arrived: a marshmallow-bearing angel, in fact, to whisk the author away from the crowded party for a while. 

‘absolutely,’ marinette told him, getting up from the log and brushing herself off. it was growing louder, and she was concurrently regretting caving to the very persuasive lana marseille; she could be in bed, wrapped up in blankets, watching a tv show, overusing her popcorn machine, and facetiming luce during the interval. where is she instead ? here, a couple of wine glasses in ( though she wasn’t particularly feeling it — she was used to stronger stuff ) at a party she’d been dragged to. 

the ring on her wedding finger caught and glimmered in the firelight, and she watched it fondly for a moment before returning her attention to the other: ‘lead the way!’

OPEN STARTER !

                     arriving at the clearing with a completely stuffed backpack had caused a lot of strange stares to be thrown his way –– but the reminder of the lack of communal alcohol source had often satiated questions enough to warrant shrugs. sure, a six-pack and a flask or two had taken up a good portion of the space in his bag, but what REALLY filled it up were a couple bags of pillowy sweets. “you didn’t think we could have a bonfire without marshmallows, did you?” he asks the figure who stands nearest to him. “want to help me look for sticks to roast these with?”

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CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @marscille !

intermittently interrupted by hiccuping, the figure of marinette beaulieu crashed next to the older marseille. the other remained a short distance from them, dancing with a different person than she was five minutes ago ( she still didn’t understand that girl ) and seemed to have her eye on the band’s bassist next. 

'oh god — don't look at me like that, j.p. — i just really need a cigarette. it’s literally my ONE vice that i let myself have... okay, so maybe somebody did something incredibly stupid and i downed my wine to deal with it, and now have the hiccups. that doesn’t mean it’s funny!’ 

a pause, ‘hey — hey, j.p., why are people into men?’

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CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @prncessophelia !

'no, in this text stream to me you made me ABSOLUTELY PROMISE not to let you go home with anyone. so i’m not going to.’ marinette océane katarin beaulieu could summon the stubbornness of hundreds should she want to, and this was undoubtedly one of those occurrences. 

the notebook she was writing in earlier was tucked safe in the crook of her left arm, and she rose to the challenge ( which appeared to be a stare-off ) without a moment’s hesitation. ‘i don’t know if you were pre-drinking or something, but you seemed particularly concerned about getting a bramble up your arse. and honestly — i don��t need to explain that one to accident and emergency if you do.’

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @lauderholmes!

‘ cause when i open my body i breathe and lie.

if she was being honest, she could scarcely hear the music she was listening to — having found a corner far from the fire itself when her throat grew a little hoarse from the smoke — over the ambience. and by ‘ambience,’ of course, ‘chaos,’ is what is meant, but she was so rarely hopeful for the best, sue her for wanting it then. a notebook balances on the writer’s knees, and occasionally, she’d gingerly sip at the wine she had brought with her ( she was taking no chances with the communal drinks, thank you very much; they were both vile and quite possibly a dance with death ) and cross out a line she didn’t much like, anymore.

‘artist is merely a by-word for fool; for naivete, for charlatans, but also for godless liars with smiling faces.’ she stared at the neat cursive, at her own words, and glanced up at the madness. instead locking eyes with someone stood over her, she took a moment to process the figure of joshua lauder-holmes. or, as he’d been called by one of her brothers — césaire, she thinks — ‘the monacan icarus.’

it had the same kind of rhythm as ‘the modern prometheus,’ and, marinette pondered, was just as damning. 

“i’m sorry — did i steal your spot, or something? i can move.”

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @marscille !

picture the social scene of louis beaulieu’s golden child — it doesn’t feature inebriated just-past-teenagers and copious amounts of fire, does it? 

or, well, at least not on the surface; delving beneath the water-line, there’s a culture of hard drugs snorted scot-free, crimes evaded by daddy’s credit card and his parade of suited-and-booted lawyers alone ( especially in the beaulieu tree ) and far more hatred than they show. marinette had never desired to join them in paris; she’d never desired to join them in marseille; she’d never desired to join them in los angeles, or new york, or london, and honestly ? she didn’t much want to join them HERE. 

if any others were willing to play the knife-game with their ashcroft future, it was no skin off her nose, and perhaps it was none of her business, but she didn’t have to take the risk. if luce were there, her wife would’ve pleaded with her and laid soft kisses upon her neck until she was giggling for her to stop and she agreed; if luce were there, they’d end up sneaking off into the woods and waking up clothes-less and covered in leaves, and there would still — in spite of the probable embarrassment — be nowhere else marinette beaulieu wanted to be. ( if luce were there, she’d look like heaven in a faded led zeppelin top and ripped jeans, and she’d be too busy looking at her to think about how many drinks she’d had. )

but she’s not, so marinette sighed and leaned back in her bed-covers: ‘...yeah, no, lana — i think i’ll just stay here. it’s not my scene and luce is in london, so i’m gonna watch some videos and call her later.’

[secretceremvnials-blog]

CLOSED EVENT STARTER FOR @lissacarrington !

lissa had left sometime before marinette, who’d offered a half-hearted promise to catch her roommate up at some point during the night; she’d not particularly wanted to attend some campus band’s unsanctioned party — after all, the repercussions of that could go from passable, to bad, to worse, in the blink of an eye — but thanks to one lana eurydice marseille, the frenchwoman had been pulled from her bed and from thoughts of watching a eugénie le sommer highlights video, pulled from the thoughts of facetiming luce now that her shoots would be over for the day. 

( actors’ unions were nicer in europe than in america, it had been observed. back home on the mainland, they supplied wine, in fact. take notes, america. ) 

it didn’t take long for her to find the wine — she’d been tempted to commandeer the soda hat from lucile’s cousin — and settle in a corner with the glass. she’d never been a ‘mosh pit’ kind of person, especially not when said mosh pit involved dangerously close amounts of fire.

[secretceremvnials-blog]

marinette beaulieu → bonfire outfit (alternate image)

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*kisses your neck when the liquid lipstick is still wet so everyone #knows*