sylviafaustharris-blog

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

* soft angst starters

‘ stay with me tonight? ’

‘ don’t talk. save your strength. ’

‘ hey, i’ve got you. it’s okay. ’

‘ i’ll be right here. don’t worry. ’

‘ i think we’re done. ’

‘ hold my hand. ’

‘ it’s all been a lie, hasn’t it? ’

‘ we’re out of time. ’

‘ you’ll always be a friend. ’

‘ just hold me. ’

‘ i have to leave you behind. i’m sorry. ’

‘ don’t do that. it’ll only hurt. ’

‘ go on, cry. ’

‘ keep your eyes open. ’

‘ can i hug you? ’

‘ i trusted you. ’

‘ do you remember? ’

‘ i loved you. ’ 

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

get to know me, pick some numbers.

1. selfie 2. what would you name your future kids? 3. do you miss anyone? 4. what are you looking forward to? 5. is there anyone who can always make you smile? 6. is it hard for you to get over someone? 7. what was your life like last year? 8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed? 9. who did you last see in person? 10. are you good at hiding your feelings? 11. are you listening to music right now? 12. what is something you want right now? 13. how do you feel right now? 14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you? 15. personality description 16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t? 17. opinion on insecurities. 18. do you miss how things were a year ago? 19. have you ever been to New York? 20. what is your favourite song at the moment? 21. age and birthday? 22. description of crush. 23. fear(s) 24. height 25. role model 26. idol(s) 27. things i hate 28. i’ll love you if… 29. favourite film(s) 30. favourite tv show(s) 31. 3 random facts 32. are your friends mainly girls or guys? 33. something you want to learn 34. most embarrassing moment 35. favourite subject 36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill? 37. favourite actor/actress 38. favourite comedian(s) 39. favourite sport(s) 40. favourite memory 41. relationship status 42. favourite book(s) 43. favourite song ever 44. age you get mistaken for 45. how you found out about your idol 46. what my last text message says 47. turn ons 48. turn offs 49. where i want to be right now 50. favourite picture of your idol 51. starsign 52. something i’m talented at 53. 5 things that make me happy 54. something thats worrying me at the moment 55. tumblr friends 56. favourite food(s) 57. favourite animal(s) 58. description of my best friend 59. why i joined tumblr 60. ask me anything you want

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

Character Development Questions #11

How does your character feel about personal space?  Do they tend to make others uncomfortable with how close they get, or are they the ones constantly being uncomfortable with anyone getting too close to them? Or do they not care either way?

What is your character’s dream career?  Are they actively trying to pursue it, or is just a wish/fantasy they have that they know can never come true?

Would your character have fun in an art museum?  Or would they be bugging their friends to leave the whole time?

If your character is in pain, do they let everyone around them know just how bad it is, or do they tend to try and cover it up and say they’re fine? Does this ever result in negative consequences, whether it’s people ignoring their complains when they actually do have a bad injury, or their injury going untreated when they really do need help?

Does your character tend to make decisions based on instincts or “gut feelings,” or do they rely more on logic and careful consideration? Do they ever try to find a balance between the two?

Is your character easily creeped out by ghost stories, horror movies, scary images, etc.? If so, what kinds of stories scare them the most? Why?

Has your character ever had to overcome a big fear in order to complete an important task?  If so, what was the fear, and what did they have to do to overcome it?  If not, have they ever failed at a task because of a fear?

Describe how your character deals with failed or failing relationships, whether familial, platonic, romantic, sexual, or otherwise.  Do they easily let go of people, or are they more likely to hold onto a relationship for as long as they can? Does this affect how they form relationships?

Is your character gullible, or do they tend to be more skeptical? If they’re gullible, do people ever take advantage of them for it? And if they’re skeptical, is it hard for others to convince them of things that are actually true?

If your character emptied the contents of their pockets/purse/backpack/etc., what would be inside? Do they often have a lot of stuff on them from day to day, or are they light packers?

Just for fun: If your character was the protagonist of a fantasy RPG, what would their class be?

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions ( send me a number )

What position does your character sleep in? ( i.e; stomach, side, back, etc. ) Describe why they do this – optional.

Does your character have any noteworthy features? Freckles? Dimples? A scar somewhere unusual? etc.

Does your character have an accent? What does it sound like?

Do they have any verbal tics? Do they have trouble pronouncing certain words or getting their thoughts across clearly?

What are their chief tension areas? 

If you were to pick one song – and only one song – to describe your character, what would it be and why?

How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts?

Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

If they had a choice, would they prefer a subway or a bus for public transportation?

What do they think of creation? Do they believe in evolution or do they believe in God? What is their religion like?

Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has.

Have they ever been so overwhelmed they had to stop and take a break from something? 

Are they a team player or do they prefer to be solo?

Can they multi-task or must they focus on one subject at a time?

What are their best school subjects? What are their worst? List five of each.

Is your character an introvert or an extrovert? How do they handle big crowds of people?

Are they a leader, do they prefer to follow, or would they rather just stay on the sidelines altogether?

If your character was suddenly challenged, would they rather run away or stay and fight?

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why?

Your character has been granted 3 wishes; what would they wish for and why?

Does your character trust people right off the bat or does it take them some time to warm up to someone?

Do they prefer romance or affection? What is the quickest way to your character’s heart?

Does your character have any enemies? If so, who and why?

Do they have any weird bedroom habits? Any unusual kinks?

How does your character prepare for bed? Do they sleep at all or can they stay awake for days on end without trouble?

If your character had one thing to say to their parents before they died, what would it be?

Are they afraid of death? Do they have any regrets?

Does your character get restless when things are too quiet or do they favour solitude and silence? Why?

Finally; if your character was forced to eat one thing for the rest of their life, what would they choose and why?

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

ooc; I am, of course, at work right now. I’ll try to send as many as I can and answer / send more when I get home.

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

The kiss shouldn’t have been a surprise. The tension had been racked up between them since reconnecting. It was less of a question of if, but when. And it was now, in Henry Culhane’s den during his thirty-fourth birthday. He had imagined this moment hundreds of times – mostly when he was young and inexperienced. The thoughts had been rampant lately, but couldn’t compare to the actual feeling of kissing Sylvia. She was braver than him – throwing caution to the wind. Finn was sure he had died and gone to heaven as cliche as it sounded. 

The feeling of her fingers against the sensitive skin of his ear caused a tiny moan to slip past his lips and into her mouth. The heat crept up from the place her fingers touched and blossomed across his whole face. For a few seconds, he allowed her to lead the kiss – one hand holding the wine bottle and the other curled into a tight fist, unsure what to do. Without breaking contact, he shifted them both so he could place the half drunk bottle on the floor. His other hand reached out to grasp her hip, fingers gripping her waist tightly. He was almost afraid she would float away. 

With a low, possessive growl, Finn maneuvered Sylvia until she was mostly on his lap. Head now dizzy from lack of oxygen and actually kissing her, he pulled away panting. His fingers were still attached to her hip, unable to let her go. He laid his head on her shoulder as he pressed lazy kisses along her jaw and neck. “What were we talking about?” The words came out between each kiss to her heated skin. 

         For a sparked second there was fear that he’d pull away and politely deny her. Whether or not it would be out of his known shyness or a genuine lack of interest, Sylvia did not consider ... but all thoughts on the matter immediately dissipated when she felt the soft rumble of a moan escape into her mouth. Immediately any qualms she might have had were gone, a sort of pleasure on the matter tweaking in some enthusiasm to the tentative nature of her kiss. She was malleable to his motions, shifting without quarrel when he made to deposit the bottle onto the ground, leaning into the firm grasp of his hand on her hip. There was something appealing about the possessive force, the tightness of his clutch --- she could melt into it.

His question, the rumble against her neck, reminded her of a purr and it took a n extra moment for her to gather her thoughts to answer him. Sylvia shifted and moved her hands away from his neck to the hem of her skirt, lifting it slightly --- just enough to let her slip one knee on either side of his hips, and once she settled back into place she let her fingers find the hair at the back of his head once again. “Kissing,” she breathed softly, a soft hum of a response to the question she had nearly forgotten about between the press of his lips on her neck. Before she could even shut her mouth she felt a few sighs escape her, sounding far too-pleased with their current situation than she would have liked to give away. There was something about the game, this particular game, that she knew was better to hold onto her hand than reveal her cards up front.

But it didn’t quite seem like a game with Finn. Or perhaps it was the alcohol readying her to just ... lay it all out there. Digits worked into the hair where they already rested, gave the slightest of pulls at the root. She could feel her lips aching for the lack of pressure there, and with the soft pull she shifted to capture his tiers against her own again. One quick kiss, enough to sate the desire if only momentarily. “It was kissing.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

“Yeah, not a very good one, but a weapon nonetheless. I’ve almost drawn blood before.” He hated how much information he was giving her about his hair products. It wasn’t anything she would have any real interest. He barely had any interest in it. But his nerves told him to keep his mouth moving or something bad would happen. “I liked watching you dance. It was like you stopped thinking so much and were free. You owe me a dance. Preferably when we finish this bottle, so you don’t care if I step on your toes as much.” He sighed shakily placing his hands firmly in his lap. “Yeah, it’s exciting. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the baser part of my brain, but it’s hot. Maybe you’ll stab me, maybe you won’t. But the possibility is there.” The smile returned to his lips as he shifted a little on the couch until his thigh was pressed against hers. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she studied him, her own smile as wide as his own. Everything about this night had played over in his head a few thousand times. In the beginning, he was mostly nervous about DJing, but after running into Sylvia and setting up a date those nerves shifted to seeing her. He was sure things would be awkward – somehow he’d ruin the night. Things were going well from the blush creeping up both their cheeks. “I think we both know at this point that the feeling is mutual. If it isn’t, I’m really happy to see you too. No matter what happens outside this room, my feelings on that won’t change. I guarantee you.” 

He watched as she drank, his cheeks now furiously red. He was sure it matched the color of the wine. His eyes fell to her lips, now slightly swollen from the wine and he swore he floated away from his body. “I rarely lie. I don’t think I know how to. It makes me too nervous. All I want to do is come clean. So, it’s good that you don’t like to lie either. It makes things easier. Most of the time I can’t tell if someone is lying. I need to not be so trusting.” As soon as she offered the bottle, he took it and quickly took a long pull from it before placing it in his lap. Her question made him flush and he knew the next words out of his mouth would be far too true. “Because all I can think about is kissing you, Sylvia. Drinking wine was probably a bad decision. And in all honesty, if you wanted to bite me, I wouldn’t hate it.” The words came out rushed as he took another long pull of wine. “I loved learning with you. You make it easy to be eager and willing. What were the other reasons?” Leaning forward, he tucked the stay piece of hair behind her ear. He realized how close he was far too late and just hovered close.

         "Hey now, hair is the weapon you never suspect." Even the useless banter with him seemed so easy, as if they had never missed a beat at all ... as if they had never been separated. "I stopped thinking so much because of the alchohol I had consumed. It makes my brain work overtime in a different way." Shoulders rolled into the smallest of shrugs, as if it were common knowledge how these things affected her. It was common knowledge, to her. "Then I will dance with you. I don't think you ever stepped on my toes, though. If you did, I didn't mind it." Fingers messed into themselves, tangling awkwardly before she separated them again. A chuckle escaped her. "Well, I won't stab you but if that ruins the illusion then I'll pretend I never said it. Maybe I'll start carrying a knife in my bag. Can't tell work though, they'd have a cow." Sylvia shifted the slightest, prying her eyes from her fingers and back onto Finn. "Good thing I don't want to get rid of you at all."

Perhaps it was the liquor, or maybe it was just the words being brought to light --- a first in their long relationship --- that had Sylvia feeling so aware of his closeness. The shift, his thigh pressed against hers. She had no inclination to shift away from him, though she didn't move any closer either. It was so akin to a deer in the headlights, she was helpless to see what would happen next. Or perhaps it was so many years of a crush that had been stifled downward, coming to a head again. Only they were adults, and adults didn't keep their mouths shut of fear, did they? At least ... not any adult Sylvia wanted to be. "So we'll just have to see each other more." Her words were quiet, much quieter than previous speech, and she was sure she swallowed a stone with how hard it went down.

It wasn't guilt that kept her from lying so much as the necessity to have information --- to spread it out. Lying was false information, it didn't make sense, though it didn't mean she hadn't done it before. There was just a strong preference not to. But lying and truth didn't matter, not in the moment. Her eyes were glued to him, her mind focusing solely on the words that eked from his lips. So why didn't he? Sylvia supposed she could understand any hesitation. If he acted on it and wasn't sure of her response, of her stance on it ... it could back fire. Except she wouldn't deny him that, not with the way her lips felt like they were burning now that he mentioned a kiss. Not with a years harbored crush raging like the angry sea. "I think you know the other reasons." Again with the quiet voice. The beat between them was almost unbearable --- spanning what felt like an eternity rather than moment passing after he tucked her hair away. Ah yes ... she understood the hesitation. But ... but you're a grown woman, just do what you like. What an angry little voice, and how right it was. It took a good measure of bravery, either way, to lean forward and close the space between them. Sylvia was soft, not wishing to spook him away, though it shifted quickly to greed. She leaned closer to him, felt her thigh brush harder against his, pressed the tips of her fingers to his cheek and beneath his ear, around the back of his neck. He tasted, obviously and pleasantly, of wine. Her mind was a soft hum, a buzz from the liquor and her brave choice. She wasn't sorry.

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

“Sculpting stuff, I’m pretty sure. I know it’s not mousse. That doesn’t do anything for me. It doesn’t make my hair look messy. It just gets really hard and my hair becomes a weapon. What good is that?” He scratched at the back of his head, a nervous habit he didn’t think he would ever grow out of. His hands always found a way to his hair. “Smooth Criminal is definitely a good one. Do you have those MJ moves? Can you moonwalk? Is that one of your other useless skills?” He let his mouth draw out the word ‘useless’ doing his best to tease her. “Who cares what practical use it holds? It’s cool as hell. Plus the thought of you wielding a knife is exciting.” The fucking wine had done him dirty already. Or maybe it was the nerves that got him talking so much. Or maybe it was the five or six beers he had consumed previously – nerves. “What other skills do you have? I’m intrigued.”

His eyes watched her profile as she took a swig from the bottle. She wasn’t shy either and it made him feel more relaxed. He watched the way her throat worked to pull the wine down. The faint flush of her cheeks from the warmth in the room and the way her eyelashes fluttered as she turned to look at him. “It’s not modesty. But thank you. You giving me a compliment means the world. And I mean that. Not just saying it.” He made an X over his heart, something the two of them used to share as kids. Without having to explain, it meant what they said was true. Then his eyes trained on her tongue wetting her lips and he shifted again on the couch. Maybe the heat was on in this one room. He took the bottle from her to busy his hands. “No one is going to hate you, but I get it. I think I was barely tolerated back then. But some of us have changed – for the better. You’re still… great. Plus, this wine will help.” 

He tipped the wine back and into his mouth in one fluid motion. Sighing, he licked his lips as he held the bottle back out to her again. “At least you didn’t lie.” He moved to shrug himself out of his leather jacket. It was far too warm and he didn’t want to sweat all over himself. Not without a reason. Careful not to jostle Sylvia, he got out of the jacket and tossed it to the other empty couch. “Don’t worry, I’m well on my way to giggly. Truth be told, I’m nervous being this close to you.” He slammed his eyes shut and exhaled. “You’ll definitely do something, I’m sure of that. I’m an eager and willing student. These days I stick to beer. Less of a hangover.” 

         “A weapon.” She laughed at the imagery, his description ... she could only imagine how hard it got with the mousse if that was how he chose to portray it. “I don’t have MJ moves. You know how I danced, it wasn’t anything even remotely like a celebrity or professional. Awkward swaying, steadily more motion the less sober I was.” It didn’t change much as she got older --- there was always some parts of herself that would remain so very akin to her younger self. “The thought of me wielding a knife is exciting, he says. I mean, I carry mace in my purse? Knife-fighting though, that’s an entirely different dilemma. No Norman Bates moves for me.” Fingers drummed around the base of the bottle when she took it back, teeth working at her lower lip on and off --- her own nervous habit. “You’ll just have to hang around and see, won’t you?”

Truthfully it was an enticement to get him to stay around, even after they parted ways at the party. The time it took to detach herself from needing her friends seemed easier to swallow in college --- she had an excuse and a distraction away from it, until the small pang in her stomach dissipated more, but never entirely. Seeing their faces again, seeing Finn again, would make it more difficult to ever walk away. Not that Sylvia wanted to walk away. Not that she wanted to walk away from Finn. Her eyes traced the X, the grin on her face sparkling up to her eyes more than before, and she dropped her gaze into her lap. Now she could feel the red creeping up the back of her neck, burning the lobes of her ears. She was thankful for the darker lighting in the room. “Well, regardless of feelings on old friends ... I’m happy to see you again. Really.”

Finally she took another swallow of the wine --- and then another, before resting the bottle in her lap. Both hands were around the base now, as if she were afraid she’d drop it. “I try not to lie as much as possible. Only ever screws the involved parties over. Plus ... the truth can be endearing.” Her attention shifted back over to him, gaze lingering through a strand of hair she’d move when she felt comfortable letting the bottle go again. “Why does being close to me make you nervous? I don’t bite.” Another swig of the wine. Now she was ready to let it go, to offer it over to him once again. “You were always an eager and willing learner. Even if you want to pretend otherwise. It’s one of the reasons I tutored you. Just one, though.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

Her smile was infectious and Finn knew that if someone snapped a photo of this moment, they would probably be disturbed by his smile. No matter how hard he tried, it stayed firmly in place. “I do have product at home for my hair. It doesn’t just look this perfectly messy by the grace of the hair gods. So, I could definitely slick it back.” He closed his eyes and pretended to think. “What does one sing in these trying times? Probably the classic hit “Move Bitch” by Ludacris. It seems fitting. All I wanted to do was steal the wine in peace and find you. I can’t believe it almost turned into a whole spectacle.” His eyebrows flew up his forehead at her admission about opening the wine with a knife. “Excuse me? Are you trying to just skirt past the part where you just told me you could open that bottle with a knife? And then referred to it as a useless skill?” He shifted a little uncomfortably on the couch – the blush creeping up the back of his neck. “I can’t believe we don’t have a knife. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I barely am qualified enough to talk on the radio let alone DJ an actual house party. For a friend.” He threw up his hands in mock disbelief. “But it’s for his birthday. If anything else, at least I have a stupid story to tell. Nothing wrong with music from the 80s. I almost exclusively listen to music from the 90s. I’m forced to listen to the current stuff because of work.” His eyes followed her as she managed to open the bottle with no problems. He rolled his eyes when she flicked something at him. Graciously, he took the bottle and stared at it in his hands. Being drunk around her might not be the best idea, but he wasn’t going to back out now. “Anxious to see the whole gang? I get that. I’m glad you’re better now. I’ve been called the human Xanax before.” 

Clearing his throat, he lifted the bottle to his lips before taking a big swig. It was far larger than he intended, but it warmed his body. “Whoa. Alright. I know nothing about wine, but I can dig this.” He held the bottle in front of him so he could see the label. None of the words made sense. “You trying to get me drunk?” He narrowed his eyes at her as he held the bottle out to her. “Your turn. Well deserved. You got it open.” 

         “Sculpting stuff or gel? Oh, or mousse? I like mousse.” Perfectly messy --- it was a nice description, enough to make her gaze shift up to his tresses. If she smiled any wider it might stick --- she’d look akin to the Joker, for sure. “I think if I were to get into a musical fight like that it’d be to Smooth Criminal. I don’t know why, but it makes sense.” Another chuckle ... she supposed she was just trying to glaze over her very useless skill. “I mean it is useless. How is that ever going to come in handy in the real world? Realistically, now.” It served to amuse drunk college kids, that was for sure. Fingers wrapped around the bottle neck once more, the rim edging toward her lips. “I’ll show you sometime. I have a whole slew of useless skills like that. It’s all technical, really ... all in the wrist. One quick motion.”

Her own swallow of the wine was deeper than she would have liked to show off the bat, but that was more out of habit than anything. She was a wine-drinker, it happened somewhere in her early thirties. Worse with the divorce. “I like hearing you talk on the radio. I think you do a very good job of it, actually. But you sell yourself short on things like that. Modesty. Pah.” Tongue slipped from her mouth to rewet her lips, to capture the last flavor of wine from there as if it would be wasted otherwise. Sylvia tipped the bottle back in his direction, offering it over once again. “Very anxious, actually. It’s been such a long time, some part of me is afraid of silly things. Like --- I don’t know, maybe I changed too much and everyone will hate me now.” It was ridiculous, she knew, but these were the people she built her life around. They shaped her, the things they did had defined her as a child. Ben had defined her as an adult. “And ... current music, mostly, is garbage. I feel for you, there.”

His question made her laugh --- well, the accusation, really. “So what if I am trying? I think you saw me sauced more than the other way around, or at least I showed it more. I’m still a bit of a lush. Might be nice to have my wits about me before I get a little tipsy ... see you be all giggly and whatnot.” As if the two of them weren’t grinning like idiots. “I’ll turn you onto the world of wine yet, Finn.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He needed to learn to make references he knew a little more about. “In all honesty, Syl, I don’t know. Wasn’t one side Latino? I don’t think I’d fit in there. Either way, a snapping and singing fight was avoided. For now. Who knows what else the night has in store?” Finn made quick work of closing the distance between them. There was enough room on the couch for the both of them, but he didn’t make an effort to leave much room, if any between them. He had waited far too long to play coy and sit with enough room for the Holy Spirit between them. The old Finn, the scared boy, would have made an attempt for a little space. But whether he had grown braver with age or the beer swirling in his stomach was the reason, it didn’t matter.

“If someone comes looking for me, they can fuck off. I’ve had enough of DJing. I don’t even do that type of DJing. I don’t know why I told Henry yes. I bought equipment and watched tutorials on the internet.” He sighed heavily as he held the bottle out to Sylvia. “But thank you for doing me a solid. It’s good to know you have my back.” He dug around in his pockets and came up with the bottle opener. Holding it out to her, he shrugged. “If you want the bottle open and not cracked, you’ll have to handle this. I never got the hang of opening a bottle.” He ran a nervous hand through his blond hair, suddenly self conscious at their proximity. “How has the party been? I’ve only seen it from my one vantage point. I didn’t get a chance to mingle.” 

         The knowing smile plastered on her face gave easily into a chuckle, his admission to knowing little on his own reference more comical than not. “The Sharks were Latino, yeah. I think if you slicked your hair back you could be a Jet. But the real question is --- what would you have sang to him, had it come to those blows?” With the proffered bottle before her Sylvia slipped a hand around the neck and pressed the bottom toward her stomach. “If you had a knife I could open it with a swipe. I learned the trick in college --- useless talent.” Teeth pillowed into her lower lip as she worked the cork off of the bottle. His curse, sudden as it was, made her snort. She wasn’t used to hearing it from him. Though her memories were old, they were all she had of their interactions. It didn’t sour the mood, any.

“Well at least you were dedicated enough to look up a tutorial online. I can’t say I have enough musical savvy to even pretend to be a DJ. I still listen to 80′s music, most of the time.” With the soft pop! of the cork, Sylvia set the bottle opener down and flicked the phellem at him playfully. “I think you deserve first swig, for so bravely stealing the bottle from the angry, musical gang-affiliated bartender. The party has been ... lively. Truth be told, I’ve been a little anxious the entire time but ... better now.” She didn’t, at all, mind the closeness. The finer hairs on her arms stood on end for it, the warmth he produced radiating over toward her even with the minimal space between them. She couldn’t wipe the smile from her face if she tried. The bottle tipped toward him, Sylvia goaded him with a small nudge of her elbow, “C’mon.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

finnegannolan:

@sylviafaustharris

As the night went on, the urge to stick by his equipment quickly disappeared. He had no interest in staying near the music. Not when he kept catching glimpses of his friends in the crowd. Some of which he hadn’t seen in years. But guilt crept up the back of his neck and kept him firmly planted in front of his laptop switching from genre to genre to fit the atmosphere within the house. It was nothing quite like Tommy Caspian’s old parties, but he knew a few more drinks would make the whole place devolve. The address might be in the nicest neighborhood of Westbridge, but only meant a hangover in a better zip code. 

Finn needed to get away. Sylvia was in the crowd. She had made a point to say hello to him when she arrived, but it was short lived. He understood. He was working on his night off. The buzz of butterflies in his stomach hadn’t dissipated since the hug and smile she shot him. It was foolish for him to feel that way – the tips of his fingers vibrating with the need to brush against her skin once again. He was a grown man now, not a silly kid with a crush. But somehow even with all the years between then and now, he still felt the same. A boy wanting nothing more than to share space with Sylvia Faust. 

Setting the music to a loop that would last for a few hours at least, he pulled his leather jacket tighter around him. He hoped the extra layer would stop the firing of his synapses. His eyes scanned the crowd giving small smiles to anyone who made eye contact with him. He hadn’t had nearly enough to drink. Heading from the bar, he grabbed a bottle of wine from behind the counter. It was hard to make out the label in the lighting, but it had to be fairly good if Henry was serving it. Not wanting to linger, he pocketed a bottle opener before the bartender turned to glare at him. Shooting them an apologetic smile, he was unable to grab glasses. They’d have to make do like in the old days. 

Sylvia had to be around somewhere. He doubted she would leave without saying bye. In a slight panic, he searched his pockets for his phone. Nothing. No new messages. As the crowd began to thin out, he began to check random rooms. At his third room, the old den, he ducked his head inside and spotted her. His heart rate picked up at the sight of her and he cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Hey.” He slipped inside the room and kicked the door shut behind him. He held up the wine triumphantly. “I was able to leave my position and I come bearing gifts.” The smile now plastered on his features was probably permanent. “I couldn’t get any glasses because I’m pretty sure the bartender wanted to rumble West Side Story style. But I managed to steal a bottle opener.” He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the floor – looking at her was almost like staring at the sun. 

         The urge to sneak away from the crowd had been like the little devil on her shoulder from the moment she walked through the door. It was out of necessity to be polite, and out of desire to see old friends, that she lingered as long as she did. All the time in the world away from Westbridge, to grow up, did not change shyness. It had plagued Sylvia from her youth, and despite her ability to fire off random conversation about facts and knowledge to near strangers, it was always out of a desire to swallow the urge to hide in the corner of the darkest room she could find. Which is what she did.

She wouldn’t lie --- there was a part of her that was excited at the prospect to see Finn again. It’s what kept the smirk on her face from slipping away even after she had to disappear back into the crowd (realistically she couldn’t have hovered over his shoulder and prodded at his computer while he worked, or chatted him up and distracted him the whole night). But there was only so much time Sylvia could have spent in the throng before it weighed on her --- made her feel tired the way social anxiety tended to, and she promised herself it would only be a few minutes away from the festivities. Besides, it’d be rude to spend Henry’s early birthday party hidden away.

Slipping into the den was a breath of fresh air. It was even warmer in the empty room than it had been out with the crowd, though perhaps her nerves were settling down now. By the time the door opened she was settled in a chair, the suddenness of the motion and noise enough to make her jump --- guilt for disappearing evident on her face. Instantly the expression pulled back into the smirk that had been there for so long before, and Sylvia felt herself straighten out a little bit. 

“Would you be a shark, in that instant? Or a jet?” Brow quirked, Sylvia waved a hand to the empty cushion beside her to motion him over. The bottle of wine was a welcome gift, alcohol would make it easier to tolerate the crowd out there. Though --- though she would be in absolutely no rush to leave the den now. She scooted over to make more room, only a hair, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “If anyone comes barging in looking for you, you could always dive behind the couch and I’ll pretend I never even saw you.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

WINSTON: “Eye of the Tiger” is the greatest song ever written. It’s so cool, it ended the Cold War. JESS: That’s not even a little bit true.

⏤ NEW GIRL, 1x07

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

elliot-nolan:

It wasn’t that it took a lot of convincing to get Elliot at this party. In fact, as soon as he’d received the invitation, he’d RSVP’d to Serena in order to secure his place among the other friends, family and townsfolk of Westbridge who’d also be in attendance. Alas, it didn’t negate the fact that once he’d arrived at the (rather extravagant) entrance and debated ringing the doorbell, he considered turning around and bailing at the last minute. Elliot’s guilt is ostensible. If he left, he’d have an entire excuse to come up with, and the guilt he’d need to secrete seemed like it would be more trouble than making his way inside. So, as his fingers uncurl from their place against his palm, Elliot makes his way past the door- declining to knock or ring the bell. He’d been invited after all. Waiting for someone to invite him inside was rather redundant, was it not? True to form, he slips in (seemingly) undetected. Elliot’s learned to shuffle close to the walls, generally able to blend in well enough to make his way to the bar, or to the beverages… Or just alcohol in general without being detected. Whether or not he’s landed himself on anyone’s radar passes over his head completely, as once he’s got refreshments in his sights, all bets are off. He tries not to dwell on the inherently awkward potential that this night is riddled with as he quietly grabs an unassuming bottle of beer. It’s neatly buried behind long stemmed glasses and crystal highballs, and it’s likely that he wasn’t supposed to help himself, but no one had attempted to stop him and he feels zero remorse. From there he’d find a place leaned against a thick, adequately lacquered wooden door frame, one that would give entrance to a hallway, or a dining room from the den where he faced. Elliot can’t quite remember the layout of the house, but also assumes that many remodels had taken place since Serena and Henry had moved in; At least he knew that Henry was hardly the type to stay content for long. Unfortunately, he hadn’t managed to brood quietly on his own for long. If the person who’d taken up space beside him had said anything, he’d completely blocked it out- but he’s felt their presence none the less. “I can assure you I’m the furthest thing from the life of the party.” He makes sure to point out, giving the amber bottle in his hand a tip into the air, “I’m not even drinking the good stuff.”

         “I’d feel at least a little forlorn if I didn’t say hello.”

Not unlike a ghost herself (and the reason she had chosen her online pseudonym to be geist) Sylvia had slipped into the party and offered small hello’s to familiar faces only. It wasn’t her goal to be impolite, of course, but in the years she had spent back in Westbridge she had kept, mostly, to herself. She had never been the strongest at forging new connections, in fact there always seemed to be another person to introduce her, or something else to bring conversation to a mutual point, but here she was.

Elliot Nolan frightened her, a little, as a child. She was sure that a lot of kids could say the same, but she found some admiration in it. He was like a steadfast soldier --- brusque and chilled but dedicated. Through Finn she had learned what became of him: a trauma surgeon, thriving where too many other people would surely fail. Even now she found admiration in him, enough to talk her into bothering him in his little corner of the party. Well, door frame of the party, where she had spotted him maybe five minutes prior and felt the rush of her childhood self give a hard swallow.

But he was a friend, one of the Ten. Memories of his presence, his importance to Finn were quite fresh in her head. She was so small beside him, appearing like the little specter she could be, making not a peep until he snapped out of his reverie. “I don’t feel classy enough for the good stuff, honestly.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

henry-culhane:

The place, to him, reeks of freshly swiped dust and scented candles lit in vague hopes of an accidental, mild, yet party-ending fire; or whatever equally grotesque alternative. By the saving grace of The Ivers’, to others it probably seems like an at least semi-frequently used, somewhat welcoming household.

A few white lies here and there ( yes, Serena is doing great, yes, i’m so happy to see you, yes, you look gorgeous ), then Henry abandons the art of sweet-talking his way out of revealing any definite truths - a sin venial, and therefore boring - in order to get the fuck out.

Not that he would actually leave: what would’ve been a disastrous night was made decent with the help of his friends, and so in the spirit of recharging lest he allows his annoyance get the best of him and airs his grievances at people who don’t serve it, Henry snatches a bottle and seeks refuge in the old study.

It looks as though someone had a similar idea - balcony windows flung wide open, he can almost see the silhouette outside. Could be a burglar. Could be a ghost. Could be someone who’ll finally punch Henry for being so goddamn maudlin.

Gripping the doorframe, he leans on it to stick his head out into the cold winter air, voice honeyed: the unassuming kind of friendliness only a few glasses of hurriedly consumed rosatello can bring. “Snooping, are you?”

         “Hardly, on a balcony.”

Crowds were never her ideal. As a child Sylvia avoided them like the plague, unless there was some semblance of control to them. A spelling bee, for example, was a controlled crowd. While all eyes were on the contestant at hand, there were really no eyes peering that could diminish her presence there. Presentations at work were the same thing: a board of peers were there to listen (hardly) and then they were done with the task at hand. 

Parties, on the other hand, were a whole different monster. It took a lot of conviction of self to get Sylvia to go to the first Tommy Caspian party that she had ever been extended the offer to (and even then she was sure the offer was only extended because of her connections and not personally). While she had, obviously, gone there was always a reason to drink there --- the drinking helped quell the nerves that were there because of the chaos of the crowd. Eyes weren’t necessarily on her, and the eyes didn’t bother her, but the packed heat and the dense air ... she could feel her anxiety climbing.

It got a little better in her adulthood, sure, but there were less parties. Though her nerves weren’t for the party itself --- they were for the people there, or potentially there. Nine others whose lives were once closely knitted to her own, and though it had been the drive to go (and to say Happy Birthday to Henry, though she knew she would have ample occasion for that), she felt the tips of her fingers go numb less than an hour after she had arrived. Wallflower.

The balcony was an escape.

And a part of her was relieved when it was Henry who discovered her.

“Unless these are your stars to snoop at. Which wouldn’t surprise me.” She paused, turning to face the doorway, offering a soft smile at her old friend --- her business partner. “Happy early Birthday, Henry.”

[sylviafaustharris-blog]

SYLVIA & FINN

❝ They’re always just shiny memories that you make up to be more than they were. I don’t think we’d talk at all if we ever acted on it back then, or at least it’d be awkward and tense, now. And I like this — it’s nice and fluid and … it’s good. Moonlight and grass … sounds romantic, right? The beer was stale … but it did the trick. ❞  ⏤  @sylviafaustharris