#Sleeve Tattoo Time Lapse

[besttattoomasters]

Sleeve Tattoo Designs For Men, Sleeve Tattoo Designs For Females, Sleeve...

[halfmoth-halfman]

a designer dress from heaven and your dirty wedding ring - prologue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: it's finally here, the mob boss!price series! before we start, i want to give a special thanks to the fabulous @mvtthewmurdvck for letting me rant and rave about peaky blinders while i work on this series, to the amazing @valkyriesregalia and @bubble-dream-inc for reading and giving me feedback, and of course to @uselsshuman's discord girlies for hyping me up and giving me inspiration, i love you guys 💜!! || next

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

Your father had mentioned it to you a few times when you were a child; you remember the admiration— and jealousy— that laced his voice as he weaved tales of smoky backroom poker games and men who’d skin you alive for looking at them wrong.

You hadn’t believed him then, assuming it to be like all the other fairytales and war stories he told from that worn leather armchair— exaggerated tales meant to teach you lessons he himself never followed.

Now that you’re here, though…

You’d expected better security.

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to get inside. With no one at the front and the doors left unlocked, you waltz into a vision straight from your father’s imagination— all deep red velvet and hazy air carrying the scent of cigar smoke and danger.

It’s surprisingly modern with a vintage feel to it. You should’ve expected as much, but you still find yourself impressed. You weave through the round tables and plush chairs— elegantly decorated with brilliant red flower centerpieces sitting atop white silk tablecloths— making your way to the center of the spacious room.

You have the perfect view of the stage from here— directly in the center. It’s gorgeous: hardwood polished to perfection and bordered by thick, velvet curtains— even in the bright white of the blaring house lights, it’s a sight to behold.

“Um, you can’t be in here— we’re closed!”

The voice startles you, but you maintain your composure, turning slowly—non-threateningly— on your heels with a wide, unassuming smile. A long, half-circle bar stretches across the wall opposite the stage, just up a small set of stairs and past the various game tables, lined with golden railings. The wall behind it is completely covered in shelves of alcohol— some you’re well-acquainted with, some you recognize from your father’s private collection.

And there, gathered at the far right end of the black-quartz bar, are three men dressed in black, staring back at you.

“No one told me,” you smile, gesturing towards the front of the club, “and the doors were open.” The men groan to themselves, then mumble to each other. They glance back at you occasionally; you keep your polite smile taking in the rest of the club as they speak.

“Well,” one of the men— the American one behind the bar with a colorful sleeve tattoo and impressive facial hair— clears his throat. “We’re still closed regardless. One of the boys can see you out.”

The other two stand, the handsome one with light eyes and a brown mohawk making his way toward you.

“I have an interview-” all three pause, shooting glances at one another in silent conversation. You dig through the pockets of your denim jacket, pulling out the folded paper and holding it out to Mohawk. The room lapses into silence, so you add, “S’posed to meet with the owner about a singing gig?”

That takes the man behind the bar by surprise.

Mohawk takes the paper from you, unfolding it to read it over. His brows shoot up, eyes scanning the worn words. He turns, holding the page to the third man—the one with short, curly black hair and a scar on his left cheek— who takes it and skims over it. He glances between the paper and you, between you and the paper.

“I’ve got this,” he addresses the other two.

British, huh?

Not what you’d expected.

“This way,” he smiles at you, all charm and politeness as he folds the paper back up and leads you toward a section of booths tucked against the wall off the right side of the bar. You follow, smiling at Mohawk and Bartender as you go.

You slide in across from your interviewer, taking him in as he settles with his hands folded atop the table. He seems young, maybe a few years younger than yourself, with dark skin and kind, brown eyes.

But you can see the sharpness behind those kind eyes.

You know better than to trust a friendly gaze— your left shoulder aching at the reminder.

“Not gonna lie…I thought you’d be older,” you joke. He arches a brow, curiously narrowing his eyes. “You just seem a little young to own a club.”

“Ah, you caught me,” he laughs. “The owner’s my father, but I handle most of the staffing.”

“Oh! Well—” you extend your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Garrick, but you can just call me Kyle.” He shakes your hand, firm but not too strong—clearly practiced. You retract your hand, letting it fall into your lap. Kyle stares at you expectantly, and you give him your best smile.

It’s only a few seconds, but the silence is almost unbearably awkward.

“And you are?”

“Oh, shit. Right.” Heat floods your cheeks; you hope you haven’t fucked this up already.

“Canary.”

“Canary?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe you; you don’t blame him— you wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, like the bird.”

“I’m familiar.”

“It’s…it was an inside joke between my parents that they ended up liking a little too much,” you explain.

“That’s…sweet,” he smiles, a little less taunting now. “Is there a…last name too, Ms. Canary?”

“No,” you reply immediately, “just Canary.”

“Okay then, Ms. Canary-like-the-bird, do you…have a resumé?”

“Yes, I do.” You dig through your bag, pulling out your resumé and handing it to him. Kyle gives a hum of thanks, reading through it with those sharp eyes.

You hope it’ll do; it took you three whole hours to get it done last night.

“No references?” he asks, briefly glancing up at you.

Shit. You knew you forgot something.

“I…mostly worked solo,” you lie, “but I have a couple cards for people I’ve collaborated with.” You reach for your bag like you’re ready to dig through its contents. There are some cards in there; you’re prepared to give him those, but you’re not prepared to explain why a singer would’ve previously collaborated with a real estate agent and a tattoo parlor that’s been closed for years.

“That’s alright,” Kyle says.

Thank god.

“Have you worked in other clubs before?”

“Just one.”

He looks up, waiting for you to elaborate, but you stay silent, smiling back and adding a few bats of your lashes for good measure. He laughs, quiet and to himself, looking back at your resumé.

“I’ll have to run this by my dad—” He sets the paper down, eyes skimming over it once more, “—is there a number we can reach you at?”

“I don’t have a phone…not yet, anyway.”

Kyle looks up at you, surprise evident, but he masks it with impressive speed.

“Alright, Ms. Canary, one more question for you.” He leans back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over— taking in your appearance bit by bit and committing it to memory.

“What are you running from?”

“I— what?” The smile falters slightly, but you see his eyes dip down to your lips, and you know you’ve been caught.

“No last name, no references, no phone…”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“And we haven’t used these—” he holds up the flyer you’d brought with you, “—since I was a child.”

You drop the smile, hands slowly clenching into fists in your lap— your nails drag across the ripped denim of your jeans to dig into the meat of your palms.

“I’m not running, just…” you pause, searching your mind for the right words. ”Starting over.”

Kyle keeps his eyes trained on you, not moving a muscle. You can tell he wants more information.

If you weren’t so desperate…

“My ex was super shitty, and the divorce got real ugly—real fast,” you sigh. “In the end, I let him have whatever he wanted just for the chance to get out, and, as it turns out, he wanted everything. So…here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kyle lets out a low whistle. “My condolences.”

You can’t help but laugh, a small weight easing off your shoulders.

“Well, the bad news is this flyer’s ancient, and we aren’t looking to hire entertainment at the moment. But the good news: we are in need of a cleaner.”

“You pay in cash?” you ask, noticing the twitch of the corner of his mouth as he bites back a smirk.

“We can keep it off the books, no problem. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

[vacantgodling]

comfortable

wip: uh doesn’t really have a name atm. supernatural dads lol

character(s): hue rvynwell & jihan. mentions of esther when she was a babie :’)

just a lil piece talking about how jihan really got COMFY around hue and how endearing he finds it. it’s p early in their relationship then like a year or so after they got married so like. nowhere near present divorce time lol. just sweet and sappy and 1am thoughts :)

It was around their third date when Hue started to notice.

Instead of a loose button up with rolled up sleeves, and hair dark and slicked with gel, Jihan entered the small diner in a sweater with what could only be described as fuzz clinging to it, with his roots beginning to show. A peachy brown. His hair wasn’t slicked back, just fluffy and mussed, and Hue felt his heart seize more violently than the first time they met.

He looked so comfortable.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jihan slid into the booth and their knees knocked together. Hue tucked a stray lock of his hair behind his ear and shook his head with a chuckle. “Too lazy to get dressed up for me?”

“Figured I’d start showing you my true colors.” Jihan’s fanged grin made his heart flip flop. “See if I scare you off.”

“You won’t.” Hue snorted. “You gonna get more than just a blood shake this time?”

“You payin’?” Hue gave him a pointed look and he couldn’t stop his smile when Jihan laughed. “Teasing babe, I already promised I’d treat you.”

“You better. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

“Oh~?” Jihan cooed. “What if they card you for your baby face? Tell me you at least have your ID.” Hue kicked him under the table, eliciting another laugh. “Fuck you, geezer.” Still, he let the vampire snag a menu from him and they lapsed into easy conversation, to the soothing pitter patter of rain against the diner window.

#

Nowadays, Hue was so unused to seeing his vampire dressed up.

He took in the sight of his little family. Jihan, with his hair fully fluffy and brown and falling into his eyes, dozing with their tiny daughter curled like a little burrito on the center of his chest. The sweater he wore was especially soft fleece, the kind Esther like to nuzzle into. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, revealing a sliver of one of his many tattoos. The only noise in the room was dull TV static of some children’s movie he knew Jihan threw on to help their daughter sleep. Hue’s heart swelled. Their daughter. Theirs. His vampire. His.

Loosening his tie, he crossed the room towards where they were laid out, shrugging out of his suit jacket. Hearing his movements caused Jihan to stir, and he peeked open one eye to find him. The bright sliver of crimson was comforting in the dark room.

“Hue?” He whispered, and Hue was at his side, kissing the sleep off his lips and humming at the flavor.

“Missed you.” Jihan murmured against his lips. “Come cuddle.” Hue laughed softly, so as not to wake up Esther. “Let me change first.”

He felt Jihan pout against his lips, but he kissed it away until it smoothed out into a blissful smile. The sun was beginning to crest on the horizon, and before heading to their room, Hue drew the curtains tighter to make sure no light would bother his sleeping doves.

He quickly threw he suit across an armchair, deciding he’d deal with it later. Forgoing a shirt, he pulled on a pair of Jihan’s sweats, scratching his thick happy trail as he reentered the living room.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, letting it wash over him. Just how comfortable they were. How domestic. How much he loved—

“Get over here!” Jihan whined and Hue couldn’t help but laugh. He crossed the room and sidled up against his husband, tugging at a discarded blanket until it covered both of them.

He slung an arm over Jihan’s waist. He leaned down to peck Esther against her tiny forehead.

“Better?” He murmured. Jihan sagged into him. “Better.” He hummed.

“Comfortable.”

[are-we-really-doing-this]

17 Questions

Tagged by @goddamnedamericanjedi thank you!!!

Nickname: Snowy (not on Tumblr, here I'm just a lil acronym)

Sign: Cancer (emotional boyo)

Height: 5'11" (in shoessss I swearrrrr)

Last thing I googled: "man angry at phone" I did it for a meme, it's like the last post on my blog, check it out-

Song stuck in my head: As we speak? Blind Man by Black Stone Cherry, I heard it on the radio this morning and it's been haunting me all day.

Number of followers: 186, I just realized that's so many people holy fuck-

Amount of sleep: Anywhere from 4 to 9 hours of sleep depending on the day. I've been on the short end recently.

Lucky number(s): 1, 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, 64, etc.

Dream job(s): Child psychiatrist, part-time musician, pro wrestler (in the childlike dreamer kind of way), clothing designer/stylist, makeup/tattoo artist, and lowkey? s///ugar b///aby

Wearing: Big swishy athletic pants (black with red + white lines), white t shirt with black sleeves (rolled up), black form tank (underneath), my most comfy pair of boxer briefs, crew cut Puma socks, diy bootleg Adidas (courtesy of me), camo bandana, crucifix, holy medal.

Movies/books that summarize me: Dogma (for lapsed Catholic and stoner comedy reasons among MANY things)

Favorite song: Right now? What Color Is Death by Acid Bath also holy FUCK was I not singing the right words to that shit-

Favorite instrument: if you know me you know I'm a bass boy

Aesthetic: y2k, skate, hick, softcore gorecore (on my sideblog)

Favorite author: I say fanfic authors count so fuck you, my answer is glitchesaintshit on Ao3

Favorite animal noise: The meow my cats make when I go to let them outlside, it's like they're complaining in the most polite way

Random: I've never gone farther west than Pensacola, I hate cinnamon extract, I'm a fantastic cook, I write pretty good amateur poetry, and I should probably go to bed right now!

I don't think imma tag anyone because this is a lot of questions, so feel free to answer how you like if you see this :)

[theoracleofgiana]

Rainy Day - The Pixie and The Dryad

10. Snuggle together on a rainy day

Emi hums as he listens to the rain. He loves his job at Heart of Ink. He enjoys the people he meets and seeing the designs that people will have forever. He's just the receptionist but always feels welcomed when talking with the tattoo artists. That said, he loves not working on a rainy day. On days like this, his true passion comes out. Pages and pages of stories flow out. The rain offers comfort like a warm blanket as Emi writes. No one would ever see the stories and Emi was okay with that. He enjoys his rainy off days with his notebooks as company. Emi sighs and tries to focus on the rain. He's experiencing a small creative block and it's frustrating. 

“Pix?” Lexi's voice comes as a welcome and surprise. The dryad walks in clearly wet from the rain. “What are you doing here?” Emi asks as he gets up to provide towels. Lexi shrugs and stays in place until Emi hands them several towels. She takes it with a soft smile. ”Was bored. Needed out of the house,“ Lexi drys off as she talks. It doesn't seem to help much. “You want to shower? I'll get you some fresh clothes,” Emi offers, deciding not to push about Lexi showing up. He learned early in their friendship that Lexi sometimes needed someone with them. Lexi can't stand being alone and sometimes it gets too much. This seems like one of those moments. 

“A shower and fresh clothes sound divine,” Lexi responds to Emi. She heads into the bathroom while Emi goes to his room. He pulls out an old shirt and sweats from the second drawer. He doesn't remember when Lexi started leaving clothes at his place or when she got an official drawer. At this point, it would be weird not to have a plethora of Lexi's clothes in his house. In fact, Emi was ninety-five percent sure the shirt he has on was originally Lexi's. Deciding it doesn't matter, Emi grabs the clothes, along with undergarments, and leaves them on the toilet seat. He goes to the kitchen and decides to start making some tea. 

The dryad comes in fresh clothes and a towel around her neck. Emi smiles at them and Lexi returns it albeit strained. It makes Emi confused and he raises an eyebrow. Lexi shakes their head and Emi decides to drop it. Lexi will talk to him when she's ready. “It's the lavender one you like,” Emi tells them as he stirs the tea. Lexi hums in contentment. Lexi watches what Emi does and they fall silent until Emi finishes making the tea. 

Emi tries to hand a mug to Lexi only to find the dryad lost in thought. ”Tree?“ Emi says, in an attempt to reach the dryad. It seems to work as Lexi looks at him and then at the mug. This time she grabs the mug and follows the pixie into the living room. Emi sits on the carpeted floor and gestures to the space beside him. Lexi takes it, still deep in thought.  “Sorry,” Lexi mutters holding the mug tightly. Emi looks at them in confusion. “What for?” Emi asks moving to sit facing Lexi. “For showing up unannounced and making you frustrated,” Lexi says looking everywhere but Emi. Emi huffs at the explanation. “I'm frustrated at trying to write something not at you,” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are always welcomed here, Lexi.” The dryad lets out a whimper at the sentence but gives Emi a shy smile. “Thanks,” Her voice is soft and Emi can only give a fond smile in response. They lapse into a comfortable silence. 

Once their teas are finished, Emi attempts to stand up to return the mugs to the kitchen. Lexi stops him by tugging his sleeve. Emi watches as Lexi stands up, confused about why the other stopped him. The moment she's standing up and stable, Lexi scoops Emi up bridal style. Emi lets out a noise of surprise and quickly wraps his arms around Lexi's neck. ”What are you doing?“ He asks in clear confusion and shock as Lexi starts to walk. “It's snuggle time,” Lexi says with no other explanation as she heads to the bedroom. Emi doesn't get a chance to say anything more before he's thrown on the bed. Lexi lays next to him and wraps their arms around the pixie. Emi tries to protest but his voice is muffled. His eyes droop and he lets them close. Perhaps, a little nap wouldn't hurt, he thinks as he wraps his arms around Lexi. They fall asleep tangled together with rain falling in the background. 

(A/n: I might have a list of prompts to do with these two. I had a plan then the plan got derailed. Still, this is sweet and comfortable. No long notes as I'm sleepy and probably need to go sleep. I hope you enjoyed and have a fantastical day!)

[twinsizemattrcss]

rolling your own cigarettes. stick-and-poke tattoos. being late to bed and early to rise. detention as an extra-curricular. keeping a packed bag at the back of your closet. a white t-shirt with cuffed sleeves. an heirloom watch that’s long-since stopped. opening your parachute at the last possible moment. falling in with the wrong crowd. your childhood bedroom being converted into an office. burning bridges. knowing that nobody really cares what you do anymore.

statistics.

full name: isidore emiliano fiorello nicknames: izzy, iz, fiorello name meaning: gift of isis age: twenty-nine date of birth: april 10th star sign: aries place of birth: staten island, new york current location: east haven, vermont gender: cis-male pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: a very good question religion: catholic (lapsed) occupation: line cook at the sunny side up diner family: giovanni fiorello (father, deceased) bianca dawson (née lombardi, mother, estranged), robert dawson (step-father, estranged), stefanie dawson (sister, estranged), james dawson (half-brother, estranged), molly dawson (half-sister), arturo fiorello (paternal uncle, deceased) education level: high school drop-out living arrangements: lives in his uncle's old house in sutherland park financial status: poor

biography. (death tw, motor accident tw, abusive parent tw, homelessness tw, assault mention tw, prison tw)

Izzy's father died when he was eight years old, and it ripped his world apart. His mother, Bianca, coped very badly with the loss, and struggled to balance her grief with raising Izzy and his little sister, Stef, alone.

Only a year after his father passed, Bianca started dating somebody new. His name was Robert Dawson - he'd known both of Izzy's parents since high school, and had apparently always held something of a candle for his mother. Izzy hated him from the moment he laid eyes on him, but Robert was there to stay. He and Bianca were married by the time Izzy was ten, and the Fiorellos became the Dawsons, with only Izzy clinging to his father's name.

Time passed, and Izzy's relationship with his family deteriorated irreparably. Robert was a controlling, insecure man, and seemed determined to erase all traces of Izzy's real father from existence. Pictures began to disappear from around the house - even ones kept in the supposed privacy of Izzy's room - they lost contact with the Fiorello side of the family, and any attempts to talk about his father were firmly shut down. Izzy started getting into trouble at school, picking fights and skipping class, and it just exacerbated his home life all the more.

He was so angry, so full of grief, so alone. Izzy ran away from home eight times between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, and after getting suspended from high school again and the argument to end all arguments, he ran as far as Vermont, to a town he remembered from his childhood. He could only hope his uncle still lived in East Haven - and that he'd take him in, if he did.

Izzy lived with his Uncle Arturo for a year and a half. He tried to set Izzy back on a decent path, but his efforts went unrewarded - Izzy was too far gone, and he couldn't accept the help. Ultimately, he destroyed the last safe haven he had left, stealing a sizeable amount of cash from his uncle and suddenly vanishing from town without a word.

After that, Izzy bounced around along the east coast, going wherever the wind took him - he was young, resourceful, and could find friends when he needed them. He fell in with a bad crowd, the petty crimes he’d committed in high school became more serious, and it seemed there was no turning back. The things Izzy did didn’t make him happy, and they didn’t fix his problems (rather increased them tenfold), but he was resigned to his fate.

When he was twenty-two, Izzy's crimes caught up with him, and he was arrested. He was sentenced to ten years for breaking and entering, and aggravated assault against a police officer.

It would be wrong to say it was a wake up call, but it certainly put his sad excuse for a life into perspective. He’d fucked it up, let his uncle and his father's memory down, and enough was enough. Izzy kept his head down, immersing himself in audiobooks and his work detail in the prison kitchen, and waited for his opportunity to apply for parole.

While he was inside, his uncle passed away. Izzy’s application for compassionate leave to attend the funeral was denied, though a lawyer came to tell him that Arturo had left him his home in East Haven. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but when Izzy finally got a date for parole, that is where he told the judge he would go.

Izzy lost six years of his life to prison. He has no family to turn to, and no friends worth knowing. He’s been back in town for four months now, and it’s been an adjustment… but he’s trying. Nobody owes him a second chance, but he is trying.

other things.

He’s never been formally tested, but Izzy is almost certainly dyslexic.

That being said, he’s a huge audiobook fan, and is technically very well-read because he listened to a lot of the classics while he was in prison. His favourite novel is Frankenstein.

He’d rather talk on the phone than text. Hell, he’d rather learn morse code than text - if you text him, he’ll respond with a voice note nine times out of ten.

Izzy has a lot of tattoos. Many of them are shitty and faded now - stick-and-pokes he’d either done himself or had a friend do for him - but there are a couple of nice, professional ones in the mix.

You’ll never find Izzy at the diner on a Thursday. That’s the day he meets with his probation officer, which he has to travel to Montpelier for.

The only member of his family that Izzy has any kind of contact with is his half-sister, Molly. It’s funny, he’s been in jail a solid most of her life, but she’s the only one that ever bothered to write to him.

The watch Izzy wears belonged to his dad. The face is cracked, and the hands have stopped turning, but he hasn’t tried to fix it - it got broken the night he was arrested, and serves as a reminder that he must do better.

[dopetattooblog]

PEONY FLOWER TATTOO – TIME LAPSE.

#peony #tattoo #timelapse PEONY FLOWER TATTOO – TIME LAPSE. Thank you everyone for watching the video. Coment below and let me know what do you think.

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https://dopetattoo.com/2022/08/26/peony-flower-tattoo-time-lapse/

[holymountaintattoo]

Matt’s leg continued progress - Callam Godley

[darkdesigngraphics]

‘The Silent Fall of the Scurvy Plunderer’

A full sleeve Pirate tattoo design brought to life by Dawn from Dark Design Graphics, watch the full time-lapse video, see the thought process that went into creating this design and see the hand-written fable of The Scurvy Plunderer giving this stunning Custom Tattoo Design a background story!

[conradscrime]

Who is Princess Doe?

January 12, 2022

On July 15, 1982, in the rear of Cedar Ridge Cemetery in Blairstown, New Jersey, the body of a young white female between the ages of 15-20 was found by a gravedigger named George Kise. It has been said that the young girl could also be as young as 14. 

The girl was lying on her back over a steep bank that led to the creek below. 

The girl’s face had been bludgeoned by an unknown object, making it impossible to recognize. Her eye colour is undetermined due to this. She was around 5 feet 2 inches tall, and around 110 pounds at the time of her death. She was the first unidentified decedent to be entered into the National Crime Information Center. She has been known to the public as Princess Doe.

There have been various reconstructions done of Princess Doe, some depicting her with blonde hair, and others with brunette hair. Investigators believe the most recent reconstruction of her has the most accuracy. 

The girl was wearing a red short-sleeved shirt, and a peasant style skirt was found lying on top of her legs. No undergarments were found nearby or on her. There was no evidence of sexual assault, though this is difficult to determine because of exposure of the body. 

A gold cross necklace was found tangled in Princess Doe’s hair, and she had two earrings in her left ear. Red nail polish was painted on her right hand, but not her left and she had no surgical scars, birth marks or tattoos. If she had any scars or marks on her face or head they would not be determined due to the the face being unrecognizable. 

Princess Doe’s front two teeth were slightly darker than the other teeth. The girl’s appendix and tonsils were both intact and she was determined to not have been pregnant or had ever given birth in her life. A forensic anthropologist determined she was most likely between the ages of 14 and 18 at the time of death. 

A toxicology report did not reveal any traces of drugs but was slightly inconclusive due to the time lapse between the death and discovery of the body. The body was either discovered 2-3 days after or even weeks, it was hard to determine because the weather was extremely hot and humid at the time. 

There was trauma on her hands and arms, determining that the girl likely fought back or tried to defend herself against her attacker(s). 

For years, many believed that Princess Doe could be a teenager named Diane Genice Dye, from San Jose, California, who went miss on July 30, 1979. This theory was popular among law enforcement officials in New Jersey, who even at one point held a press conference identifying Diane Dye as Princess Doe. Lt. Eric Kranz, who was Princess Doe’s original lead investigator claimed that Diane Dye was not a viable candidate to the identity. Diane’s own family also believes she is not Princess Doe, and in 2003, DNA from Diane’s mother determined that she was not. 

In 1999, a man named Arthur Kinlaw, and his wife, Donna, came in the spotlight as potentially being the people responsible for Princess Doe’s murder. Donna had been arrested in California for attempting to commit welfare fraud using the name “Elaina” which was traced to a Long Island woman. 

Police questioned this woman and she gave them details about the murder of a girl named “Linda.” This testimony put Arthur and Donna behind bars, and Donna confessed to two murders that her husband had committed, of two females who were unidentified. 

Arthur was then facing a death sentence, and Donna told police that he had killed another woman, a sex worker in 1982. Donna claimed she was with Arthur in the cemetery and watched him kill her. Donna also said that in July 1982, Arthur had brought home a teenage girl, left the home and returned later without the girl. He apparently had disposed of his clothing and cleaned his car. He supposedly threatened Donna, telling her that if she didn’t go to her job he would kill her like the other girl he brought home. 

However, there was a lack of corroboration so Arthur Kinlaw was not charged. Lt. Stephen Speirs, a member of the Warren County Prosecutor’s Office, said that Arthur had claimed responsibility for the girl’s death but there was no physical evidence. 

Speris also did not believe the confession from the Kinlaws because they did not have a name for Princess Doe despite having spent a period of time with her. Speris does not believe Princess Doe was from Long Island. However, Donna did meet with a forensic artist who created a sketch of the girl she claimed to have met, and it does resemble the most recent composite of Princess Doe. 

Others believe that Princess Doe could be a runaway and might have been using false names while working at a hotel in Ocean City, Maryland. Six people came forward with who they suspected Princess Doe to be. In 2012, a sample of Princess Doe’s hair and a tooth were examined through isotope testing, and determined she was most likely born in the United States. 

The sample of hair indicated she lived around 7-10 months in the Midwestern or Northeastern US. The tooth indicated she could possibly be from Arizona. It was also believed that she may have spent a long period of time in Long Island. 

After seeing images of Princess Doe’s clothing, a woman reported that she saw a girl wearing the same clothes on July 13, 1982, two days before the body was discovered. The woman said she was shopping with her daughter at a store across from the cemetery. The shirt and skirt were traced and found to be from a manufacturer in the Midwestern US, though the brand labels were missing. 

Three other people reported that they had bought similar clothes at a Long Island store that is now closed. It is unknown if the store was specifically in Long Island or possibly had multiple other locations. Princess Doe’s body was exhumed in November 2020 using a grant, and she is currently undergoing DNA extraction to be used in genetic genealogy. 

Princess Doe was buried on January 22, 1983 after being unidentified for 5 months. Donations were used to pay for her coffin and headstone. On July 15, 2012, a memorial service was held for the 30th anniversary of Princess Doe’s discovery. Over 100 people attended, as well as reporters and cameras. The victim’s clothing and reconstruction photos were displayed for the public to view. 

Princess Doe has remained unidentified for almost 40 years, and no one has ever been convicted of her murder. Many John and Jane Doe cases have been solved recently, as genetic genealogy testing has been improving extraordinary, though it takes time. Because Princess Doe’s DNA extraction began in November 2020, I am hopeful that results will soon be released. I have a feeling that without a doubt, Princess Doe will have her name back soon. 

[mikmak-danish-berserker-blog]

Mandala sleeve. Beginning - Tattoo time lapse

[puretchalla]

y’all i almost caught feelings for a real life aries... what in the

[ktheist]

CEO!JK + - prompt list - + #47 “You’re seriously like a man-child.”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

“you’re seriously like a man child.”

muses. ceo!jk 

genre. e2l / arranged marriage

word. 2.6k

warnings. implied smut

synopsis. your family legacy is falling into ruins. your father is on his deathbed and your mother and sisters have never worked a day in their lives. their only hope is the jeons - the family of the fiancé you abandoned.

x

it can’t be said that you know nothing of jeon jeongguk per se. for one, he was lightly nudged in your direction by his mother at the age of 6 because he’d been hiding behind her legs since the jeon’s arrived. clad in navy blue kindergarten uniform and gripping tightly onto the brown teddy bear he uncreatively called ‘teddy’, he’d stolen a glance at you for a split second and fixed his gaze to the ground.

“____, say hi to jeongguk, you’re going to be seeing each other often from now on,” your mother nudged you from behind, her voice awfully sweet in the presence of mrs. jeon and her extremely shy son.

you’d found out at 11 years old and him 13 years old, what ‘seeing each other often’ actually entailed.

“i don’t wanna marry you!” you’d screamed in his face when you were left alone by the adults.

“i don’t wanna marry a kid with snot running down her face 24/7 either.” jeongguk’s retort, though held no substance, still made you wipe your nose on your sleeve after you’d left him and locked yourself in your room.

at the age of 13 and him 15, you’d managed to escape the clutches of your family by proposing the idea of attending a prestigious boarding school in zurich where you’d spent most of your adolescent years skipping classes and crashing parties.

by 18, you wanted to laugh at your teachers’ relieved faces when your name was called to receive your diploma, marking the end of your great era in that school.

that was when your mother called you back to south korea, claiming that she’d missed her youngest so very much. but you’d continued to make excuses to stay in zurich, applying for a scholarship and getting into a local university there.

none of your friends knew anyone from home and you’d only passingly mentioned that ‘oh, i don’t talk to my family much’.

but just as you were finishing your degree, the news of your father in his death bed latched onto your limbs and had you hopping onto the first flight home.

“what do you mean? so we’re broke?” yuqi’s voice cut through the air like a knife. even her ray bans couldn’t hide her burning gaze.

to think you willingly walked into this mess of a family.

“yuqi, let dad speak,” miyeon glares.

minnie asks after a lapse of silence, “dad, what do you mean the company’s wounding up?”

your father, a man with greying hair and cheeks losing most of their fullness, stares at nothing but the ceiling, as if seeing the angels welcoming him.

“do you remember uncle jee?” even breathing seems difficult for a man that used to work out everyday at the private gym and always invited you to join in on his healthy lifestyle, “he transferred all the company’s assets to his name and fled the country. even his family doesn’t know-”

“oh, for heaven’s sake!” your mother cries, shooting up from the sofa farthest from the bed - you should have known something was wrong when a wife wasn’t waiting by her husband’s bed and took the seat that’s on the far end from her husband, “just admit that it’s your fault! you trusted him too much even though i warned you about him! you ruined this family!”

“i should’ve brought popcorns,” soyeon says from next to you, shooting you an unapologetic - heck, even entertained smile - when you craned your neck out of mild disbelief.

this family’s a little fucked up in the head.

but they call you the black sheep that got away.

“so what now? do we have to... work?” soojin asks, a horrified look spreading across her face.

those several inches nails aren’t made for work. that’s for sure.

“the jeons...,” he coughs, “jeongguk promised to help us rebuild the family business because my father - your grandfather, supported the jeons when they were starting out.”

all of a sudden, seven pairs of eyes turn to you as if you’re the rabbit in a cage full of wolves. the air turns chilly as if someone’s turned the ac to a minus degrees celcius.

“well, don’t look at me, i haven’t talked to him for 9 years,” despite your hands held up and your shoulders almost making your neck shrink into your body, all they see is a little gold piggy bank.

“what? what about the times when we talked on the phone? you sounded so close!” your mother’s source of rage shifts to you.

“well, i mean, he’s pretty active on instagram-” you couldn’t even properly finish your sentence when a hand lands on your shoulder and you’re staring into your reflection in yuqi’s ray bans.

“start talking,” her cherry lips curl as she holds out your phone that you don’t even notice she’s swiped out of your hand bag which, “hey, how did you-” you remembered was zipped shut.

x

“you got something to tell me?” the jeongguk before you wears a smirk that exudes confidence and billion dollar legacy backing him up.

no longer the shy kid that avoids the gaze of those he’s not used to and keeps his head hung low. if anything, his chin is looking too tilted for your liking. though you can’t say the same for the muscles that fill out his suit and wraps around his biceps a little too snug.

he’s finally foregone the side swiped bangs and grew it enough to have it tied back into a man bun, enhancing his sharp jawline and proving once and for all that puberty isn’t just for anyone.

the hesitant hum reverberates against your chest. you can only hope that it’s not audible for persons besides yourself, “you look great.”

his head drops as he chuckles but you can still see the way his jaw clenches, cutting off every humor that’s ever present before looking straight at you through his lashes, “can’t say the same for you.”

you resist the urge to shoot up, handle of your handbag tucked in the juncture between your arm and forearm and strut out of the restaurant without looking back.

“that rotten attitude of yours hasn’t changed i see,” allowing the smile to sneak up your face, you feel your nails digging into your palms underneath the table, rooting you back to your reason for being here.

“it’s the thinking you’re better than me for me,” he states, back leaning against the chair.

“oh, baby, i am better than you,” the words escape your lips as naturally as breathing does.

“i don’t know about that, i certainly wouldn’t bring an on-and-off boyfriend of mine to a restaurant where my potential clients usually go to,” there’s a gleam in his eyes.

but before you can dissect the meaning of his words, the sight of a familiar jet black haired man trudging from toward your table with a distorted expression and waiters hurrying after him from a few steps away - catches your attention.

“___! baby, i’m sorry!” if you look closer, you could see the tears welling up in his eyes when he spots you.

“eric,” the hiss under your breath is venomous, threatening, “what are you doing here?!”

“i’m here for you, baby. i realized you’re the only one for me,” he drops to his knees, pulling out a velvet red box from his pocket. the waiters that were chasing after him now freezing, looking at each other back and forth before eric proclaims his undying love and his desires to, “i don’t want to live a life without you- marry me, baby!”

“stop,” you say curtly, body involuntarily leaned forward to make sure your voice reaches him. the sight of a smirking jeongguk adds to oil to the flames growing inside of you, “stop it. you’re acting insane, right now.”

“...i promise, i’ll never cheat on you again...” eric goes on, tears freely streaming down his cheeks as his shoulders sag, “i even tattooed your name on my chest.”

the italic curls of your name is inked in black a few inches underneath his left collarbone, probably where his heart is supposed to be. but at the moment, all you can see is jeongguk’s leisure wine drinking, “oh my god, security. please, take this man away, he’s disrupting lunchtime.”

the two waiters seem to snap out of their initial trance, marching over to eric and gripping his arms with all their might before dragging him away at the manager’s instructions. it’s only then, do you notice the flash of camera from one of the tables on the farthest left side of the restaurant, its position allowing for a full view of your expression and possibly only a view of jeongguk’s back.

“you,” a whisper slips out of your mouth once you’ve assured the manager that everything was settled and you’d continue eating, “you planned this.”

“what an assertive deduction. i almost thought you would’ve missed it altogether,” he remarks, a look of pure awe spreading across his face.

“fuck you, jeon,” slamming your fist against the table, you slip out of your chair and march out of restaurant, fully aware of the eyes that follow you until you’re out of sight.

x

no word got out.

sns was oddly silent about the incident at the restaurant but your sisters know anyway. shuhua knocks on your door, fixing you one of her calming smiles before dropping the bomb.

“mother and elder sisters don’t know, i’m not gonna tell them but i think it’s better if you talk to jeongguk about it.” is what she suggests.

but she doesn’t know he was the one that orchestrated it, as if your life was a show and he was there for a good time. either way, to ease your sister’s heart, you make your way to jeongguk’s office.

he made you wait for a good two hours, having his assistant retell that he’s busy and can’t be disturbed at the moment. but once you’ve had enough, you barge into his room, nails digging into your palms at the lack of meeting partner and the man’s too casual appearance with his blazer draped over his recliner and his sleeves folded up till his elbow.

“i heard you were in a meeting,” you announce, making sure to glare at the secretary that stopped dead in her tracks when you managed to slip past her and through the door of jeongguk’s office.

“as you can see, i’m quite busy,” he nods, hands gesturing at the open mac in front of him.

“what are you playing at, jeon jeongguk?” a smacking sound echoes through the air as you slam your palms on his mahogany table, glaring down at him “because i swear to god, i will make sure you regret messing with me.”

but instead of the panic you hope to raise, a chuckle trickles out of his lips, “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

how the prettiest pairs of lips could smirk like that is beyond you. natural pink lips, curving deviously as his bunny lips peek innocently underneath. you don’t notice you were staring until his voice fills the silence, forcing you to tear your gaze away from those kissable lips and meet his gaze.

“you really do wanna kiss me,” there’s that gleam in his eyes - that of realization and something - something - you can’t pinpoint.

gone is the boy that used to tell you your pigtails are lopsided and proceeded to fix it for you - he made it worse but you didn’t really mind because it was the effort that counted.

but that was almost a decade ago.

“you’re seriously like a man child,” you shake your head, the initial reason of marching over to his office now shoved to the back of your mind. the last thing you want is to be in the same room with a man who seems to only be interested in making someone else’s life his own personal entertainment.

but before your fingers brush the metal handle of the double doors, another hand brushing on top of yours, feather-light fingers pleading for you not to walk out on him.

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t sound like the jeon jeongguk you’ve come to know within the short span of time - like a man stripped off his cards and games, “i went too far.”

you don’t - can’t - say anything but your body isn’t exactly listening to your mind’s instructions to move out of his grasp. out of his presence.

“i didn’t know the reporter was there - i made sure he’s keeping his mouth shut after you left,” his breath is hot against your neck and his front brushes against your back but not really touching.

“why did you do it? why did you bring eric all the way here?” you pray to thank the stars for the strength in your voice despite the feeling that’s slowly disappearing from your knees.

“i found out  you guys broke up because he cheated.. i wanted to make sure he knew you were mine,” his clicks his tongue, “i didn’t know you dated such a psycho-”

your world spins for the briefest moment before you come face to face with a wide eyed jeongguk.

“first off, you don’t own me,” you announce, arms coming to cross over your chest in show of protest, “and second off,” the semblance of surprise and panic finally slips through his facade when your hands grip his collar, “kiss me.”

the last thing you remember is jeongguk nodding ever so slightly before his eyes flutter shut just miliscends before yours. you feel his arm band around your lower back, free hand digging into your hair and pulling you closer into the kiss. he tastes like mint and lemon candies that your nanny used to give you and you’d give it to him, saying something like “it’s my favorite candy but i like you so i’ll let you have one”. you don’t miss the small jar he keeps on the side of his desk full of those candies.

but the matter of this and getting married in order to save your family from falling into ruins are two different matters altogether.

and somewhere down the line, you find yourselves still arguing about the littlest of things.

“um, what do you mean that red roses aren’t romantic? it’s literally the symbol of undying love,” surprisingly enough, it’s jeongguk that’s fighting for the fiercer shade of the petal.

“you think fuchsia pink doesn’t symbolize love?” you roll your eyes.

then comes the time when your mother and magically healed father asking for a grandchild to which jeongguk grins, “we’re working on baby jeon.”

(you’re married and the petals themed in your wedding are both fuchsia and garnet)

“excuse me?” you turn to him, brows arching. that alone warrants a break of cold sweat on jeongguk’s forehead as he cautiously laughs.

“i mean, w-we’re not ready yet.”

rather, you’re not ready to forego your child-less phase in exchange for late night awakenings and learning cry-languages.

but you’re not exactly being careful either, what with the two of you finding the holes in time to slip away from your family and into your childhood room only for jeongguk to slam you against the wall and bend you over the vanity.

“jeongguk did you bring a condom?” you ask.

“i’ll pull out,” is all he says and you’re barely listening as you clasp your palms agaist your mouth, trying not to let out the moans pass through your lips.

when you go back to your family, jeongguk’s arm is around your waist and you both sit together as you joke and laugh with your sisters whilst jeongguk raises a glass to joining your dad at the gym.

x

note. hope yall enjoyed!

see drabble game! for how to request!

[volfoss]

Cecilia 🤍

literally have only @hitmanboyfriend to blame for this solely because he made too good of an oc for me to not insert my lil oc in there

Full Name: Cecilia Daria Marino

Nickname: Goes by Celia to most anyone

Pronunciation: Cheh-chee-lya Dare-ia Ma-ree-no

Name Meaning:

First: Patron saint of music and musicians

Middle: Possessing goodness

Last: Of the sea

Age: 32 (as of 2001)

Date of Birth: October 30th, 1969

Place of Birth: Brescia, Italy

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/they

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

Species: Human

Height: 5’4” (163 cm)

Face: picrew link

Eyes: Dark amber that looks pretty much black

Hair: Cecilia’s hair is naturally dark brown, but she keeps up with dyeing it a dark blue. It’s naturally wavy, and she doesn’t bother straightening it as she keeps it in either a low or high ponytail and never lets it down.

Makeup: For most of the time that they’re at church, they don’t really wear much makeup, other than a bit of mascara and blush, but when they’re anywhere else, they’ll wear a lot of makeup. The normal makeup look is a bright blue lipstick paired with nude eyeshadow with a bit of eyeliner, as they like to have a bright look to pair with their outfits.

Scars: A couple along their upper arms from getting into a fight when they were younger and a pretty long one running across their back from an accident

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Used to have a lip ring but doesn’t really wear it out a ton, other than on dates or special occasions.

Casual attire: Cecilia, outside of the church, normally wears a white pleated miniskirt that goes to about mid thigh paired with a black lacy sheer corset that zips up in the front with a somewhat oversized black blazer over top. As for shoes, she wears knee high black leather boots with a 2 inch heel.

Formal attire: Cecilia wears a black long sleeved silk dress with a mesh back, a plunging v-neck neckline and a leg slit that goes up to to her mid thigh and shows off her fishnet stockings perfectly. As for shoes, she wears black pumps with a dainty ankle strap and a 3 inch chunky heel.

Sleepwear: She wears a floor length dark blue nightgown that’s silky and has lace covering the chest and a bit of her torso, as well as a high leg slit on one side.

Swimwear: She wears an underwire style swim top thats black and white paired with a high waisted matching pair of bottoms. If she’s just going to the beach to not swim, she’ll pair it with a thin jacket to keep a bit warmer.

Accessories: They wear earrings occasionally but normally just small silver hoops, they’re not too big on jewelry. However, they are big on wearing a lot of lace, and most of their outfits have lingerie included in some way.

Personality: Cecilia is so very flirty and so affectionate and will flirt with anyone (especially towards a certain priest) just for fun, although she’s normally pretty drawn to people that are potentially a bit dangerous. She’s not the best at realizing said person or situation might be dangerous as she just kind of goes with whatever makes sense in her head in terms of who she’s interested in. Cecilia is very romantic in the way that she does not hesitate to ask someone on a date if they show a sign of interest in her. She’s very much a risktaker and makes decisions a bit too quickly in terms of making a good decision and will just follow her heart a lot of the time.

Cecilia is very ambitious and determined with pretty much everything in life, and puts a lot of passion into anything she’s into. She’s very extroverted and charismatic and tends to talk to people a lot, along with having pretty good manners. She’s fairly observant for the most part, due to her work, but has little lapses of attentiveness due to some certain man. She also is pretty good at seeing both sides of an argument which playing the devil’s advocate role can be useful for work. Tying into that, she’s a little bit rebellious in terms of following certain laws. Cecilia is very optimistic, maybe even a bit too much so. She’s over dramatic and just a little bit manipulative, but more in a fun way rather than making people do weird shit. They lie, more so for fun than anything else, but they do also have some trust issues. Cecelia is pretty forgetful so has a lot of notes around her home, although she keeps her home really clean outside of that.

Likes: Collecting seashells, going rollerblading or ice skating, a nice glass of cannonau di sardegna on occasion, going to the beach/lakes on trips (visited Lake Iseo a lot as a kid), singing (was part of their church’s choir as a kid/teen before they went to college), plays the violin occasionally, knitting, eating w people she loves (including making food for them), spending time w family, card games, uccelli scappati, gardening, rainy days (esp at the beach), summer and spring, people with long hair, time inside and cuddled under blankets

Dislikes: Too manicured of gardens, messy spaces, sailing, being on the floor (whether sitting or laying), winter, tattoos, patterned socks (prefers fishnets or stockings), getting her furniture messy, fireworks, arriving to things early, when nights get dark too early, the thought of getting married, baths, soap operas, crocheting, salads, tea

Phobias: Ants, sudden loud noises, marriage

Habits: She tends to fidget with her buttons whenever she wears a button up shirt, and normally will button or unbutton the top button or two if she’s deep in thought. Cecilia also tends to hum a lot especially if she’s focusing on something (like cooking).

Backstory: Cecilia is the oldest of 6 siblings (including her) and her parents had her when they were pretty young, so the rest of her siblings are varying in age range compared to her. She wasn’t super close to them though as she just didn't really see the value in being close with her family growing up. When she moved to Milan for university to get a law degree, although with being at university, she didn’t have as much time to really devote to going to church as she wanted. Being away from her family made her really realize just how much she did actually appreciate them so it made her repair relationships and try to stay much more in contact. She worked in Milan for a little bit and moved to Naples due to a job offer that was better than where she was currently working.

Family: Cecilia’s parents care about her a lot, although they don’t get to see her a lot due to the distance that they live (about a 7 hr drive). They’re pretty close and call on the phone often, and she normally will drive up to visit them monthly. As for her 5 sisters, the two oldest (30 and 27 respectfully) live elsewhere, so normally if they meet up, it’s a whole family ordeal. The three youngest (19, 14, and 4) are adopted and still live at home. She’s close with all of them and pretty much keeps them updated on anything going on in her life. The sister she’s closest to is probably her sister who is just a couple years younger than her, since they got along as kids somewhat well.

Relationship status: Its complicated as hell but involves a slutty little priest

Pet(s): Has a few pet goldfish because they’re relatively low maintenance and she likes watching them swim when she’s working or knitting.

Occupation: Lawyer

Languages: Italian and English

[arrivisting]

beginning of a soulmate canon-era Les Mis wip I abandoned:

“I thought,” Grantaire said, and looked from Enjolras to Combeferre. “If anywhere your soul found a match, it would be – Well. I thought it would be other than as it seems.”

“He and I have an affinity,” Combeferre said, calm as milk. If the question, disguised as statement, troubled him, there was no hint of it in voice or expression. “A similarity – that is not the same.”

“Not at all,” Grantaire said, choking on a sudden bolt of laughter, acid as his stomach content. “Not at all – how stupid of me. What we have here is not an even division, his qualities and mine, two halves of a locket hinged together to form one whole, indivisible; it’s a badly mixed tonic. His qualities rose from the mixture, like cream; mine formed the dregs. If we are halves, we are black and white, good and ill. I’m his filtered leavings, not his other half. Put us together, and you won’t complete a course of physic – you’ll infect his pure body with my soul-pox.'

[stuff happens, there's nothing like word tattoos or anything, it's super super rare to find your sundered other soul-half like in the Plato dialogue but you're meant to be able to touch the world with more force & do Great Things working together with your soulmate should you find them; all the great people of history worked hand-in-hand with theirs a là Alexander & Hephaestion, etc.]

“You are my other half,” Enjolras said, his clear features set. “Whether I like it or not; whether you like it or not; we are made for each other. As glove to hand, you are made for my use, and I will use you.”

“If you want to use me,” Grantaire said, hiccoughing at the very thought, “you’ll have to break me to your usage: wear me thin, like a man clenching his fist until his stiff new gloves fit. Mold me until all I am is your shadow, and then discard me when I grow thin and formless.” He turned his eyes more seriously to Enjolras. “Would you do that?”

“For this, I might,” Enjolras said savagely, and then, more quietly, “No, of course not. But if you’re my other – if you are – I don’t pretend to understand what strange sense of humour matched you to me, but there must be a purpose; there must be more to you than I can see.” He seized Grantaire’s arm and pressed it, like his passion could pass from one to the other like a quickened pulse. “Work with me; be the half I need to do what I must. Wings to my feet, not an anchor at my ankles. I have no reason from our acquaintance to expect more from you; and yet you are my half, and therefore, beyond experience, I must hope.”

Grantaire said, quietly, looking at Enjolras’s white fingers on his sleeve, “You will be disappointed.”

“I can’t believe that.”

He hiccoughed again; it was less a reaction to his wine than a cover for a scoff, a sob, a laugh. “But you can! You’d do it as easily as you breathe, had you never discovered yourself in me. I disgust you; I exasperate you; that has long been understood. But you have no experience of loving where you hate, or hating what you need, and so you convince yourself now that I must be more than I am, and doubt your own former judgment. Well, furrow-browed Alexander: I am not your Hephaestion. Your first reading was correct. I have considerable practice with the muddier eddies of emotion, and I will read them clearly for you. You have never looked at yourself in a mirror and been repulsed; why should you, with your shining face and shining soul? I am your other. I am not yourself. If you look for an answering flame in me to make your torch burn brighter, you won’t find it. My hearth is ashes, and if I have a little fitful candle-breath left to me, it’s my own to nurse and cherish, and I won’t surrender it to your pyre, however brilliantly you burn. You may turn the sky to crimson and gold and make the sails of the future fill with your sacrifice, but I’m a jealous man, and I grudge that loss, and you can’t understand that; you have no self, only the res publica. Excellent for you! But I won’t help you carry hot iron in your hands. If you desire a pair of tongs, use another; I can see how you yearn for that distance every time you speak to me. You curl your nostrils like a housemaid handling a dead rat.”

“You could fill those sails yourself,” Enjolras said, “with your ranting.”

“A hit!” Grantaire said. Enjolras’s fingers were still curled in his sleeve. “Challenging me on substance rather than on particulars. How they must love you in the law-courts.”

“I am considering your points.”

“Which of them do you intend to argue? No, don’t tell me; let it all be wafted away like the fumes of my breath. Enjolras – it doesn’t matter. There are earnest young men you can train to fly from your wrist, but I am not they.”

“I am touching you now,” Enjolras said. “Am I flinching?”

“I brushed my coat until it shone only Friday last,” Grantaire excused this lapse. “So that the girls at the gougette could see their faces in it, of course. It gives me a misleading air of consequence.”

“Grantaire.”

“Tell me that it didn’t appall you to learn that your soul was the dancing-partner of mine. Tell me that you didn’t wince then, or deny the stars that aligned us; I won’t believe it.”

“I doubted.”

“Of course.”

“I doubted,” Enjolras repeated. His grip tightened, like he was sure now; like he had needed to touch Grantaire’s corrupt and vulnerable flesh before he could believe, had needed to put his fingers in Grantaire’s wounds and scrape his fingernails across them to observe his flinch. “But you’re not

-

& that's all she wrote.

[hopeshoodie]

thinking about Ami do be getting me thru another Big Sad so here’s some headcanons (I mean I guess they’re canons because he’s an oc but honestly nothing on this blog is canon so why start now)

definitely went through a ‘wear multiple rings on all your fingers’ phase when he first came out, but now he usually only wears one on his thumb and one on his ring finger. He definitely prefers silver or brass for his own accessories, and doesn’t own many gold colored accessories for himself.’

really wants a dog, like a big long dog like a greyhound or silken windhound, but is convinced he wouldn’t be able to take care of it like it would need and never gets one. He’s also allergic to pet dander, so it works out.

lowkey lives in a part of the city with more police presence, so he’s a bit scrappy and doesn’t make a habit of keeping valuables on him (not that he has many valuable to begin with- the most expensive things he have are the materials in his workshop, and he rents a storefront for that). Big same.

doesn’t wear makeup, but if/when he does he purposefully leaves concealer off of his dark circles because he thinks they look more artistic and masculine. Definitely into the Pete Davidson aesthetic (not the fashion style part, the Victorian man with typhoid aesthetic), even though he doesn’t use it or wear it.

has used those glittery water tube toys as a packer one (1) time as a joke but then… lowkey made the gender go brrrr. Is this just projecting now absolutely but still.

he joined orchestra in grade school and learned how to play viola, then fell off of it in his teen years. When he was 21 he was spiraling and looking for something to work on, bought a viola on a whim, and then started working on learning how to play it well. He’s not amazing at it, but when he gets really overwhelmed he’ll pull it out and play.

Has a full sleeve of black and grey traditional tattoos and lowkey hates realism tattoos/black and grey tattoos with lots of greywash. Definitely wants to get another sleeve and a back piece.

his favorite flower is daffodils, but obviously because trans he’s into dandelions too.

this might not make any sense because I’m a bit high rn but spending time with Bellamy feels like basalt rocks that have been tumbled. Smooth, comfortable, heavy, nice to hold. But there’s a hardness, a sense that it’s not something you’d want to keep around because it doesn’t integrate into life. How the fuck does one do that. It’s just something you set on a shelf and forget about. That’s what being friends with him is like, inanimate when he’s not there but solid and affirming when he is. Maybe this is just coming from the fact that he definitely has a rock collection where he’ll steal rocks from important places and tumble them and now I’m thinking about rocks.

Because of the nature of his job, he kind of gets to set his hours. This is a good thing because he works really late when he’s into a piece, but bad because when orders are dry he has too much free time. He’d love to learn how to sew and get more into fashion design, but the prospect of starting is super daunting and he’s afraid of  being bad at it at first. So whenever he has big lapses in orders, he always means to pick up a sewing machine and learn, but never does.

Ideal date is going thrifting for like… a whole day, then ordering takeout and crashing back at someone’s apartment (preferably his because he’s put a lot of time into decorating and curating that space).

has really sharp incisor teeth that he jokingly calls his fangs

hate hate HATES networking and advertising (which is unfortunate because that is… his whole job…), which is lowkey why he went on Love Island, because it felt like a one-and-done way to advertise without coming across as a try hard (which he did anyways because he’s always plugging his stuff).

he’s not a big reader. lowkey has dyslexia but was never diagnosed or treated for it so he grew up thinking he was stupid (which was exacerbated by his older sisters being insanely smart). SUPER insecure about it, and knew from early on that he didn’t want to go to college which was a whole thing. 

favorite food is freshly baked pumpernickel bread and butter