#asperad

[crimetattle-arc]

( * @asperad​︱prompted ! ) : 🍓 if you’d like!

                       ‘ * jayne speaks .   oh ! pardon me i 💕 ! we don’t speak but i love seeing you on my dash ! i have followed you for a very long time, when i felt like i was a little baby here on tumblr , you are the entire reason i watched the fall ( though gillian helped. ) your writing just blooms and it’s absolutely beautiful ! i hear stella in your writing, it’s all so beautiful in such a natural way. it’s absolutely breathtaking. 

[organisedcrime]

❝       𝐈  𝐆𝐎𝐓  𝐀  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐘,  𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄.   𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏  𝐌𝐄  𝐈𝐅  𝐈'𝐌  𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄.        ❞      she  steels  her  voice,  measuring  her  words   &   stifling  a  revealing  gasp.  all  it  would  take  is  a  single  falter  --  just  the  slightest  iota  of  evidence  to  suggest  that  she  may  buckle  under  the  weight  of  heady  anticipation  --   &    the  power  dichotomy  would  shift  unfavorably  for  her.   this  is  out  of  the  question.    𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄.    

violet’s  fingers,  adept    &    quick,  curl  around  the  hand  at  her  thigh.  gently  at  first,  merely  to  hinder  any  further  movement  upwards.      ❝     i’m  starting  to  think  all  these  random  inquiries  that  keep  landing  you  in  my  living  room    𝐒𝐎  𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄  𝐀𝐓  𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   aren’t  for  your  investigation  as  much  as  it  is  an  𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐔𝐒𝐄  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐄𝐄  𝐌𝐄.     ❞     her  grasp  tightens  around  the  detective’s  hand,  feeling  the  taut  outline  of  tendon   &   bone  beneath  her  own  forceful  touch.     

  ❝       forgive  me  if  i’m  not  feeling  very  cooperative  tonight.   last  week’s  line  of  questioning  still  has  me  in  a  bad  mood.      ----------------     coffee ?     ❞   

“ 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸 𝚃𝙾𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 ? ”  :   @asperad​

[azarchive]

@asperad​ asked for 👫

i. they meet when stella swoops in to stop lillian being hasselled by a man at a bar. she moves in to wrap her arms around lillians shoulders, kissing her cheek just close enough that their lips almost brush as she pulls away. when she leans against lillian as if they're together, lillian leans into her, finding a sense of safety in her even before they know each other. when the man leaves them alone, lillian offers to buy stella a drink, partly to thank her for helping her, partly because she wants to get to know her. they spend hours talking before they slip away to one of their hotel rooms together, stella leading, and lillian finding herself happy to go with the flow. it's completely unlike anything she's ever done before, and she's more than a little nervous, but even then, she trusts the other woman.

ii. she's not particularly eager to broadcast her lack of experience with women, or how her past has left her unsure and nervous. even though she doesn't say it, stella seems to pick up on it, happy to guide her through touching her when she asks. it's so much better than lillian expected, not because of stella, but because of what she's known before. it completely changes her view on what it can be like. it's a night of kissing and touching and making each other feel good, stella's fingers gentling when they run over her scars, lillian allowing her hands to be redirected when they risk touching stella's thighs. afterwards, lillian leaves it up to stella on whether she should stay or go, and takes the opportunity to kiss the nape of her neck, and thank her.

iii. lillian is very respectful of stella's feelings about relationships. they might be classified as fwb for a while, and without pushing those boundaries, lillian certainly tries to be there as her friend. she quickly recognises a fellow insomniac, and whenever they spend a night together she tries to encourage stella to actually stay the night, knowing that that extra time she spends getting home could be used to sleep, and that it might make all the difference. sometimes this means throwing a leg or arm over her afterwards, or gently taking her hand, but if she feels stella pull away, she never holds her there. she just hopes that knowing she can will help. sometimes she hires a nice hotel room for stella as close to the police station as possible, hoping that having an actual bed close by will stop her from using the cot in her office. she never pushes anything on her, but she tries to show her she's there.

iv. their relationship changes after stella returns to london from belfast. having visited stella a few times, notably when she was in hospital, lillian is aware of the affect the case has had on her, and spends time with her during her leave. she provides comfort and stress relief, never pushing stella to talk about it if she doesn’t want to. her feelings for stella have grown into much more than she’s admitted, but she keeps it to herself. that is until her ex-husband finds her. though she’s terrified, she knows that stella will eventually realise what’s happened, and she knows that she’ll find her. afterwards, with stella holding her hand in hospital, refusing to let go of her, lillian gives her hand a gentle squeeze, and tells her how good it is to see her. later, lillian curls around stella in the bed, holding her hand beneath the sheets, and tells her she loves her.

v. they grow old together.

[wellward]

@asperad​ sent a 🕊 for a Mary Tidbit

         “It was... Yes. Clement of Alexandria. He wrote in his Stromata, which was his sort of odds and ends collection, about the vitality of the number ten. Numerology was very popular--was and is, I suppose, in Christianity and Judaism, and you really only have to look at the Bible to see it, lots of vital numbers, repeating numbers, not to mention that Clement and really everyone else, back then, was coming up in the, hmm, the sphere, the cultural world created by Alexander, and then by Rome, so Greek philosophy was very influential.”

         She clears her throat. “The number ten: the Ten Commandments and so on. Clement thought that everything in the universe was ordered by the number ten. The universe itself is formed as a decad, with God himself the final, the tenth number, above the fixed stars, which is the ninth; and the mind as the tenth part of the human, and it is our responsibility, as very learned Christians--” she looks at Stella, and winks--”to surpass the first nine parts, and reach the mind, and live the life of the mind, and in the same sense surpass the whole universe to reach God. It really is a lovely way of thinking about it, very magical. I’d love to simply leap out of this part of the decad and beyond the stars and see what it’s like, wouldn’t you?"

[flyingupward]

@asperad​ said: "Let's ring in the new year right." / for miss julia

       damn. it still catches julia off guard, every time, that little flutter in her chest, the excitement whenever stella so much as SMILES at her. with a smile, she wraps her arms around the other blonde and leans in close. ❝ and what exactly does ‘right’ entail ? ❞ 

[vorcotec]

@asperad

         “I think you pick what you say very carefully.” She’s developed this impression over time. She finds it hard to take anyone’s measure quickly, but Stella is especially difficult. Jane has no way in at the eyes, or elsewhere in the face; she counts on the voice, and Stella’s voice is smooth on the surface, like a sheet of glass. Jane can’t get a grip on it; she slides right off. She would have felt it to be a bad thing if Stella didn’t seem to reach out in her own way--here is the sheet of glass between us, you can’t get through, but I’ll gesture to you from time to time, from here on the other side.

         “I think you... Maybe you think a lot. Maybe there’s... Too much. Too much to say. That you see, or think, or know.” Jane’s upturned eyes search the ceiling, her hands kneading together in front of her. She doesn’t usually pick out words for these things, name the sensation past “I like you,” “I don’t like you.” Most of these things stay inarticulate, a part of her inner landscape that she never reveals except obliquely, through gestures of her own. “And you pick. You pick the thing to say. The right thing. Or the thing that will... Make it happen. The thing you want.”

         She looks down at her hands, then over at Stella, head tilted, eyes flitting briefly over her face before they drop again. “Am I right? You can tell me if I’m not.”

[storiesforgeda]

@asperad​ liked for a starter !

      “  how  is  it  you’re  never  scared  ?  ”  she  had  never  ONCE  seen  the  woman  falter  in  her  step.  never  once  appear  FEARFUL  of  the  things  around  them.  the  living,  the  dead,  the  fucking  dark  with  anything  and  everything  creeping  around  in  it.  if  she  was  ever  scared,  she  hid  it  WELL.  it  took  A  LOT  to  scare  althea  too  but  there  were  definitely  moments  when  the  fear  was  too  much  to  hide.  she  could  never  mask  it  as  well  as  stella  did.  “  what’s  your  SECRET  ?  ”

[rectoress]

@asperad​ said:  dainty fingers delicately and slowly slip beneath darker strands, only emerging once they’ve reached the ends. “it was only a sunny smile,” a pause, a hum. she tears her sight from the book she holds, to glance down at tissaia’s head in her lap. the edges of her lips twitch, tongue slipping out for a moment. “and little it cost in the giving.” fingers continue to run through dark strands, before the tip of her index finger moves to run down the slope of tissaia’s nose. “but like morning light, it scattered the night.” a thumb brushing just under her eye, fingers sliding down the curve of her cheek, till she’s taking tissaia’s chin between thumb and index finger. “and made the day worth living.” the book slips from her grasp, clattering to the floor as she leans down, lids closing as lips press to the woman’s forehead. 

               the book acts as a rather convenient shield behind which stella has retreated. all tissaia can see is the cover: the title in orange letters across dark green foliage, the author’s name in a shade of yellow complementing that of the sky in the illustration. a small resort town stretching along the curve of the coast and bathing in the golden light of an invisible setting sun. warmth. it oozes from it just as it drips from stella’s voice rising and falling, its inflections punctuated by a reverent touch down and over her face. is she learning the lines, the slopes, the small expanses of skin? or is she reading them with soft fingertips to consign them to some corner of her memory? quite literally lying in wait, tissaia stubbornly refuses to close her eyes. though she succumbs, slowly, inexorabl,y though she feels the knots dotting her limbs loosen and her body sink further into couch and lap, she resolutely keeps staring at the words on the paperback’s cover. no, not tender. that word is glaring at her, taunting her, baiting her. no, her eyes are riveted on fitzgerald. as good a name as any. neutral. harmless. safe against what hangs dense in the air, some lingering taste of fondness - of vulnerability. 

but then, then that is taken from her, too. bereft of a most needed anchor, she grants stella a passing gape of astonishment when her face comes into view and gets closer. where is the book? why has it vanished? why did she stop? a slow blink precedes an altogether loss of view.  all she sees now is fabric. all she feels now is the soft caress of her lips on her forehead. a tremor races down taut spine. the gesture, chaste yet potent with unbreached intimacy, is a balm against the strain imposed on body and mind alike. her own hand drifts upward, finds purchase on stella’s nape. it isn’t much of a movement but it proves sufficient enough to clear her thoughts fogged with possibilities and doubts. on stella’s thigh, her neck cranes and her eyes search what they can make out of her face. too close to be accurately read. too close for anything involving any coherent, well-organised and properly structured train of thoughts. “is it?” she asks in a whisper crashing against her mouth. “is it worth living?” is it worth giving? her lips finds stella’s before an answer can be given.

[brutlistarchive]

asperad​ said :  lips curl at the sides, something softer creasing her features, less tension & tight knots. ‘ you’re too hard on yourself. ’ she’ll leave it at that, palm coming to cup his cheek, leaning up as far as she can, dragging him down to press her lips gently against his forehead.

    𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 . it’s nice that she would . it’s nice that she did , when all that she could have done was given him her say so , and nothing else . even the rosy confoundment she prints onto his skin , soaked in for thirsty soil , is pleasant , and warm . he’s too hard on himself . maybe he was . 

     there’s not really a name he can find for the amalgamation that brews and takes shape the way she looks at him , and he at her molds in the in between spaces where his lungs and the beat of a muscle no less stubborn than it was a year ago won’t touch , or have become too shy to . he may have made it that way . in the next breath he lets breathe out his nose , they think of each other . heugh doesn’t smile , but he is warm to her . and that’s enough .       her hand cradling his face isn’t there as if he were some boy wet - cheeked and tacky with all of his un - letted frustration as if though the first impression might tell him that , and it might’ve , but he knows better , and she just wants him to pay attention     ---     be tethered again . she’s drawn him back in by the same rope he let slip off the dock and into the water . an impulse wanting , to check her wrist to see if he ought to apologize for it having gotten wet with the choice he feels he’d somehow influenced her to let make , to reach down into that black for it in the first place . heugh ought to have known how to tie the knot better . even if he had , guilt ought not to have rooted a thicket inside of him in the first place . it’s invasive . it ought not be there at all . yet there it was , budding thorny , and vicious in the prick . heugh’s not too worried about how that blooms . that , he can groom out .       so now there was water , and angry weeds , where there was always water , and no weeds to put to name . seems he had let some of the maintenance slip away from him . he’ll be better about it next time .

@asperad​ // kissed his forehead :^(

[ensavaged]

𝚃𝙾  :   @asperad

[ 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝟷𝟶:𝟹𝟿 𝙿𝙼 ]    ⤷    hi [ 𝙳𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝟷𝟶:𝟹𝟿 𝙿𝙼 ]    ⤷    can i come over 

[abjecterrora]

“come.” hand outstretches towards the other, the smallest of something—almost resembling a smile creasing her features. feet are submerged beneath wet sand and the tide slowly rolling in, ricocheting off her shins. the music of the waves surrounding them, the wind picking up their hair. stella’s never felt more content than she does now, wanting to move further towards the sea with the other hand in hand.

prompt, accepting always. / @asperad

this place is a lot nicer than they had assumed (of course it’d be nice, the little voice in their head yells.  this is stella we’re talking about.).  the atmosphere is comforting, like it’s welcoming them to stay, to become part of the environment.  it feels as if there’s so much that’s been lifted off their shoulders, all left upon the beach to dry and wither away in the sun.  they feel its claws try to wrap around their ankle, but tegan can step out of it before it can tighten.  they must look a lot younger, their face softer--a tegan who did not have to experience the things they did, a tegan who believed that hope existed and it was worth something.  tegan can only imagine how stella feels.

her word draws their ear, and their gaze falls onto her smile.  the scent of salt drifts through the air.  for once, just once, they don’t feel like a visitor.  these things feel comfortable.  silently (tegan thinks there needs to be no words, no arguments), they reach for stella’s outstretched hand, lace fingers betwixt fingers.  she’s warm compared to them (in multiple ways, but that’s not what this is about), something so light, nearly holy.  there’s a smile so genuine it crinkles the skin by their eyes, a real display of emotion, something that doesn’t hurt.

the sea beckons with open arms.  for once, there is no fear.

[seekher-a]

❝          do  i  really  look  like  i’d  know  who  that  is     ?          ❞

@asperad​   

[plnthe-aaa]

STARTERCALL ⤿ @asperad​ .

The sun and surf of Southern Crete was a welcome reprieve from England’s dreary summer . Tourists were sparse now , hiding from the midday heat in restaurants and museums , and the few guards she found milling abound the ancient site were largely disinterested in following her to the farthest corners of the settlement .

Lara brushed a strand of hair from her face , re - aligned herself , and took a careless snap of the architecture . Not quite national geographic - worthy — but that wasn’t the point . She was looking for markers .

If her watch were to be believed , she was barely a mile off of her destination ; and , she guessed , a couple of feet to the left . Unfortunately , Aghia Triada only stretched for another hundred feet before the modern wire fence cut it off . No way she could climb that without alerting someone .

❝ Apologies . ❞   Dropping her camera to her waist , the tomb raider angled past another woman . She was well - dressed ; certainly not sporting any of the stains and dirt Lara wore .    ❝ I’ll only need a minute . ❞

[puhssycat]

ok but what would truly wholeheartedly hurt / upset miss pussycat?

it’s  nothing  too  special,   but  deceit   and  abandonment  is  at  the  forefront  of  what  will  crush  her  spirits,  which  likely  goes  for  just  about  everyone.  here’s  the  thing  .  .  .   pussycat  is  apart  of  something  that  promises  solidarity  and  togetherness    -    forever.    there’s  pretty  much  no  getting  out  of  it,  and  not  many  of  ‘em  want  to  as  they’ve  got  nowhere  else  to  go;  it’s  a  group  of  like minded  individuals  that  have  nothing  but  love  to  give    -    at  least,  that’s  what  she  views  it  as.  we  all  know  damn  well  that  it’s  a  nasty  lil  cult   .  .  .  but  it’s  her  family  and  it’s  consistent.  she  doesn’t  bode  well  with  change,  and  spahn  ranch  provides  her  with  that  feeling  of  safety  and  thoroughness.  everyone  is  usually  quite  honest  with  one  another,  and  they  look  out  for  each  other  on  a  daily  basis.  clearly,  pussycat  devotes  all  of  herself  to  most  of  the  people  she  comes  across.  she’s  lively  and  gives  off  sucha  beautiful  energy    -    everyone  is  intrigued,  and  she’s  hard  to  forget.  oftentimes,  she  gives  this  love  to  the  wrong  people,  but  their  paths  never  usually  cross  again  and  she  knows  this  and  is  okay  with  this.   however,  if  sees  you  on  more  than  one  occasion;  a  rarity  for  miss  pussycat,  she’s  gonna  become  attached.  the  only  people  that’re  a  constant  in  her  life  are  those  on  the  ranch,  so  to  dip  her  toes  into  something  other  than  this  cesspool,  she’s  addicted.  she  doesn’t  like  change  but  she  does  have  a  penchant  for  experiencing  something  new.   the  second  you  act  as  though  you’ll  be  there  for  her,  or  a  mistake  on  her  end  is  viewing  kindness  and  the  simplicity  of  not  taking  advantage  of  her  as   .  .  .  who  even  knows,  but  she’s  suckered  in  almost  instantly.  and,  if  you  break  this  trust  or  prove  yourself  to  be  the  opposite  of  which  you  presented  yourself,  you  lose  her  trust.  and,  in  losing  her  trust,  you  more  or  less  lose  her  ‘til  you  can  prove  yourself  worthy  again.  and,  it  really  doesn’t  take  much   -   she’s  all  about  love  and  second  /   third  chances;   third  time's  a  charm.   3  strikes  ?  nah.  four  strikes  ‘n  you’re  out.   also,  not  sharing  you’re  food.

[hcretics]

@asperad | writing inspiration + word – bliss 

'The point of a spar is to relax, darling’. Vivienne doesn’t make any move to look over at Stella, the slices of cucumber still resting perfectly on her eyes. ‘I can feel you fidgeting from here’. 

Convincing Stella to accompany her to her weekly spar treatment hadn’t been easy, but Vivienne can be very persuasive when she needs to be. And what’s more important than ensuring her friend takes care of herself for once, when she’s always so focused on taking care of others? ‘It’s important to take a break, you know. Now relax. I might not be able to see you, but I assure you will know if you haven’t made the best of this by the end’. 

[brutlistarchive]

c + h

1. how does heugh sit in a chair ? like he’s entirely too large for it . he often times slumps which might antagonize his shitty back but he does it anyways because he’s a creature of habit . his hands will either be somewhere in his lap , or near his face , either propping it up by a fist at the temple or fitting in into his palm; he fucks with his hair a lot so he’s probably combing his fingers through it subconsciously until he realizes what he’s doing and stops his fidgeting . heugh’s legs are long , and rarely planted on the ground when he’s sitting     ---     they’re often sprawled . it’s almost as if someone took a marionette and just let it ease into a chair and let it sit however it fell . he carries the appearance of being neither comfortable , and also quite boneless when in truth he’s pretty much just fine . he’s just big . 2. in what position does he sleep ? heugh’s bed is never not against a wall , and his back is never to a door . this could be a product of his ptsd and a behavior he picked up during his time overseas when he was a youth , but it’s not continuous . when he has company in the bed he gives them his spot and turns into a tummy sprawler , and a tight pillow hugger , with his face snug against it and his shoulder . again , bad for the back but heugh is full of negligent habits it’d seem .3. what’s his ideal comfort day ? the ability to maybe sleep in by just a few hours since he only gets around three to four each day , he typically gets those when his mother or arthur has the children for the day , or weekend . from there he gets his coffee and makes something light to eat , and maybe spends his morning taking in some of the current news while he finishes up some work at home , makes some important personal calls he doesn’t get to do regularly on his own and without the help of his mother since he’s usually far too busy to do it himself . fuck man he really should get a personal assistant huh . papa needs some help sorting all this shit out 4. what is his big time comfort food and why ? banana bread :( reminds him of his mom who he doesn’t get to see enough of because she makes really good banana bread :( :( 5. who is the best at comforting him when he’s down ? oh his kids! his kids . they don’t like to see their dad sad so they give him a lot of messy baby kisses and good toddler hugs . you know the kind . he’s not heavily reliant on them of course because that’d be insane , but sometimes you just need your babies to tell you to not be sad and that it’s okay , and that they love you  1. does he prefer a hot or cold room ? he prefers his rooms a little on the cool side so they typically sit around 67 to 68 degrees and if you touch that thermostat he’s going to break your arm off and eat it in front of you . he can afford the bill it’s just he hates tweaking it because getting it to that perfect place is fucking hard 2 . does he prefer summer or winter ? summer is the devil’s temperature 3. does he like snow ? only if his kids require it of him 4. does he have a favorite summer activity ? stay the fuck inside at all costs he lives in pennsylvania the humidity out there does not care about you 5. does he have a favorite winter activity ? stay the fuck inside at all costs he lives in pennsylvania the cold out there does not care about you 

@asperad  // abcs of your oc