
ellievsbear
Acquired Stardust

JBB: An Artblog!

Origami Around

blake kathryn
Misplaced Lens Cap

pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

Kiana Khansmith
RMH

Aqua Utopiaïœæ”·ăźćșă§èšæ¶ă玥ă
almost home

oozey mess
đȘŒ
One Nice Bug Per Day

#extradirty
wallacepolsom
Xuebing Du
seen from United States
seen from TĂŒrkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Thailand

seen from France

seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from TĂŒrkiye

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Lithuania
seen from Denmark

seen from United States
seen from Canada

seen from Germany

seen from United States
@dedicatedesire

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
(c)
Before all of this, Arthur had never really travelled. Didn't really see the need for it. His sister, Harper, was the adventurous twin, she was the one who would spontaneously book a solo trip and he would stand with their mothers as they waved her off at the airport drop off - waving excitedly in anticipation of the stories she would return with, whilst their parents would tremble in anxiousness for their daughter. He learned about the world and all it had to offer from Harper, and from the people who came from all walks of life to pass through the hospital. He was satisfied with that, he had always been content with average, seeing no need to venture out of his comfort zone when the ones who did were all around him. Then all of those people, his parents, and Harper just vanished - taking their stories with them. He stayed put for as long as he could, crafting his day with a broken routine as if one day he'd wake and like a switch, things would just be back to normal again. In the various apocolyptic films he had seen, people always sought out hospitals first and Arthur thought that if that were to ever happen, then he would be there and ready to help. But the weeks rolled into months, and then years, and nothing. He'd felt helpless, to the extent of feeling completely useless to himself. If he couldn't even understand how to read a map or use a compass, then what was the point? The building was well kept, and showed no signs of deterioration - once he had survived his first harsh winter, he developed the resilience to survive through the next, he could do without the electricity and there was plenty of sources for water nearby, he didn't have to leave. Then his helplessness turned into something else, something darker, which had tried to convince him that the world would restart the moment he exited it. That his perserverance was selfish and he was only prolonging the inevitable. So he packed and prepared. He kept himself busy, working towards a goal he wasn't sure he would be able to pull off, he was going to move. During the daylight, he'd wander the streets, stopping off at the neglected malls to stock up on supplies, still mildly hopeful that he would run into some other figure besides his own shadow. He just kept going, until he had far more than an entire hospital of people would need and he studied the maps, having no clue where he would go. His sister, mothers, other relatives and close friends had all tried their hand at teaching Arthur how to drive but he just couldn't get the hang of it. When he had driven the van for the first time, it was the first time in a long time he had felt a flicker of confidence. No road rage, no reckless pedestrians, unpredictable traffic lights or awful traffic just...silence. He drove and he drove, for what should've felt like days but, without any disturbance, he wasn't bothering to keep track of time anymore. The drive started off as confidence building exercise, to familiarise himself with the road but once he got over the initial anxiety, what was really stopping him? Then he'd pulled over to rest, deciding a view of the sea would be a nice spot to watch the sunset. "Yeah, I...I guess so...I've spent my entire life there and never left, until now." Arthur responded, making a noise that nearly sounded like a small laugh. "Wendy..." his mouth twitched as he sounded out her name, almost as if committing it to memory. Even if she turned out to be nothing more than an aparition constructed by his mind's desperate plea for a social interaction, then the least he could was remember something about her. "Oh...uh, you can call me Art or Artie...whichever. It's nice to meet you Wendy, from Arkansas..." He extended his hand out to her for her to shake. This would be it, he thought to himself, the final check to see if she was real or a cruel construct.
She saw his hand. Nervously, Wendy reached for it and shook it, and suddenly, time seemed relative. There would be so many days in this stateâ eventually she would no longer remember the drought of human companionship. Art's hands were cold and thin, but so were hers. She didn't let him go, and though he was cold, it was as if she could feel the blood pulsing through his hand. She couldn't believe the divinity of the moment. Wendy had been raised religiously, but she couldn't say she practiced much as an adult. She still believed in Godâ of course, she believed in God. She lived in the south and every person that came through the checkout line said 'God bless you' or 'God loves you', but they said 'God loves you' with a lump in their throat, as if they were embarrassed or it had been some dramatic weight for them to get it out of their mouths, but even if she wasn't practicing, even if she hadn't thought about God in a long time, she thought that loving Him wasn't anything to be ashamed about. It couldn't have been. The belief that the creator of the entire universe had a personal stake in you was the most rewarding truth or myth one could tell themselves. She only wished that she loved others or God with so much conviction. When they held her hand and told her that God loved her, for a second, she believed it. Not because she had some sudden numinous experience in the grocery store, but because she knew people to live in reality. Every day, people were poor and suffering and assuming the worst in life and living in abject povertyâ her photography had shown her that. Every day people were living in the worst versions of the best possible world, and they were still reaching out to touch her and telling her that something greater than both of them saw her and loved her, and someone like Wendy had to believe that. There was no reason not to.
Arthur's hand in her hand felt so lofty. It felt like God breaking through two years of silenceâ she felt the tear break out of her eye and onto her cheek. She squeezed his hand tighter. "Art,' Wendy choked out. "It's nice to meet you."
How could she not believe in God or something greater than herself? How could she think that there wasn't something bigger than herself if one morning she'd woken up and no one was around? Of course, it had been hell to her at first, but she'd tried to find what was beautiful. Take photos of sunsets and drink wine on special occasions. She'd never been much of a drinker, but... it was the apocalypse, wasn't it? Wendy kept hoping that there was some greater meaning behind all of this, she even posited that she was dreaming, and time didn't pass the same in dreams as it did in reality, and eventually she would wake up. This was all just one bad trip, but hadn't her life been a bad trip? Hadn't she spent every day feeling left out and misinterpreting a joke that everyone else knew? This was the first time in her life that she wasn't anxious. Confused, of course. Of course. But calmâ and out of her own mind when it came to what to say, what to wear, what to do? Fuckâ now no one knew what to do, not just her. No one on Earth knew what to do, because there was no one on Earth but her, and she could confidently say: they wouldn't have done it better or differently. They would have spent the same nights crying that she did.
His hand in her hand, and God alive, finally Wendy smiled, and though it wasn't like her, she pulled him closer and embraced him. Her first hug in years. "I can't believe you're here,' the woman said into his damp coat. She didn't care that it was cold or that she could taste salt in her mouth. She didn't care that she didn't know him, and he didn't know her. Rationally, for a second, she knew the truth was irrational and the likelihood of them meeting mythic, but the tightness in her chest real. The realest thing she'd ever felt. "Thank you for finding me."
Send đ and I'll mention the concept idea I had for my muse
It could be headcanons, design or portrayal, but not limited to these options.
These can also be either the ideas that were discarded or planned to be used in the future.
What is your favorite thing about my portrayal, writing, and blog?

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
NOAH WYLE as DR. JOHN CARTER in ER (1994-2009) | S03E09 "Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies" (1996)
open to: f/nb, aged thirty-five and over the muse: miles beckett  â human, early forties, straight, architect. the plot: inspired by this plot but the other way around? your muse is in a toxic relationship and miles is the 'boring side piece', except now he's had enough of being a doormat, but no matter how many times he breaks things off, the cycle starts back up again. (open to anyone/mutuals) please donât like my starters âĄ
âi canât do this anymore. this, us, was a fucking mistake, and i can't keep going on like this.â
"Woah,' Farrah rolled her eyes, sliding past Miles and working her way into his apartment. She didn't like when he was upset with her because it usually took quite a bit of time to talk him back down, and it wasn't like he was volatile or fun when they arguedâ just didactic and logical, and if she wanted didactic and logical, she'd go talk to one of the guys from the chess club and call it a fucking day. "Can I get in the building? Can I get a stiff drink? Can I get my fucking coat off? Jeeze, Louise. I've not even done anything yet,' Farrah raised her hands in defense. "I've not even said anything to you today, and you already have this diatribe waiting for me at the fucking door. Take it down a notch, Miles. Get out of your head,' she dropped her coat and walked over to his at-home bar. She perused over the familiar section before looking at him with penitent eyes. Do you mind if I partake, she signaled and waited for a response.
hey folks! i haven't done this in a while, so this is a little reminder that my commissions are open. there are currently 7 slots open and i'm being able to deliver things in a fairly okay rhythm. my mom and i got some extra expenses this month, so any commissions would help a lot. some important information:
during the month of june all packs will be with 15% discount, and if you commission anything above 500 gifs, the discount will go up to 20%.
i am also taking pay what you can, so if you're in a budget i'm happy to negotiate.
for those in a rush, i've got a rush fee that can also be negotiated.
the form is in source as usual, and my dms are open, feel free to join the server too. thanks for the support!
9œ Weeks (1986) | Dir. Adrian Lyne
HALLE BERRY for â travel channel â .

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Sabrina sat in the driver's seat for what felt like hours as her entire frame trembled, as if her body was going into shock from the multitude of emotions rushing through her. She didn't really arrive at the party with a plan, she just wanted to see him - and then, when that happened, everything else just happened all at once. But there was some extremely naive part of her that truly believed she would have left no longer in this turmoil, now she was worse off, overwhelmed with more questions than answers after than conversation with Matthew. Had she really been that oblivious? Had she really been so self-involved that she hadn't noticed that he was unhappy this entire time? Her eyes narrowed as something much darker crept into her, anger. She shoved the key into the ignition and released a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sarcastic laugh, her face hot with tears as she pulled her seatbealt across her chest. The need for an understanding was replaced by the sudden urge to march back into that party and call him a coward, to shout and scream until he could be provoked into giving her some kind of reaction. Something more than the forlorn expression he continued to taunt her with, she'd gone there searching for something and left with nothing but the haunting image of his disappointment. She even looked at the entrance as if she was really considering it then shook her head, about to pull away when she saw Matthew approach her car. Something told her to just drive off anyway, to watch his lanky form shrink in her rearview mirror no matter how much her chest would feel like it could crack open whilst she did it. Instead her hand stilled on the hand break, yet to disengage. Up until he arrived at her window, their eyes locked and Sabrina felt like she was in a trance until he broke the eye contact again. His question made her face contort in disbelief, the anger pushing through the surface. "What is it that you want from me, Matthew?" She questioned harshly, ignoring his question entirely. If he really had to ask that question then perhaps everything she said to him inside the house didn't land the way it was supposed to, but Sabrina had very little patience or restraint left. "Why did you follow me all the way out here, when you've already made it clear you have nothing more to say to me?"
"Listen to yourself. Does that make sense? If I'm speaking to you, then obviously I have something to say to you. I walked out here because I wanted to finish the conversation,' Matthew sighed and wiped his hands over his face before standing up entirely. She was so petulant and brazen, and he could not believe that he had not seen her emotional immaturity the entire relationship. He had spent every second with her feeling uncomfortable and looked down upon, and now he wondered if she had put him in that position in order for him to never be able to look at her in earnest. Her tears did not make sense to him, because she didn't need to cry. She had made her own self upset.
"Did you say goodbye to my friends when you stormed out, Sabrina? The same people you basically commissioned to follow you back on Instagram the last time we hung out with them? Or did you rush out and disrespect them and me when they went out of their way to invite you? Can you get out of your car? Can you go say goodbye? If you do that, we can go back to my house and talk."
The fact that her parents had stood by him from the moment he was arrested was more like a thorn in her side rather than a testament to Jedediahâs character. For the five years that followed, Nour never once felt as if her ex-boyfriendâs presence would slip away, and that was thanks to her parents, who wouldnât allow her to forget him. She had no interest in the dating world before their relationship, and that had lowered into dangerous, spinster-idolising parameters the moment the judge slammed down his gavel. She couldnât be the jailbird girlfriend who would be punctual to every visitation, send daily love letters marinated in her perfume, and plan a surprise conjugal visit for Valentine's; if she was going to do all of that for anyone, it would have been him, but her family needed her. Nour barely registered the heartbreak and buckled down to get the restaurant out of the red, working herself to the bone to turn it into the functioning business it is now that finally broke its first even. If her parents ever visited Jedediah or took any of the collect phone calls that would come through the restaurant phone (since she wasnât answering on her mobile), they never told her. They did remind her when he was finally released, but they didnât need to â the date had been burned into her memory, without intention. Still, she kept her distance. Seeking out alternative, often longer routes, to avoid passing by places he would most likely frequent. Once the restaurant was stable enough to run without her, she took a âsabbaticalâ and worked at a friendâs pop-up diner in London for a few months, then bounced around Europe â the extreme ex-avoidance tour. Then, once she was confident that she had seen enough of Europe to expel Jedediah out of her system, Nour returned to find that the restaurant hadnât crashed and burned without her. Her commitment to the place hadnât changed; still, she was the first through the doors and the last out. This time, the last ones out were the usual regulars who bid her a goodnight, casting final glances in the same direction before finally departing with a slow shake of their head. Despite the story, people had come to their own conclusions to cast judgment upon Jedediah as if he were some loose cannon and not someone defending his family. Nour would have liked to have asked them what they would have done, but she couldnât let herself unravel that way. Instead, she locked the door and went back behind the counter to continue her final tasks as if it were any other night. Only this time, she had made one last meal â a favourite of his that she had taken off the menu after his sentencing. It had been over five years since she made it, but muscle memory was a bitch. He was talking, filling up the silence with small talk and general life updates that werenât necessary â she already knew. Nour kept her back to him, focusing on putting the finishing touches on the dish despite the slow increase of her heart pounding in her eardrums. âItâs the same pretty face it was five years ago,â She responded dryly as if those words hadn't brought out some softness in her, finally turning around to place the hot dish on the countertop, but she still couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Everything's just as you left it, even the shwarma."
Jedediah stood and made his way to the counter, taking a seat, the same one he used to take when he'd come see Nour at closing time. Sometimes she'd make him a new dish that she was trying out or something called in that no one had come to pick up. Usually it was the shwarma because it was his favorite. Because it was what he'd ordered when he'd first met her. He felt the sentiment in her actions, but she was far away from him, at least figuratively. He could only think about how he used to hold her close to him during the winter because the radiator in the old house hardly worked. During the summer, they'd cuddle for awhile before he'd give her a kiss on the forehead and say that he had to sleep on the couch or else they'd both suffocate in their sleep. He wanted to keep the windows open, but she didn't like bugs. It was already as if they were married, so he never asked. Didn't much have money for a wedding anyway, and she was too busy with the restaurant, and he was too busy with the shop, but she was his bride. That's how he always referred to her anyway.
"Prettier,' he said, taking a bite and wiping his hands off on his pants. They were brown with oil and dirt, but he didn't want to walk away to wash themâ he didn't want to take his eyes off of her. Why had he stayed away for a whole year? He knew the reasons, at least the reasons he gave himself: he wanted to be established again and have something to show for himself. He wanted to be a changed man when Nour saw him again, not some ex-convict in need of a hand-out and a place to stay, but he couldn't shake the fact that if what they had was at all salvageable, then he had made it worse by staying in the shadows for twelve months. If she still loved him, she still loved him, and him hiding had been for himself, just like him trying to kill that manâ he was terrified that she was going to call him selfish, because he was. He'd always put everything above her. The wrap was like lead in his mouth. He swallowed.
"The food's good. Never had that as a doubt in my mind,' Jedediah cleared his throat. "I got this nagging feeling everything else ain't the same no more."
Misery kept the same company and the same name. Only this Will hadnât been afflicted with dreams, no growing aspiration spurring him in a general directionâ rather, it was his nightmares that kept him afloat, a deplorable anchor into the world and the bottle. They share a few similarities, it seems, and Will wondered where they parted, growing off in opposite directions. He would like to know, and always had, something enticing in the depths of soft brown eyes. He had a hard time reminding himself that it would be disastrous, that two people so clearly in the worst times of their lives were better off as strangers, no mirrored dependencies to ping-pong off each other.
He admires her nonetheless; the illusion, despite having an awareness of it, never failed to work on him. Falsities could be admired, no?
âI also didnât think I was coming.â He admitted. He had found the time when the same pang that kept him coming back returned. Something horribly and pathetically yearning. What a terrible and lonely man he was. âYou sounded great.â No point in ignoring what was clearly in front of him, glassy eyes and pink-rimmed nose, incendiary and lovely; how could he be any arbiter of morality? He slept in his bathtub, cradling a bottle of whiskey most nights. âIâve brought a gift,â He slides a bottle of wine, something fancy and sweeter than his own taste, offering it over as a token of mutual destructive, if nothing else.
"Funnily enough, I was just about to offer you a drink, but,' Willow shrugged, looking at the bottle of wine with a smile. It was something she could twist offâ thank God. "I know you'll find what you're looking for, but if you make your way to the bar and let them know you're with me, they'll,' another shrug, then a chuckle. "Begrudgingly give you something from the ole Prohibition day stores. I'm a real class act around hereâ you keep good company."
She took a swig directly from the bottle and turned to face the man. A sight for sore eyes. It'd been a yearâ no, two. Two years and some change, and he seemed to have aged, but there was a youthful glint in his eye that reminded her that there was a time when they'd first met, and maybe they hadn't been inebriated and as many bad things hadn't happened to her yet, and he hadn't disappointed her nor had she even thought him capable of doing something like that, like letting her down. Like being nowhere to be found one day and nowhere to be reached and as good as dead. When she first saw Will, she felt all of those things, and she took another sip so she could stay far away from what the truth of who he really was, or at least what he was like, wouldn't rear itself up again.
"I sent you flowers,' she turned back to the mirror and looked over her makeup. She was reinvigoratedâ her eyes opened back up. "These beautiful bouquets, the type I wish someone would send me. I sent them to where I thought you might be or to people I thought you might know. I wrote 'To Will G. from Will O.',' she smiled, pleased with herself. "I thought that was sweet. Will O... So, I guess one message did get through. You're here. You look so handsome."
INDE NAVARRETTE photographed by Nick Rasmussen for Schön! Magazine
Rothko / On Fear by Ollie Cowley

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
His feelings for the woman fluctuated between fear and infatuation at a rate which would give anyone whiplash if they tried to keep up with it. Around anyone else, most likely those who knew him well enough, Taylor was completely unrestricted and unaccountable for his way of thinking, which was a direct feed to what came out of his mouth. With Julienne, he had to actually think - to take a mere second and consider what the reaction to his words would be and how that could impact him. She scared him to the point where he should have put a significant amount of distance and some kind of court order between them but also there wasn't anyone else who made him feel this way. Was it love? who knows. But everyone seemed to pale in comparison to the fire burning right in front of him. Also, he knew her story which gave him a much deeper understanding of why Julienne is the way that she is. Taylor knew better than anyone how family dynamics can either build a person or leave them with inexplicable scars. One thing that was for sure, which brought in a sense of conflict for him, was that he wasn't looking for a relationship. Their casual arrangement was exclusive, on his end anyway, for the timebeing he wasn't interested in anyone else and if that were to change would he be able to confidently communicate that to her? He'd rather wait for her to grow bored of him, and this situationship, and leave on her own terms. Despite not being raised that way, Taylor spent a lot of his time on the road. It felt like a necessity more than an actual want. Being home meant that he was being bothersome, being away more meant that he could get out of his mother's hair and stop raiding his brother's pantry for a little while. To Taylor, the world was always a lot bigger than the confines of any home - or relationship. Julienne kept him tethered, whether it was deliberate or not, he was the kite and she was the one pulling on his string until she decided to pull out a pair of scissors. Her kissed made him feel dazed for a moment, he had to blink out of the trance she had locked him into and a quiet - and slightly nervous - laugh left him. "Did you forget that I have sisters?" He reminded her then pulled away to throw himself back on her cushions. "I can do the hair crinkle thingy too, if you want? You know the one that makes you look like a mermaid, or whatever? I absolutely suck at a french braid, though."
"Okay, fine,' Julienne shrugged and backed away. "Thank you, Taylor, for the best winged eyeliner ever,' she mimicked back to the young man with a flirtatious smirk. She pulled a shirt off the mirror and placed it on before walking over to her closet to grab a pair of shoes. It was just an Airbnb she was renting monthly until she got tired of being in the city and went back home. Each time she came back, it was to see an ex-boyfriend or reconsider signing back up for classes, and each time she left, it was because yet another thing had fallen apart. She rarely stayed for more than three or four months, and Taylor was new to her fly-and-high life, but he was a welcome addition. A breath of fresh air. The first man to ever seem like he loved her and could live perfectly fine never seeing her again-- she didn't like it, but it kept her on her toes. Kept her trying to be the best version of herself possible, because who was to say that he'd stay once he saw the absolute trainwreck she actually was? That's probably why she put up with most of his childlike proclivities.
"The one that the girls used to do on picture day during middle school, yeah?' her voice echoed out of the closet. Julienne laughed. "That's fucking hideous, Taylor, absolutely no, but,' she tried to play nice. "You're a doll. You're an absolute babe. And you look like you don't want to come out with me tonight,' Julienne said, laying eyes on the man, comfortably tucked in under her pillows. She crossed her arms. "What are you going to do instead, Tay? Go sleep on your brother's couch?"
closed starter for @dedicatedesire plot: your muse and ferris were competing for the same job opportunity and he won out, but only because a secret of theirs was outed by him (though it was done 'anonymously').
The pack of interns had once seemed a vicious thing, each of them determined to tear down the other, clawing their way with broken and bleeding fingers up an impossible mountain. In the aftermath of the announcement of who had been selected to go on, they now appeared more tightly wound together, tied through the apparent failure that most had experienced. All except for Ferris, who though he'd been brought into the shuffle of them by their boss and his general inability to read a room occasionally, felt the heat of their combined ire. The bar was fuller than he'd expected for a Thursday, not quite the upscale place he'd expected but something rougher. A place that expected him to loosen his tie, which he did after noting a few of his fellow interns doing so.
A beer in hand, he circled the room for the third time, finding he didn't quite know what to do with himself. The rush of winning was wearing off and holding himself together the way he was expected to at work in order to please the people above him â with a charm he wasn't sure he possessed in any natural sense â was beginning to become exhausting. When he spotted her at the bar, the beeline he made was probably a bad call, but he approached anyway, appearing beside her with his empty beer bottle which he placed down. "You haven't congratulated me." He said, meaning it to be some sort of joke, but it came off more awkward and cruel than he'd intended it to be.
She kept going over the conversation in her head again and again. They'd told her that she was a good worker, they could tell that she tried very hard and had a lot of potential. She was charismatic and good with clients. She just wasn't ready. They encouraged her to reapply for the internship the next year, and they'd be happy to receive her again or write her a recommendation to another agency. Julienne's resume was long, and she'd been primed to receive the promotionâ she could even say absolutely guaranteed. She wanted an answerâ it seemed like everyone in the room knew something that she didn't.
A man at the end of the table who hadn't said anything the entire meeting cleared his throat. "Julienne, if you had to, could you pass a drug test? Today?"
Her heart sank. Cocking her head, she cut her eyes over at the suit. "What do you mean? What are you asking me? What are you accusing me of?"
Someone closer to the Human Resources department took over quickly. "It has been brought to our attention that there are some extracurricular activities taking place that don't necessarily align with our company's mission and ethics. What you do outside of this building is a reflection of all of us, and if these rumors are being spread and perpetuated within our walls, we can't wait for the other shoe to drop. How can we, professionally, give you this well-earned promotion, when we're also receiving reports and confirmations of behavior that reduces our stature as an organization and our judgment as employers? Even if these rumors are baseless, they exist, and their existence may very well be more important than their veracity... we're very sorry, Julienne. We're eager to have you finish your contract, but,' the woman shook her head. "You have to see it from our point of view."
Every single intern in that building did cocaine, if not something worse, and she'd seen all of them wasted most nights and every weekend. There were exceptions, obviously, but not enough for Julienne to be the one shot down. She shook everyone's hand and walked out of the room with her head lifted high. They were never her friends. How had she forgotten that? She'd gotten too caught up having fun and going out and oversharing while in a stranger's kitchen in the early hours of the morning that she'd forgotten that they were all competing against each other in the end, even the ones that said this was just to bolster their resume, and they wanted to work somewhere elseâ no one would have turned down the promotion if offered, and did any of them seem like they weren't the type of people to step on someone's head to lift their own self up? She just wished she knew who it was, but it didn't matter. Not really. Julienne had a trust fund and friends in the city. She didn't need this, but hell... hadn't she wanted it?
From then on out, Julienne pledged to truly not give a fuck. There was only a week and two days left of the internship. A better version of herself would have skipped that congratulatory bar crawl (on the company's dime), but she felt herself slipping into a familiar pattern of reckless and thoughtless behavior. She didn't engage with the rest of the interns, because she knew it would become an argument, and Julienne wasn't above smacking a bitch in the face. She'd been playing cool-calm-and-collected in the office for ten weeks too long. A vodka soda sat in between her and the bartender, the second one of its kind, untouched and precipitating as she stared at it, trying to convince herself of something whimsical. Maybe that if they all knew her mother was dead and her daddy didn't give a fuck about her, they'd go a bit easier on her, but through her drunken confessions, they all knew that, and to be scarily honest, so did the higher-ups, likely.
She placed her head in her hands and added the internship to her internal tally of things she'd fucked up, but the score was so high that she was sure she'd forget it in the sum of all things within the next year or two. A voice beside her broke into her internal monologue. Julienne looked over, first frowning, but she let a smile creep over her face. Ah, Ferris. Probably the only person there that she could trust, her only sober confidante. The only person she would have wanted, truly, deep down, to win out over herself. "Congratulations, Ferris,' she said, leaning in to give the young man a hug. "I'm really happy it was you. I mean it."