IN HELL

𝑺   𝑼   𝑴   𝑴   𝑨   𝑹   𝒀      ♡         𝑺   𝑻   𝑨   𝑻   𝑺        ♡         𝑾   𝑪   𝑺   

come   on,   feel   the   warm,   feel   the   blood.   goodbye   to   the   old   songbird.   𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴,   come   swallow   me   now   and   all   the   ᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ   things   we   surround   ourselves              

                                                                                                         #𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙺𝚈𝚃𝙴𝚂

the hellkite : a person who is rather cruel and vicious ; seems to have no mercy or empathy whatsoever ; someone very mean.

                 there wasn’t a particular thing that had set off her water works. head space was a term that people frequently used but hers was ever shifting. she went from icing matthew out to begging for his affection; the two had been on and off for years and there was still secrets. she didn’t trust him or his temperament and that was very telling. brow furrowing, the woman couldn’t help but get defensive. “what? are you calling me a liar?” if the shoe fits… josette hadn’t necessarily lied to matthew but she had withheld life-changing information from him. was she a liar or someone who had told a few major lies? did it make her a liar? still, her use of the word proved that she was jumping to conclusions and seeing the other’s tone as accusatory as opposed to impartial. without even waiting for a response, jo interjected herself. “i’m not a liar…” when the other sat beside her, the older woman’s eyes darted in the opposite direction, shuffling away slightly to not only make room but to create distance. it was an avoidance tactic she had witnessed more than enough times. josette did care about people, she just hadn’t been on the other side, of people wanting to listen to her, very often. her partner would shut her down if she brought something up or would suggest that she was being sensitive.”i’m not a liar.” she repeated again, this time more as a melancholic mumble. thumbs fighting with each other as they overlapped, she kept her eyes down. “just not sure why i started crying. i probably sound ridiculous.” again, it was something that matthew had said many-a-time. the man could make her feel both terrible and wonderful about herself. shame and guilt, feelings that jo had become very accustomed to, would always be there and they’d play right into his hands. it was almost as if she had an infatuation with him, especially when they weren’t an item - no one else would have her but he’d always welcome her and forgive. “i think i’m failing with my relationship.”

/      ♡  {       ❝    Alright  𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆  𝒏𝒐𝒕  𝒂  𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓,    you  just  excel  in  misdirection  ❞    playfully  she  rolls  her  eyes,  sinking  into  the  bench,  leaning  her  head  back  and  feeling  a  𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬  in  the  stasis  of  her  new  reality    ❝    ––  maybe  you  should  sign  up  to  be  a  magical  assistant.    ❞  –––  she  snorts  –––  ❝      I  bet  their  hiring.  You’re  slim  enough  to  fit  in  one  of  those  boxes  where  they  saw  you  in  half  for  claps  and  ooooohs,  and  ahhhhhhs.    ❞  she  breaks  again  𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉  𝒂  𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆  𝒈𝒊𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒆,  ❝    I  mean  pretend  to  saw  you  in  half.  There’s  an  illusion  to  it.    ❞  her  voice  dances  in  a  trill  at  the  end  of  her  sentence.  making  light  of  her  situations  is  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲  helping  her  in  comforting  the  poor  soul  she  sits  next  to,    ❝  but  seriously  every time  you  repeat  your  words,  one  sentence  after  another,  the  less  you  make  me  want  to  believe  you.    ❞    she  pouts  for  the  other.  jade  green  eyes  soften  to  hopefully  compensate  for  the  brashness,  and  the  over  compensation  of  strength  in  the  tone  of  her  voice.  ❝    You    do  sound  a  little  ridiculous,  but  again  𝐈’𝐦  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠,  and  sometimes,  I  cry  for  no  reason  too.    ❞  she  thinks  that  it’s  okay  to  reveal  this  information  to  a  stranger  –-–  𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬  𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐥𝐥  𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫  𝐬𝐞𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧.  she  doesn’t  feel  as  guilty  in  that  spoken  revelation,  but  her  choices  in  trying  to  validate  those  feelings  feel  underhanded.  she  fixes  this,  or  tries  to,  warring  with  the  part  of  her  brain  that  begs  for  her to  display  compassion,    ❝    I’d  even  say  it’s  𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲  𝐭𝐨  𝐛𝐞  𝐚  𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫,  if  that  makes  you  feel  better.  I  mean  seriously,  you  can  make  your  own  morals,  fuck  everyone  else.    ❞  she  takes  a  pause,  stopping  to  ask,    ❝    Does  it  make  you  feel  better?      ❞    and  then  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐛  𝐢𝐬  𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲  𝐨𝐟𝐟  and  harley  gains  context  ––  𝒂  𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑.  she’s  been  there,  𝒔𝒉𝒆’𝒔  𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆  𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕  ––  she’s  put  her  old  dusty  wedding  ring  in  a  jewelry  box  in  a  storage  unit  too.  𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐜𝐚𝐧  𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞,  a  little  too  much.  ❝    How  long  have  you  two  been  together?      ❞   she  asks,    ❝    maybe  you  just  need  to  have  a  serious  talk?    ❞   she,  of  course,  sounds  naive,  and  completely  ignorant  to  what  the  other  needs,  but  she  tries  again,    ❝  Is  it  them  that’s  the  problem  or  is  it  you?  Of  course,  it's  a  them  problem.  It's  always  them.    ❞

      the unsteadiness in josette seemed to drive her forward in this instance. she didn’t feel right and couldn’t explain it. perhaps it was only down to too much alcohol and people in masks or perhaps she had entertained the idea that her relationship was a lost cause and she had spent so much time trying to salvage something that never should have been in the first place. she was now forty one and the topic of children hadn’t come up, just a comment that he made that she’d be a terrible mother, that she wasn’t capable and it was right. she had made the right decision but still hadn’t said anything to matthew about it - it had been nearly sixteen years since the event that had changed her for forever but she hadn’t spoken about it since she had written herself out of motherhood. at some point, the woman had started to cry by herself and again, she couldn’t quite explain why. it was easy to blend in well in the scene before her, people weren’t about to pay much attention to her if she cried here - at matthew’s would be a very different story. conversations around feelings didn’t happen, only when they were having sex was it acceptable as it was enough to cloud her judgement. looking back at the figure that called out to her, the older woman simply shrugged. “i’m not really sure.” matthew had always said that she ruined the mood… “it’s fine, i’m fine.”

/      ♡  {      she  knows  that  line  very  well:  I’m  fine,  I’m  fine.  not  𝙾𝙽𝙴  human  being  on  the  planet  repeats  those  two  words  within  the  same  breath,  not  unless  they  𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭  𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞.  a  string  of  𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒚  tugs  at  heart  strings  as  she  watches  a  nonchalant  shrug  –  unbelievable,  𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄  𝒐𝒇  𝒂  𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎,  lacking  any  assurance  she’d  ever  deign  to  ask  for.  ––  folds  her  arms  over  her  chest  ––  takes  a  moment  to  reconsider  her  words,  then  flatly  the  blunt  coldness  of  her  voice  contests,  ❝    Sounds  like  bullshit  if  you  ask  me.❞      a  pout  –  light  pink  puckered  lips,  dry  ––  𝐢𝐧  𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝  𝐨𝐟  𝐚  𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤  𝐭𝐨  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝  𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤  𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭  pairs  with  arms  that  slide  and  fold  over  her  chest.  she  takes  her  seat  next  to  the  other  on  a  carnival  bench  littered  with  stickiness  and  questionable  stains–  the  spinning  high  brings  her  down  as  she  feels  that  she’s  finally  met  someone  worth  meeting  in  the  city.  ❝    Don’t  mind  me,  I’ll  just  sit  here––  ❞      she  tests,  obviously  curious  at  the  other’s  predicament.  ❝    If  you  just  so  happen  to  tell  the  truth,  just  know  that  someone  here  is  listening––    ❞      takes  a  deep  breath  ––  𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆,  𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞.  the  pretty  lights  𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘  𝒅𝒊𝒎,    the  carnival  grows  𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓,  and  the  wind  on  her  face  no  longer  feels  cool.  it  feels  COLD  –  a  shiver  ripples  through  her  body.  palms  rub  upon  her  shoulders  to  embrace  a  tiny  warmth.    ❝    Without  judgement–    ❞      she  thinks  it’s  important  to  note.    ❝    Sometimes  that’s  all  you  really  need  ––  someone  to  listen.    ❞    she  was  projecting,  of  course.  projecting  hard,  and  deeply  apologetic  in  the  smile  she  passes  over  to  the  other.  ❝    We  don’t  even  have  to  exchange  names  yet,  if  you  don’t  want  to.  ❞    

Sutton would be lying if he said he hadn’t scrolled through her pictures late at night. An admirer from afar, a friend, but because of his business Sutton stayed off most social medial. Except a burner account on a burner phone and that was to gather information…usually. Except when he’d watch her content. He wondered if she knew it was him lurking behind that mystery account. She had so many followers, admirers, voyeuristic vultures and here he was his lips on hers. Then she broke his heart lingering there he could still taste her. Was it brown sugar from a churro? Funnel cake? Or something else entirely. She wanted to spend mornings with him. It would require secrecy…safety…caution. Now he truly understood dumb in love. A soft groan falls from his lips as the way her fingertips tangles in his tuft of hair at the base of her neck. Had she tugged any harder a different reaction may have developed there over the darkened Seine. Breakfast…he wondered the last time he’d had breakfast at his own place usually he sat over the table with a coffee and discussed matters. Sutton knew how and when and where to be seen but he could also disappear. That’s what made him so valuable. That was how he’d ended up in this predicament. He wouldn’t lie to her, he wasn’t all men. There would be no story of fairy tales and happy endings. It wouldn’t be easy. The course of love never did run smooth. Swaying with her wondering if the rocking would help put her crashing mind at ease. A boat in the storm asking her upon it with him. His gaze shifts upwards. He hadn’t checked his phone. Save for that one…single…text. The one they all shared. Yet it seemingly passed over his burner. That was a good sign. She was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in his reality. Both of them knew it - she was candid. He owed her the same, “I don’t know.” Sutton finally offered, it was the truth. Finally looking back at the woman he longed to cook him hashbrowns, bacon, and eggs…pancakes sometimes if they were feeling extra sweet. The flourishing smell of coffee wafting as he woke up. In a normal life, with a normal job it would be possible. He’d been a fraud analyst once it was boring but people were right…follow the money. He’d followed it into a trap. Letting his hand drop to find hers he brings her manicured fingertips to his lips kissing each fingertip pad as he thought. “We…be safe…we don’t pressure each other…we stay honest..” and for the first time to the first person he divulges one of his secrets, “I have a safe house…” His gaze met hers. “Near the Remi apartments…an old woman named Beatrice lives above…she can’t see or hear so well,” he nuzzled his head in her neck keeping their fingers laced after gifting each one with a kiss. “I can’t sit and what if,” his lips found her neck, the spot he’d been coveting since he first saw her. “I want to try….Honey…”

/      ♡  {    sutton  appears  to  have  a  𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒐  𝒐𝒇  𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔  circling  over  his  head  with  a  𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏  𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘  and  harley  stares  at  it  so  lovingly  while  curling  locks  in  her  fingertips  and  swaying  in  their  silent  dance.  ❝    Mm.  ❞  --  she  hums  --  ❝    You're  going  to  be  bad  for  business,  I  can  tell.    ❞  despite  the  twinkling  ripples  in  the  water  and  the  calming  cool  air,  the  beauty  of  the  rushing  Seine  river  is  nothing  compared  to  the  weight  of  his  words.  his  sentences  are  her  favorite  gift  and  they  could  𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙺  her  to  the  bottom  of  the  riverbed  if  she  wasn’t  careful.  bridges  constructed  by  stones  from  the  Bastille,  couldn’t  make  her  feel  any  safer  and  if  they  were  to  crumble  before  them,  𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝  𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥  𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥  𝐚𝐭  𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞    she  swears  the  eiffel  tower  could  grow  𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝  with  him  solidified  by  her  side,  hand  in  hand,  𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔  𝒐𝒏  𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔,  wound  tightly  together  in  more  than  just  silk  sheets.  𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒆  𝒊𝒔  𝒕𝒉𝒆  𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚  𝒐𝒇  𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆,  when  Sutton  Beckett  fortifies  and  underpins  these  saccharine  and  honeyed  whims  with  her.    these  plans  and  plots  and  vows  𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒑  𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔  𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕  so  tightly,  creating  comfort,  melding  with  lust,  and  warming  her  from  the  uglier  parts  of  the  world  that  have  hardened  her,  frozen  stiff  to  the  bone.  she  repeats  his  words  back  to  him  with  a  punctual  nod,  ❝    Honest…  ❞    it  flows  from  her  tongue,  with  a  slight  tremor.  it’s  a  difficult  promise  coming  from  her,  especially  since  she  doesn’t  uphold  promises  in  any  sort  of  capacity,    𝐛𝐮𝐭  𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬.    ––  hopefully  her  own  abrasive  bluntness  wouldn't  ruin  them,  but  with  honesty,  she  could  instead  unravel  those  threads  that  keep  her  so  tightly  wound.  in  the  crumbling  of  those  walls,  she  must  believe  she  can  still  have  autonomy,  purpose,  and  a  partner  to  sail  into  sunset  with  her  when  life  decides  it’s  finished  with  them  ––    ❝  I  can  be  honest    ❞  another  nod,  slower  than  the  one  before,  𝒊𝒔  𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍,  and  given  with  her  own  solemnity.    meeting  his  eyes,  she  finds  she’s  still  out  of  breath  –  tiny  exhales  leave  traces  on  his  lips  –  wanting  more  connection,  and  soft  kisses  to  further  tease.  she  remains  attentive  to  secrets,  swearing  with  a  set  of  strong  brows  to  keep  them.  𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝  𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦  𝐭𝐨  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞.  a  smile  embarks  on  what  feels  like  an  invitation  to  not  only  a  home,  but  more  of  his  life  ––  the  apples  of  her  cheeks  rise  in  a  smile,  ❝  Will  you  take  me  there?  I  promise  lady  Beatrice  won’t  mind  me.  I’ll  be  very  careful  -–    ❞  starlit  hazel  eyes  plead  in  a  dewy  nature.  he  had  her  at  𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚.  ❝    We  can  try,  ❞  she  affirms.  ❝  And  when  things  work  out  far  too  quickly  than  we  imagined,  you  can  tell  me  I  told  you  so,  𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚.  ❞  ––  purses  her  lips  momentarily.  she's  in  deep  thought;  images  of  her  lounging  around  in  his  button  down  dress  shirts  and  silk  ties  ––  noting  how  the  other  half  lives,  while  continuing  her  own  debaucherous  lifestyle  ––  asking  him  to  photograph  her  bare  to  share  with  her  followers  when  in  reality  those  photographs  never  leave  their  boudoir    ––  𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈  𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇  𝒊𝒏  𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆  𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒆𝒔  𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆  𝒉𝒆  𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔  𝒕𝒐  𝒉𝒆𝒓  𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎  𝒉𝒊𝒔  𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆  𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌  𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔––  melts  her  troubles  away.  it  makes  her  feel  as  if  she  doesn’t  have  to  look  for  home  anymore.  no,  she  realizes  that  in  his  arms  she  feels  at  home  ––    𝒂  𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔  ;  better  than  a  gift  of  shiny  new  pearls––  she  hadn’t  felt  in  awhile.  𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫,  𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫  𝐚𝐧𝐝  𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧  parts  of  her  beg  her  to  𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑾  ––  dig  nails  into  flesh  and  𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶  to  that  pure  bliss.  𝐭𝐨  𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫  𝐥𝐞𝐭  𝐢𝐭  𝐠𝐨.    she’s  thinking  with  her  heart  and  not  her  head,  but  her  heart  speaks  to  the  wanton  desire  ––  the  green  flags  instead  of  those  vibrant  red  ones  she  attracts.  the  heart  that  beats  so  wildly  for  him  tells  her  trust  him,  trust  him,  𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕  𝒉𝒊𝒎.  ❝  I  have  a  special  blueberry  pancake  recipe  at  my  disposal    ❞  –  at  the  ready  -    𝒕𝒐  𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒎  𝒂𝒏𝒅  𝒕𝒐  𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎  with  a  bacon  smiley  face  and  two  over  easy  eyes  to  complete  that  full  good  morning  ritual.  ❝  And  I  can  make  a    latte  to  die  for.    ❞

𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚.𝒇𝒐𝒓.𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒏(( @terminanoir​​​​ } ♡     . 　⁺  . ♡ . 　⁺ 　 .     ♡  

most  of  the  mask  shops  she  bumbled  and  dawdled  were  in  the  𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕  𝒐𝒇  𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆.  venetian  masks  hand  crafted,  and  𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅  𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐  𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆  were  beautiful  entities  to  behold.  the  well  known  ones  ––    the  innamorata,  the  casanova,  the  mad  king,  the  madalena  ––  were  among  her  favorites,  even  the  leather  ones  in  the  shape  of  wolf  snouts  or  cat  ears.  she  tiptoes  through  the  aisles  of  the  shop,  attempting  to  not  bring  attention  to  herself,  playing  in  the  mirrors  and  holding  masks  to  her  face.  she  is  deciding  on  one  for  𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄  𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒔  to  𝙱𝙾𝙾𝚂𝚃  her  social  media  presence.  it  was  an  endearing  idea,  but  in  reality,  she’s  meeting  an  new  friend.  fallon  was  the  connect  that  she  was  given,  𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞  𝐚𝐥𝐥  𝐨𝐟  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐬  𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞  𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐢𝐧  𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲,  it  was  much  more  assessable  to  𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆  𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆  𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔  within  her  new  area.  she  looks  around  for  the  descriptor  sent  via  ims  and  text  messages  looking  for  something  out  of  the  ordinary.  most  dealers,  in  her  experience,  knew  when  to  lay  low  and  went  to  show  themselves.  she  finally  speaks  wearing  a  𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅  𝑫𝒖𝒍𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒂  𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉  𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔,  ❝   Are  you  who  I  think  you  are?   ❞    a  smile  quirks  behind  gilded  mask frame  and  a  glittery  smile.  ❝  I’m  meeting  someone  important  here…  it’s  top  secret  of  course.  ❞