lethologica

They made polite small talk while they waited for the woman in question to arrive, and Ainsley watched with pointed interest as Russell’s patience began to wane with a surprising swiftness. There was something about him that unsettled her, though she would never say so quite so frankly. Still, just as she opened her mouth to ask after him, the glass door slide open as Malia stepped out to join them on the patio. 

Standing at the same time as her father, she inclined her head in greeting, letting her father introduce them. “Ah, Ms. Fahey. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My son could not be here, so my daughter, Ainsley, has come on his behalf.” At the mention of her own name, she gave a slight smile, “Hello, Malia. I do hope you’ve been keeping well?”

ainsley : stay with me while the storm is strong

we all need someone sometimes, and you often don't feel like you are worth someone remaining. you are, though. i know that you crave for someone to be there and rest their hand against your back during the bad times. for a loving voice to lull you to sleep with a cadence of compassion and a desire to remain. you just want someone to remain. through and past the bad parts when you know it is difficult. you want to fall asleep to their voice and wake up to them still there in the morning. you want them to know the way that you take your tea and keep a box of your favorite flavor in their pantry in case you have a bad night and need to come over. you want to trust someone enough to give them a key to your house. and you deserve it, love. you deserve for someone to linger. you deserve to place your trust in another and know that they'll help you brush your hair if you're just too tired. you deserve for someone to remain.

theo : hear me with an honest heart

people hear without really listening, most of the time, and you hate it. you know that your words are falling dead from your mouth in a conversation as the other person just sits and waits until it is their turn to talk again. you crave more, you want to be heard with a purpose and an honesty of intentional knowing. because you are so many things, and they live within you, and you want to share them, but it is hard, because to speak is to allow someone to listen. to speak is to chance being heard. and if you are heard, and if they listen, then they will know. my darling dove, you deserve to be known. you deserve to talk until your voice gets rough and to have someone listen to every word. you deserve the kindness of an active investment by another in what it is you have to say. it isn't selfish, i promise, i swear.

vi : touch me with tender truth 

you crave being known and held. you just want the warmth and pressure of another body against your own. sometimes, late at night when you're alone in your bed, your skin aches with the lack of touch. you've tried touching yourself, and it isn't the same. one time someone gripped your shoulder and squeezed it in passing, and you thought about it for weeks after - the ghost pressure of their hand lingering. don't you deserve it? consistent physical love and caring? i think so, i think you do. but i also have to ask - do you fear it even as you want? after all, if you get it then it might also be taken away. i hope that if you fear it, you push through past that fear. that you ask for the touch you desire and deserve. i hope that you get touched with love and kindness, wrapped up in warm arms and rocked from side to side until the tension and pain falls away layer by layer and only you are left.

Callum had been finishing up in his classroom, grading some things and reviewing some lesson plans. Teaching students had never been the plan– far from it, actually. And spending over half his day with vapid teenagers almost made him regret coming to the school. Luckily, for as many irritations there were, there were as many students with potential– as far as he saw. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed the note left on his desk. Strange. 

He thought for a moment who it could’ve been– couldn’t be a student, definitely not a fellow professor, and definitely not someone from his coven. As far as he knew, they’d long believed him dead. 

Still– nothing good would come out of not going. Perhaps it was someone from his past, bearing good news. A way to return his magic. He shook his head at himself, knowing that was a far off dream that had little to no chance of coming true. Once he’d made it to the location and caught sight of a familiar head of blonde hair, he froze. “What are you doing here? 

Stepping out of the shadows, she raised a single brow, “That’s some greeting, Callum. Or should I call you Professor Vance, now?” Despite the tinge of humor in her voice, her expression remained stoney and unmoved. She’d considered how she’d feel when she finally came face to face with the other man- anxious, joyful, hopeful, angry- but and now that he was there, all she felt was numb.

“Is it not obvious? I came here for you.” Crossing her arms, she circled him slowly giving him a once over. “You’re a very difficult man to find. More than a few of your family and friends believed you dead, but I knew better. I’d feel it.” Pausing, she tilted her head, her eyes drifting across his face- one she’d only seen long before he disappeared- long before the accident. “By the looks of it, teaching pays a lot more than I would have thought.”

While she never regretted siding with his family- how could she, after all she’d done to gain their favor?- she did regret letting him push her away entirely. 

She spent years following his trail, coming so close just as he would slip away. But she felt a drive to find him, to speak to him again. Knowing he wouldn’t come at her behest, she sent a letter with nothing but a location and a time scrawled on it, and she waited with a patience that could only be borne of years of experience.

She wanted to throttle him. Wanted to wipe that smirk from his face with a slap, but she wouldn’t let him do this to her. He was not worth the effort, and yet, he always managed to do this. “You are bothering me, you absolute knob, because I am trying to work and you seem to think that this is percussion class,” she growled. His reaction was somehow more infuriating than what he’d been doing moments before, and Sarah had to take a slow, deep breath to quell the rage simmering in her chest.

While she was known to have a quick temper, no one was able to get under her skin like him and it only seemed to get worse recently. The way he leered at her, smugness written through every line in his face. She needed to calm down, and so she took two steps back reluctantly. “Yes, well since you seem to enjoy being an absolute dog, why don’t you go fetch.” 

It was juvenile- there was no denying that- agitating the other woman for the sake of it. But he didn’t particularly care. For all of his intensive disciplinary lessons and all of the harsh punishments he’d endured as a result of when he was audacious enough to disobey orders or behave in a manor unfit of his status, he never could quite shake that mischevious streak in him. Rather, he just redirected it, and Sarah Cavanaugh was the perfect subject for his misguided attentions. Intelligent, fiery, and- of course gorgeous- it was hard to resist. Not that he really tried. 

“Not a fan of the drums? Very predictable- the hot ones always ignore the drummers. What a cliche.” Tutting he shook his head, but before he could make a comment about her backing down from his challenge, he caught her second statement, and gave a fitting bark of laughter. Leaning forward, he raised one brow, giving her a once over, before meeting her gaze once more. “I can fetch, sure. It just depends on what I’m fetching, if you catch my drift. After all, pedigrees deserve nothing but the best.”

nickname: roz star sign:  gemini #we out here   height:   5′5 ¾ (bc i have terrible Short Man’s Complex) favourite music artist: kelly clarkson & the goo goo dolls last tv show you watched: atla what kind of stuff do you post: here is just multimuse writing and memes, and on my other blog it’s rp inspo and fandom junk do you have any other blogs?: @roz-rps​  why did you choose your url?: morosis. noun. ( medicine, obsolete ) idiocy; faulty; stupidity hogwarts house: hufflepuff pokemon team:  valor and i’m not sorry how many blankets do you sleep with: like 6 blankets of different weights and textures following: 8 followers: 11

Rolling her eyes, Theo scoffed, bumping her shoulder against his with a shake of her head and a smirk playing at her lips. “Please. I always handle you with nothing but the utmost of care.” She quipped, moving from her place curled against his side to straddle his lap with a grin. One hand moved to comb her fingers through his hair, while the other ghosted over the dark, purpling marks littering his neck so perfectly. "Although, I happened to believe that you happen like it when I’m rough with you as well, don’t you. Always so good and obedient for me- through tears and whines and overwhelmed cries.”

Shooting him a decidedly innocent look- the kind that could only hint at the not so innocent thoughts in her head- she leaned closer, her breath ghosting against the shell of his ear For as hard as she might push him and as much as she might relish in torturing him, there was always that hard line of love and care that fueled her every action when it came to Eric. “And when I finally break you, you wear my marks ever so proudly, don’t you?” Nipping at the soft spot behind his ear, she chuckled at his sharp intake of breath, pleased at the reactions she was able to pull from him. 

Leaning back, she grinned, “Soft as ever, but not so sleepy anymore?”   

The incessant tapping was driving her crazy, and the leg bounce was only a step behind. Lifting her eyes, she glared at the man sitting two tables away. The teachers’ lounge was blessedly quiet for once, and it would have been perfect if not for the absolute toad that was infecting the space. 

“Must you do that?” she snapped finally, just barely resisting the urge to throw the remains of her muffin at him. She wanted to march over and wipe that smug smirk off of his face, but they were on campus and she had a reputation to maintain, so she simply snatched the pen and tossed it across the room. “It is quite… irritating.”

Titus grinned unapologetically as he sent a wink over to the other woman. He was hardly the type to fidget- as if his father would allow that kind of thing- but watching Sarah’s traditionally unflappable composure slip out of distraction and irritation was far too entertaining to resist. And at any rate, it didn’t count as a nervous habit when it was an entirely intentional action.

“What’s the matter, Cavanaugh?” He asked smugly, making sure she could see the smarmy smirk on his face, the corners of his lips turned up in an entirely antagonizing way. “Am I distracting you? In fact, it almost sounds like I’m bothering you, which surely cannot be the case.” He wasn’t expecting such a... visceral... response, but he couldn’t say he was displeased with the way she reacted. 

Gasping dramatically, he clutched at his chest. “Such unprofessionalism! Why I never!”

Vik could recognized that voice practically anywhere. Even with it sounding…distorted like that. Like she was speaking through a glass box. Every inch of him froze. She was dead. Or– she was supposed to be. No– she did die. It was tragic, Vik mourned for weeks, no- months, on end. He was still mourning. He didn’t dare peer over his shoulder to take a peek at her. She wasn’t real. Instead, his eyes closed and it was all he could do to not lose his composure. Well– what little there was left of it, anyway. 

A moment passed. 

“You’re not real.” He uttered the words in a mere whisper, barely there. He couldn’t bring himself to do much more than that. It felt like there were 100lb weights hanging on his ankles, weighing him down and stilling him.  

“You’re not really here.” This time a little louder, with more conviction. 

While she could theoretically understand his reaction- his adamant denial, she still felt a pang in her chest. But he’d always been so down to earth, the pragmatic to her dramatic. The logical to flights of fancy. It was only to be expected, that he should act this way. After all, she the his lost love- with an emphasis on the lost aspect of the title. 

Pursing her lips, she shook her head, a hollow smile twisting at the corner of her lips. “Is that any way to greet the love of you life, Vikram?” She quipped, though the attempt at breaking the tension definitely fell flat.

Stepping closer, she laid her hand upon his shoulder, a quiet sigh of relief as she felt his warmth on the palm, rather than disappearing right through him. It was a soft and familiar comfort leeching into her from where she touched him, and she relished in the sensation. “Vik, turn around.” Her tone was soothing, yet firm. “ Let me look at you. I think I deserve that much, don’t you? I mean, I did come all this way, you know.”

Malia hadn’t been any better since their break up? Parting? However the blonde tried to word it, even in her head, it just didn’t fit. Nothing could fit the heartache she felt when her thoughts wandered off to Ainsley– which, let’s face it– was very often. Too often, if you asked Malia. Everything she did, everything she was, Ainsley had encroached on it. She couldn’t eat without thinking about Ainsley’s obsession with sweets. How if she were there, she’d ask for the sweetest thing on the menu and request they make it extra sweet. With a scrunch of her nose. 

She couldn’t draw without thinking about Ainsley’s hands circling her waist, chin on her shoulder, as she peered over to look at whatever ridiculous caricature Malia was conjuring in her notebook. And when she rambled to her friends, to her dates, to whoever she was fucking at the time– the moment their eyes glossed over and registered disinterest in whatever obscure topic was flying out of Malia’s mouth, she couldn’t help but think about how Ainsley always made sure to let Malia know she was paying attention. Either via touch or vocally or however. She always made sure Malia knew she mattered and she allowed her the privilege to return the sentiment. 

Everyday became a constant battle between ignoring what was going on, going about her life as if Ainsley had never waltzed into it and the pain threatening to consume her. That’s how it was right now, as Malia made her way down the street to a familiar bakery. All of a sudden, an even more familiar scent had her stopping in her tracks. A familiar voice. Her heart raced and she could feel her legs start to tremble beneath her until her name was called. 

“Oh.” A hard swallow. “Hi. Uh- I’m– hi.” 

Ainsley felt almost faint, taking in the sight of the blonde, the woman she’d thought about and dreamed about almost constantly since their terrible fight. She wasn’t one for rash action, she stopped and considered all angles of any situation before acting. And yet, there was something about Malia that had always overridden that natural instinct- that encouraged and enticed her to live closer to the edge, to let herself experience the world to its fullest. It was something she’d always loved about her, but also something that had caused many of their disagreements throughout their relationship.

Seeing her now, though, after what felt like years? A small, wistful smile came to her face on instinct. The kind of smile that a person doesn’t realize they’re giving because it’s so natural, merely an extension of their feelings manifesting in a physical form. She could feel her body gravitating towards Malia, like a moth to a flame. It was an attraction Ainsley could never really resist, and it wasn’t until the tiny voice in the back of her mind- the cruel and pessimistic part of her- reminded her of the circumstances of their fight that she stepped back. 

Looking away, she felt a now familiar pressure building up behind her eyes and hollowness in her chest. An ache that never truly subsided, these days. “Hello. You look-” Malia looked tired, if Ainsley was being honest. There was a distant expression on her face, though she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t projecting, hoping the blonde missed her even a fraction of how much she missed her. And yet, she still looked as lovely as ever. A flicker of light in an unending stretch of darkness. “You look beautiful. As always.”