#callovs

callovs​:   ❛ i don’t give a fuck about love. ❜ (from xavier)

she’s as disgusted by trevor and montana as the rest of them -- if chrissie has to hear another sappy comment shared between the lovers, she’s going to scream. hearing this from xavier, however, well ... the specter casts her fellow counselor a side eyed glance, one corner of her mouth rising in a slight smirk.

callovs​:   ❛ i’ve done it again, i’ve done it again. ❜ (from tate)

“oh ... tate ...” some days, her memory is an hourglass. grains of sand, tiny, delicate pieces of her every day life, escape her. some days, it is a bear trap: unforgiving, cold, and unwilling to release all that is within its grasp. the blood -- the gore, she remembers it all. the body that he dropped at her feet ... was it so long ago? time drags and it floods, all at once. her breath is caught in her throat, and though her lungs are dust, dolores is panicking. she cannot breathe, she cannot -- oh, please let this be a mistake. 

ember knew that feeling: the unease from a rough week. the mania that came from tough events, emotional or physical, was dangerous. ember had a few credit card scars from her old days post scott. pulling out of a rut from absolutely anything crippling can be a struggle if someone does it alone. ember tapped kayla’s handle on twitter and then the direct message button. it had been a while since they spoke about anything heavier than current events. it was time she checked up on her:

Rosalyn:

bold what applies.      italicize what sometimes applies.      repost don’t reblog.

i.   DRACULA.   cold to the touch. flickering candles. cold breath upon your neck. billowing white gowns. midnight strolls. pearl trimmed bands. indulging in your deepest desires. the fall from grace. the fear of outsiders.  bloodstained sheets.   dark imaginations. something lurking in the shadows. the urge to run away. glowing eyes in the darkness. the scent of garlic.   preying on the weak. the power to both bring and take life.

ii.    THE   PICTURE   OF   DORIAN  GRAY. old bookshelves. kisses on the hand .  a devotion to the finer things in life. prizing youth and beauty above all. paying the ultimate price. the pursuit of pleasure. blood red sins painted over in white snow. a drug-induced stupor. breaking the heart of the one you love. losing what’s left of your humanity.  

iii.   FRANKENSTEIN. frantic sketches. the stench of something rotten. unorthodox beliefs.  a scream from the woods.  candles burning out. dangerous knowledge. contemplating existence. the crunch of leaves. the chill of winter in your bones. dark ambitions. prometheus reborn. the contrast between life and death .

iv.   THE   COUNT   OF   MONTE   CRISTO. false accusations. taking justice into your own hands. divine justice. elaborate schemes.  playing upon others’ weaknesses. the solitude of the ocean. an ever-changing identity. dissatisfaction in your life. an alienation from humanity. escaping from prison.

Aran:

bold what applies.      italicize what sometimes applies.      repost don’t reblog.

i.   DRACULA.   cold to the touch. flickering candles. cold breath upon your neck. billowing white gowns. midnight strolls. pearl trimmed bands. indulging in your deepest desires. the fall from grace. the fear of outsiders.  bloodstained sheets.   dark imaginations. something lurking in the shadows. the urge to run away. glowing eyes in the darkness. the scent of garlic.   preying on the weak. the power to both bring and take life.

ii.    THE   PICTURE   OF   DORIAN  GRAY. old bookshelves. kisses on the hand .  a devotion to the finer things in life. prizing youth and beauty above all. paying the ultimate price. the pursuit of pleasure. blood red sins painted over in white snow. a drug-induced stupor. breaking the heart of the one you love. losing what’s left of your humanity.  

iii.   FRANKENSTEIN. frantic sketches. the stench of something rotten. unorthodox beliefs.  a scream from the woods.  candles burning out. dangerous knowledge. contemplating existence. the crunch of leaves. the chill of winter in your bones. dark ambitions. prometheus reborn. the contrast between life and death .

iv.   THE   COUNT   OF   MONTE   CRISTO. false accusations. taking justice into your own hands. divine justice. elaborate schemes.  playing upon others’ weaknesses. the solitude of the ocean. an ever-changing identity. dissatisfaction in your life. an alienation from humanity. escaping from prison.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Nose all crinkled, critically, as Montana attempts to once again show Xavier the supposed PROPER WAY to go about the routine. Someone, anyone really, should have known better than to leave these two alone in a studio-- be it for their own sanity, or that of any poor pupils who may attend one of the classes they’re preparing for-- but alas: here they are, after Montana ditched a vial of powder back into her gym bag and boldly sidles on over to the platform he stood on. There’s plenty room for two, but not when she purposefully takes over so much of the stand that Xavier’s only left with enough room to barely remain.

“It should be a reach, reach, reach, then kicking, or else it’ll totally neglect their bottom half: what’s got you so distracted today? You’re usually better than this...”

A compliment. Just before she sniffles and runs her thumb beneath her nose.