#catalyst.

@jacklevesque

Like most typical days, Sylvianne wasn’t exercising much in the way of patience when it came to the freshman that swarmed the quads, glancing up at the towering buildings and the words etched into ancient stone. They had been there for over one semester now, but still it seemed that a new bunch of them found themselves enthralled by their surroundings every day, creating an impossible weave of camera phone toting dummies in the midst of the campus. She lifted her hand, dodging a selfie stick-- the mobile went clattering to the ground in response. 

Usually, when she made eye contact after such an encounter, the gaze was downturned and sorry. Sylv was much more accustomed to striking fear and obedience in those that she came across. Instead, she saw a scene of a flaxen haired girl scrambling for her android (she scoffed at the chunky case) and her companion, dark eyed and glowering. 

“Pute.” He had said more, but she hadn’t caught it-- the way he stepped up was more of a stomp than anything else: a sign of aggression that made her clamp down on her teeth. She began to work out a response, mulling over equally sharp syllables when a much larger figure reached out, shoving him backwards. Her brows tugged in until she came to recognition.

[Music] Seyi Vibez – Catalyst

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Leave a “Value Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

She didn’t like going to the lake, often. Lucerne is nothing more than a headstone, and this time of year, it is polished glass. When she stepped towards its edge, the toes of pointed boots hover and she, like Narcissus, wondered what it would be like to drown in the image of herself. 

Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket, freeing a cigarette from a carton. They’re menthols, and between her lips the filters transfer the stain of her lipstick. Sylvianne cannot get her lighter to work. Her fingers feel cold, as if the weather had seeped to her bones, turning capillaries to ice.

Of all the deaths, she supposed freezing was the kindest. Another moment passed and the flame refused to jump up from the lighter. Sylv snarled, tossing it angrily away. The snow buried it, sinking around and making it disappear. 

“Here.” The voice came from behind her, rough and in French– she spun quickly, coming eye to eye with the wavering flame from Jack’s lighter.

The offer feels tense, but she leaned in, inhaling. Dark eyes flicker up, finding his. One is rimmed in purple, always kissed by a bruise. He took another step closer, prompting Sylv to take a quick one back. Confusion flickered across his features, like a jolt of electricity.