#ephmervls

send ‘reveal’ for a text where my muse reveals their true feelings for yours.

         [  lane  ]   to   [  claire  ]  –  00:35 ( unsent ) it’s my fault we lost so many years of friendship , as per usual. i’m not looking for sympathy , lord ( and the devil ) knows that i don’t deserve it. i don’t understand how you can be so civil , especially after learning i cut you off completely for something as childish as ‘ i’ve never been invited over ’. let’s both face it , you’re more of a person than i’ll ever be ; the person my reputation wishes it was. i really hope i don’t lose you again.

MISCELLANEOUS / ANGST STARTER SENTENCES ; accepting

the  question  caught  her  off  guard.  claire  and  her  were  friends,  they  had  been  for  some  time  .  but  their  friendship  seemed  to  be  merely  surface  level  ,  so  when  claire  asked  to  stay  she  was  stuck  for  a  moment  .  “  of  course  you  can  stay  ,  “  she  finally  exhaled  .  emmeline  wrapped  an  arm  around  her  friend  and  took  another  deep  breath  .  “  you  can  stay  as  long  as  you’d  like  .  “

                       –        it’s  a  song  she  keeps  hearing  ,  the  lyrics  she’s  heard  for  eighteen  full  years.  lane’s  not  a  stranger  to  the  game  ,  she’s  familiar  with  the  dance  of  dodging  the  blame.  but  facing  an  old  friend  ,  she  can  feel  the  guilt  of  it  all  rising  within  her  stomach.  her  throat  tightens  at  her  wanting  to  admit  she’s  wrong  ,  she  wants  to  tell  claire  that  she’s  RIGHT  but  she  feels  like  she  can’t  bring  herself  to  say  it.  she’s  lost  the  ability  to  own  up  to  her  wrongdoings  from  years  of  hiding  behind  the  scenes  ,  from  operating  in  the  darkened  shadows  of  everyone  else’s  secrets.  her  head  shakes  defiantly  ,  one  day  she’ll  confess  –  but  she  can’t  bring  the  words  out  from  the  back  of  her  throat  –  even  to  claire  ,  who  DESERVES  to  hear  it  ;  that  it  was  her  fault  ,  that  she’s  the  one  who  stepped  away  ,  that  at  the  end  of  the  day  –  all  of  lane’s  problems  stem  from  lane.          “  i  don’t  know  what  you’re  talking  about  ,  claire.  ”  a  defensive  laugh  rolls  off  her  lips.            “  i  haven’t  blamed  anyone  yet.  ”

send a symbol for my muse to … ♞ physically pick your muse up and carry them.

if anyone knows anything about santiago flores, it’s that he shows love, affection, compassion physically – he communicates through TOUCH. a hug to tell whoever it is that he loves them, a gentle hand on a shoulder to remind them he’s listening, or just a brush of his fingers over their wrist to say he’s there – something like ninety percent of what he means to say comes without a single word. 

so what is he trying to say when he creeps up behind beatrice in the courtyard of west ham high during their lunch break where she’s standing in a small group of her friends with the intent of grabbing her around the waist and carrying her off, knowing full well that she’s going to flip her shit? 

nothing, really. he’s just being a shithead.

“ GOTCHA ! ” he lets out a manic cackle as he snatches her around the waist from behind, a bear hug in every sense of the phrase, lifting her off the ground and barreling forwards about ten feet before he sets her down again. he’s laughing, doubling over slightly once she’s standing on her own two feet. once she’s facing him, he straightens up again, still cackling in delight, hand lifted to cover his mouth.

“ —–you shoulda seen your face ! ” he squeezes out behind bouts of laughter. the whole situation is reminiscent of all the times he hid around corners as a kid and jumped out at her just to freak her out, or actively tried to trip her mid-stride just for the heck of it. ( you know that trope of ‘ boy being mean to the girl he has a crush on ? ’ alive and well in the form of thirteen-year-old santi and beatrice. )

once he’s done laughing, he just grins, boyish and mischievous with only a slightly sorry glint in his eyes. he pulls her into a hug then, a real one, not the kind he’d just used to manhandle her – a softer, sweeter one, the kind that would make his heart race if this were five years ago and he was six inches shorter with a face full of acne and an unfortunate haircut. nowadays, though, it’s commonplace; it’s comfortable. “ ——hey, bea. ”