#knowrightnow

   HOW RAVEN SEES YOUR MUSE.  /  SELECTIVELY  ACCEPTING.  /  @knowrightnow

    YOUR  MOTHER  IS  BASICALLY    your  entire  beginning.  she  is  a  reason  why  you   exist,   and  why  you  are  the  way  that  you  ARE.   she  is  the  first  face  you   ever   saw,  even  if  you  don’t  remember  it.   she  is  the  first  to  see  you  cry,  and  the  first  to  calm  you  down  when  the  nighttime  begins  to   TERRORIZE   you.    you  run  to  her  first  with  nearly   EVERY   issue,  especially  the  ones  you  would  rather  your   father   not  know,  and  you  learn  that  she  knows  things  about   you   first.    sometimes  even  before  you  do.    your  mother  is  the   START.

    PEOPLE  ALWAYS  TELL  YOU   that  you  have  your  father’s  looks.   you  can’t  dispute  this,  as  it’s  entirely  true.   you  know  that  your  mother  wants  to  be   YOUNG   again.   you  study  her  when  she’s  with  you,   and  you  know  that  she  was  not   BORN   with  downcast  eyes  and  worry  lines.   when  you  were  young,  you   didn’t  see   these  things.   at  the  age  of   seven,   your  mother  was  the  most   BEAUTIFUL   woman  in  the  world.    now,  she  simply  looks  bored.   

   YOU  ALWAYS  TELL  PEOPLE    that  you  are  nothing  like  your  parents.   (  you  don’t  necessarily  want  to  be.  )   still,  anyone  who  knows   YOU   knows  that  you  have  your  mother’s  snark.   you  have  her  thrill  for  adventure,   and  the  adrenaline  that   once   flew  through  her  veins  now  throws  through   yours.    yes,  she  may  irritate  you  when  she  copies  your   DRAMATICS,   but  the  truth  is,   that  is  a  flare  that  both  mother  and  daughter  possess.    these  are  the  things  that  keep  you  close.    

"oh, uh, hi."

every single time sloane comes to the deep end, jag's always at least a little surprised. she's been coming for a while, yeah, but he still doesn't expect it. her husband did very recently attempt to kill him. so, uh, forgive him if the wounds are still a little f r e s h. he knows she isn't her husband - that's pretty obvious. they don’t look anything alike, and sloane doesn’t have that nasty scar. she still looks like she could beat him up, though. maybe that's just a falco-parent thing. that couple is just pretty imtimidating-looking.

he doesn't know if she has any sort of ulterior motive in, well, whatever she's doing, but he really can't deny a whole armful of canned goods. ( holy s h i t, is that ravioli? he's calling dibs on the ravioli, bessamey be damned. ) he knows he might look a little ravenous, but they've been out of cans for... a day and a half, now.

"those for us?"

( of course they are, jagwire. )

          ❝ This morning I cried in the toilet for twenty minutes because I spilled coffee on my lesson plans. ❞   Alice props her chin in her hand, gazing out at nothing in particular.   ❝ Then I went outside and the car I bought four months ago to replace the car that was stolen had this enormous dent in the front bumper and a broken headlight because   s o m e b o d y   doesn’t know how to parallel park, apparently — no, actually, not somebody. I’m almost certain it was the lady who lives down the hall and drives like she’s been possessed by six nearsighted and incredibly territorial pigeons. ❞ 

“Add the necklace.” She suggests suddenly, after appraising Sloane’s outfit in silence for a long moment from her position against the wall (safely positioned so she won’t block the other woman’s view of the mirror). “The really fancy one. It’ll strobe like hell on camera.”

me, living by proxy through this ask because it's all true

One minute he’s at the Deep End, sitting on the grotty old mattress he’s claimed, contemplative - the thrum of music reverberating in his bones, in his blood, the revving of bikes and the chatter of the Lost adding to the ambient noise around him - and the next he’s... Not.

He’s used to this by now, of course; used to the sudden, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it change of surroundings and the strange feeling of existing-but-not-quite in two places at the same time. He’s also grown accustomed to the residual numbness he feels when they’re visiting one another - to the lingering burn of alcohol he’s not tasted and the creeping guilt and regret that weighs, heavy yet largely invisible to the wider world, on shoulders that aren’t his own.

For someone who has never physically been inside the Tower, he’s pretty adept at identifying which part of it he ends up in when this happens. It’s a hallway, this time, and Sloane is a couple of feet in front of him, her back to him as she as she leans against a door frame. When he looks beyond her into the room, he’s met with the familiar sight of a pink bedspread, and a girl with a wash of ink-black hair. She’s sleeping, her hair tenderly tucked away from her face by her mother’s hands so that her peaceful expression is clearly visible even from this distance, and not for the first time he’s almost uncomfortable with intruding on a moment like this.

He knows it was her birthday a few days ago; even without his connection with her mother, it would have been hard to escape the flurry of articles in the magazines that littered the Deep End about Obsidian’s Princess turning sixteen. He still remembers the first time he saw Sloane as a mother - saw the tiny infant in her arms, and felt the love she had for her. It’s a feeling he’s not been able to shake for sixteen years, all that protectiveness and affection for Falco’s daughter, of all the people on this godforsaken island. But then, it’s not the strangest connection he has to this family, is it?

“I don’t know why I’m always surprised by how grown up she is.” His words are quiet, as though he’s afraid of startling her - even though he knows that’s stupid, that she’ll have realised he was here as soon as he arrived. 

{ you have grease on your hands, andrew gets grease on his hands for strat. same thing, really :’) }

He finds himself with two drinks in hand (because God only knows where Dylan - or Cassie, or whatever the fuck she’s calling herself these days - has wandered off to), and sinks down onto the nearest available flat surface. It’s only then that he realises there’s someone else sitting there too, about half a foot away from him at most, and only once he shoots a glance to the side does he realise that it’s Sloane.

James knows her more by sight than anything - knows she’s Zeph’s friend, thinks there might be something going on with her and the Falco kid, but that’s about it. They’ve never really spoken all that much, even though they’ve shared friends and acquaintances since he moved schools and met Blake - but this is a party, after all, so he proffers one of the bottles in her direction.