#luckbabe

" if you think i can't chase you down in these heels, you're sorely underestimating me ! " still, she'd rather not have to. for god's sake, is it really that hard to build a paved walkway ?! she powerwalks the best she can, groaning & moaning the whole way as she tries to keep her balance. mud & grass are no friends to elegance. " alex, i mean it, slow down ! if i fall on my face, i'm requesting monetary compensation. do you know how long perfection takes ?? " thankfully, she catches up to him, just in time to plant herself between him & the car. " talk to me. " bright blues plead, smoothing over her dress as she keeps looking towards the mansion. " take a breath, tell me what happened & then we can leave. you're so not driving like this. "

✉️ ➡ @luckbabe (ted mosby), everything that made zoey burn, made me burn.

send me a team an' i'll tell you a little somethin' somethin' about their fanbase

as someone who is named after an arsenal player, who grew up in arsenal kits, whose cousin is named after an arsenal player to complete the full name of the one i'm named after, who is happiest in the clock end and sometimes goes and visits the old ground to look at the flats.. who always hugs the thierry statue and salutes the wenger one...

arsenal fans are tossers man. you've never met a more pessimistic group (one goal down in the first match of the season and we're all burning our shirts and crying into our pillows), but a more cocksure one (one goal up in the first match of the season and we're planning a victory route, we're tearing off scarves and screaming and acting like we've won it all).

" i don't believe that's true. " harsh truths spilled through clouds of smoke, she speaks her mind like it's a proven fact. the invitation to bust the myth is always on the table, if he feels there's a need for it. she looks his way only after the words begin to float between them, concern & affection & resolve mingling in her gaze. " there are things you need & there are things you want & they just so fucking happen to be at completely different ends of the spectrum, billy. " somehow, those wants always have the upper hand. temptation wins. & it's heartbreaking to watch. " you know what you need. " a moment of peace, a break from all the noise. even if that noise happens to be their music. " & if you need a push, i'll give it to you, just say the word. " a beat. " let me help. "

being  in  front  of  a  camera  was  second  nature.      the  moment  his  album  gained  traction,    the  blinding  flashes  became  a  nuisance.          ( louis  though,    you  would  never  deny  him.      you  would  pose  for  his  photographs  until  the  sun  cut  your  time  short )          the  return  of  his  fledgling’s  hobby  was  comforting.      no  longer  living  in  the  shadow  of  himself.      lestat's  gaze  lingered  on  him,    one  corner  of  his  mouth  curling  into  a  half-smirk.      he  leaned  back  slightly,    his  posture  relaxed,    but  his  eyes  carried  the  weight  of  centuries.          ❝ oh,    mon  cher, ❞          he  began,    his  voice  velvety  with  all  encompassing  emotion.      the  decades  without  him  left  his  nonchalance  lacking.      he  couldn’t  brush  anything  away;    he  handled  his  feelings  by  feeling  them.      deeply.      dramatically.     

the  red  glimmer  lining  his  throat    —    a  shiny  reminder  of  the  wrath  of  his  creations    —    moving  along  skin  with  the  drag  of  his  finger,          ❝ i  worry.      you  cannot  expect  me  not  to. ❞          it  wasn’t  as  though  life  had  been  kind  to  them.      louis  had  put  himself  in  danger  for  his  fair  share.          ❝ peut  être  as  my  personal  photographer  instead? ❞          he  quirked  a  brow  up,    questioning.      lestat  knew  he  could  no  longer  keep  louis  in  his  gilded  cage      [ ... ]      but  his  desire  to  keep  him  near  was  stronger  than  anything  else.          ❝ la  nuit  porte  conseil,    mon  saint  louis. ❞

@luckbabe continued from here.

it  was  fascinating,    watching  the  gremlin’s  fledgling  attempt  to  dig  into  his  psyche.      lestat  wasn’t  going  to  simply  offer  up  crucial  information.      the  journalist  would  have  to  work  for  it.      that’s  why  lips  spread  into  signature  smirk,    sitting  up  from  his  splayed  out  position.      legs  crossed  and  head  tilted,    sizing  up  the  vampire  before  him.          ❝ tu  ne  l'apprécies  pas?      is  there  another  language  you’d  prefer?      i  speak  many. ❞          lestat  quipped  back,    shifting  back  into  a  front  of  apathy,    spinning  the  ring  around  on  his  finger.      it  was  a  wonder  how  louis  only  snapped  at  him  that  once.      daniel  was  an  irritating  one,    but  he  was  protected  by  that  unsaid  rule  he  had          ( you  would  never  end  a  life  that  brought  a  form  of  art  into  this  dreary  existence ).          he  listened  to  the  beat  of  the  other’s  undead  heart,    tongue  sliding  across  his  lower  lip,          ❝ you’re  ravenous.      you  can  ask  your  follow-ups  over  a  meal. ❞          a  dismissal  before  he  removed  a  phone  from  jacket  pocket;      a  request  for  his  assistant  to  bring  in  a  willing  treat  to  feast  on.          ❝ what  sort  of  question  eats  at  you,    daniel?      what  must  you  know  that  would  not  be  of  use  to  your  little  documentary? ❞