#somnisea

“oh — hey.”

she doesn’t see whatever pierce is doing as whatever he’s doing — lounging in the lobby of the complex for intimidation purposes, probably, for the many families who are in the process of attempting to defend their homes from gentrification. she sees him as just a casual acquaintance. maybe a friend? someone who—

uhh.

sleep was a natural state for the body, a means to offer rest, to reset one’s thoughts at the end of a day and heal from its natural processes. michael crew currently found that respite halfway through an early edition of arbatel de magia veterum and a quiet table of a sprawling lancaster library he hardly cared to check the name of. 

it wasn’t a practice he tried to make habit of - neither lingering to read, in the places he bought or rented his books, nor sleeping in them, but something about the vast space, surrounded and sheltered amid countless rows of tomes had been some strange form of comfort. as if he didn’t know better. how many days had it been since he’d last tried to catch his breath, now? three? four? had he ever really stopped? 

when he sat up, it was sudden, heart battering his chest like the frantic beating of wings, something caught and swallowed in his throat before it could fracture the sleepy silence of the repository. there was someone close by, perhaps waiting on the table themselves. somewhere else, a bulb was buzzing a little too loudly. 

stevie sat perched on the counter at the bottom of the staircase that led from the club upstairs to the basement where the fights took place. she had employees who managed the flow of fighters versus audience members most nights, taking the entry fee from the people who wanted to get into the ring and slipping wristbands around their wrists, but sometimes she liked to see firsthand who was walking in through the doors. 

@somnisea​​ asked: ❛  oh, don’t pretend you care.  ❜ // from nikolas!!

FIVE WORD STARTERS.

         THE IMPULSE TO slap him across the mouth streaks through her nervous system like lightning, but she keeps her hand still. the only indication of the bitterness poisoning her psyche is through a narrowing of her eyes -- how dare he claim to know what is beyond him? how dare he look upon the richness and splendor of the world, its bounty and harvest, and tell her she does not care? she should kill him. mothers eat their young for less. 

           but she remembers the wonder in their eyes when they took their first steps, and she can’t.

“what soul?” tony quips back, instant, TIRED. it might sound like a joke, look like a joke from the upward quirk of his lips, that smirk that reminds you who exactly you’re talking to. but this man knows his sins, relives them every night, death and destruction caused not only by the merchant of death but tony stark and iron man too. 

but that guilt is hidden away from the prying public eyes. tony considers the young woman, a stranger, an unknown variable. antagonist or well-meaning? for once, tony can’t tell, exactly, and he tilts his head to the side. 

     “So are you, like.”

     Already she’s fucking up her sentences. Julie tries again.

reading people came easy to her, typically. not many seemed to realize how much they gave away with their expressions and small gestures. stevie liked to file the readings away, tucking them into organized, little folders in her head, in case she ever needed to use them against the other person for whatever reason. 

and it wasn’t often she had the tables turned on her. so much for playing dumb. her lips flickered into a ghost of an amused smile, narrowed eyes shooting lyla a knowing look.