#vendavals

prompts taken from hieu minh’s not here. || from here.

He is calm, steady in all his movements as his eyes land on the other vampire standing across from him. Matthew studies the other with a vague sense of --- past, but when they are creatures as old as they are, it was in a sense, all in the past, wasn't it?

" --- and if you were me, Sebastian, what would you have done?" His words echo against the chamber as he strolls casually towards him, accent clipped, though not altogether unfamiliar. "--- I do not have the seeming luxury as you do to -...." his tongue rolls over the arch of the word, " --- simply stay put and grit my teeth." A brow raised, a faint hint of a smirk as his footsteps slow as he finally stands in front of the other.

prompts taken from hieu minh's not here. || from here.

A look shot across the room. One split between half amusement and half the look that once upon a time every teenage boy would give a father. Except... Ben was certainly not a teenager and as he takes a sip of his coffee sitting across from Sebastian, he pointedly sets his mug down.

"I'm not hungry. I thought this was a business meeting?" His posture is relaxed, open even as he picks up the folder that had been placed in front of him and leans back, the tiredness pocketed away, crossing his right leg over left as he scans the document.

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kissy kissy prompts

Rain pitter patters against the windows on top of their New York City penthouse. The stark contrast of the city lights against the low glow of their bedroom feels like they are in a completely different universe. The only sounds come from the rain and the slow breathing of a deep sleep that Ben has found himself in.

It's rare, to be able to relax so completely and be so sure in certainty that he was safe. Perhaps it's an odd thing to say, a man with this much money and had all the correct people in his contacts that the feeling of safety was such an issue it keeps him up most nights; disguised under the subtle or not so subtle mask of a workaholic. The grind. The race to the finish line which could only surmount in the end of one's life. And still...

Even in sleep there's a slight furrow in his brows, the shadow of a frown etched into his features. Carmen is gently propped against her hand, staring at him with the depth of love that only comes from the years of getting to know someone so intimately. A feather-light touch against his brow, tracing the faintest of scars from a fight long ago. Gentle lips come to kiss lightly in place of her fingers, and then she trails her fingers down his bare chest, Ben still barely stirring.

The scar here more profound, as proof that he was still alive -- that even a heart attack couldn't kill him. She looks to him, not out of pity, but of a declaration of love that if Ben were awake, he'd almost not know how to return. Tender, soft kisses down the length of the scar across his chest and Ben, stirring awake but eyes still closed, will reach out to slide his fingers just as gently through her hair.

"Don't stay in the past, honey." He murmurs, pulling her up so that her head rests against his chest.

two things jay gatsby knows for certain: there is a possibility to rise in status (though many may fail and society may not always approve), and love – for all the good it can be, is a terribly painful thing. he did it. he went from a poor boy with nothing to offer, made a name of himself and now holds wealth. but the price was the loss of  the one he'd given his heart to. while he'd saved the life of another and in turn gained a fortune through friendship, daisy had married another. deemed him not worth waiting for.

he had nothing left for him back there – so he returned to london. he'd since lost his accent and perhaps that's what started the appeal. he was unlike the others. he didn't speak nor act like them. priorety had been exchanged for impropriety because when one holds wealth, they have the world at their fingers. jay gatsby had come to be known as the one who throws weekly celebrations. for what reason? there never was one. why would there be a reason when one can simply spend money on liquor and dance. he was the highlight during the down time between social seasons in which one would search for a potential partner. they partied, they drank, they laughed — they had fun. and come spring, it would be as though none of it had happened. as though society suddenly had morals and manners again.

❛ ──── BE MINE, VALENTINE. ❤  : @vendavals

she never asked, but he said he would wait. four seasons is all she suspected she'd need. (enough time for her to recover who she was and preserve her heart.) before she'd gone, she asked for him to look for her each season, to keep an eye out for the signs. a sea shell full of pink pearls – all the happy tears when she thought of him. and like clockwork at a certain time of a given month, she'd watch for him. wait for him as he was waiting on her.

she wishes she could communicate with him as she sits beside him on the edge of the pier, just the ends of her tale grazing the water's surface. she wears a borrowed shirt – having warned him before that the tales of mermaids who wore fish shells had all been mere myth. the fabric feels familiar, feels like a piece of him she gets to hold onto for these short-lived moments she can spend with him before she must return.

elorah had waited until the breeze had dried her hair before she leaned over, dropping the back of her head against his shoulder as she watched the waves lap over one another as the sunset neared its end. each time they met like this, she waited for him to break the silence. timid and soft-spoken, only offering a few sentences here and there. she always watched him in silence, never giving a sign of comprehension, but she understood each word. (she controlled her emotions when things took a sad turn – she didn't want to make it worse by joining in those sorrows. of course she missed him so dearly, but what good would it do to fuel that fire when she can't even speak what's in her heart?)  even now she wonders if he knows she understands. surely, he must? or else why would he be so bold as to admit such a secret?

spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle. 55 - gone wanderin' - jackie greene