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@wcitingroom
a private multi-muse blog written, adored and cared for by sphynx ( she/her . cst . ) . please do not interact with this blog . all triggering content will be tagged accordingly . sending love and light .
muses hosted with love : alejandro , aniyah , declan , eren , giselle , indie , luvena , nate , nevaeh , nova , trinity , & ximena .
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status / closed , @apcthetics location / wren's star party !!!
aniyah wasn't looking at her phone again ! they were looking to the ground, counting to ten, and singing the chorus of honey in their head before she'd check her phone again. that was until wren bumped into her and ruined her manifestation method ( and they knew it was on purpose ) ! " see, now if she doesn't show up or send me a text that she's coming it's going to be your fault. " aniyah chided, locking her phone but keeping it close to her chest. the ' she ' in question being clem. aniyah had invited her to come tonight ( it only took four tries and looking at the wall beside her head instead of directly at her ), and she was sure that she would show up ! until she hadn't. at least not yet. " have you seen her ? for a small apartment it sure is hard to find anybody. since when do you know this many people ? "
"it's you though, isn't it?" her arm is linked through the other woman's, giving it a gentle squeeze as her gaze moves to take in her friend's work. "and we all have to start somewhere, but i still think it's beautiful, and every time i pass it i'll be reminded of you" her roots as a teacher subtly shine through; to her, there's no such thing as bad art, just different perspectives waiting to be discovered. she stood for another moment in silence, really taking it all in. in this moment, honey is immersed in the artistic language, unaware of the personal journey hidden within the canvas. the swirling colours and abstract patterns evoke a range of emotions within her, each stroke seeming to tell a unique story. little does she know that the mural mirrors the internal struggles her friend is facing, a silent expression of a battle unknown. a thoughtful pause lingered before honey broke the quiet, suggesting, "how about we take our drinks on our own little tour of your work?"
perhaps it was the already overwhelming nostalgia filling her lungs. or maybe the validation of being remembered that could only come from a close friend; either way, salt water pricked the corner of her eyes as she listened to honey speak. " stop it, you'll make me cry ! " she admitted without issue. being touched that someone she loved enjoyed her work wasn't out of the norm for eren. especially someone who knew how difficult the art world was to break into and how important it was the recognize improvement as it came. eren didn't think a few light tears would raise any alarm between them, so she let the tears fall because there was no way she could hold them back. " our drinks ? at this rate, it's going to be me walking around with a cup of my own tears and who wants to drink that ? "
closed starter for GISELLE ( @wcitingroom ) jackson's apartment
*˖ ⊹ ──────── " ──...because, i mean, there's this walter benjamin quote about our obsession with self-alienation as aesthetic pleasure in the age of technology, and he was just talking about picture-video. the internet wasn't even invented yet. " jackson rambles without looking up from his project to the silence of his living room. neither duchess or giselle have offered a sound in the last twenty minutes, the former absorbed in her vain attempts at grooming her unruly white fur and the latter pouring over emails. the record player speakers balancing precariously on a few uneven stacks of books clicked with the end of the miles davis' album a long time ago. he doesn't seem to notice.
jackson is lost in this somewhat incoherent argument while changing out the strings on his old guitar and waiting for giselle to finish up whatever she's working on. as usual, what was supposed to be ten minutes turned into two hours, and while he isn't frustrated, he is concerned. he wants to gently pull her from the cocoon of words she's retreated into, on the dimming blue light of her laptop screen, but doesn't know how. he can't figure out how to explain to giselle that he's worried about her. real conversation is not poetry. he's afraid of sounding ungenuine or condescending── like he has some right to dictate her life and jackson thinks there are enough people that do that around them. she's smarter than him. she's a doctor armed with the tools to understand her own self better than anyone else could. yet he feels like she's nothing but fraying edges that are slowly unravelling in a series of flights and appointments, with very little of giselle left at the centre of it all, and he's unsure of what he's supposed to do to stop it from happening.
so, jackson picks at his own thoughts in the naive hopes she might get the same soothing effect out of them. we feel as though we are cogs in the machine, but we aren't. we are in control of our own person, our own thoughts. we don't owe other people our lives, and the guilt that comes with feeling like we do was engineered that way. making grand, sweeping statements about the tech companies profiteering their data and the unnamed corporate ' they ' destroying the planet are comforts for him, as though identifying those problems no longer give them control over him. he doesn't know what's going on inside her head that's pushing her so close to what jackson thinks is the edge of her health, but he prattles on nonetheless in the hopes maybe she'll internalize that he's really saying ' it's okay to put away your laptop and do something you want to do. nobody is going to die. '
he turns in her direction, the old pullout creaking under his weight. he rests the body of the guitar against the ground between his feet and leans into it, fingernails picking distractedly at the initials he carved into the neck. when he speaks again it's softer, more vulnerable, a tone exclusively reserved for giselle, his chin resting against the head of his acoustic. there is no malice or frustration when he quietly asks, " are you almost done ? "
unfamiliar with being paid attention to, giselle was aware the jackson was speaking about her. his insinuations were lost on her because she ( foolishly ) believed that she hid her addiction to her work and hid it well. it would be a mystery fit for a fool to say that there was no way to know how she ended up like this. giselle had always been this way. her parents encouraged it. with ever straight a report card she brought home they wondered about her valedictorian status. with every organization she led, her parents wondered what she was doing watching tv on a saturday morning. with every fight they had with their son, they wondered what giselle could say to make gio behave better. working hard to anticipate problems and give solutions before it became the only way giselle could feel at ease. and no one had ever noticed. it's no surprise that she didn't think jackson would notice either.
as he spoke, the only thing she could think about was lucky she felt that it was her he decided to share it with. giselle knew ⸻ well, more accurately ⸻ giselle heard from other people, people who seemed close to jackson ( in ways she once thought she was close ), that he was usually a quiet person. the type whose thoughts usually came in the form of grunts, curses, or one word replies. none of that sounded familiar. it didn't sound like the jackson she'd spent nearly fifteen years missing and loving. of course it gave her something of a complex. as if she was special. like she'd pull something out of him that no one had seen before. somehow, she had made him feel safe enough to open his mind to her and share what he was thinking. even if it was only the things lingering on the surface. it had to be a step in the right direction, right ?
giselle could've sworn it had only been ten minutes. with each correspondence responded to she thought ' oh this won't take me long ' and set herself off on a different side quest. it was a blur of requests, documents, and clarifications that were only never ending because she wouldn't allow it to come to an end. she always offered more help, went searching for the answer to a question that wasn't answered, or placed more time she didn't have on a calendar already packed for people who wouldn't do the same. the tonal shift was easily picked up by her ears. worry consumed her immediately, and her eyes darted to the clock which only made her feel worse: how had two hours passed ?
" i'm sorry " her voice quiet, as if she'd forgotten how to use it in the time she was silent. giselle decided not to look at the drafted email on her screen as she shut her computer for fear it would pull her back in. she crossed her arms over and leaned over, giving up an apologetic smile. " i could...⸻ make it up to you with a song. " she nodded towards the guitar between his legs. " i mean ⸻ you'll have to teach me how to play said song but i'll play you a song if you want. i can make it work. " giselle pushed herself up from the table, purposefully leaving her computer behind but grabbed her phone out of habit and moved to lower herself beside him. her chin resting on his shoulder and her hands coming to rest on his bicep as she peered up at him with sorry eyes. " can you forgive me ? "
*˖ ⊹ ──────── gnawing away at the red straw tucked into his empty coke, caleb is mindlessly scrolling through instagram when trinity's hand appears in frame. he tries hard to see what exactly she's pointing out, squinting and twisting his face to the side ; he, of course, can't see the heart as anything less than a little red dot on the end of her perfectly-manicured nail, but he's come to learn over years of trailing trinity around on shopping trips that he just doesn't have the eye for this kind of thing. he doesn't feel confident that he's the right person to answer her question.
" do you think it's crooked ? " he turns the question back around on her, dropping the plastic cup on the table between them. the ice rattles inside. shifting forward, he brings her slender hand towards his face so he can study the nail art closer.
" i honestly can't tell, trin, but you know it's gonna bother you all day if you don't do something about it. " when he lets go, caleb shrugs and reaches for his cup again. " maybe you can get them to just re-do the one nail for you ? "
trinity constantly felt like she was walking a tight rope. it didn't matter how far away from the ground and the crowds she thought she was, she could feel the watchful eyes of through a telescope waiting to watch a star burn out. as trivial as it might have been, trinity couldn't help but imagine the upturned features and whispered giggles if anyone else saw even a shadow out of place. she thought if she could get caleb to corroborate her story then she'd have a good excuse if her parents questioned the double manicure charge. except he didn't. it wasn't fair to him for trinity to be wary of how much she let him see. caleb had always been a good friend to her, but she'd thought that of another friend and nearly ended up in a rehab center. so trinity had learned to be cautious. " i can't ask them to do one nail, what if the color is slightly off or the gloss is weird, then i have to do the whole hand and then the other hand so everything is the same. " she explained taking her hand back but not looking at the nail again. she'd just have to push down her worry until she could get a new set the following week to avoid raising concern. " it's fine, i'm probably just hungry and seeing things. " trinity swiped his drink before he could drink any of it and took a small sip. " what do you want to eat ? "
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*˖ ⊹ ──────── he doesn't mean to startle his friend, nor is he here to coax any fresh fruit out of him. raising a flat palm, brady shakes his head gingerly. " no, it's alright. i just ate. " he insists.
his sneakers shuffle soundlessly as brady crosses the meticulously polished── if not old and scuffed── ornate wood floors. sliding his hands into his back pockets, he peers out the back window into the familiar backyard. coming back to this street, the houses that litter it, the beautiful, massive garden behind the b&b always gives brady a sense of uneasy nostalgia. the dead self he's tried so desperately to bury always tries to claw his way out when he's here. he tries to stifle it by keeping himself distracted, moving from neighbour to neighbour, losing himself in their idle small talk instead of reckoning with why he feels haunted. why, despite all of his travelling, home still doesn't quite feel like home.
" do you need any help ? " his hands move to grab onto the door, hanging off the hinges that alejito must have decided need changing. reaching one arm up, he presses the half-screwed hinge into place. " it's my mom's birthday. i was on the island and i thought i'd stop by a visit since i took the ferry all the way here. " he pauses, before adding thoughtfully, " unless you're busy. i don't want to add more to your plate. you don’t have to entertain me. you should know that by now. "
alejandro knew he was losing days, but he hadn't expected to lose weeks too. at the mention of his mother's birthday he froze, eyes looking around for the discarded calendar he hadn't swapped from last year. the realization making him sigh with embarrassment. " it's your mother's birthday ! " he exclaimed. alejandro was someone who was usually so good with the important dates; birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, special planned events. he was the type of person who not only remembered them, but showed up with a gift. every year he managed to swing by brady's childhood home long enough to drop off a homemade cake. except this year. " oh man, i'm sorry ⸻ did you tell your mom i'm sorry ? should i call her ? " he was asking questions, but he wasn't listening for the answers. he moved away from the cabinet he was in front of to grab his phone and started searching for her number, and paused again. " wait, i shouldn't call i should just head over. do you think that's okay ? " he took a step forward and stopped again, turning towards the fridge. " i should make the cake beforehand. i shouldn't come empty handed, but that might take awhile ⸻ " he was talking out loud as he moved from area to area in the kitchen, brady's questions flowing in one ear and out the other. " did you guys eat ? i could make dinner for everyone ? or make her a fruit basket, that might be quicker um...⸻ what do you think ? "
*˖ ⊹ ──────── it was just a couple of emails that grace wanted to finish before giselle was supposed to meet her for lunch── but those couple of emails turned into an ongoing argument with this one jackass judge who is making her life difficult, and grace lost of track of time. it doesn't seem weird at all that giselle is late, so it's instictive when painted lips part and she prepares to launch into her latest tiraid. before the first words leave her mouth and she hits the enter key with empathetic triumph she looks up. her expression shifts almost instantaneously.
" are you alright ? " with stiff movements, as if on autopilot, she sits up and starts digging through the large bag sat beside her. " i have an extra pair of sneakers in the car i can give you. " when they come into contact with the cool metal, she holds her hand up, dangling the keychain with crystals hanging off of it from her fingers. " that can't be comfortable. i might even have a pair of pants. those look soaked. "
giselle was shaking her head in disagreement, but to no avail. grace had long turned her attention away to the bag beside her. if it were anyone else, giselle would've felt the familiar weight of guilt. as if her inability to foresee all unfortunate events and avoid them accordingly was some type of burden to those around her. that was never an issue with grace. the typical ( brutal ) honesty that slipped out more often than not led giselle to the easy belief that if she was doing something that bothered grace she wouldn't hesitate to let her know. " no, no you don't have to go out there right now. we can get them once we finishing eating. " giselle would accept the shoes, but knew she'd adamantly disagree to taking a pair of pants from her too. despite knowing she wasn't a burden to grace, giselle still couldn't remove the innate fear that she was taking advantage of a kindness. " the pants will probably dry by the time we're done eating, you worry too much ! " giselle waved her away before picking up her menu. " have you even looked at what you wanna get yet ? my treat for being so late. "
JEREMY ALLEN WHITE | NYC (22.09.2023)
greta onieogou via tiktok
Charithra Chandran as Edwina Sharma in Bridgerton season 2 (2022).
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status / open location / a cafe somewhere !
" i can't believe it's still here. " her voice was soft as she peered up at her first act of vandalism: a mural splattered in tints of reds, pinks, and yellows circling an abstract design of a brain. dramatic as it was, it was how she felt at the time of her diagnosis. like her body was betraying her. it still was, but there wasn't a sadness in her when she looked at it. the girl she was when she drew that wasn't the girl she was now. even though there were parts of her eren missed, she didn't miss the anger. " could definitely use more than a little practice on my line work, no ? " she asked with a soft laugh. " i think i was trying real hard to be edgy, like bad art can be good. aren't we glad i grew out of that ? "
closed starter for NEVAEH ( @overwhlcmed ) the diner
*˖ ⊹ ──────── seba was cold. he didn't like this whole new york winter-thing, with all of his heavy snowfall and high rise buildings that acted as wind tunnels to amplify the cold. even as he buries himself under piles of coats and blankets, he can never quite shake the way that the ice burrows right into his soul.
of course he would return from tour just in time for the biting wind to pick up.
shivering, he steps through the entrance of the diner. his eyes scan the lights and holly that covers every spare surface, but don't seem to notice. they're looking for something in specific...
ah, okay. there she is.
tugging the thick mittens away from his fingers, he skirts a few empty tables to hop onto one of the stools at the counter. he then waves down nevaeh excitedly. " guess what ?! " from his pocket, seba whips out a plastic bag, something discoloured and snake-like inside. " noodles shedded ! " he shares about his green tree python eagerly ( nevaeh did babysit them for him, after all ; and yes, this did need to be shared in person, not just via text. ) " it took a few days but it's basically in one piece. cool, hm ? " he's proud, puffed out while looking ridiculous in the puffer coat drowning him.
nevaeh's worst kept secret ? how much she enjoyed customer service work. it didn't matter the problems that arose or attitudes she encountered; nevaeh was a people person. a social butterfly. someone who never got enough love or attention at home so substitutes the inability to mitigate her relationship with her father by solving much smaller, less emotional issues at her job ! however, being a ' people person ' was easier on the tongue. time seemed to fly by whenever she worked a shift at the diner. she practically floated from table to table, smile easy on her face as she conversed with staff and customers alike. it was work she enjoyed, and something she'd always done so smoothly. the only thing that could make her stop and stutter had walked through the door; back from tour and with something pressing to show her. reminding herself of the swear she'd made to wren ( ' we're just friends, nothing else ' ), she swallowed her nerves and made her way over to him. lucky for her, she didn't even have to think of something witty or casual to say but he knocked the wind out of her by pulling out a snake suit in a plastic back. the sight elicited a small squeal and a harsh jump back. " it's...⸻ " she finally spoke after the shock died down. " ⸻ it's certainly something. why did you bring that all the way here ? " nevaeh moved closer when she realized it wasn't going to rip out of the bag and jump onto her. " and why are you in a sleeping bag ? can you put the carcus back in the sleeping bag please ? it's looking at me funny. "
Yara Shahidi for Cartier Trinity 100 celebration
ALL AMERICAN UNIVERSE APPRECIATION WEEK Day 7: Best Dressed ♡ OLIVIA BAKER
status / open location / we shopping besties !
" is the heart on this nail crooked to you ? " she didn't mean to interrupt. if she did end up interrupting. trinity had always worried about appearances; looking pristine was more than just a throw away compliment to her, it was a requirement. even more so recently. adderrall had felt like the only thing in her life that she had control over, and with it gone there were too much out of her hands. it made trinity turn her appearance into the same crutch that the pills had once been; from the way her hair looked, to ensuring her make-up was flawless and went with every wrinkle-free outfit, to sitting in a nail chair nearly weekly to make sure her manicures were kept up. even though trinity had left the nail salon nearly an hour ago, she couldn't shake that her nails looked just the slightest bit... off. " should i go back ? or do you think i should just go somewhere else ? i could probably get an appointment for today. "
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— HALLE BAILEY
status / open location / a cafe or someting
giselle was never one to miss an appointment. she always found a way to resolve any emergency, push through all exhaustion, and ignore any gnawing at her mind that she could cancel because of course she couldn't ! so it's not a surprise that despite a broken heel of her shoe, pants splattered with slush water, and a slight headache from the lack of water she'd been drinking; she still hobbled her way into place she promised to meet the other. " hi, hi ! i'm sorry i'm late ! " she exclaimed through pants before falling into the seat besides the other. her body thanking her for the rest by slumping against the back of the chair for brief moment before sitting up straight again. " i've had...⸻ such a day, but i won't bore you with any of the annoying things when i'd rather hear about you, and what you've been up to ! ⸻ did you order yet ? "
