Oh, Wait…

Sarah Williams, The Old Astronomer to His Pupil

she's  a  burst  of  sparkles,  coruscating  around  the  room  as  if  she's  her  own  light  source,  kaleidoscopic  in  her  movements.  everything  she  touches  seems  to  shimmer,  vibrating  with  energy  -  or  maybe  it's  just  the  trail  of  glitter  she  leaves  in  her  wake.  indigo  finds  herself  in  compromising  positions  more  often  than  not,  tonight  being  no  exception  as  she  perches  languidly  atop  a  pile  of  records,  limbs  gracefully  crossed  despite  their  expanse  &  her  less  than  stable  seating  arrangements.  &  her  heart  does  a  hop,  skip  &  jump!  at  the  feeling  of  his  fingers  brushing  against  her  shoulder,  knows  who  is  beside  her  purely  on  scent  alone.  "why  mr  albrecht,  you  certainly  are  a  man  after  my  own  heart!"  she  speaks  in  a  feigned  southern  drawl  ( one  which  she'll most definitely  regret  later  when  she's  lying  in  bed  replaying  the  events  of  the  evening .)  "lead  the  way!" 

𝙒𝙃𝙊  :  closed  for  @hctbxed  . 𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏  :  event  001  —  in  celebration.

 it's  a  unique  sort  of  lightheadedness,  isn't  it?  when  your  heart  does  that  quiet  little  trip  over  itself,  not  tossing  you  enough  to  knock  you  over,  but  just  dizzying  enough  to  make  you  notice  the  floor.  tate's  been  fine  all  night,  thank  you  very  much,  but  now  that  the  party's  hit  a  little  lull—pizza  congealing  on  paper  plates,  soda  gone  flat,  you  sexy  thing  threatening  another  comeback—his  eyes  can't  help  but  wander  back  to  her.  they've  been  doing  that  a  lot  recently,  haven't  they?  it's  embarrassing  just  how  much  courage  it  takes  (  he's  never  really  needed  to  will  it  to  be,  has  he?  )  for  him  to  sidle  over  to  her,  finger  lifting  up  to  tap  on  the  blonde's  shoulder,  gentle  and  hesitant.  "hey.  you  busy?"  obviously  not,  idiot,  tate  chides  internally  as  he  lifts  a  joint  between  two  fingers  and  offers  the  most  casual  smile  he  can  manage.  "rooftop?  we  can  share."

Hunter Schafer photographed by Monica Lek on the set of Cuckoo.

“ and  what  if  it  is? ”  raises  a  testing  eyebrow  as  indigo  carries  their  latest  delivery  to  be  alphabetised.  “ where  is  your  whimsy,  ozzy?  your  imagination?  your  sense  of  fun? ”  she  teases  the  man  who  holds  the  title  of  her  first  love,  syllables  falling  so  smoothly  from  her  tongue  it’s  hard  to  imagine  that  title  is  prefaced  with  ‘ex’.  and  how  he  got  that  title  is  simple  enough,  a  relationship  in  their  early  twenties  that  burned  too  bright  and  moved  too  fast,  over  before  it  had  ever  really  started.  she  had  fallen  hard  for  sweet  nothings,  not  realising  the  butterflies  in  her  belly  were  really  piranhas  and  his  words  were  scooped  lazily  from  a  basket  of  catchphrases,  a  string  located  in  his  back  to  be  pulled  for  flattery.  ( luckily,  she’s  not  one  to  hold  a  grudge  -  time  heals  all  wounds  etc. )    “ did  you  know  she  was  told  by  doctors  she’d  never  sing  again?  and  look  at  her  now!  girls  really  do  just  wanna  have  fun…  i  completely  understand  where  she’s  coming  from.  we’re  simpatico. ”  

who : @hctbxed where : scratch that records when : monday , closing shift

" who's been in control of the jukebox ?? " ozzy asks the room in a light-hearted , yet somewhat accusatory tone ; but speaking to seemingly nobody in particular on his way out from the staff room to over to the cash registers . he likes cyndi lauper's chart hits as much as the next person , but he doesn't need to listen to a full album of her . when indigo pops up from behind a stack of boxes ( newly delivered stock , hot off the presses ) he almost jumps out of his skin . he wasn't expecting to see her today — could've sworn her name wasn't on the shift rota , but he did have a habit of forgetting things . he feels a little awkward in the presence of his ex-girlfriend , but clears his throat and tries to act like he would with any of his other coworkers . " it's not you , is it ?? i can get down to some of the super mainstream stuff , but this is getting a little old pretty fast ... "

“I am a dreamer. I know so little of real life that I just can’t help re-living such moments as these in my dreams, for such moments are something I have very rarely experienced. I am going to dream about you the whole night, the whole week, the whole year.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, White Nights (via wordsnquotes)