saoirse quinn
she/her
29
october 27
circhester, galar
bisexual
physicist / inventor
head scientist
every night i burn, dream the black crow dream
TAG WITH @lulu
Lulu Flint
STAR-CROSSED
POSTED ON Apr 24, 2021 20:20:00 GMT
It took his words to realize what she was doing. Watching his expression change aroused suspicion, but it was blotted out by vague, weightless sensations like cotton in her brain and warm milk on her skin. Even as the MIST originated from him, its power hadn’t registered. It might as well have been a bath bomb. He was akin to a Venus flytrap. Toes began to curl self-consciously under his gaze, and her smile faltered. That was a strange realization: that he hadn’t yet asked her about them. Digging through memories felt like peering through windows with lights on she could see through; see their evenings spent from the potholed streets of her consciousness, and yet upon opening a door, it was always black. The power was out. For some reason, this was not a conversation they’d yet had. Not everyone asked about tattoos, and she had not been with many people to have had to flesh out a story. A shrug and explanation that they didn’t mean anything had sufficed in the past. However, she found herself oddly comfortable with him. Additionally, her past had been, for the most part, taken care of. If he didn’t know who she was, she was in no danger of being arrested. She was no longer on lists. If he did know who she was, which she did suspect, then it didn’t matter. Her one claim to fame above the surface was a high-profile trial. Nothing would be a secret. People had speculated enough that they’d hit every nail on the head—charges just hadn’t stuck. Money fixes everything. There had also been a sore lack of evidence, as Lulu was very good at what she did. At least, when she wasn’t under his spell. She slid into the bath with him, skin brushing his. Instead of focus on a racing heart, she felt calm. The water felt nice. She also liked burn. After a moment’s consideration and a contented sigh, she answered him. “You said earlier tonight: ‘I’d rather be me.’” Nape of her neck rounded leisurely against the edge of the tub, and she looked over at him. “Internalize that, then. That’s sexy.” She wouldn’t be cliché and compliment him on scars and how they were humanizing and showed a life lived. She didn't carry around bandaids for peoples egos.
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