@beanxsi-archive / beanxsi-archive.tumblr.com
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i’ve decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i’ll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i’ve decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i’ll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i’ve decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i’ll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i’ve decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i’ll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i’ve decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i’ll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
after some time away, and more or less recharging, i've decided to give lydia a fresh start. so, feel free to come follow me if you want. i'll be curating my current follow list in the next few days. new blog is still under construction.
i have to set up a new blog & then i'll be around. like this for something.
( dudeitsanorgasm )
In junior high, if one had mentioned that Lydia Martin was bound to run in a different social circle than the Waldorfs, Archibalds and Van Der Woodsens of the Upper East Side, she may have considered you crazy. But the summer of seventh grade, it was like everything changed. The strawberry blonde went from budding socialite to junior philanthropist. Parties were of little interest unless they were attached to mixers for prospective applicants to Princeton, Yale, Harvard –– even Brown. If an event wasn't for charity, and she wasn't part of the committee planning the whole thing –– Lydia Martin threw some of the best parties ––– she wasn't even there. It wasn't that the Martins weren't one of the many well to do families, but it just seemed like in a world where you either were someone on the A list or someone on the Dean's list: Lydia Martin had chosen a life of academia.
And the very public divorce of Brian & Natalie Martin her freshman year at Constance had certainly not pulled her out of the shadows of her 4.0 GPA.
ARCHIBALD, NATHANIEL / MARTIN, LYDIA: PRO ––––– She stares at the two names listed besides each other for the Constance Billard / St. Jude's debate project. There were worse people, she had to admit. Yet the pairing left her indifferent.
"Would it be too much to assume that you're secretly a patron of the performing arts and could hold this topic up? Because I sure don't advocate teenagers slaughtering Shakespeare in order to pass high school. "
” are you ever gonna let that go? it was ONE time. and I miss you too, lyds. you know that. ”
a tightening in his throat. seems to fill & almost choke him, but jackson stifles it. he wasn’t about to let on how difficult all of this was on him. strength needed to be his dominant trait at the moment, — for BOTH their sakes. jackson needed to be dependable, virulent, so lydia knew she could lean on him when the nights felt particularly long & lethargic.
he can’t help but smile as petite hands slip back into her lap lightning fast, trying to hide the fact she’d been preening for him seconds before. the urge to reach out and snatch one dainty limb, pledge fealty with his lips drowns him. clearing his throat, brows raise to meet a stunning verdant gaze.
” —- talk to me, how are things going over there? managing to keep everyone in line? “
"NO."
she laughs, all honey sweet and warm, a laugh that only he can draw out of her. but it's short lived. her mirth dies off as quickly as it had arrived. he can't see the way her fingers tangle together, twisting pale digits, fidgeting as her heart sinks; she tries to hide it. if he knew how HARD things were now.
there's a building knot in her throat that she just can't swallow, and she has to lower her gaze to try and keep it all at bay. she reminds herself that there's a reason. she's not even sure if he's heard–– if he has, he's been avoiding it as much as she has. the problem is, she needs him right now. and not like this, illuminated on the screen of her laptop while prada snores at her side, an ocean separating them. she needs him here. when he first left, the long & lonely nights were infrequent, but now, with all that's happened: those are the only nights she has.
"–––––– - things are... things are horrible. and i know the whole if you're going through hell, keep going thing, but. you're in london and allison –––––– something really bad happened, jackson."
when in doubt eat me out
“lacy unmentionables sounds like poorly written erotica. fifty shades of grey is the vibe i get when you say that. it makes me itchy. ”
her voice is monotone, and she’s grateful that lydia doesn’t assume that it means she’s upset with her somehow. it’s nice, for once, to not feel as though she’s having to explain her mood to everyone. her question makes allison laugh, tossing a knife & watching it hit the target on the wall. there was something about weapons that made her feel at ease.
“since when do you pay so much attention to where my thongs are?”
her brow is raised, affectionate gaze shot towards the redhead.
”the dark fae want me dead, the light fae want to use me as a lab rat. i’m not really the type to sit back & let it happen, babe.”
“ew.”
it’s hardly a tantalizing comparison, and she’s resigned to let the succubus win this little debate about lingerie. the last thing she needs is another reference to shades of anything when she’d rather focus on, well, the lingerie.
the strawberry blonde’s arms cross over her chest, curiosity burning in those hazel eyes. most people probably look at her that way. allison argent, the oddity among the fae community. everybody wants a little piece of the pretty little fae. hell, even she’d like a little taste–––
“let’s just say i pay attention to a lot of things, babe.”
and it’s the attitude like that that makes her smirk shift into a full blown grin. she doesn’t flinch, but her eyes roam toward the blade sunk into the wall.
“so you’re going to go rambo on us? it’s kind of a cute image, really.”
░▐「 ♕ 」;;
[ sms → lydia. ] everything you ask me feels like a test. [ sms → lydia. ] we could always arrange some alone time [ sms → lydia. ] boobs trump bros [ sms → lydia. ] christmas in london will be 10x better than christmas in beacon though and you know it.
[ txt; jackson ] you make it sound like i'm going to give you a failing grade. [ txt; jackson ] i hope you at least take good notes. and study. [ txt; jackson ] but if i come to london, we don't have to arrange anything. [ txt; jackson ] and the odds of something horrific happening in london? way less than beacon.
just so you guys know: i am determined to get my muse back. i might be doing the whole holiday season hiatus, but i don't want to completely abandon this blog. currently, i'm not dropping any threads.
’ some legends are told some turn to dust or to gold but you will remember me remember me for centuries. ‘
independent allison argent from mtv’s teen wolf. alive au as main verse. multi-verse, multi-ship. oc friendly & extremely crossover friendly. mun is over eighteen and extremely comfortable with dark themes and nsfw ones as well. all triggers and ships tagged. been writing as this babe for almost two years ! will adapt to partners writing style & use of icons or gifs. skype/k i k are cool !
I don’t have time for people who hate dean winchester
His house hasn’t been his sanctuary since the fire. Too many ghosts - and too many footprints disturbing the ash, signaling invasion. No - this house hasn’t been home for years, but he still curls up in the husk of his childhood room every night, sleeping on something which vaguely resembles a mattress, sweatshirt pulled tight around his face as it to form a shield. But even that shield doesn’t drown out the girl’s voice. Rolling off his mattress, muscles instantly stiffening in an almost painful fashion, he slipped across burned boards that only hold his weight due to sheer magic (and carefully placed feet). The scent of b e t a slams into him upon reaching the edge of the stairs. He can see gold eyes from here, and decide to let his own bleed blue. ”Who the hell are you?”
His eyes are like a fire. Bright and calling, warm even, but there's something dangerous there. Something that makes the girl tense up, dull nails biting into her bruised flesh as she tries to hide herself from him. There's little she can do, short of turning around and running away.
But as eyes fade from brilliant gold back to a normal, simple hazel, she feels all the fatigue set in. An adrenaline rush, that's all it must have been–– it's the only logical explanation for all of this.
"There is a naked girl standing on your porch and you want an introduction?"
Unbelievable. She should be making up with Jackson right now; she should be waking up from this nightmare at any moment–– subtly, Lydia pinches the inside of her elbow, only to jerk and elicit a whimper of pain. It's real life.
"Lydia. I'm Lydia Martin."
