@jvonunwerth / jvonunwerth.tumblr.com
Disloyalty, deliberate betrayal, or treason, especially for personal gain, for example through bribery. Scavenging and hoarding of materials or objects, theft and robbery, especially by means of violence, trickery, or manipulation of authority are all actions that may be inspired by greed.
A zealous and careful nature in one’s actions and work; decisive work ethic, steadfastness in belief, fortitude, and the capability of not giving up. Budgeting one’s time; monitoring one’s own activities to guard against laziness. Upholding one’s convictions at all times, especially when no one else is watching - integrity.
"Better Dexter than, uh, Jeffrey Dahmer," he pointed out, "The devil you know, and all that." The moon was out and bright, not quite full, and it was still easy enough to catch Julianne’s expressions between that light and the lamps casting light from the dorms. "And yeah, obviously I’d help you get rid of the body, and framing other people for things is kind of my specialty, but now I have to ask: are you planning on killing anyone, and if so, can I help? Assuming it’s not someone I actually might miss, in which case I promise I’ll stop you even if it means knocking you out and tying you to a tree." He grinned, feeling almost like a kid again. It wasn’t typical for him to have this kind of lighthearted—in a figurative sense, given the topic of murder—kind of conversation, just for the hell of it. His life was consumed by the prospect of getting ahead, his relationships summed up to strategy, and this was different, this was…good.
He shot her a quizzical smile, unsure of where he stood on love. Marcus would call him frivolous and stupid for it, but there was a part of him that wanted to know what that kind of powerlessness felt like. To know what it would be like to hand over the most essential aspects of your being and let someone else handle them. Certainly, it would be a mutual situation, a two-way street ideally, and that was the key, the source of comfort, because yeah, he’d be vulnerable, but so would they—there could still be a way to have the upper hand, though he supposed that kind of defeated the purpose of letting go.
Oliver held up his hands placatingly, taking a step back. In doing so he was off the brick path, foot sinking slightly into the grass beyond it. “I was just making sure your motivations were the right ones,” he retorted, though, per usual, he’d taken it too far. He knew Julianne, but he didn’t know Julianne, and he’d already thrown her biggest source of insecurity, of weakness, right back in her face—really, he was surprised he didn’t have more close friends. He pressed his lips into a line, brows creased, because he had no idea what it would be like to lose a family member, and he could preach all he wanted but he couldn’t truly empathize. “It’s funny,” he murmured, looking at the ground, “because I don’t like the water. I’m kind of, uh. Afraid of the ocean, actually, I don’t like that at any given moment you have no idea what’s beneath you or what’s in reach or what’s coming. A lot of unknowns. And it’s where you feel safe.” Fear was a strange and discriminatory emotion, he found. He shook his head, a little surprised that Julianne hadn’t hit him, and after a moment’s hesitation, he put a hand on her arm, tugging her in for a hug. Shit, but he hadn’t had this kind of physical contact with anyone in months, maybe years, and for all that he tended to rebel against physical contact at all costs, this was okay. This he could work with. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he said into her hair, which smelled damn good. “Moving back to some lighter questions…cats or dogs?”
"Jeffery Dahmer was a total badass—granted a total psycho—but come on, the guy got a way with murder, cannibalism, and so much more for like, thirteen years," Julianne rambled, looking at him with a smirk on her lips. The conversation had been flipping between moments of serious, and moments of just saying things for sheer amusement. Both of those conversations were needed in her life, most of the interactions she had were just filled with her being antagonistic and sarcastic towards the other person. "Killing someone?" She asked, keeping her face blank as if she was pondering the idea. "Hmmm, there's quite a few people in Heathfield I wouldn't mind seeing dying in my hands," she thought aloud, but as she looked at him, her eyes glimmered in mischief before she laughed. "If I decide to act upon it, you'll be the first person I'll ask to be my accomplice, no doubt."
At Oliver's gesture, Julianne's dark eyes narrowed at him for a while, keeping her glare steady on his face. Finally, she broke the intense gaze and sighed, as if in understanding that he didn't actually mean harm by questioning her motives behind what she did. Grateful for the conversation turning to him once again, she nodded at his words, "I'm one of those adrenaline junkies who lives for the fear of uncertainty," as she explained, her thoughts wandered to the ocean before returning back to the subject at hand. "Not all the time, but under a vast body of water, knowing that all I am in it is a little speck—it's a good feeling." When he pulled her into a hug, Julianne tensed in reflex, all of her senses amplified at the foreign feeling. Though as she realized what he was doing, she willed herself to wrap her arms around him and rest her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes were wide open as she looked at the array of trees behind him. She couldn't remember the time someone had hugged her and she actually hugged them back. Whenever she would see her mother and she would hug her, all she could do was awkwardly pat her on the back. Physical displays of affection—or really any displays of affection—were something she wasn't sure she would ever get used too. Laughing at his question, her breath fanning over his neck, "I gotta say I'm more of a dog person," slowly unlatching her arms from around him, she asked, "what about you?"
"I’ve never been out of the country, so I never went and got one," Jeremy admitted with a shrug, but the duck of his head and the clearing of his throat indicated a small amount of embarrassment over it. He and his family didn’t think that that they should spend any money on an expensive vacation when they should be saving for Jeremy’s college fund. It was supposed to have been possible, when his scholarship in Heathfield followed him to college, but his father started showing symptoms before the summer, effectively shutting down any plans they had. Jeremy wasn’t hung up about it—he would choose to admit his father into a hospital over flying to some weird part of the world any day.
It felt odd, driving out of Heathfield with someone he barely knew. Sure, he ventured out with a friend, or went alone, to go and report to his supplier and bring more of the drugs back to campus, but he had never gone out to New York to have fun and let loose. He was having some misgivings about the date, but if Jeremy was going to be honest with himself, he needed to let loose. Things had been stressful around him lately that he never got have fun anymore. Words like prude and killjoy had been thrown around, and he was starting to get annoyed with it. He was hoping that the date with Julianne would spark something in him that could get him back into his groove.
"So Julianne," Jeremy said, after a few minutes of silence had stretched. he drummed the pads of his fingers on his lap awkwardly, glancing at the girl. "What’s up? You know, I never really get to talk to you, much … I mean, I guess we owe it to our dormitories and the people we hang out with … but you’re kind of cool."
"Oh," Julianne responded, her tone the epitome of indifference. It wasn't like she was judging him for not traveling outside of the country—she was fully aware that not everyone had the privilege she had of traveling. "Well, it's a pretty crazy world out there, so that might be a good thing," she joked after a while, offering him a small smile. This date wasn't supposed to be sentimental or an opportunity to open up to each other, not even in the slightest, so she ended the topic there, not feeling the need to reply.
As he spoke again, her eyes left looking out the window and went back to him, giving him her attention. She pursed her lips as he spoke, observing him by natural tendency. Her interaction with Jeremy was fairly limited, but in their brief time together so far, she knew he was different from the common Heathfield guy. "Just kind of?" She playfully replied, unlike her usual self. But as she kept repeating the encouraging words to just let herself loose for tonight, it seemed to be coming with more and more ease. Shrugging, her eyes wandered outside once again, "I'm not much of a civil conversation type of person," a grin formed on her lips before quickly vanishing, "but I'm making an exception for you."
Grabbing the bottle of champagne in the side of the car, she found two flutes nearby and looked at him expectantly. Though there wasn't supposed to be any illegal mischief on the auction dates, she figured a glass of champagne in a secure limo couldn't harm anyone. "Want some?" She asked, tilting the bottle towards him with a smile on her lips.
l.k. (via med-girl)
I don’t make gigantic scandals out of sleeping with a girl, so suddenly I’m a virgin? O-kay.
The minds of the people in this school work in complex ways. I'm sure you've realized that much by now.
Did you know Cleopatra was actually pretty badass?
Have to agree with you on one think, Ericsson. Cleopatra is one of my role models. Seducing great men with her leadership and intelligence--what badass things have you encountered?
Oh, psh, knew that! Good plan. Hey, I actually like the smell of hospitals. They’re um.. Sterile and uh.. Fresh. Sort of.. Don’t be so dramatic, Julianne, I know that there has to be something that will get you laughing. And I know that somewhere under that cold, heartless exterior there’s an actual human soul. {She pouts.} So… Basically you’re OCD about your drinks? Whatever, not like I wanted to make you a drink anyways. What. Ever.
Ew... They smell like death. I thought I was supposed to be the awful, liker-of-the-smell-of-death person in this duo. You stealing my position? Ha. You almost got me to laugh at that one. No actual human soul here, not if I have anything to say about it. I'm not OCD! I'm just particular. Tell you what, you prepare me up your best cocktail and I'll test it out. Just make sure the alcohol's good.
➜ GENERAL INFORMATION
➜ APPEARANCE
➜ BACKGROUND
Though Julianne’s favorite place was, with no doubt, New York City with all it’s bright lights and constant clamor—Germany was easily at the same level. From a young age, her mother had instilled a strong value of German heritage in her. During the world cup, she supported Deutschland through thick and thin, ever since she was a little girl. The von Unwerth estate lies in the rolling hills near the border to Luxembourg and is a place where Julianne made a lot of memories. Every year, she makes it her responsibility to go there along with her mother at least once, not only because it makes her happy, but because it makes her mother happy too.
Pipanne Reunited
At the age of twenty-seven, dressed in a form fitting, but business professional red dress, she sat at her desk, towering over Manhattan with a 360 view courtesy of the floor-to-ceiling glass of her office.
Written in the front entrance of the building in proud scripture was Preweir-Von Unwerth Industries. After graduating Heathfield with the expected high honors, she found herself following the footsteps of the man who made her life hell even death—her father. It wasn’t at all with the intention of making him proud or anything of that kind, more so because she found herself wanting to make a difference in the world and somehow, she found her way into Harvard Business School and there she was, taking over the family business.
That sign was the first thing Piper noticed when she arrived at the address given to her, clad in her own dress ensemble. The contact aspect friendship between them had dissipated as the roles of time and distance took their course. As Piper moved across the ocean to London and Julianne worked out the logistics of heading a company at a young age. It had been four years since the pair had seen each other last.
As the blonde walked into the airy lobby, she was met with a smiling face and open arms, which she greeted with her own. The pair hugged tightly in the main area, memories flashing through their minds, drunken and sober nights all a blur. Once they pulled a way, a squeal of excitement left Piper’s lips as she immediately checked Julianne’s hand for a sign of an engagement ring—
"You’re getting married!" She exclaimed, still as lively and hyper as she was when they first met. With a shrug, Julianne nodded casually, though the smile and blush on her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed to the girl who was her best friend through her teenage years.
When thinking of who to ask to be her maid of honor, Julianne knew immediately who would be the proper and deserving fit: Piper. And that’s why she stood in front of the blonde, beaming and glowing.
"I guess I am."
”Arrorró mi niño, arrorró mi sol.” Elliot hummed the lullaby, pulled out and dusted off from the memories of his mother lulling him to sleep as a child, voice low and hushed in the quiet of his son’s bedroom. And he paced the room, attention completely fixated on the small life in his arms, the grey eyes that were half-mast, blinking slowly in the dim lighting.
“Arrorró pedazo, de mi corazón." He continued, taking in that nose (his), that mouth (Julianne’s), and he lifted his head, caught sight of her in the corner of the room. Seated on the antique rocking chair, she was seemingly content for the moment to take in, to watch the two men in her life. And he went to her, carefully, slowly placing their son in her arms and for a moment he couldn’t breath, so taken and overwhelmed with love for her, this little person she’d given him. The solid foundation of a family life he hadn’t thought possible. But Julianne, from the moment he’d met her in Heathfield, had always challenged him to be something more. Something greater than himself. And he’d fought for years to be worthy of her, trying and asking and begging her to marry him once, twice, three times until she finally said yes.
”Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head, ran both hands through her hair, fingers weaving through the strands and moving to cup her cheeks, tilting her head up to look at him. A kiss for the corner of her mouth. “Thank you…” Left unsaid; for this, for everything, for him, for you. For the mornings he’d woken up to her sleeping face next to him, and for the countless mornings after with the small family they’d built together.
