abeille n affinity vs the moon n sun

[ruse]

ｍｏｎａ // ☾
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keeps a list of words she likes
tick-tacked on the wall with tape
on the edges / takes polaroids of
her friends sometimes (and anyt-
hing that catches her eyes and a-
ttempts to steal her breath away
too) / likes to walk around baref-
ooted (one time got glass in her le-
ft foot and it's still there) / loves
flower arrangements / dancing a-
nd singing are her second loves //
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☀ ＭＡＲＩＳ ！！

ＦＩＧＨＴxＴＨＥxＳＵＮ！
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not really actually ?? it's more like they need to meet each other first
'fore they go beating up a big star in the sky tbh but you do you i guess
yolo // in which two (star-crossed) art nerds meet via an accidental d-
iscovery of paint-stealing shenanigans in a new city named york and a
v cool school named pratt // soulmate au between abeille n affinity!!
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[abeille]

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ＴＨＥ ＳＵＮ ＳＭＩＬＥＤ

i. mona marie hitchcock ii. is
often called just mona but can
b referred to as mo and ona too
iii. nineteen years old iv. a cis-
female v. bisexual/romantic vi.
a major in painting at the pratt
college of art in new york city
vii. she's from chelsea area in
manhattan viii. she's a v proud
virgo ix. her mother was also an
artist and so she was unfortuna-
tely named after the mona lisa

main trait: modest
positive traits: reliable, helpful,
very observant, very precise, kind
negative traits: dependent, cold,
very shy, a worry-wart, stubborn,
all work and no play

ａｎｄ ｓｐｏｋｅ,
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ｔｈｅ ｓｋｙ﹗﹗
ｔｈｅ ｓｋｙ﹗﹗
ｔｈｅ ｓｋｙ﹗﹗

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methodically planned is the statu-
te mona marie lives by. every
detail, every single fabric of her
life is set for her. mona inhales
paint and exhales constellations.
an art student. mo is determined
to set the standard for her major,
she seeps perfection, but speaks
in modesty; never bettering her-

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self in a way that shatters all the
hard work of her peers. as a result
of her manhattan home she's cyni-
cal, uber aware of her surroundin-
gs. she's been taught not to bend
to the will of others, taught to do
what was necessary for herself.
but something was lost in transla-
tion, mona can't shine w/o a sun.

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[ruse]

ＪＵＳＴ ＴＥＬＬ ＭＥ；
（ｊｕｓｔ ｔｅｌｌ ｍｅ，）
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+ traits independent, observative,
charming, quick, good-humored.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
─ traits foolish, aloof, hotheaded,
difficult, stubborn, obstinate.
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ＳＡＹ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ！！
ＳＡＹ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ！！
ＳＡＹ ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ！！

──────⇁ ☀ ＴＡＹＬＯＲ
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first impression: she's loud. if the sun had a voice,
it'd be hers, you think. she's not loud in the obnoxio-
us, grating kind of way, but rather in how she com-
mands attention to herself in any venue. she is unw-
avering, the kind of person people want to know, a-
nd quite pretty, not just personality-wise. she ador-
es people and yearns for attention, putting up a smi-
le and a facade to get it. a little ambitious, proba-
bly, her insecurities outweigh it certainly. she wea-
rs her heart on her sleeve and trusts too readily, (a-
nd likely a secret nerd) but her saccharine dispositi-
on'll win you over. the quiet scares her.
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maris a. taylor (18 y'old): likes being called; mari,
mare, aris (anything else is also fine). cis female, pan-
sexual. about, 5'5 tall. likes: running on the beach, h-
olding hands (also hands in general), ferris wheels, ad-
renaline, chaste kisses, romantic comedies, puns, fire-
works, dreaming. dislikes: thunder, heights, silence, c-
ommitment. owns: an ok camera, ipod touch; herself.

ＡＮＹＴＨＩＮＧ ＨＵＲＴＳ
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ＬＥＳＳ ＴＨＡＮ ＴＨＥ
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何
で
も
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--face claim // b. hollitt; lyrics // t. sivan, the quiet

[ruse]

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ｍａｒｉｓ ｔａｙｌｏｒ
"i'd rather have broken bones, than
feel myself turn to stone."
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first day of school. maybe it'd be more accurate to say it was her first day, if anything- and that this wasn't something as lackluster and loose as something as dull as high school (cue a memory of waking up at five am and beating the sun, an overabundance of coffee, homework, and money) but a thing much greater and closer to her dreams that seemed like it sat at a hilltop (or maybe mount olympius would be a better substitute, in terms of steepness and impossibility) out of her reach. artisan's hands, an idiot's level of unrivaled dedication. maris taylor seemed smaller walking to the school than she was at four years old or at the airport a few weeks prior, getting off a plane and telling herself she'd be perfectly fine, this was nothing to worry about -you're maris taylor and you are worthy of this, you have talent, you know that because they (actually) accepted you and maybe you're a little late, yeah, but hey! you're here and it's here and it's beautiful and everything you imagine it to be and let's hope you make a good enough impression like it did on you and- she released a disheveled breath, a gulp in her throat, an uneven movement of pulling at her collar (she almost felt like she was choking at the sight of pratt, like it took her breath away in an actual sense, not like 'hey 'aris, you look breathtaking!'). this was something more, more than old bricks sitting on top of each other and pressed together with cement surrounded by people (she bet they were all marvelous, with their own artisan's hands) and trees that seemed to lean a little. there were people passing her by, she could tell, even if she only was looking straight (as an arrow) ahead at the sign that betrayed the school's name, and they were probably looking at her a little more than oddly, because - it's been ten minutes and her legs, she can't feel them anymore all that much, and she's been standing there and she hasn't moved yet.

[abeille]

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xxxxxxmona was late. so, so late. her first class of the new school year's semester was today. right now. starting. and she wasn't there. instead, she was fighting with the bulk of her portfolio, trapped horizontally in the entry way to her dorm residence. she was struggling. big time. huffing, she glanced around the room, her eyes fleeting as they caught the gaze of the few straggling students who'd stopped to gawk at her. this wouldn't do. at all.
xxxxxxthen, bulky arms and a tall frame pushed her aside. and her portfolio was free. beautifully free! and suddenly in her hands. leaning forward a bit to compensate the weight, she peered up to map out the face of her hero. her early, a.m. savior. but oh. he was gone. no where to be seen. a typical new york city college student; accidentally helpful in the endeavor to better himself. with a sigh, the small brunette flipped her hair over her shoulder and straightened out the slump of her back. class. she was late.
xxxxxxatypical for someone her size, mona had long strides. she sashayed her way across campus. quickly. swiftly. her portfolio dragging along the ground beside her. the way to her studio hall was totally memorized, just another thing on the back of her mind. she worried not about getting lost, because she was practically on auto-pilot. a mantra of the white rabbit's "i'm late!" sang in her head along side the memory of her path, and mona hurried a little faster. it wasn't that she cared what people thought of her. she was an exceptional artist, students whispered her name behind closed doors all across campus. in fact, art students across new york cursed her. she was a sophomore. better than a freshman, less than a junior. she wasn't afraid of what people would think if she was late. except she was. she really was because it was a freshman class and first impressions meant the world to her. she was dependent on the approval of others. she didn't want to be known as the student who couldn't bother to show up punctually for the first day. yikes.
xxxxxxmona spun around the corner of the hall at mach one, her hips swinging. portfolio flopping. she was so close. she could see the front steps, cold cement against warm brick. her knuckles turned white and she gripped the handle she held a little tighter. so, so close. the door was visible now. and. oh. so was a girl who was completely in her way. the artist's quick sashay came to an end. her front facing the back of a woman (girl?) with breast length, dark brown hair. her shoulders shined beneath the sun and her entire self seemed to glow. mona hadn't even seen her face and she was already stricken by the enormity of her beauty. stricken by jealousy.
xxxxxxheart beat rabbit fast, the brunette placed a finger on the other student's back. one tap. two taps. "uh." gulping, she peered over the girl's shoulder, "you're just a little bit in the way. like, uh, my class? late. i'm very late. and it's that way," (point, point, point) "and i can't quite get passed you?"

[ruse]

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ｍａｒｉｓ ｔａｙｌｏｒ
"i'd rather have broken bones, than
feel myself turn to stone."
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there were sounds behind her shoulder and less people shoving around her and a soft touch she's been ignoring. one tap. two- hi. this is maris taylor? i'm afraid that i can't take your call right now, (uneasy laughter) overloaded brain and all.
her thoughts were all scrambled and some part of her said harshly, in a scalding whisper, you shouldn't have eaten that scrambled egg this morning, aris, you bumbling idiot.
and there was a voice. it was another one, a different one and it was outside her head. it was pretty and it sounded like art would (like, if art had a voice hypothetically, from the big leagues kind, like the ones she fell asleep to studying) and this, this, she can't ignore, apparently. maris turned and immediately flushed, as deeply as her darkened complexion and already blush-heavy, breath-caught self would allow. a girl with milky skin and brown hair swaying long and she's holding a thing maris couldn't put a name to quite yet (still on overload, please hold). eyes that were bright and was it possible if she could rent them out for a while as a temporary home? maybe like, forever? maris remembered words. words were used to communicate ideas and thoughts. and she should, talk about hers, right?

"holy- wow. you're beautiful. and late. are we? we are, oh my god i'm sorry i didn't mean to-!" and hers, her thoughts, well, they were tangled and bending at angles they shouldn't. she laughed. loose and nervous and bubbly. "i'll just, i'll just get out of your way, yeah? that'd be a good idea, right?"she found herself talking, but not moving (but not living up to her promise to this girl with the brown hair and features that should've been recorded in art), all nerves and pink-faced - she spoke when her thoughts couldn't keep up. it helped her sometimes (keyword, sometimes).
maris pressed cold hands to her face, realizing something she'd forgotten again. "late, we're! i- i, wow, okay, late on my first day and panicking in front of a pretty girl? not good-" not good. she looked hesitantly towards said pretty girl before immediately retracting her gaze like she never looked (you didn't see anything). at some point she walked to the side of the gate instead of in the center, gawking. maris wondered if it would help if she turned and smiled a little creepily, and extended her hand and said, hi. i'm maris and i suffer from short-term memory loss. she did, to some point, but it was more panic blurring her memory this time around. again the dark-skinned girl spared a quick glance towards the other girl's way, with the bulky portfolio and probably horrified expression about now and an idea sprouting (a note, crazy ideas that had a lifespan of 0.001 seconds were her specialty). "i'll walk you to your class, uh-" her hand was nervous at the base of the back of her neck. she didn't have a name to put to that panicked but still-pretty face so maris bit her tongue and went on. time was everything and nothing but more everything this time around. "i-don't-know-your-name but-i'd-like-to, i'm maris, new freshman? yeah, transferred this semester," she stumbled over her words, chuckled the silence off. "maris taylor and i promise i'm usually better." she was. usually. usually all charm and facade and self-reducing jokes and a lot of money to her name and a love for art like tumblr loved (worshipped, more like it) the moon. this was different, somehow. and it was strange. it was almost like, her vision was fraying at the edges. graying in certain areas, but she ignored it. maris was good at pretending not to see things she actually saw.