◤ ✕ ° › heartbreak highway

in the dream, i am  p e r s e p h o n e in the badlands. a cinnamon girl standing where the z e p h y r sways ! it is NIGHT, and YOU are ALONE, in the badlands !

[adcras-blog]

svlcouth:

                    ❛ with this ass, i hope they stare. gotta give the people what they want, am i right ? it’d be fuckin’ ILLEGAL to contain all this to myself. ❜

                     “ oh TOTALLY —— i mean, i guess you could even say it’s your best asset. thank you, i’ll be here all week. ”

[wnq-writers]

She’s titanic, her deep blue soul drown me, eyes like her can insure you a ticket to heaven just by staring at them.

Fawaz maarouf  (via wnq-writers)

[adcras-blog]

cvins:

     her story scarred him immediately. he could see the way her words, with a floral yet impolite accent curled around the tendrils of her smoke as if they had always found home there; as if since she could speak english, she smoked cigarettes. his own laid limp between his fingers while she told her story, one he could picture ( mostly thanks to the dead, open eyes that never closed ), but he was snapped out of the haze of imagining his brother with a gun to his temple, something he was sure he’d seen before now, with a jarring wave to him. she gave so much of her story that he couldn’t lie to her and he didn’t have it in him not to tell the whole story, not with the rushing nuclear cloud over them. he wanted to tell her about his mother and how he loved her, how she shouldn’t have died because of the decisions of a cruel man with money, but that wasn’t what was at the forefront of every night when he slept and he had a feeling she’d be able to tell if he lied and said it was. he licked his lips and then gestured behind him and to the far left, a picture of a girl with blue hair and handwritten notes surrounding it on the wall, all too far away to read. “ that girl there was my girlfriend. she lived in the back, there. that’s where i first shot up with her, where i took the ammunition to the gun she put to her head, where i told her to get clean because i was. — and she did. but then she didn’t, you know. addicts. we relapse. she did first and i made it in time to see her in her own sick, eyes open, too. “ her brother, his girlfriend: all with dead eyes that stared back forever. “ so, “ he shrugged and took a long inhale of his cigarette dwindling down. he hadn’t said sorry to her for what she’d seen and it was mostly in hopes that she’d reciprocate it and not say sorry to him.

       adora’s gaze followed to where he was gesturing, a photograph of a girl. how many times had an unsuspecting customer glanced over it without a second thought, no clue to it’s somber significance ? that was the thing about pictures. to adora they had always seemed so bittersweet, capturing people and places that may or may not exist anymore. in a way every photographed thing was already dead — no longer alive outside that past moment, a remnant of sorts. she didn’t need to imagine his dead girlfriend’s eyes still open, much like the girl realized he hadn’t had to imagine the woman’s eyes, either. a ghastly thing to have in common, no doubt, but there was a part of adora that was comforted in the horror of it all. that there was someone else who had seen the same things, someone who could really understand the full magnitude at how significant of a detail it was to experience a death up close. they had reached the point in the conversation where adora would usually disappear, no trace left behind except the lingering, sweet scent of her perfume. a ghost lost to the deep belly of the night. helping others look past her carefully placed facade of grandness, of beauty, it was not something the blonde had ever been comfortable doing. people could not exist without the images other’s people dreamt up for them, and like a child clinging to her mother’s thigh she’d clutched that veil. and yet, she hadn’t torn the veil completely, there were still parts of her story that were unknown to the other. the betrayal of the ones she trusted most, her quest to look into her past. adora had only lain the most important cards down on the table to share, and she knew he had done the same. running away was the last thing on her mind. her cigarette dwindled, burning dangerously close to the soft pads of her fingertips before she put it out, a hiss following his ‘so’ breaking the silence. “ this whiskey really tastes horrible, you know. ”

[songbirdsmelodies]

Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget…”

The Great Gatsby, Daisy Buchannon (via wickxdlovely)

[adcras-blog]

warrcns:

    as he felt her presence he couldn’t help but grin. “ hello m’lady, ” warren greeted then gulped at the brief distance that separated them. he played it cool and caressed her cheek with his thumb. “ guess what? i won—— and want to know what i think i deserve for actually winning this time? ” he started saying as he got a little bit closer.  “ un bisou, ” and with that—— as high as he was and without thinking it twice he sweetly locked his lips with the blonde’s, enjoying the moment but at the same time scared of what her reaction was going to be, and that thought made him quickly separate. “ i’m sorry, i just got carried away. ”   

        he’d pressed his lips against hers in the same soft way she’d often imagined he would, countless daydreams adora never actually expected to manifest. she kissed him back, too, the way his mouth moved against her own the most delightful sensation. but it was all too sudden for the blonde to really process, like a child taking a bite from a forbidden pastry before it was snatched away again, back out of reach. her lashes fluttered as he pulled away, azure hues widened in genuine surprise. for a moment she was silent, fingertips ghosting over the curve of her bottom lip. “ oh— ” she began, taking his words to mean he probably hadn’t been thinking straight. that the kiss was an act of intimacy based solely upon circumstance, and nothing else. “ that’s alright. i mean, it was only a game after all, no ? ” adora finished with her usual smile, all hints of the melancholic disappointment she felt settling into her chest devoid from her expression.   

[adcras-blog]

warrcns:

— × + ❛ SNAPCHAT. ┊ MACDEHARGROVE ⟺ ADORABELLE

warren: b.n.o warren: and ok, choke warren: on this one warren: jk i’m sorry u know i always treat u with respect warren: i’ mway too drunk i’m sorry 

adora: O: adora: is this how u treat the other hot girls ?? adora: drunken advances over snapchat, or am i special <3 adora: im just joking ! adora: alright don’t get 2 crazy

[adcras-blog]

cvins:

     it didn’t help him uncover the truth about her. he couldn’t tell what it was about this place in particular that was giving her the memories, the flashbacks he could see in her eyes like indecipherable films. he wanted to decode them more than he had ever wanted anything, but he didn’t want to pay the price of letting her know about him. he could lie. he could feign something blood red and blushing-cheek-pink. he could tell her a friend’s orphan story, pretend to be someone else. all he’d ever wanted in his life was to be someone else. lying felt out of place here. it felt as if anything he said here would stay here, in the solemn and vigorous air between them. the rate that it moved made him breathe okay. he took a deep breath in, then opened his mouth as if a witch was whispering curses. but he was only ordinary, a boy with a tragic past. he said, “ okay. “ then, “ you, first. “

       adora simply cocked a brow at his statement, her fingers loosening then tightening all over again around the glass of whiskey. “ my brother used to get a kick out of scaring me when he was high. ” was how she decided to start, gaze focusing somewhere behind the other, as if she was recollecting some fraught memory from too long ago. “ one time he woke me up with a gun pressed against his temple. i hardly remember why or how he even got a hold of it —— my foster parents were sensible people, you see. old money and all, politely conservative. he told me if i made a sound he’d pull the trigger right there. of course, he was only joking. he broke into a laughter so delirious i’ll probably never forget it. ” adora mused, not wanting to break off into a reverie. “ he was always angry, but truly, he adored me. he just felt cast off by our parents, and i suppose in a way he was. ” she took another drag from her cigarette.  “ when i was thirteen he came into my bedroom one night, some obscene hour no doubt. our parents were asleep. he said he wanted to get ice cream, that we needed to get ice cream. so i got in the car. i knew he was lying, i mean, all his bags were packed. but i still stayed —— as long as i can remember i’ve felt responsible for him, despite me being younger. we didn’t even make it out of paris before the accident. there was only one casualty. the woman he’d collided with. a mother of two, i think. ” adora looked back at the other now, but her gaze was still distant, as if she’d wandered into a dream and couldn’t find her way back out again. “ i’d never seen that much blood, so striking against the snow it didn’t even seem real. it could have been beautiful if the woman hadn’t been alive still, an awful gurgling noise coming from her throat because of the piece of glass lodged there. i really don’t know why she never closed her eyes. —— even as she died she left them open. ” the clink of her ring against the glass startled her, eyes flashing down, as if the blonde was suddenly aware of the world around her once more. “ my brother went to jail and i went to london. —— so there you have it. ” she tilted her head, lips pressed around her cigarette in practiced nonchalance. “ your turn. ”

[adcras-blog]

warrcns:

     “ aight, if that’s what you want. ” warren said totally acting offended——standing up from the chair, not without taking his joint first and taking a few hits as he walked to the nearest tree, leaning on it. he sat on the grass and looked over at adora. there was no way he was losing this. slowly he started feeling all peaceful and more loose and so, he laid down and waited for those 10 minutes to quickly pass.

    adora followed him with her eyes as he walked away, an amused grin tugging the corners of her pink lips upward. for a moment or so she stayed put, sure he’d be back before those ten minutes passed, but upon further inspection the other was looking far too peaceful for the girl’s comfort. the blonde made the short track over towards where he was laying down, and without a moment’s hesitation, she plopped down right next to him. “ mon cher— ” adora began as she angled her body in the other’s direction, tilting his face towards hers so their foreheads were practically touching. “ it only counts if you’re looking at me. ” 

[adcras-blog]

cvins:

     cain noticed the way she pressed her lips together, soft pink as if the corners were watching him. paranoid tendencies came with attraction, did they ? it all made sense in a junkie’s mind, the way that they melded together. now, he just needed a cigarette. after moving his gaze from her lips, he sharply dug into his pocket, an addict looking for his addiction. he pulled one out from inside the pack and lit it as fast as he could manage. all this talk of birth and death and he had held death in his hands. he stopped that from happening: his own body laying before him, hair tousled underneath his head, spread out on the floor. would he have looked like adaire ? so he quit, except when he needed help getting her out of his head. now, he just brought girls his way to help that. nothing he did in the night with them was reminiscent of birth; he was killing a piece of himself each time ( love, commitment, his ability to see color ). he was fading out, not dying, not true to the stars that they were made of. he took another drag of the cigarette, this one slower. “ did something happen here ? to you ? “

    she tensed at his question, the muscles of her exposed back tightening beneath milky skin, working adora into a statuesque stance. there was a certain somber recollection that became quite apparent with her facial features, the pull of her slender brows, the downward curve of her rose petal lips. she did not meet his gaze.  “ not here. ” adora’s cigarette was a forgotten thing now, dangling LIMP and forsaken like a beloved child’s neglected toy. memories from the past fought through her subconscious to greet her. the smell of whiskey and vomit, her mother whispering in french, police sirens. and above it all, RED, more striking than she had ever known a color could be. whatever horrors their collective pasts contained, they lingered between the two like a heavy fog waiting to be acknowledged. the glass of whiskey he had given to the girl represented itself to adora then, an AMBER reminder glinting all too temptingly underneath the bar’s low lighting. her gulp was too big, the burn too strong. but all the leggy blonde did in reaction was redirect her gaze towards him once more, bringing the cigarette back towards her wet mouth. “ i’ll show you mine if you show me yours. ” her sentence came out raspy with smoke, a sultrier reference to the darkest of their secrets. 

[wordsnquotes]

She was very charming, but seemed tormented in some way – I couldn’t figure out why. Something profound was bothering her. She talked very fast, all in a rush, as if she was thinking too fast, and sometimes after she’d say something she’d contradict herself totally, but it was still a marvelous conversation.

Marge Neikrug (via wordsnquotes)

[adcras-blog]

andrewhmu:

“obviously the biggest upside of being twenty is people asking for your id every time you go to buy beer or cigarettes from the store or get carded every time you ask for a beer, and god forbid i leave my id at home and not get served. being an adult is fun.”

 “ ahh —— the woes of looking young. has anyone ever questioned the validity of your id when you did have it on you ? there was a bartender once who refused to serve me because he swore my id was fake, it was très incroyable. ”

[bunnygirl1998]

I loved her, loved the luscious, stuttering way she would blink while telling a story, or the way that she held a cigarette, caught in the knuckles of her bitten-nailed fingers.

Donna Tartt, The Secret History (via shhhhhhhimhiding)

[lilreevs]

[adcras-blog]

svlcouth:

                    ❛ you’re fucking crazy. my mom once tried to give me coffee when i was a kid and it was the WORST shit ever—— even with sugar. i don’t know how the hell you do it. ❜

                      “ you’re the CRAZY one drinking leaf water for fun ! at least now i know you can’t ever come with me to a café in paris —— if you order a cup of tea people will probably just stare. ”

[adcras-blog]

svlcouth:

                    ❛ so coffee or tea ? personally i fuck with tea but i mean—— FIGURES, right ? coffee’s just so bitter. ‘dunno, must be an acquired taste or something. ❜

                        “ ––––– coffee, of course ! café au lait isn’t bitter at all if you add sugar, neither is café crème. i never even considered drinking tea habitually before leaving paris, but that’s ALL people seem to drink around here. ”

[adcras-blog]

cvins:

     “ but that’s almost worse, isn’t it ? “ he retorted. ” if you wake up every day a new person, you have to learn again. i feel like i’ve lost count of the times i’ve had to relearn how to breathe. you know ? like how do we deal with birth ? i don’t know. but death, you deal by waking up each morning and seeing the BODIES in your closet. — real ones. fleshy still. “ he shook his head. he didn’t know her and that was too much information to tell a girl he didn’t know, despite her tired face and trusting eyes. whatever she’d done here, she was a different person than now. and he could sense that, could hear it in the strain and EXHAUSTION of her voice, as if it was always another octave, fooling everyone in a circle’s radius, the blonde in the center. “ never mind. it’s a stupid question. “

    “ ––––– but can’t we say the same thing for DEATH ? every time we lose something, someone, a piece of ourselves. how do we live with that ? is it not, in a sense, also a sort of birth ? with every death we are changed, and so with every death we are essetionally born again, new people, different people. maybe there’s no easy option. ” it was a troubling thought, one that pressed her pink lips into a thin light as she mulled it over, considering the dreariness of the sentiment before moving on and taking another drag from her cigarette. the action was languid, her limbs moving with the same slowed grace as the drip of HONEY. adora’s pale and radiant eyes flicked towards the other once more, her perturbing gaze dripping over him like silk through the sooty fan of her lashes. “ until one day you wake up and it’s your own body starring back at you. ” in that moment her tone was about as revealing as her blank expression, all hints of deeper meaning and emotion obliterated, everything about the tall blonde unreadable. and then like clockwork, adora’s marble nature was torn away with a flick of her cigarette, a toss of hair the color of spun gold over her shoulder, a hint of a smile that always seemed to imply she knew something her companions didn’t. “ it can’t be terribly stupid if you thought of asking it. ” adora signaled to him with a nod, a peak at solemn SULLENNESS of her face.  “ — go ahead, ask me. ”    

[lifeinpoetry]

Finally, she said: “I’m lonely” – it’s weird but you tell the wolves things, sometimes. You can’t help it, all these old wounds come open and suddenly you’re confessing to a wolf who never says anything back. She said: “I’m lonely,” and they ate her in the street.

Catherynne M. Valente, from “The Wolves of Brooklyn,” The Bread We Eat in Dreams  (via vapioreon)