𓃹

[stereosmindgame]

his  gaze  lingers  on  her  a  fraction  longer  when  she  says  it  doesn’t  hurt  anymore.  he  doesn’t  argue,  doesn’t  tell  her  she’s  lying.  he’d  learned  long  ago  that  people  only  insist  they  aren’t  hurting  once  they’ve  grown  exhausted  from  admitting  that  they  are.  his  thumb  continues  its  slow  circuit  around  the  rim  of  his  empty  glass,  as  he  feels  the  conversation  tilt  in  a  direction  he  hadn’t  intended.  shoulders  instinctively  lift  in  the  smallest  shrug,  like  he  can  diminish  the  weight  of  his  childhood  simply  by  refusing  to  let  it  occupy  too  much  space  between  them.  “  it  was  a  long  time  ago,  ”  the  words  come  easily,  almost  automatically.  then  she  tells  him  no  one  should  grow  up  like  that,  drawing  a  quiet  breath  from  him  that  nearly  resembles  a  laugh,  though no  amusement  ever  reaches  his  face.  it’s  strange  hearing  another  person  grieve  a  boy  he’d  stopped  looking  for  years  ago.  that  kid  had  long  since  been  buried  beneath  ink  pressed  into  skin,  split  knuckles,  police  sirens  fading  behind  expensive  lawyers,  and  every  reckless  decision  that  made  people  shake  their  heads  and  conclude  he’d  become  exactly  what  they  expected.  even  stranger  that  parker  is  the  one  who  manages  to  unearth  him.  you  deserved  more  —  nobody  had  ever  phrased  it  that  way.  not  his  father,  not  corinna,  not  the  family  who  treated  his  childhood  like  an  inconvenience  to  be  managed.  he  rubs  the  back  of  his  neck,  gaze  drifting  away  from  hers.  “  i  turned  out  alright,  ”  an  imperfect  defense,  spoken  more  out  of  habit  than  conviction.  because  the  truth  is,  whatever  kindness  still  exists  in  him  was  never  born  from  the  life  he’d  been  given.  it  grew  in  opposition  to  it,  knowing  what  it  meant  to  be  left  undefended,  to  become  accustomed  to  standing  alone  while  everyone  else  decided  you  deserved  it.  if  he  stepped  between  people  and  cruelty  now,  it  wasn’t  because  he  believed  himself  heroic.  it  was  because  he’d  spent  too  many  years  wishing  somebody  had  done  the  same  for  him.  finally,  he  looks  back  at  her.  “  so  did  you.  ”  the  words  arrive  quietly,  carrying  only  sincerity.  after  a  long  beat,  he  reaches  for  his  wallet,  slipping  a  few  bills  beneath  the  empty  glasses.  the  drinks  were  hers,  just  like  she’d  insisted,  but  the  tip  is  his,  quietly  meeting  her  halfway  before  he  rises  to  his  feet.  “  c’mon.  ”  his  head  tilts  toward  the  exit.  “  i  think  we’ve  both  had  enough  of  this  place.  ”

[connotations]

" time doesn't make a difference. " she knew that better than anyone. wounds that had never healed over the years, like pressure points that she had to carefully navigate around to avoid setting off and inflicting pain onto herself. she had always been a sensitive child, and she'd grown into an even more sensitive adult. never could let things go, fast to forgive and mend the peace but always carrying the burden of remembering each insult and transgression against her. it doesn't come with bitterness, but rather her own self - loathing. when memories came back to the surface, her mind was quick to twist it into what she did to deserve those things. it wouldn't have happened otherwise, even when he's saying that she deserves more. " i've got my comeuppance. " she'd made a myriad of mistakes, wasn't absolved of her mistakes. wasn't sure if she could ever truly pay her penance for everything she had done in the name of being a hurt soul. others weren't quite as willing to give out their forgiveness, she'd learned that in the hardest way she could. it was easy to bury herself neck deep in the regret of her selfish actions, berating and punishing herself until she felt just as awful. " you're a go— a great person. " far better than she deserved. he should've went in the other direction, found someone more worthy of his kindness. someone that wouldn't be so selfish and unmindful with what he gave to her. " i... " she wants to slap his hands away from his wallet, tell him that the least she could handle the tip too. it was supposed to be a nice gesture, an act of appreciation towards him and he still managed to have his own selflessness slip through. where he's selfless, she's selfish, not letting any of her thoughts make it out of her mind until it's too late to refute him at all. her bag is slid lazily across her shoulder, more than willing to follow him out the bar in that moment and into the humid night. easy to blame it on the liquor, despite how she feels more aware of her surroundings, of him, than she has all night. " where are we going? "

[stereosmindgame]

her question doesn’t fade after she says it — in fact, it settles. it stays. it presses into his ribs with an insistence that feels almost personal, as if she’s finally stopped asking what he is willing to answer and started asking what he’s built from. the silence that follows is not contemplation so much as resistance. a controlled refusal to give shape to anything that might become real once spoken aloud. his uncle had once distilled affection into weakness and warned him that a girl under your skin is the first crack in a man’s authority. lessons that were delivered into a boy’s malleable mind at precisely the age he had been least equipped to recognize how poisonous they were. and now he knows exactly what it does in its aftermath. there had been a version of him once who didn’t care about collateral, not because he was cruel, but because he was untouched. that version ended the moment he learned what it meant to lose someone in a way that rewires you after the fact. the one who came before her is not a memory he revisits so much as a system failure he never fully recovered from — proof that closeness does not simply hurt, it accumulates consequences. and worse than losing her had been what he became after. his relationship with amber had never been accidental in its structure, from its secrecy to its distance to the insistence on not letting it spill into daylight. none of it had been romance, none of it impulse either. he had liked the ease of it, the way she never fought the shape he gave their arrangement, folding into his rhythm without resistance, a willing accomplice in something deliberately unclaimed. now she wants more and of course she does ; he knew exactly how to pull her back in without ever seeming to pull at all, the subtle art of offering warmth in controlled doses so she would return to him thinking it was her decision each time. things that are handled deliberately have a tendency to start believing they deserve to be held. what are you so afraid of ? his jaw tightens and he almost tells her the truth in full. that he’s never been afraid of wanting, only of what follows when he stops pretending he doesn’t. instead, it comes out pared down, sharpened into something almost dismissive. “ of ruining it. ” a pause, then quieter, harsher, more to himself than to her, “ of ruining you. ” his touch reaches for her then, grip settling at her chin to tip her face up with a practiced ease that leaves no room for resistance, a quiet possessiveness in the motion of his thumb skimming the soft flesh of her lower lip.

[connotations]

" i'm already ruined. " he was far from the nail in the coffin either. a long line of men just as cruel and devoid came before, taking and taking. soiling whatever innocence was left inside of her until she rotted entirely. there was nothing good that ran in the blood of buchanan's, each one just as terrible as the next. they lacked the ability to be rectitude, and the only difference that separated her from the rest of them was how she desperately tried. her body rattled with the intensity of wanting to be good, someone who could be worth loving and capable of swallowing it. time and time again, that need was proven to be impossible to meet. which is why she takes the scraps that any man gives her, stripping herself thin and being whatever they wanted, whether it was innocent, ruined, good, or bad. she could morph herself into being it, even if it was just for one night. they'd leave in the morning with another piece of her, the emptiness that was left becoming more and more palpable as each day passed. " can't you see that? " the vulnerability that came with no longer pretending to be something she wasn't. there were no more layers for her to shed in front of him. this was her in her truest form : desperate and broken, aching for love until it tore her apart from the inside out. unable to walk away even when he's telling her he can't give her what she wants, because having him like this was better than not having him at all. she could stomach it — whatever the feeling that nestled itself inside her chest whenever she looked at him was. unsure of whether it was love, never one to known what that felt like in a genuine form. only the selfish, perverse kind. yet it claws at her when his fingers pad along her jaw, her body melting against the touch unwillingly. always eager to be available to him, even when she's trying to drive her point home. her fingertips dance across his arm, sliding up the roughened skin and to the back of his neck. " we're not too far off. " from being one in the same, both needing something out of the other. exactly why all is forgotten in a quick moment, her earlier points becoming futile when her mouth presses against his and eases her entirely.

[eyelessdoll]

all this way here in the most roundabout way. tenderly bloated with so many months. so many cities. cochem. tangier. the dew lingered streets of les puces de saint - ouen. he'd visited one humidly sparkling morning, spent hours skimming his finger through a batch of old, orange - juice stained playboy magazines, along flawed jewels nestled against velvet cushions, over the intricate ridges of a damascene vase filled to overflowing with a bouquet of what he'd thought to be plasticine anemones, red, artificially so, until he pressed the silky damp of live petal and leaf between his fingertips. something so shockingly alive in the midst of all those lifeless things. he'd bought that vase, and kept the largely artificial display. watching that one joker's petals wither with each melted day. fallen. desiccated. on the coffee table, in the onyx ashtray strewn astray on the ground, until all that was left was an old, ordinary object all full up of something too false to live with. those four tobacco tarred walls of that hole - in - the - wall apartment she'd last occupied in october, abandoned so plainly, so faithlessly, once, and now twice, the phonograph still singing that dreamy voice she'd left spinning on the platter, a smear of insinuation he couldn't launder completely out still winking pinkly at a starched collar. the vase still erect in the center of that shrunken room. still meaning something else entirely. she was so tragically easy to find, the shining figurine at the center of the glossiest universe, but so hard to keep. he sacrifices a tangible memory for the delirious dream. her. fleshly, alive. “ you left something behind, ” it's spoken so simply, like he means nothing more than just that. his hand unfurling between them, a patinated lighter sheathed in delicate repoussé resting cooly against the palm, the matching vesta case swathed in his pocket. and it glints with the reminiscence of all those nights he'd leant over and dangled his cigarette into the cradle of her hand around that weakly flickering flame, extinguishing it only a moment later, just to stoop down to watch her do it all over again. “ thought i'd come find you to see if you wanted it back. ”

[connotations]

she had been easy to adore, yet easier to leave behind. mornings spent beneath painted ceilings in tuscany, afternoons spent sunbathing on the french riviera. orchestras, galas, all filled with so much beauty and excess. in every moment there he stood, reminding her of the absence in every part of her life that he used to fill. she'd collected passport stamps and lovers alike, hoping to quiet the part of her that couldn't shake him. her gaze is on him like one would watch the ocean tide, knowing that it would come in regardless and wondering what it would bring with it this time. tendrils outstretched to the lighter, her touch featherlight and reverent against the ornate design etched into the metal. her head tilts up to him, pale eyes lifting to him with with the sort of effortless attention that could make anyone feel as though they were the center of her world. " you kept it all this time. " not quite a question, yet still etched with the curiosity of one. " how terribly romantic of you. " faintly laughed, carrying no mockery but the dreamy amusement born from someone who had always lived amongst the most beautiful things that could be found. " but that's not really why you came here, is it? "

[eyelessdoll]

“ you look like hell, ” she says, and means it. “ you look like you've been having a real good time. ” laughter. lingering bellows from inside the bar twining through the air like something vacuous and vaporous. intangible. too far away. she silences the buzzing of her phone, she turns the slick of her hand this way and then that as a stray cat laps beer from the trembling length of her fingers like so much spilled milk. somewhere across the alleyway a trash can is knocked over with a resounding clamor and a precariously severed glass lip bottle rolls across dampened pavement until it's stopped with the bottom of her bare foot. numb and uncaring. raw flesh so terribly close to all those jagged edges like it doesn't matter. like all that does is that she wants to feel the worst of it. a car lays on its horn. the cat hisses. skitters lamely off. she looks up at him again, all alone now, with nothing more than a cheap glass all full up of cubed ice and expensive vodka cradled familiar as an antiquated crucifix against her chest, and it almost dispossesses her. “ i should probably go back in, before anyone thinks to come out. ” a huff of empty laughter, an even emptier pause. “ wade doesn't like me wandering around all on my own after dark. says it sticks to you. like rot. ” she places the freshly filthied sole of her foot against the arch of one abandoned heel but makes no move to do up the straps nor stand from her disjointed stoop. she's still undone. upended. splayed like a misplaced doll on the asphalt at his feet. “ i told him he's wrong . . it never does. you never do, do you, angel ? ”

[connotations]

" care to join? " echoed into the half - empty bottle of pabst blue ribbon, a lazy drawl poking out from beneath where the glass seemed to permanently against his mouth. his eyes are hooded over with a certain indolence, the kind that comes with being a few too many in it's dragged up the length of her body, at a disregard for her theatrics as the animal skitters back into the darkness, now leaving the two of them underneath the red glow of the dive bar sign. " him? " a flicker of something dances across his features, resembling a sort of dull bitterness. another drink, then another until the glass is tossed against the asphalt, fracturing into shards of amber. " you listening to him now? " couldn't remember a time where he was anything more than inconsequential, a half - formed shadow that seemed to follow her around. he must've gotten lost tonight, considering the state that she seemed to be in. some sort of drunken cinderella, with her heel splayed across the pavement. " you're a mess. " there's no kindness in his words, the syllables instead pointed around the edges, in stark contrast to the way his hand clasps around the delicate skin of her jaw and holds her gaze to him. " you think wade will like you like that? "

[burdockeverdeen]

🔓 ( white / b. 1999 ) ﹕on the source link you will find 307 gifs of drake rodger on motorheads (2025) & landman (2025). i don’t care what you do with these, just don’t be gross and don’t claim them as your own. if using these, give this post a reblog. thank you !

[connotations]

" i'm done playing games if you are. "

[connotations]

" i already told you that you're not walking. so just please get in the car. "

[connotations]

it'd been only a few days since they'd been back from the hospital, now with a third addition. one that was half of the two of them, currently nestled in her arms as she set him down in the crib of his nursery. for the first time in months, it seemed like there was nothing to worry about — the baby was here, tommy wasn't in any trouble, and soon enough her brother would finally be out. it's almost too good to be true, considering the life that they had been born into. which is why when she's stepping into their bedroom across the hallway, her chest immediately clenches at the expression on his face. " tommy? " her voice harbors a quiet gentleness, carrying herself to where he perched himself on the bed. " is something wrong? " she'll probe, her voice expectant on him to be honest. no matter how much he tried to shield her from their world, she was still exposed to it. if it wasn't him, it was her father or brothers. it was as much of her life as it was his, and they had someone else to think about now.

[connotations]

" when are you going to stop trying to push me away? "

[stereosmindgame]

he  feels  her  hand  leave  his  wrist,  the  warmth  disappearing to  leave  behind  an  absence  far  more  conspicuous  than  the  touch  had  been  and  for  an  irrational  second,  his  fingers  almost  move  after  it.  her  question  lingers  between  them  —  what’s  the  alternative  ?  —  he  doesn’t  answer  right  away,  rolling  the  rim  of  his  glass  beneath  his  thumb  as  his  gaze  lowers  into  the  amber  liquor,  like  the  right  words  might  be  waiting  somewhere  beneath  the  surface.  maybe  this  is  why  they’ve  spent  years  circling  one  another  without  ever  quite  arriving  at  the  same  place.  she  feared  uncertainty  while  he  feared  permanence.  she  would  rather  remain  where  the  hurt  was  familiar  than  gamble  on  an  unknown  ending.  he  has  always  been  the  opposite.  given  the  choice,  he’d  sooner  torch  the  bridge  himself  than  spend  years  standing  on  it,  waiting  for  the  inevitable  collapse.  his  own  childhood  taught  him  that.  every  hallway  in  the  hackney  house  had  been  familiar,  every  disappointment  predictable.  yet  certainty  had  never  softened  any  of  it.  if  anything,  it  only  amplified  the  loneliness.  when  she  says  she  knows  what  she’s  getting  with  him,  the  frustration  in  his  expression  gives  way  to  a  muted  sorrow.  “  yeah,  ”  he  finally  looks  back  at  her,  “  you  do.  ”  not  pity,  just  the  realization  that  she  genuinely  believes  this.  “  sounds  more  like  you’ve  just  memorized  where  it  hurts.  ”  his  jaw  shifts  as  the  words  settle  gently  between  them.  he  lowers  his  eyes  again,  taking  a  slow  drink  before  speaking  once  more.  “  i  knew  exactly  what  my  old  man  was  gonna  be  every  morning,  ”  his  voice  is  quieter  now,  “  didn’t  make  growing  up  in  that  house  any  easier.  ”  offers  a  piece  of  himself  because  he  wants  her  to  understand,  not  because  he  wants  sympathy.  silence  follows  naturally  and  the  music  that  had  seemed  deafening  only  minutes  ago  now  feels  impossibly  far  away.

[connotations]

" better than having the rug pulled out from under me. " her voice is solemn, gaze reflecting back up at her through the bottom of a now empty glass. that rug was long tattered and gone, leaving only the predictability that came with the constant push and pull. the cycle of warmth that turns into being burnt, before she's discarded of and left to nurse her own wounds. which is the part that typically when slater comes in, and why she was even at the bar to begin with. her choice of medicine seemed to come as a prescription of amber. his words settle somewhere beneath her ribs, the heaviness of each syllable taking root inside of her. " it doesn't hurt anymore. " a horrible excuse for a lie, the words more unconvincing than anything else she has said. the pain was its own kind of beast, rattling against her heart until it consumed her entirely. more often than not leaving her wondering how much longer would she feel this way? it was hard to remember a time where she didn't feel so destroyed by love, clinging onto the scraps of what she thought it to be by her fingertips. " i didn't know... that. " her chest tightens in a way she can't explain, no longer seeing the man in front of her but picturing him as a little boy. trying to connect what he had just told her with what she knew him to be. " no one should grow up like that. " she'd seen how the viciousness of someone's elder could drip through into them, cruelty passed down through different generations. he was the opposite though, consistent with the kindness she was far from deserving of. slater always seemed to always be there to help her out of the bed she made for herself, time and time again.. in that moment she knows it's true, the feeling of him being too good for her. she was nothing but unworthy. " you deserved more. " he still does.

[connotations]

" for the last time, i don't need your help. "

[connotations]

" don't pretend — i see right through you. "

[cnlyfans]

you  already  have,  she  wants  to  say,  but  like  all  the  others  decides  to  keep  it  to  herself.  what’s  done  is  done,  after  all.  “  if  i  say  yes  …  ”  she  lifts  her  gaze  to  meet  his,  “  you’ll  be  the  one  standing  outside  ?  ”  jolie  had  heard  the  horror  stories.  knew  why  none  of  the  other  girls  wanted  to  entertain  this  particular  client.  which  had  to  be  why  he  was  coming  to  her,  seeing  as  she  was  new  and  had  more  to  prove.  

[connotations]

" i'll be outside that door regardless. " hand instinctively reaches out, thumb pressed against the porcelain skin of her jaw to meet her gaze directly. unlike vince, he wasn't keen on letting the girls into harms way for a quick buck. more so, he wasn't opposed to handling a client that didn't know how to keep their hands where they belonged. " you just say the word, " his glare is intense, giving her no other option but to hear him out, " and he won't ever touch you again. " he already knew the stories, from hushed whispers and directly from blake. it was no wonder that vince gave the shittiest client to the new girl — some sort of sick hazing for her to prove that she was capable. " got it? "

[cnlyfans]

“  i  said  i  don’t  do  girlfriends.  ”  and  that  was  as  much  for  her  sake  as  it  was  for  his.  he  didn’t  need  the  public  sniffing  around  in  his  business,  internet  sleuths  digging  too  deep.  and  how  exactly  would  it  benefit  her  to  go  instagram  official  with  club  owner,  knowing  how  strict  of  a  program  they  were  running  on  her  end.  “  where  in  that  did  i  ever  say  you  could  come  into  my  club  and  do  all  but  fuck  someone  else  right  in  front  of  me  ?  ”

[connotations]

" so we can be with whoever. " her voice is soft despite the directness of her words. he was more than confusing, she hadn't thought there was anything more than the two of them sleeping together. " one, i didn't fuck him. " she huffs, already at her wits end before the conversation could truly get of its feet. " two, this is my favorite club. we met here — i'm going to meet other people here too, niccolo. " the words would've sounded dismissively cruel if it weren't for her nature, how she's trying to be warm with it. she isn't a fighter, despite how she seems to end up in situations identical to this more often than not. " i won't let it happen in front of you again. " didn't mean she would cease it entirely, though.

[connotations]

" you came all this way here for me? "

[connotations]

" don't give me that look. "

[connotations]

“ i thought this is what you wanted — the whole non - exclusive thing? ”