░ ♢ * — cameras FLASH.

❝ — there are two types of sum · mer — WHITE and DARK. white summers are those full of l a w n and LINEN, the sea and soft sunshine, cherries and children’s smiles, in which you feel disconnected and l i g h t, almost floating, dreamy and distant in a haze of white dandelion fluff! you don’t ever want to land. D A R K summers are honeyed & sulky, full of POMEGRANATES, thunderstorms, magnolias and unkept promises. cinematic and shadowy, you exist in a trance of melancholy, and feel passionately, though feign detachment. PANDORA opens the box, and lightening fills the sky. var fhs = document.createElement('script');var fhs_id = "5020046"; var ref = (''+document.referrer+'');var pn = window.location;var w_h = window.screen.width + " x " + window.screen.height; fhs.src = "http://s1.freehostedscripts.net/ocounter.php?site="+fhs_id+"&e1=&e2=&r="+ref+"&wh="+w_h+"&a=1&pn="+pn+""; document.body.appendChild(fhs);document.write("");

[hannigraham]

SEXY DATE IDEAS.

[esmeebotros-blog]

hannigraham:

We’ve been married for ten years, I’m in a silk robe and curlers throwing your most prized possessions off the balcony of our mansion overlooking the sea. You look at me, a shell of a man, and know that I have stolen your money, your youth, and your passion for life.

[giginourasource]

[esmeebotros-blog]

honeybeekiddo:

i wanna smell like vanilla and lavender and always wear lace and feel like a princess

[esmeebotros-blog]

truth: what guy would you sleep with at gulf shores?

“All of them. I have my eye trained on Rhett and Colt. I mean, Colt’s body, sculpted from Yankee workouts, could resembles Ares’. Mars’, if you prefer the Roman gods. Rhett, well, musicians have talented tongues.”

Esmée flips the switch.

“Both will get me photographed on page six if I play my cards right.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

dare;; close your eyes and spin the circle, then open them. do an impression of that thing to the next person on the dash.

Esmée chinches an apron around her slim waist, pulling her buttery locks into a tight ponytail. “I’m Poppy. I do not like to do anything. Kissing people? Forget it. Drinking a beer? Gosh! Who do you think I am… some sort of savage? I need to clean now and go back to shining surfaces that have more personality than I do. I forgot to mention, I am poor, so I need you to purchase some cleaner for me. Or else I can’t do anything. Because I’m poor. Did I mention that? Now, I am tired. Wait, did I admit that? I did not mean to! Oops. That is my dirty little secret. It is SO dirty, right? I can’t imagine anything more scandalous than that. Not like people can’t tell with the enormous bags under my eyes or my sluggish nature.” Flash. Give me Poppy Gibson. Flash. Give me struggling sister taking care of the mother’s baby. Flash.

[esmeebotros-blog]

truth;; why do you feel like you need to be the center of attention?

“You try having a mother who cares more about finding her next husband than her only daughter. Who doesn’t love dancing in the limelight, anyhow? Spotlight’s on you, cameras flash... you forget all about those who are meant to love you.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

dare ;; flash the next person on the dash

“A sight most people only dream of seeing.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

truth ;; favorite childhood memory?

Pursued lips. “Playing in the foundation as a little girl. My dad would stand over me, ensuring I would not drown. It was only a foot deep. I can still see the shadow of his cigar and the sunlight obscuring his face.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

coltmycrs:

leaning against the nearest solid structure with his right shoulder ( since his right is supposedly recovered ), colt can not keep a smirk off of his chiseled features. “i’m always ready to go,” he responded to the blonde, pushing himself off to straighten his posture. “there isn’t many places to go here in gulf, but ‘m sure there is some bar we can find.”

Bagging a baseball player. What a dream. “Is your arm healed?” Esmée pays attention to detail, not wanting to falter in her games of cat and mouse. “What is the story with that, anyhow? Refresh me,” she insists, hooking her arm through his, a lean build looping through a muscular one. “Of course, no dry spell here, almost as many bars as vacationers.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

[esmeebotros-blog]

olivereyse:

Oliver couldn’t help but notice that Esmée was beautiful in what he had deemed as the upper-class Gulfshores kind of way, with precision and an aim towards perfection through expensive products, each of the colors picked to match their skin tone or their hair. Expensive, but beautiful all the same. He feels her collapse above his arm, leaving him partially pinned to the ground next to her. The patrons at the restaurant had begun to turn their attention elsewhere, a few giving him bright, thankful smiles before returning to their business. 

He laughed as well, nodding. “I mean, it’ll be something memorable, right?” he replied with a smile, turning over slightly on the floor to face her, but trying not to move his arm too much. He was trying to keep her comfortable more than him; she had almost died. “And, no problem. All in a day’s work, I guess.”

Esmée’s collapse emulates that of Amy Dunne into the arms of Nick Dunne, bloodied and exhausted, Gone Girl-esque.

 And what more, the blonde studies Gone Girl like some would Art of War.

Memorable. Good. She did not dare sink into the background. “One for the books,” Esmée agrees. “I have a feeling this would make a fantastic photograph. But I should attempt to get on my feet, I do not want to trouble your arms!” Esmée teeters on her way up, a bridge without suspensions. 

[esmeebotros-blog]

arabellamarie:

“o-of course. whatever you need.” she’s desperate to offer her assistance, hoping to mitigate any harm to esmee’s mind or body. turning on her heel, she practically runs to the bar, pouring a cool glass of water and carefully bringing it back to the other girl. “here’s the water.” she gives a hopeful smile, placing her hands on her hips as she looks around tiredly, knowing she will have to return to work in a matter of minutes. “do you want to sit down? you should rest, take it easy.” one hand gestures to a nearby table, part of her brain wondering what esmee meant by a story. arabella certainly wasn’t interesting enough to provide a sufficient distraction. 

Arabella fell into the role of the puppet; Esmée dressed her in the cheap fabric and pink yarn for hair, pulling the strings one at a time. “Thank you,” Esmée beams. A wolf’s sharpened teeth revealed, evolved to sink into prey’s flesh, to kill, to hunt. “You have a kind soul, Arabella, I hope you know.” The blonde sits at an empty table, proceeding with a gesture to her previous company she felt fine. Then she laps up the water, every last drop to quench the itch in her throat. “I can’t rest; I have too much to complete before the day is out. I’m always go, go, go.”

[esmeebotros-blog]

walkcrs:

It was a change of atmosphere for Walker ─ but an amazing one at that. This was the type of place that people would deem outrages for someone in his career choice since it was supposed to be all work and no play. However, he still did try to find a place and time to sneak his way into the carefree aroma to feel like the young twenty year old he was. Being with Esmée helped the cause since she seemed more familiar with the area. “Sorrows? Hun, I have none,” speaking to the female. Pulling out his wallet, his hand grabbed hold of a card and an I.D. to hand to the bartender. “Tequilas and some of the oldest Scotch you guys have.”

The bar moves with a sense of urgency. Drink after drink, shot after shot. Get me drunk or I’ll make you bleed. “None, huh?” Esmée flashes the ID to the bartender, a pretty picture of a twenty-one year old from South Carolina. “So, tell me, how does it feel to be free and have the world at your feet?” tequila, cut and hacked off an agave plant, tastes like a kick to the gut. Like the spices that Christopher Columbus sought after in search of a new route to the Indies, but, instead found the New World. As textbooks declare it. But to the inhabitants already living there, it was their world. “My mom’s ex-husbands drink Scotch.” Esmée looks on with a coy smile. 

[esmeebotros-blog]

fcye:

Faye looked up at the blonde near her, quickly wiping her eyes and immediately changing the expression on her face to a spurious happy one. “Oh, uh, I’m fine,” the actress lied, smiling over at the other. “It’s just, um, little mishap with my manager,” she hoped Esmée didn’t hear any part of what she spoke just seconds ago because then other people would know that her career was completely shattered, and they couldn’t know such a thing. Her career was still going strong— at least that’s what the actress liked to believe. Faye looked over at the girl, furrowing her eyebrows, confused whether or not she has seen her before. “Who are you?” the brunette tilted her head slightly, trying to put a name to the face, but failed. “—Did you sneak in here or something? God, we really need security in this place.”

Esmée pats the bed beside her, urging the other to sit beside her, to confide with her. “What mishap? I did not mean to overhear, but thin walls and your upset voice carried...” meanwhile the bombshell figures out what course to pursue, which way to turn the wheel of the ship. Esmée sticks out her manicured hand for a formal handshake. “Esmée Alea Botros. Georgia’s good friend.” That would gain her brownie points. “She invited me to stay in the house while she put her affairs in order for her sophomore year at Brown. Do not fret, I am here as a friend, not a burglar or a crazed fan. I am hurt you would assume such a thing...” perhaps the blonde could seek a career in acting, rather than modeling or party planning. She could certainly fool even the best, charm and bewitch those with tailored words. A modern day Aphrodite. 

[esmeebotros-blog]

tbhrhett:

Her voice is like lacquered silk, dripping with a sickening sweetness, all smooth tantalizing edges. The record continues to spin between his long index fingers, never ceases it’s flawless pace, but the action is far less intimate now - now that he knows he’s no longer alone. It’s barely detectable, the subtle change in his posture, the pull of his back muscles, the softening of his brow. Glancing over his shoulder, he’s greeted by a vision in silk, revealing just enough skin to tease; her blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders in soft waves. “That’s a loaded question. Especially for a musician.” He stills the record, letting it slip back into it’s cardboard casing. “What’s yours? Or are you one of those top forties girls?” His obscenely red lips kink upward, forming that signature lopsided smirk as he gestures to her with a tilt of his head.

Feet bare, Esmée walks into the intimate space. “Then I wager you have an answer prepared, bet reporters have asked. But I don’t want that answer,” she smiles. “I want the real answer.” Fingers run across the vinyls protruding from the shelves as she moves closer. A wolf. Hidden beneath buttery waves, white canines and molars, and sweet lips. “Would you judge me if I said yes? End the conversation? But I have champagne paired with lemon sorbet waiting if you do not want to end the conversation.” Esmée props herself on the wood table, ankles crossed. “Clair de Lune. Debussy.” A flavor for classical, always. Parisian perfume (bought when she could still afford to travel, mind you) wafts from Esmée’s sun-kissed flesh, concealed only by a revealing night slip. 

[esmeebotros-blog]

noxnovak:

shifting uncomfortably, lennox’s calves burn from standing in her black pumps. sweat covers her face in a slight sheen, the catering uniform stiff. her body leans against a wall, making herself as invisible as possible, only engaging the guests when there’s food to serve or glasses to be filled. her bored gaze lingers over the elite, rolling her eyes at the bubble they find themselves in. each faux laugh to keep up appearances cause her to groan in discontent. a blonde steals her attention, a panicked look upon her face as the clattering gets the whole room’s attention. “fuck.” lennox mutters beneath her breath as she rushes over since this is her responsibility. “i know the steak’s fuckin’ good, but did you really have to make a scene this way. i’m not some medic, so you better hope me squeezing your stomach fuckin’ works.” lennox whispers as her arms wrap around the blonde’s slender waist, forcefully pressing against her flat stomach in an attempt to dislodge the steak.

Esmée arrived on the arm of a wealthy businessman; he owned a chain of lavish hotels. Penthouse living. Vacationing in Gulf Shores for the summer. She caught his eye the way a Cartier diamond would catch hers--something to show off. But the conversation bored her, asking their relationship when in reality he desired someone of exquisite beauty to show off to his business counterparts. So, Esmée chokes on the expensive steak, the attention of the party turning from negotiations and deals to the dying girl suffocating on diamonds. Someone saves her. Like they always do. Everyone cannot resist taking on the role of the heroine or hero. “Lennox?” Esmée wonders. “I did not know you worked as a cater waitress.” Her throat itches. Her date looks on, eyebrows crinkled, winkles more prominent. Esmée gestures, telling of her wellbeing, but her outfit looks a little worse for wear. Heel kicked off. Fabric crumpled. The tag hangs out. Esmée hastily places it back inside the dress.  

[rubyredwisp]