* (UN)HOLY. @honieds - Tumblr Blog

if you were to pull the skin of me apart like a fig: you’d finally understand. i am my mother’s daughter. from poisoned seeds sprout poisonous fruit.

#𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙸𝙴𝙳𝚂 , a dependent muse blog for pulptv . as loved by ivy ( twenty6 + est + she / her )

𝚃𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙸, 𝚉𝙰𝙷𝙸𝚁𝙰 . introduction , threads , introspection .

#click introduction for her google doc :)#pulptv.intro #the way this doc is so long but i did give you sparknotes

s1syphus

fated for : @honieds ⋆ tetali , zahira .

location : a coffee shop in queens .

the hole in the wall that hawked the caffeinated equivalent of road tar was a neutral zone, marlon thought, despite its proximity to the field office. well — it was closer to neutral than the chelsea hotel's starched linens, zahira's dark hair splayed across an ivory backdrop. it was closer to neutral than the backseat of his 1991 honda accord, the left back door so rusted out that it was welded shut, his own handprint on the fogged - out glass. he'd purposely left his files in the locked drawer of his desk, hovering an ominous 20 floors in the air above them, two blocks south — but his thoughts kept returning to them nonetheless. " you going home for thanksgiving? " this, after the ten minute silence of his own creation, brown eyes glued to a similar - hued coffee ring on the laminate table surface that forcibly separates them. he rips a straw wrapper into thin ribbons, curling them around dry knuckles. saying nothing, even when he speaks.

honieds

⠀*⠀ 𝚣𝚊𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 any frontier unexplored — except, of course, when it was a frontier like this. perched in the booth like it is two seconds away from lighting on fire under her ass, she's picturesque even with her expression bordering on agony. they both know she prefers ecstasy instead; she can't fathom why they're playing this game when they're running ( as always ) on borrowed time. she picks a fry off her plate, more than content to let the discomfort fester as she plays with food she has no intention to eat. ( she hates it when anyone gets too comfortable: marlon is no exception. ) " no, " she says. one singular word yet it conveys a bucketload of disdain. her head tilts. she reaches for the straw wrapper he's curling around his knuckles, pictures his hand splayed out over her instead. ( she never thought she would miss that damn accord of his: anywhere is better than a diner in queens. )

⠀ ⠀ " can we skip the small talk? i have a meeting at —" she pauses, checking her watch. eyes return to him with predatory interest. " four. is your honda parked outside? "

#✞ › › id . o’enemy / do i terrify : 002 .#✞ › › id . o’enemy / do i terrify : interactions .#didn't proofread this #we die like men #kiss kiss <3

mandy-lane

MICHELLE PFEIFFER in Scarface (1983)

#✞ › › id . o’enemy / do i terrify : study .#the dress #the expressions...#yeah #smoking ///

bad0gs

𝗟𝗢𝘊𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕: by the pews of st thomas' church, evening. 𝗪𝗜𝘛𝘏: anyone it's an open starter baby !!

⠀#⠀ ACHING FOR GUIDANCE, prayers are few and far between. how many nights since last confession ? rosary 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 on skin and brush off the ashes of white powder off leather - bound bible, ( the pious question a mere set up to a macabre joke: there simply ain’t enough graves to count ‘em all, father. ) cigarette dangles between closed lips and brought to life by the flame of a lit candle, plucked from operatic display. legs meticulously cross over, sat by the edge of front row pew, ( low chuckle reverberates as instincts cry beneath war - torn skin. some doomed kismet this is ! ) “ y’know, it’s rude to stare. ” raven gaze still spired on the divine scene in front, smoke unfurls in tandem with their lazy smile, “ especially in the house of the lord, no less. could take your eyes . . . 𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄. ”

honieds

⠀*⠀ 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 convince a consummate sinner to enter the hallowed halls of a church once more? zahira would imagine that it went something like this: a former preacher's daughter and a rumored weapon walk into a church. only one of them walks out. she wouldn't tell helena this yet, but she reckoned that would be her. no matter what had happened in her past: zahira was always the losing dog that she bet upon. the clicking sound as her recorder is switched on is disguised by low, wailing hymnals.

⠀ zahira meets helena's eyes. she's wearing a poor imitation of a sweet smile, one leg folding over the other as she makes herself comfortable. ( it is all a guise, of course. she hasn't been comfortable in a church in years. flashbacks of religious fervour and a hand in the flaxen hair of a peer, red lips pressed to ear - whispering things she was sure she'd want to hear. )

⠀ she wonders if she'll be able to tell helena exactly what they'll want to hear. " can i bum a smoke? " she asks, almost impatient, head canting to the side. she's not sweet in her request. if helena is smoking in church, she wants to be too. " i'll say a couple of hail maries for staring at one of the best-dressed people in church. " her lips curve up into a smile. " aside from myself, of course."