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DEAR READER
Sade Olutola
PR's Tumblrdome
Keni
Three Goblin Art
hello vonnie
Stranger Things
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
occasionally subtle
Misplaced Lens Cap
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
almost home
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n
#extradirty
we're not kids anymore.
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
dirt enthusiast
Love Begins
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Vietnam
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Serbia
seen from Canada
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@jnkdrwr
🧷
a selective and mutuals only multimuse featuring various themes and concepts ( predominantly crime, romance, slice of life, western/southern, and any combination thereof ). variable activity and low pressure. nsfw and triggering content present.
loved by spud ( 28, 🌈, any pronouns )
about | aesthetic blog | pin
( roster under cut. under co. )
i need support group for people that enjoy character building and aesthetics more than actually writing
—Natasha Rao, What It Was Like
I am not immune to a slutty mustache
You can fire with your left hand too, can't you?
the next spoonful is shoved into his mouth rougher. when he can’t talk she won’t feel terribly undone. she’d be lying if she said her eyes scanned his chest innocently, but she was more concerned about infection than desire.
“don’t insult me,” she teases, “i’m just being a good host is all.”
elena’s free hand lifts, the back of it pressing against his forehead, “do you feel dizzy? sick?” too much worry and care for a wayfaring stranger. she stirs the spoon around in the soup, “what happened?” her throat constricts, doesn’t tell him for a whole day he was unconscious. that she was pacing the room, hands clasped and hope blooming like thorn in her chest.
she never pleaded for anything else other than her own life as the rope wrapped around her neck.
the beginning syllable of a response is smothered by another spoonful, retort delayed, not avoided as elena might wish, by thoughtful chewing and study.
"that what you call it?" they taunt and insult, distracting from some deeper emotion neither dares acknowledge. it's only felt in the pull that always draws him back to the boaridng house and the way she chides and cares for him in the same stroke. in the worry lines and tired eyes that betray her.
"just weak. exhausted." eyes shut with the touch. "somebody tried to collect. bounty hunters." though the answer is given with nonchalance befitting a minor inconvenience opposed to a life threatening attack, jack's face contorts with the memory of a calm evening shattered by gunshots and yelling and the sudden biting pain that floored him. he recalls desperately wanting her above all else in the moments after.
there's a hiss as he shifts, curious fingers searching out the rough cotton covering the wound. "bound to happen. don't tell me you were worried."
elena rolls her eyes, “you think i’m scared of a little decay? or whatever may come off you?” a little closer. they are playing chicken and elena is too proud to risk losing. slanting her wrist the tip of the cleaver presses into his chest. uncomfortably her eyes take a while between blinks. “honey, i’m just cleaning you off. not gonna get away that easy.”
she steps back, moves toward the counter and continues chopping. sliding the knife under the vegetables elena throws them into a cast iron pot and moves that over the fire.
“you smell,” she says as she cleans her hands and wipes them on a cloth, “i gotta new soap.” but she doesn’t mention how the shop gave her the smallest piece, “your hands better be clean ‘fore eating.”
"guess not, seeing you're keeping me around." one less layer of clothing and the blade threatening his chest might have actually hurt. shame it doesn't.
the hungry-eyed gaze that follows her back to the chopping board is broken by an exaggerated roll of the eyes and groan the moment mention of the sweaty, musty stink that follows him room to room escapes her mouth. it's never if she brings it up when he's about, only when. he doesn't get it. working men smell and that applies to him, too, despite his line of 'work' only loosely being able to be called such.
still, jack concedes without complaint and wanders a slow line towards the wash basin with it's meager hunk of soap, making a point to stop just inches away and gripe over elena's shoulder, "you smell, you're tracking mud--" a stray carrot chunk plucked off the counter and popped into his maw. "always the same with you, isn't it?"
are you obsessed with me? were you obsessed with me? will you be obsessed with me? when will you be obsessed with me?
Footloose (2011)
are you mad at me? would you like to be
normalize being an awful person who kills people and likes it. normalize being an abhorrent piece of shit who lies cheats and steals.
"I can fix her." i can worship her like a goddess as she is. i can drown in her sorrows and accept all of her pain. i can give her the devotion she deserves and make her my religion.
@jnkdrwr liked 🌹for rosa
the smell of garlic hit the air first, that dance of cilantro and cumin melding. golden, melting and dancing in the pan with butter and onion, reheating something just as good as it was from the morning. she moves about the kitchen like a practiced dance she'd spun a thousand times. ❛ you're lucky i like you. ❜ called over her shoulder, the edge in her voice softened by the way her hips swayed with the beat. though it was, she'd probably feed her own enemies if she had them. ❛ how you gonna go all day not eating, hmm ? ❜ she turned then, spatula in hand, eyes narrowing on teo like she could slap some sense into him just by looking. her tone was playful, but there was something else behind it. made her chest twist in that old familiar way, like when one of her siblings said they skipped a meal to save money. like when her dad would say he was just tired instead of admitting he was sick again. what was she worth if she couldn't fix it?
the pangs of hunger twisting in his gut had gone unnoticed until she asked about supper. when hands and mind are busied with a new project little else matters until the puzzle is solved or sufficient progress is made. and, in this instance, neither boxes had been checked.
the challenge has followed him into rosa's kitchen, a far away stare fixed on battered knuckles as his mind pours over the inner workings of a car with an intermittent rough idle conjured in crisp detail, considering every suspect already crossed off the list and those yet to be investigated.
spices and aromatics reminiscent of home cut through the fog and draw attention back to her words, to the alluring motion of her hips, then the pointed stare that has him looking away like a child caught reaching for the cookie jar. hands slip from the table onto stained denim pants. rough palms nervously rub against the fabric as he gives a shrug and embarrassed smile, gaze cast downwards.
"i dunno, i get busy sometimes. it happens." an answer not likely to quell the caretaker in rosa. "--what're you making?"
Ben Mendelsohn on Starred Up (2013):
And I say that with pride. [The shoot] sucked. It was cold, it was dreary, it was brittle, it was really not pleasant, but thank God for that. It made me angry. It made it very easy to be angry.
" what business is it of yours where i'm from? " / @jnkdrwr
isadora side-steps, corralling five or so emptied glasses to set inside of the sink and rinse after she's fished out napkins and stirring straws to dispose of. hands are dipped in hot, soapy water, and then set to dry with the dish rag that's always somewhere on her person; this time slung over her left shoulder. isa rolls her shoulders into an uneven shrug, pinching the inside of her cheek with her teeth.
" WELL, it's either you tell me where you're from, or i play the guessing game and make up a backstory for you. " eventually, she finds herself front and center of the patron, a stretch of alcohol-suffused wood dividing the two. " and it won't be nice, " she adds teasingly.
a television is watched with distant interest while the barkeep tidies in his peripheral, elbows planted on the counter top and plucked cherry stem idly rolled between finger tips until it's dropped suddenly against the lacquered surface, abandoned for a sweating rocks glass that leaves a wet ring in its absence and something far more enticing.
jack offers a tight-lipped, wry smile around a slug of old fashioned, straightens on his stool in anticipation, then swallows. she has his undivided attention.
"--couldn't be any worse than the truth," he shoots back. "go on, guess. you've got me curious now."
Interstate 5, Northern California (2009).
