- ̗̀ 𝗻𝗲𝘄 & 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲.

( one. ) I AM AN ANTHOLOGY OF FUNERAL BELLS, T O L L I N G THE TREATY OF A LIMESTONE LINEAGE OF LONGING. A LOST PROPHET SLEEPS INSIDE ME, A BEAST ( A W A I T I N G ) TO RANSACK THE GARDEN AND SCATTER THE ASHES OF SWEET PENELOPE’S YARN, AN ENDLESS THREAD OF LOVE, THE SILK WORM’S LATE SUMMER DREAM. MAYBE EVERYTHING IS AS IT SHOULD BE. YOUR HAND TEACHING MY HAND THE SACRED LANGUAGE OF WHISPERED D E S I R E S. MY NUMBNESS A SOFT DRINK, TO BE SIPPED BRIEFLY BEFORE BEING UPENDED INTO THE RIVER. ( two. ) ON COLD EVENINGS THE SKY IS A BITTER REFLECTION OF OUR GOLDEN-DAY HAUNTS. TREASURE CHESTS C R A W L I N G WITH MAGGOTS AND SYNAPSES SMEARED ON OLD CHURCH WINDOWS. YOU ARE A CHURCH WINDOW. STAINED WITH THE BLOOD OF A HUNDRED RAINBOWS, HOLY AS THE DEPARTING DAWN AND FALLEN-STAR-FRAGILE. IS IT THUNDER THAT YOU SEEK ? IS IT THE WINTER’S WARPED LIGHT THAT SLEEPS IN YOUR IVORY-SHAFT EYES ? I WANT TO KISS YOU UNDERWATER, DRENCHED IN A P E N U M B R A OF CORALS, WHERE WE ARE THE ONLY WANDERING THINGS. OUR BONES FISH-BAIT, OUR LUNGS SEA-DRUNK AND WINDED UP LIKE TINKER TOYS. YOUR KISSES CANTICLES FOR THE SEDUCTIVE DEEP, BRIMMING LIKE G O L D OR ANGRY RAIN FROM YOUR LIGHT-UP LIPS. ( three. ) SO MAYBE WE ARE NOT SHATTER RESISTANT, MAYBE BULLETS CHAFE OUR SKINS AND THE SUN WEARS A SHEEN THAT RIPS OFF OUR CHEEKS. THERE IS A PLACE SOMEWHERE BEYOND YOUR DAY DREAM DEMOLITION AND MY MIDNIGHT HEARTFAIL WHERE THE SANDS S I N G OF PYRAMIDS THAT FELL, LIKE STARVED MEN, TO THEIR DUSTY KNEES, SOMEWHERE THE MOON OPENS ITS CRYSTAL CAVE ( OF A MOUTH ! ) UP WIDE AND SWALLOWS US WHOLE AND THE WATERS ARE A FOREVER BLUE. AND PERHAPS, WE COULD SETTLE THERE. YOUR REVERENCE AN ECHO DRAWN OUT LIKE A GHOST WHOSE ALWAYS HAD TROUBLE SAYING GOODBYE, MY BODY BECOMING A SONG THAT’S ALWAYS BEEN SUNG A LITTLE OFF-KEY. OUR BONES WILL BECOME FRACTURED CONSTELLATIONS. AND WE WILL BE SACRED AS LONG AS YOU PROMISE ME THAT WE ARE STILL ALIVE, SOMEWHERE, IN THE BACK OF THE SKY’S MIND, IN THE ICE WATER WHITE THE RIVER BRINGS.

[minatcry-blog]

ROSSI, CLEO.

BROWS FURROWED IN CONFUSION, cleo gave him a shake of her head as she failed to understand where he was going with that. then again, it quickly became evident that he didn’t seem to know where he was going with it either. all cleo could do was stare at him, really. this wasn’t how she pictured seeing him again. of all the scenarios she’d created in her head, this was definitely not one of them. cleo didn’t know what to say, what to do. so all she could do was stare. it wasn’t until he shifted the focus onto her, no, them that cleo seemed to snap out of her trance of sorts. “ it’s been awhile, yeah, “ cleo replied in a soft voice, mentally cursing herself for how weak she’d sounded. shifting her gaze from him to allow her bright hues to quickly scan around the bar, they settled on him as she sat up a little straighter. “ how are you ? aside from drunk, evidently. like uh, how have you been ? “

              OF ALL THE WAYS HE’S DREAMED OF SEEING HER AGAIN, this is not one of them --- --- he always expected to run into the blonde who broke his heart whilst he was busking, husky notes ringing out until she was drawn back to him, begging him to take her back. instead, he’s painfully inebriated, awkward & unable to stop forlorn affection flooding right back ; it’s exactly the opposite of what he wanted. ( he’s tried so hard to banish her from the web of his thoughts, & it’s never worked but this, this will haunt him for months to come. ) words are so hard to conjure when he’s focused upon her visage, tongue-tied whilst he contemplates another drink. ‘ i, um, i’ve been alright. been couch-surfing, it’s, uh. great time. ’ it’s the most obvious lie he’s ever told --- -- anyone can tell that he’s nowhere near fine. ‘ how --- how’ve you been ? you look good --- i mean, um, uh, you look --- ’ ( could he dig himself any deeper ? )

[minatcry-blog]

CASTIGLIONE, AMELIA.

AS HE PULLS HER CLOSER, amelia tries to subdue her frown, but she can’t help it. she worries about lindsay even when she’s not sure she has to. she sighs softly when he says her name – it’s so much nicer in his voice than her own. “yes, baby,” she murmurs, the simplicities of english taking the place of her irish affections for a moment. her eyes roam his face as he speaks, expression almost solemn until he begins to joke. amy can never help but mirror her husband’s smile, which grows as he brushes his finger to her skin behind the sleeve of his shirt, too big on the blades of her shoulder. “oh, i know. i expect repayment.” she challenges with a raise of her eyebrow, letting the solemnity fade for now. when he brings up food again, she groans – her business keeps her behind the stove almost constantly. “ only if you’re cooking – i’m not even sure my feet will allow me to walk into the kitchen anymore this week. ” she allows herself to lean sleepily against his shoulder, lips pressing to his skin before her cheek does, though the promise of coffee downstairs beckons.

            SOMETIMES, WORDS FAIL TO EXPRESS exactly what lindsay aims to show ; there are only so many strings of vocables that he can procure & sometimes, it’s actions that work better. lingering smile still evident in the curve of bitten petals, all he can really do is entwine their digits ( his, so large against the petite shapes of hers ; his palm flush against hers, warm, reassuring ) & begin to lead her downstairs. never did he think that he would find something so simple so magical ; a cup of coffee & some toast feels like a five-star meal as long as he’s gazing at her. he has to suppress the quietest of chuckles for a moment whilst he reflects, ever so briefly, on his past --- --- he’s always wondered what his mother protected him from all those years ago. was she protecting him from himself, or from what he had the potential to become ? a lifetime ago, did she think that running away would lead her son away from his future ? when widened orbs fall upon amelia, he knows that she is his future, his present, the love of his life --- --- & he could never imagine anything but a life with her, solely with her. ‘ don’t you worry about cooking, angel. i’ve got you. ’

[minatcry-blog]

RAMOS, SOFIA.

Sophie listened as the man spoke unable to keep her chuckles to herself as he went on. Head cocked to the side, the woman nodded to encourage him to continue his train of thought. “I can’t read the menu right now without my contacts in. What does that say about me?” of course it was comparing apples and oranges, she knew that, but still she could always crack jokes. “How cliche would it be to say you’re only as old as you feel? But considering you feel old, that wouldn’t help either,” she said with a light laugh. 

               ‘ I GUESS WE’RE BOTH OLD. ’ hearty laughs seem impossible for the male to contain --- --- crows’ feet dancing at the corners of russet-grey hues, he drinks in the other’s syllables & offers a brief nod, momentarily adrift in his own postulation. ‘ no, that doesn’t quite help but i get it. it’s all relative to how y’feel about yourself, at least that’s what i’ve heard. too bad i feel like i’m a million years old some days. ’

[minatcry-blog]

GIOVANNI, VANESSA.

‘ if i look half as good as you do when i get older i don’t think i’ll have to complain. ‘ cognac orbs containing a mischievous glint, one which was rare from the often steely woman. ‘ people take everything for granted, youth, safety, the roofs over our heads. it’s just another one of those things i guess. ‘ lips curl into a frown, slender shoulders falling into a shrug. ‘ if it’s any consolation next time you go out to eat i’ll read you the menu. ‘

          ‘ YOU KNOW WHAT REALLY MAKES ME FEEL OLD ? ’ & whilst dimples punch into clean-shaven cheeks, narrowed hues still focus downwards upon his menu. ‘ nearly havin’ to have to menu read to me. i mean, jesus. ’ the sound of his laughter is muffled slightly by the way slender digits rake through dark locks, levity evident in the grin that dares to etch itself upon his mien. ‘ you’ve got a point there, y’know --- --- we take everything for granted. hell, even breathing. it’s all going to be gone one day. ’

[minatcry-blog]

ROSSI, CLEO.

WITH EVERY PASSING SECOND spent taking in his features and attempting to process that he was really sitting across from her, concern became more and more evident on cleo’s face. he most definitely was not okay. cleo knew him all too well to know that much for a fact. swallowing hard as she heard her name on his lips, something that always had a guaranteed effect on her, she shook her head slightly. a bit drunk was most definitely an understatement. noticing that something, or rather someone, else had gained his attention, she followed his gaze to the barman. “ i … i think you’ve had enough, “ cleo suggested gently as she turned back to the blonde. cleo knew it probably wasn’t her place to say such a thing, but she was far too concerned about him to care at that point. “ don’t you ? “

               HEARSTRINGS PULL IN EVERY DIRECTION as jamie tries desperately to avoid glancing in the blonde’s direction for a second longer than he has to. wounds take eons to heal upon the male’s heart, & god knows it’s torn enough as is ; lesser petal caught firmly between rows of pearly whites, it takes him a good five minutes to muster up the courage to contort towards her, to fix her with widened hues that scream a message that’s been lost in translation. ‘ enough. funny term, isn’t it ? ’ ( if he had any sense or was halfway sober, he would’ve lurched away but he’s compelled to stay rooted in his leather stool, digits tapping nervously against the bar’s surface whilst he babbles without thinking. ) ‘ i don’t think i’ve had enough. not enough at all, in fact, but that’s not the point here. the point here is --- --- i don’t think i have a point, actually. ’ god, he’s not stopping to think about what pours forth from bitten brims but when silence once again encapsulates the pair, he rolls worn flesh between his teeth, not daring to flash a smile or a grimace. ‘ i, erm. i haven’t seen you in a while, have i ? ’

[minatcry-blog]

CASTIGLIONE, AMELIA.

AMY LOVES THE WAY it feels when he takes her hand – always has. his palm dwarfs her own in a way that could swallow her hand whole, but the gentleness with which he cradles her smaller digits makes that impossible. their differing sizes have always made her feel… safe. she laughs at first at his joke but the last phrase to pass his lips stirs something in her. i only tell you the truth. her visage has grown more serious, and she draws back for a brief moment, wide blue eyes ardently searching the brown pair she’s grown accustomed to gazing at. “ you mean that? ” it’s clear she’s asking a different question. she’d never think lindsay would lie to her; she knows he wouldn’t. but she stresses over what he conceals to keep her safe and happy. is hiding the truth the same as telling a lie? she’s never been sure. the crease that has formed in her brow releases, replaced with warm crinkles around her eyes as her husband peppers her with kisses along her face. she allows her blue orbs to drift closed, letting his lips fall where they may. as he assures her that she has nothing to worry about, amelia hesitates. she has so many questions that she has always bitten back and she does again as her eyes open and she smiles gently, leaning up and catching her husband’s lips with her own once more. she allows the kiss to linger for a beat longer than usual before pulling back, slim fingers having tangled in the material of her husband’s shirt. “ good, mo chuisle. good. ”

               HE’S SO MUCH BIGGER THAN HER --- --- he could shield her entire figure, drape himself over her petite frame to protect her, keep her safe ; their differences are heartwarming, & he wouldn’t have it any other way. her question stirs something within the elder, brows arching ever so slightly as he clasps her ever closer. ( fourteen years, & he still holds her like she might shatter into millions of pieces if he presses too hard on delicate skin ; it’s a habit he’ll never think to grow out of. ) ‘ amelia castiglione --- --- ’ it rolls off of the tongue, a harmonious purr that he takes evident delight in --- --- ‘ i mean that with every atom in my body. mio caro, i have never lied to you in my entire life. wait --- actually, i think i might have lied about eating the last of your pesto last week. ’ & with a rumbling laugh, he allows any serious light to fade from brilliant orbs while he traces a roughened fingertip over the curvature of her shoulder. ‘ no more serious talk, it’s too early for this. breakfast, though, amore --- it’s never too early for breakfast. ’ there’s something invigorating, something special about the triviality of their domesticity, & he adores it. he’s never enjoyed cooking breakfast more than when widened hues are watching the shifting of his frame. 

[minatcry-blog]

ROSSI, CLEO.

CLEO FROZE IN HER SEAT upon hearing an a l l too familiar voice stutter out that it was alright for her to it, even if the way it was said was enough to make her second guess. that wasn’t the only reason she was second guessing her decision, though. everything about seeing him, being with him SCREAMED leave to spare of the pain she’d already put him through. lifting her green irises to meet his, the blonde’s features immediately softened. “ james, “ she breathed out breathlessly. of course, following her words cleo scolded herself for how ridiculous she sounded. that was her response ? the best that she could do ? swallowing hard and attempting to quickly gather her thoughts, her eyes then landed on the empty glass after he downed it. manicured brows knitting together, she gave him a slight shake of the head. “ are you okay ? “ again, not the best thing she could have game up with, but at least it was something. 

              POISON PLAYS DANGEROUS GAMES with the blonde’s bloodstream, & cobalt hues dart everywhere but her countenance. ringed digits tug briefly at tousled locks, as if a silvery, fleeting jolt of pain might relieve him of the dull ache that her presence has incited. it’s her voice, the breathless whisper of his name that nearly drives him over the edge --- --- ( james, she’d always called him james, never jamie, always james ... ) the knot that builds in his throat is almost indomitable, & choking out any kind of syllable seems like a feat unlike any other he’s ever faced. ‘ cleo. ’ the weak nod that accompanies a half-murmured vocable is barely a movement in itself, but the desperate look he shoots the barman is all too clear. ‘ fine ? i’m just .. peachy. just a bit drunk, but that’s not too unusual, is it ? ’ & whether there’s an air of mockery, something snide in his tone or whether it’s drunken misery masquerading as a comic routine, it all sounds the same as he waits, all too eager for the barman to deliver him another drink that’ll wreak havoc with his head.

[waitingforthefireflies]

[pedrospascaled]

[minatcry-blog]

so i have a whole bunch more replies to do on linds but my muse for jamie just ????? it spiked sm and all i wanna do is reblog photos of toby

[minatcry-blog]

CASTIGLIONE, AMELIA.

AMELIA COULDN’T IMAGINE a language more beautiful than italian. she had spent much of her life hearing a mix of irish and english and had even taken latin in high school, but falling in love with lindsay had also meant falling in love with his language. his names for her have always made a warmth take root deep in her chest, and now is no different. il mio amore – it makes a rosiness spread to her cheeks, dimples blooming deep. the flush of color only worsens when he kisses her forehead; she takes the opportunity to close her eyes and lean her cheek to his chest, digits of her right hand sidling up to his heart. “ am i? this man is always telling me that… I think he’s mad. ” amelia’s low laugh rumbles from her throat before she stretches to the tips of her toes, her lips pressing briefly to her husband’s. “ ah, that’s the problem, a mhuirnín. worrying about you is quite possibly my only talent. by now, it’s a hobby. ”

              PET NAMES IN THEIR RESPECTIVE TONGUES have never been peculiar ; lilting italian is his favourite way to tell amelia of his affection for her. her own irish is a resonant sound he delights in, something that has dimples digging their way into the flesh of his cheeks. the brush of her lips against his own spurs calloused fingertips to skate their way down & wind tight around her own digits, cradling her palm as if letting go will mean the certain demise of the modern world. ‘ if he’s mad for telling you the truth, then throw him in an asylum, mio dolce. i only tell you the truth. ’ he’s aware of her worry, & the most he can do to soothe it is press yet another set of soft, fleeting kisses to her temples, her nose --- --- whilst italian & irish may flow from their tongues, gentle affection is a language they’ve both become particularly fluent in. ‘ & my only talent is worrying about you. don’t we make a charming couple ? ’ ( he punctuages soft syllables with an equally subdued chuckle, lips still flush against her flesh. ) ‘ you’ve nothing to worry about, caro. as long as i’m with you, i’m king of the world. ’

[minatcry-blog]

ROSSI, CLEO.

“ CAN I SIT HERE ?? just for like, five minutes and i’ll be out of your hair, i swear,” the blonde asked quickly, not waiting for a response as she situated herself into what appeared to be a vacant seat. “ you see that slob at the bar ?? blue shirt, dark hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks ?? he can’t take the hint that i’m not interested. by hint, of course, i mean me FLAT OUT telling him that i’m not interested. anyways, he sat himself next to me and has been pestering me for the last – god only knows how long. i saw an open seat and well, you know the rest. ” cleo’s bright eyes had been fixated on the man as she explained herself before she finally adverted her gaze to see who she’d sat herself across from. 

            IT’S RARE THAT HE LETS HIMSELF drown his sorrows in cheap beer & deadly shots, but some nights just call for it ; jamie relishes in the way tequila burns an aching highway down the back of his throat & sits, hot in his gut. clear alcohol seems to exacerbate the knots in his back --- --- sleeping on lumpy couches can only offer so much comfort, & his spine screams in enmity at the idea of another night on another pull-out. he’s so entwined within his own dire thoughts that he doesn’t notice the figure sliding besides him, & he doesn’t even recognise that the figure is speaking until periwinkle hues raise from a half-empty glass. they latch onto his newfound companion & god, he’s never wished he was invisible more. familiar blonde locks & mellifluous tone are embedded deep within his memory --- --- never did he think he’d end up sitting in a seedy bar with cleo again. ‘ i --- i, uh. it’s, um. no big deal. ’ it’s all he can stutter out, breath catching on the lilt of accent whilst he downs the rest of his drink as quickly as he possibly can. ( he figures that if he stops being able to feel, then perhaps welling embarrassment that chokes him will die down in his throat. )

[minatcry-blog]

CASTIGLIONE, AMELIA.

EYEBROWS RAISE ABOVE hooded blue eyes, a light smile dancing upon her bowed lips, which almost always flick upwards in lindsay’s presence. “ well, if that’s what getting old looks like, then i must say i’m a fan… at least of how it looks on you. ” his shirt hangs loose on her frame, taken out of habit; it’s practically a morning routine after all of these years. the woman feels a crease form between her eyes as her husband continues to speak, and she finds her feet leading her forward. petite palms and worn knuckles gently press into the man’s shoulder in an attempt to relieve some of his tension. “ a little pensive this morning, hm? ” amelia hums, her thin arms wrapping around his waist from behind. her size is nothing compared to his, but it doesn’t bother her.

              ADORATION COULDN’T BE MORE EVIDENT if he tried --- --- widened, gentle smile reaches all the way to clouded hues as amelia’s petite limbs wrap round the circumference of his waist. simple contact still makes his heart skip a beat, & the comforting warmth of her frame calms his nerves infinitely. ‘ you’re too sweet to me, il mio amore. ’ his syllables are muffled slightly when he twists within her grasp & presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, digits resting gingerly upon his wife’s shoulder. ‘ just a little. --- --- you’re beautiful, do you know that ? so beautiful. ’ ( he tells her that she’s beautiful every morning ; it’s ritual now, a heartfelt murmur over their morning cups of coffee. ) ‘ don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’. just me bein’ ... old, i guess. nothing for you to worry about, angelo. ’

[minatcry-blog]

BONAVIA, RAFFAELE.

“This is exactly what getting old feels like, my friend,” The barely older male took a seat next to the man, “doesn’t get much better at fifty, I assure you.” He took a menu from the vacant seat next to him, slipping on his own readers, eyes scanning for a moment before turning back to him. “I definitely took my locks for granted, now I’ve got this,” Rafaelle ran a hand through his hair, taking some form of mental note to fix the ever growing gray tones, “They’ve got it so good, don’t they? They have no idea.” His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose just enough to look around at the youth littered around the establishment.

               THE OTHER’S PRESENCE NEVER FAILS to coax hearty, full-bodied laughter from bitten, chapped brims, & as raffaele takes his place beside lindsay, he can’t help but allow yet another set of bemused chuckles to fall forth. ‘ they’ve convinced themselves that they’ll be young forever --- --- reality’s gonna kick them one, i can tell you that much. i was like that when i was twenty ; thought my hair would be long forever, thought i’d never have shitty eyesight and arthritis in my left hand. ’ a simple wave of ringed digits conveys more than words can dare to ; however old he may feel, lindsay is holding up well for his age. ‘ at least we aren’t in wheelchairs yet, mio amico. thank god for that. ’

[minatcry-blog]

VITERI, CARMEN.

It wasn’t like she was looking for conversation, her eyes glued to the menu and one hand holding on to her coffee mug. Carmen’s concentration was broken when she heard the older gentleman next to her begin to talk. Her head tilted with interest and she wore a charming grin. “Nearly fifty, you say? I would have guessed you’d be in your early 40s. I’d say youth is doing you a last quick favor.” She brought the cup to her lips before placing it down again. “I feel you on the wrinkles, I have the beginning stages of crow’s feet, but I say people age like wine. Some come out good and some come out bad.”

             SOMETHING WITHIN THE OTHER’S VERBALISATIONS brings a mischievous glint to greyed orbs, coffee mug perched momentarily upon his lesser petal whilst he drinks in her utterances. ‘ crows’ feet are nothing, try forehead wrinkles and losin’ your eyesight. i used to just need glasses for reading, now look at me. can’t see shit without ‘em. ’ wistful, hushed laughter echoes, rumbling from somewhere deep within the cavern of the elder’s chest as he gives a gentle shake of his head. ‘ see, that’s a good theory --- --- aging like wine. god, i hope i turn out like fine wine. ’

[minatcry-blog]

VON ZIEGESAR, XANTHE.

          XANTHE HAD BEEN sat at her table for a little over half an hour, halfway into her meal. she’d dismissed her company immediately after ordering (bankers were their own special brand of boring) but stuck around for the food. hearing a voice at the table beside her, she tuned into it. the monologue was rather comical if you would ask her, reminding her of something her mother’s husband would find himself rattling on about. “you could just get laser.” eye surgery, was the official attachment to her words. but xanthe had gotten so used to using the shortened term, she didn’t stop to add anything. 

           HE HADN’T EXPECTED ANYONE TO LISTEN to his introspective spiel, in all honesty --- ---  his barely audible soliloquies have become commonplace, but it’s rare that anyone stops to interrupt them. ‘ laser is always an option. i contemplated it when i was thirty, i think ; figured i should sort that shit out before it got to be too much of a problem. joke’s on me now. ’ adjusting the frames that rest upon his countenance, dark brow arches at the other for a brief moment before the regaled curve of a half-smirk etches itself out on the male’s brims. ‘ it ain’t so bad, i just feel old. ’

[minatcry-blog]

KATIYAL, ZARA.

Zara was just being led to her table with her daughter, Maya, as part of their weekly dinners at a restaurant of her choosing when she heard the older man speak and couldn’t help but smile and stay back for a moment. She gestured for her daughter to go ahead to their table and she’d join her in a few moments. “Well, I don’t think you’re old.” She leaned her elbows on one of the chairs across from his table and shrugged. “Besides–you’ve got that whole George Clooney look going with the salt greys in your hair and that piercing gaze even with the glasses. Trust me.” Zara hadn’t engaged in many conversations with the leader of their group but the few they’d had were pleasant enough and so she didn’t really think she’d overstepped too much by stopping and engaging in conversation with him.

           ‘ GEORGE CLOONEY, HUH ? ’ he appreciates the other’s syllables, he really does ; the halcyon warmth of his grin that spreads into the crows’ feet that decorate the corners of grey hues stands testimony to it. ‘ i trust you, i trust you. whether i believe it or not is a completely different story, though. ’ there’s something surprisingly pleasant about making insignificant small talk, & there’s something comforting about such a brief exchange ( no matter how trivial ). simper still rising high upon bitten brims, dimples punch their way to the surface of weathered flesh upon a flick of glimmering hues to zara’s figure. ‘ maybe it’s just that i feel old. ain’t as young as i used to be, all that crap. ’