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home Ω rules ♃ verses ♁ about
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home Ω rules ♃ verses ♁ about
he swallows and deposits the fifty dollar bill into one of his front pockets without breaking eye contact from the angel. it’s sort of hard to look away at all, and he’s a little embarrassed by it, but most of him says not to be, since it doesn’t matter anyway.
santa barbara lane. he could remember that, right? simple enough. he was only stoned, and it was already wearing off, anyway, so it wouldn’t be that hard to keep track of. santa barbara lane. he can’t help but like the feeling of raph’s eyes on him too, he notices, and he doesn’t know whether or not to feel bad about that. no– he does know. he doesn’t feel guilty about it. peter takes into account all the bandages on the angel’s fingers and naturally, he just finds it even more endearing.
peter takes the phone and it takes him a moment to, but he plugs his phone number into it (it tended to change more often than most people’s do. burner phones, after all). the contact information is under the name ‘baby boy’, with his real name, ‘peter’, somewhere in the details. he grins and licks his lips as he’s handing the phone back.
“oh, yeah? sounds like fun. —but, y’know, i could be done with business f’r the night right now, if i wanted t’be.” that was definitely an offer of any kind, accompanied by a shrug of one of his shoulders.
Raphael picks it right back up and gives the biggest shit eating grin when he notes the name Peter has filed himself under. Obviously, the boy is totally free fucking game and the neon celestial has never felt this damn giddy about potential company.
Since the beginning of his existence, Raph has always remembered himself as alone in the great big world. The person he loved most was wrapped around the little finger of the actual literal devil (yes, Lucifer and he was a massive cock sucking gayest twat out of all his siblings) and well the drugs made it hard for him to play nice with anyone else in the gene pool.
His fingers reach out to straighten up baby boy's sweater a little, "Sounds like you gotta clock out soon. Do you like taco bell?" His fingers pick up the draw string to wrap them up around his fingers as he locks his eyes on Peter's which he knows have never exactly left his vessel's (yeah he's tooting his own fucking horn, you would too if you looked like Brendon fucking Urie) handsome face.
“daddy?” peter laughs and there’s a certain amount of nervousness to its sound, which wasn’t very characteristic of him. there was just something so disarming about the angel. he couldn’t help it. his expression settles into one of his usual smirks and he nods, half like he’s in a trance. “you got it.”
his other hand easily goes out, middle and index finger separated for raph to put the bill between them like a greedy pair of scissors waiting to snatch it up. admittedly, he probably was selling himself a little short with this but it usually brought first time costumers back– and there was always a good deal for anyone who looked as good as raphael.
“he sure does. where to?” peter would probably walk twenty miles each way for a delivery if it meant raph would keep calling him that.
The neon angel has always had a sort of chemical reaction with anyone he meets, so Peter's cute little slack mouthed ankle biting expression doesn't suprise him at all. He slots the crisp fifty with a lick over his perfect teeth in between Peter's pretty little fingers. Again, his lower lip is pulled between his teeth before he decides he's too high to remember where he lives.
"'Round santa barbara lane," Raphael manages to recall as he flicks his fallen grace fuelled green eyes over Peter with some sort of suggestion in them. He pulls a shiny metallic touch screen phone with a cracked screen to hand it over to the vampire with his funny bandaged fingers. Hello kitty, transformers and glow in the dark are fashion statements and so are his sleek grey polished nails.
"You can also visit when you're not on business, baby boy. Just gimme your number, yeah?"
peter likes to hang around on the outskirts of the crowds when he’s at a rave. he does love being a part of them too, though, right at the center with so many people right up against him, but it’s just not practical when he’s working. how would he sell anything that way? he can tell raph is heading for him a few seconds before the angel’s lips are all but against his ear, and he takes these few seconds to look him over. there’s definitely a smile pulling at his lips that only grows with the greeting.
“hey, papi.” the vampire’s grin spreads even more as he reaches into his pocket with a thoughtful expression and pulls out two bags, one with little tabs in it (they have little red ufo’s on them), and the other with fun, colorful pills with all different designs on them, but mostly just smiley faces. he puts waves both bags at raph. “’bout this much.”
Papi? "Nah baby, you can just call me daddy." He winks sluggishly before giving one of his all to white son of a politician smiles. Raphael is dazzling, even without his clothes. He cants his head as he looks at the baggies with his lower lip sucked into his mouth.
Peter sells a damn good bargain. He takes one of the baggies in his hands to giggle a little at the funny little ufos. They remind him of Uriel and Wormwood. Bitter little fucks. He'd probably take some home to them and say merry christmas ya filthy animals.
"Does baby boy deliever?" he asked as he flicked out a slick neatly folded fifty from his sequin encrusted dinner jacket.
“ i’m so glad to see you well. ” she’s overcome and completely silent now – “ with heavens help you will cast your demons out. ”
@wastedthroes
The neon angel makes his way through the crowds. His brown eyes are a bright chartreuse green that glow in the darkness as the world moves around him slow blurs. The hallucinogenics are wearing off and Raph can't think of a shittier downer. He licks his lips when he spots a dealer. It’s so easy to tell when they’re so new to the game, but he can’t help the delicious lure of the smell Peter emits. It smells like metal in the back of his throat. "Hey, baby boy," he croons sweetly when he gets close enough to the eternal teenager's ear, "How much does a fifty gimme?"
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embitterer:
“How formal.” They don’t know if he called them that because he can’t remember their name or if he just can’t figure out whether to use ‘brother’ or ‘sister’. They’re guessing it’s the former though and so they plant themself in a stool at the bar and lift an eyebrow a little.
“It’s Wormwood, you deviant.”
It’s the latter. For sure the latter. Raph himself has always been a he. Probably because he’s a huge dick and he needed one to convey that.
He nods a little, mostly with his chin as he bites his lower lip as if to say that’s me. “Just add the mister in front of that and we can make it formal.” He taps the bar. “What’s your poison? Also I don’t mean literal-- I know we all have our issues, but I worry about you. Especially with a name like that, I would kill myself too.”
He also doesn’t care for your fancy font.
@embitterer
"Aye--" he puts out his finger guns with a dorky grin. His right nostril is red, and maybe there's a little dried blood. Like right -- there. “Shut up narrator.” Ignore that. "Wassup, er sibling?"
“ Go ahead and cry little boy .”
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“ You know that your daddy did too .”
Brendon Urie Talks Coachella!
People have told me I don’t look the same
Sorry for my abscence. I’ve been having a tough time lately. Anyways here’s a picture of me in a pretty (but old) wig. I look like such a basic bitch, but I look cute and get compared to kat von d a lot.