aesthetic boards ➻ phoebe & belle ( @paintpetal )
Family isn’t always who you’re born with but who you choose to love.
Keni
$LAYYYTER
One Nice Bug Per Day
Cosimo Galluzzi
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Love Begins
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YOU ARE THE REASON
we're not kids anymore.
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@paintpetal
aesthetic boards ➻ phoebe & belle ( @paintpetal )
Family isn’t always who you’re born with but who you choose to love.
send me 🍸 for a moodboard of our muses send me 🍷 for an aesthetic of our muses send me 🍹 for a short fanfic/headcanon of our muses send me ☕️ for a mini playlist of our muses
the bell jar // sylvia plath
rosedivined / adam.
time: 9:45am location: the yellow book road availability: open to all !!
Of late, Adam had found the courage to venture for short periods of time from his home - was it courage, or was it curiosity? - simply to walk. To walk to wander; when the incessant nagging of his live-in caretakers grew too much, when he found that cobwebs had, once again, begun to form upon his stoic shoulders where they hunched over the armchair in his study, he found that walking was the temporary cure-all that he needed. A morose expression and a coat with collar turned upward dissuaded most from stopping him in his rounds; it was much easier to go out, make a lap about the square, and come back, simply to make Adam feel as if he had accomplished something, and that he could justify not speaking to anyone for another long while.
But, of late, he’d found himself stopping. Where once he’d have been content to simply walk past, Adam found himself coming to a halt at the wide front window of The Yellow Book Road, eyes pushing past his own unseemly reflection and into the shop, where faceless figures milled about, books and cups of coffee in hand and attention turned far from the watchful eyes outside the window which separated them (a particular face, he did not wish to admit he searched for). Mindless, he stood, stood, stared; never had he gone inside, for he had his own personal library to keep his mind occupied. His own collection, he figured, was likely much greater, but The Yellow Book Road was undeniably much lighter.
And so he stood, quite frozen, and watched, momentarily forgetting the desire for solitude.
Daylight soaks her skin with a warmth in which Phoebe had managed to believe had been lost among the world. A bitter cold chill took ahold of the girl within the confides of four walls. Her own personal tower, a sanctuary in which she’d never asked for. Yet, it’s her mothers voice that rings true within her most lonely of moments ---- mother knows best. So she abides. Finding herself drawn to the woman who gives her everything, who gives her nothing. Curfew around the clock, eyes peering through sought out solaces and the ever looming presence of a woman scorned. What a life she’s led. Remaining a bird within gilded cage, relentless in her desire to break free. Light footfalls carry the girl, already three hours had the morning stole from Phoebe’s grip, as bustling streets become something of whimsical daydreams. As if for the first time, gaze trails from person to person as Phoebe remains nothing if not mesmerized. Yet, wide eyes fall upon him and it’s as if time stops. For a moments clarity washes over her, sorrow fills a heart so prominent as she side steps coffee vendor if only to catch Adam in thought.
“You know, I never took you to be a window shopper.” Saccharine, her words genuine in delivery as corner of her lips twitch into warming smile. He remains an open book to her, each page more agonizing than the last and yet, it’d be foolish to leave him unread , undiscovered. In her eyes, he was free. Something Phoebe had only dreamed to be. Yet, if anything, he’d shackled himself to the shadow barren manor he’d called home. It was her nature, a curiosity that itched beneath the surface, that had drawn her to the man. Simple curiosity. Arms fold against her chest, a quick side swept glance at his features before she too takes post before the Yellow Book Road. How blissfully unaware, how ignorantly happy the patrons seemed to be. To her assumption, it mirrored the rest of Hermosa quite well. Thoughts wash away just as quick as they’d come, sunlight droplets seeping into her skin to cause nothing but optimistic radiance to pour from her tongue. “Just so you know, if you’re going for inconspicuous, you could do better. Then again, it looks like you haven’t drank coffee or had a decent nights sleep in about five years so you might want to start there.”
[text] Be careful. // [text] I just want you to be happy. And you’ll be happier without me. // [drunk text] I’m eating macaroni and cheese on a slice of pizza and autocorrect just wrote that text for me pretty much, what’s your night like
[ sms ; 6:43 am ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
Says you! That’s rich.
[ sms ; 6:44 am ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
Okay alright. I’ll call you when it’s over.
[ sms ; 11:13 pm ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
You know that’s not at all true. You keep pushing me away and I’m sick of it, Adam. You’re supposed to be one of my best friends, act like it!
[ sms ; 12:51 am ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
Drinking chocolate milk from the carton and wishing I had pizza, what the heck where was my invite?
mordecaii / mordecai
Mordecai had been tasked to check out some new flowers that they could potentially bring into the park. Although he had accepted the task with a flippant thumbs up and a ‘sure’, he genuinely did want Little River Park look as aesthetically pleasing as possible. He didn’t look the part, but Mordo did care for such little details; it was the inner artist in him, the side he hid away so well. Upon entering Gothel Florals, he did expect an array of flowers and a peppy florist to match. However, he didn’t expect said florist to be struggling. That being said, this was the second time. Mordecai had definitely seen her drop something before, albeit someone else had helped out that time.
“This definitely doesn’t look like a ‘good evening’ to me,” Mordo blanched, his fingers instinctively threading into his hair as nervous laughter escaped him. “B u t, help’s on the way.” He crossed the room with a few quick strides, though that was the easy part. What followed was due to the swiftness of which he slammed his hand upon the faucet, a mini planter just next to the sink toppled into the basin with an ungraceful crash. Mordecai pressed his lips into a flat line and stared at the shattered pottery for what seemed like a decade, his heart practically jumping to his throat. “… Is this a common occurrence for you? Because it definitely is for me.” He slowly turned to her, his palms raised in defence. “I swear I’ll pay for that.”
It happens swiftly, and yet for the life of her, Phoebe swears it happens a time too many. Whilst delicate digits were made to give tender love towards the flowers she’d surrounded herself with, little could be said about the girls gracefulness. It had become an occurrence that her mother had noticed a time or two, the clumsy way in which limbs outstretched it only to overshare her affection. Yet, lips fall flat against one another, slender shoulders shrug lightly as she brings palms up to brush the debris off of her smock. “It’s a Sunday.” Matter of factly, heart skips a beat if only for the off chance of company. A rarity within the hours she spends secluded, the corner of her lips curl as she offers Mordecai a smile. “Y’see, I knew there was something we had in common Mord.” She prods if only out of general curiosity, an inkling of jest lacing her words.
“It’s on me. Not the first, and believe me ---- it won’t be the last.” Soft sigh escaping the girl, dramatics getting the best of her as shoulders slump ever so slightly. “Just keep it between us, if my mother found out I’m sure it’d be both our necks on the line.” Nervous laughter follows suit, and as such she reminds herself that, like many things, the trouble Mother Gothel bestowed upon her if she’d found out surely wouldn’t be the last. “So what? You heard the damsel in distress and thought you’d come to her rescue or are you here on official Hermosa garden business, Dalvi?” Lengthly strides take her across the room, nimble digits plucking rose from it’s bouquet as brows arch in question.
[text] I’m thinking dinner and a movie later this week?
[ sms ; 12:30 pm ] : BELLE DESROSIERS:
Does this mean you finished War & Peace? Can we finally talk in a no spoilers free zone?!
[drunk text] You are my queen and my savior and I love you forever
[ sms ; 1:19 am ] : ASTRID HOFFERSON:
You are a modern day Joan of Arc, Astrid. Thanks for tonight, I needed some air.
[Text] Im thinking dinner and a movie later this week?
[ sms ; 3:35 pm ] : PETER PAN:
You have a date and you’re just telling me in the planning stages? I’m hurt, Pan.
Him: We finish each other’s s- Me: -ocial justice rants
[text] You’re always safe with me.
[ sms ; 5:49 pm ] : GASTON LEGUME:
Really? I was just going to carry around a frying pan just in case. But if you’re offering
TIMESTAMP : 8:13 pm / June 25th LOCATION : Gothel Florals STATUS : Open
She’s always worked better alone. Solitude suited for the girl who was stowed away with such carelessness. For, as bright as her eyes could be, there remained an emptiness that had come with years of isolation. Yet, within the chilled shop, Phoebe had always found herself at home. Among things of beauty, plants that required the love and care in which she’d so desperately yearned to bestow upon others. Cool summers eve falls, the sun soon turns into a pale moonlight and Phoebe cannot help but find herself content. Within ever cabinet and crevasse, florals bloomed and her heart began to sing a song of heavenly hymns. Tangled vines clipped and pruned, books lay askew upon counter top --- teeth graze lip with determination as the woman finds herself stretched thin. Tap overflowing as arm reaches out to stop it if only to allow other limbs to balance her freshly painted pot against granite.
Door opens, a slight breeze to follow as brows arch. Inquisitive as ever, gaze averts slightly if only to catch sight of her visitor. “Good evening !” Called out into the dimming room as footsteps echo, each step causes a stir of anticipation within her bodice. Yet, the sight in which they’d see was one Phoebe found herself in much too often. Teeth now clamped down upon the tip of her tongue as silver stained tap lies an inch out of reach. “I don’t suppose you’d consider yourself a good samaritan at all, would you?” Hollowed laughter follows, cheeks blush with slightest hue of pink as neck cranes slightly, golden flecked faze catching sight of her visitor in a plea for help.
[drunk text] You are my queen and my savior and I love you forever
[ sms ; 11:18 pm ] : BELLE DESROSIERS:
We said goodbye five minutes ago!
[ sms ; 11:18 pm ] : BELLE DESROSIERS:
I love you forever too, B.
[text] I seriously don’t know what I’d do without you.
[ sms ; 9:07 am ] : LEVI MCQUEEN:
Famous last words Mcqueen! Anytime you need me, I’m there.
[drunk text] I’m eating macaroni and cheese on a slice of pizza and autocorrect just wrote that text for me pretty much, what’s your night like
[ sms ; 10:56 pm ] : ERIC ABERNATHY:
That bad Cassanova?
[ sms ; 10:58 pm ] : ERIC ABERNATHY:
I just finished the most amazing article. All about the Ghost Orchid. 10/10 would rec to a friend
[text] When I think things are about to change … I’m always proven wrong.
[ sms ; 8:37 pm ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
Not with that attitude, Adam.
[ sms ; 8:38 pm ] : ADAM BAUDIER:
Stop by the shop, you can walk me home and we can talk.