the answer's in the attempt.

I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.

[proeliums-blog1]

crackedsky‌ → daisy mae langlois.

   it’s   her   second   day   of   trying   to   be   independent.   she’s   said   to   herself   over   and   over   again   that   yes,   she’s   scared,   but   that’s   okay.   she   can   trust   herself   to   stay   on   track   and   beat   keller’s   brains   in   if   he   ever   tries   anything.   she   doesn’t   need   jack,   the   same   way   he   doesn’t   need   her.   it’s   okay   to   be   alone   at   night   —   no,   actually,   it’s   GOOD   to   be   alone   at   night.   builds   character   or   something   like   that.   it’s   something   new   that   stems   from   the   feeling   that   he   hates  her.   it’s   pushing   him   away   before   he   gets   a   chance   to   leave   her,   a   defense   mechanism   that   her   therapist   believes   they   squashed.   she   doesn’t   reply   to   jack’s   texts   as   often,   he’s   limited   to   one   funny   selfie   per   day,   two   memes   at   most,   and   absolutely   no   linking   to   videos   or   things   that   remind   her   of   him.   it   feels   like   a   slow   breakup,   she’s   weaning   off   her   addiction   to…   him.   and   it   feels   good   the   first   day.   not   so   great   the   second.   she’s   halfway   through   the   second   day   when   she   receives   the   notification.   keller   has   remarkable   timing,   if   nothing   else.   it’s   a   crack   in   her   resolution   and   one   that’s   hard   to   ignore.   a   threat   should   lose   weight   when   it’s   made   for   everyone   but   it’s   harder   to   ignore   when   a   suffering   girl   is   front   and   center   in   the   tape.   she   does   what   she’s   does   best   and   lets   herself   down.   she   caves   and   texts   jack   that   she   needs   to   talk,   face   to   face.   maybe   it’s   a   little   melodramatic,   having   a   girl   dead   and   making   it   all   about   her   feelings,   but   she   needs   someone.   no,   not   someone.   she   needs   jack.   she   passes   the   time   by   writing   out   some   of   things   she   wants   to   say,   although   she   knows   she   won’t   have   the   courage   to   say   any   of   it.   (   it   feels   good   to   pretend,   though.   )   when   she   hears   a   knock   on   the   door,   she   crumples   up   the   paper,   tossing   it.   peeking   through,   she   makes   sure   it’s   jack   before   opening   it   for   him.   ❝   hi.   ❞   it   feels   different   and   she   can’t   explain   why,   but   she   has   a   knot   in   her   stomach   when   she   thinks   about   asking   him   if   he   feels   it   too.   (   he   probably   doesn’t.   lots   of   feelings   were   just   in   her   head.   )

closed for: @proeliums​

          he doesn’t watch the video. he closes his laptop as soon as it starts to play and hasn’t returned to it since. the thought of the unseen lingers with him throughout the day, from walking to work to his lunch break to walking home. after all, the imagination fosters worse nightmares than reality and he wonders whether he should watch it, just to know. when he returns home, the closed laptop sitting upon the kitchen table beckons him closer and the internal debate as to whether to watch it commences. pacing the floor and lost in thought as water from the faucet overflows from the brim of glass. he measures pros and cons and with a trepidation that’s uncharacteristic from the boy who often fronts with an air of humble confidence, he decides that he’s going to watch it. he even figures that maybe it’s not even a choice. that the video’s embedded itself into his browser unable to be closed until he’s bared witness to it’s entirety. just as he’s about to open his laptop, his phone vibrates, intercepting both his thoughts and actions. she’s enough to change his mind, she enough to forget about his conundrum completely. without a second thought he’s out his own door and at hers. by the look on her face, he knows without a shadow of doubt that she’s seen the video. he almost wishes he had seen it, so he could sympathize, so he could be a better comfort. instead, he’s left almost gawking at her expression, paralyzed in the fear that he won’t be able to help her through it having not seen it. ‘   hey.   ’ he utters softly, the edges of his lips quirking just a touch. ‘   i didn’t bring anything.   ’ he says and the half-smile settles into a frown. usually he’s armed with treats, chips or candy or leftover baked goods that emma’s made. ‘   um.   ’ he unconsciously gulps, acknowledges his own nervousness, then continues. ‘   are you okay ?   ’ the question’s general, but what else could be on the mind of jericho’s citizens at a time like this ? he leaves out that he hasn’t seen it. he wonders if she’d think he was a coward if she knew. he hopes not, because he likes the way she looks at him now. the way she admires him. the way she thinks that he’s lovely, even if he’s not really.

[proeliums-blog1]

mementoviverc‌ → marika lowell.

as she hoists a spoonful of ben & jerry’s from her full pint of ice cream,     her eyes give jack a gleesome look.     ❝    since we have our ice cream now,     this means it’s time for you to spill it.     how was your week?     tell me all about it.     all the details. ❞    a control freak like her couldn’t miss a single detail from her best friend’s life after all.     jack is one of those rare people who gets to see mari in her tranquil state.     it is actually his companion what enables her to be less hectic around him.     —-     she needed that,     finding some solace at a friend’s door.     she needed that even more after the john keller tragedy.     like a ship aground on mud,     she is almost motionless on her couch with her ice cream,     only focusing on what her best buddy will tell about his week.     no dead bodies or adolescent souls to worry about.     just some casual time with a friend she loves very much. 

closed for    /       @proeliums

       he’s more of a sorbet guy indicated by the bowl that sits precariously on knees pulled close to his chest, but there’s no mistaking the look of envy upon looking at the ben and jerry’s tub. ‘   spoon incoming.   ’ he warns, steadying his own bowl as his spoon makes a dive for her ice cream. he just wants a little taste, that’s all. ‘   well, let’s see ...   ’ and a pure look of pensive contemplation crosses his features as he tries her ice cream. it’s heavenly - and now his sorbet doesn’t seem half as appetizing. damn it. ‘   oh you know, the usual. breaking hearts. taking names.   ’ he shrugs coolly, which when he does it, looks like a bad impersonation of danny zuko. he could have the hair if he styled it, but he’s never looked quite right in a leather jacket. ‘   i’m trying to plan a board game party night thing. but turns out i’m a terrible planner. you wanna help me plan a party ? by that i mean, you plan it and i offer all the moral support and take all the credit.   ’         

[proeliums-blog1]

softreigns‌ → emma phillips.

She wants to believe in the goodness of people. In the inherent light of humanity, that there’s good, strong, BRAVE people in this world, with kind hearts and pure motives. And when she looks at Jack, there’s just a bit of that hope that increases. He’s good, and she knows it, and he’s good for her — the type of friendship where one understands the other, and back around the other way again. Where there’s nothing but kindness and support and all the good things that are supposed to be associated with love and kinship. And now, as she hears words of comfort — coming from him, it might be the first time she believes them. And that’s why arms are snaked around his neck best they can be on the floor, face buried in his chest, in the tightest embrace she can muster. It’s strange, slightly, to hear remnants of the past, like some alternate universe where they could have been. And it makes her want to cry, because worlds you haven’t stepped foot in seem so much more perfect and magical than the ones you know. “ You’re a really good friend, Jack. ” It’s then she realises she is crying, and she isn’t even halfway embarrassed that she’s getting tear stains on his shirt, or that he can most certainly hear her sniffling. Maybe that’s the good part of friendship to. “ What did I do to deserve all that? ” All that: she isn’t quite certain if it refers to his words, caring and gentle and exactly what she needed to hear, or the content of them: being loved or cared for at all. 

        his eyes close, keeping his own tears at bay even if they’re nothing to be ashamed of. they’ve always been good at this, wallowing - but he likes to think there’s a sort of catharsis in the bond they share. that they leave maybe not stronger, but cleaner. each day a fresh slate for them to muddy with their emotions and when it all gets to be a bit too much they use each other as a release. ‘   you are too, emma.   ’ he murmurs, fingers lazily combing through her dark curls. he listens to his own breath and listens to hers but the silence is far from solemn. even with the sniffles and sentiments that mourn the loss of lighthearted levity that they usually carry. it’s one of the hardest things in the world, to reflect, and to regret. he tries not to grieve the time he can’t get back but his hands always seem to grip onto what’s no longer there. to his dismay, he’ll only feel the end of his fingertips against his own palm. it’s doesn’t mean he’s not grateful for all that he has, and it doesn’t mean he’s not grateful for her. ‘   you were just yourself.   ’  the words are casually spoken but laced in an honesty he couldn’t forge if he tried. ‘   i can’t imagine not being friends with you. i really can’t.   ’ although at face value it could only sound like exaggeration, they’re too similar to not understand that his words are conveyed with a conviction that shows no cause for disbelief. he supposes it’s what they’ve always been good at, holding on too hard - and he hopes there’ll never be a reason for him to have to wonder if he should be letting go. 

[proeliums-blog1]

deardonia‌ → donia lambe.

the winter streets felt excruciatingly bare under the afternoon sun. the cold was the easiest culprit, but she figured there was more to it than that. there were plenty of people who lived in town, but she was certain many people didn’t anymore. and she couldn’t judge, could she? if she had the money and the opportunity, she would flee too or at least she insisted she’d leave the only home she’d ever known. nevertheless, the hustle and bustle of the growing town had shrunk considerably, although it made it much easier to slip into the thrift shop. yet, she appeared to stand at attention when she noticed another figure’s interest in the colorful storefront. her frozen fingers clung to the door, holding it by her fingertips and the toe of her shoe. her hair was flopped in her vision by the wind. her face was still lit with a smile though, her eyes pinching closed in a warmth that rivaled the chilly breeze, so that she might hold the door for them whether or not their intentions had been to go into the store. it was certainly difficult to deny her kindness now. “ it’s a b-bit too cold to be outside for long, huh? ” donia chirped as spring days sparkled in her eyes. despite not being loud or extroverted, doni liked her fair share of small talk especially when she was in a good mood. a pay check, however meager, tended to send the grumpiest of folks off with a spring in their step. “ you know, i-i think i heard that they’re trying to sell this place – ”

      he’s bundled from head to toe in knits galore and really, it’s not that cold, but he does adore the feeling of being cozy. he shuffles in after her, a thanks marred under a thick scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. the bell attached to the door dings, and he’s always found that so quaint and lovely. at her words, he nods his head in agreement, gloved hands tugging down at the scarf that had previously been covering his mouth. ‘   winter is here, that’s for sure.   ’ a shiver runs through him, but luckily, the store is warm. ‘   doesn’t help that i always seem to be cold.   ‘ he shakes his head, a polite laugh slipping from grinning lips. 

      he’s not here for any particular reason, really he’s not in need of any new clothes but he likes browsing the racks in hopes of finding a piece that he’ll totally fall in love with. it’s happened twice here, a pair of perfectly fitted jeans and a jean jacket that always makes an appearance during spring and fall. don’t worry, he doesn’t pair them together. he likes to think he’s savvy enough in fashion to know the general do’s and don’ts. ‘   oh yeah ?    ’ he inquires, although a slight pout forms on his lips. he supposes it’s better than going out of business, but it’s still a shame. he hasn’t lived here long, comparatively, but it’s hard to keep things afloat in a town like jericho, years, even legacies are void in favour of well, the throes of capitalism.      

[proeliums-blog1]

gidcarlisle‌ → gideon carlisle.

     gideon smiles at his old friend. if there’s anything that would win jack over, it was sentimentality. of course he’s happy to run into an old friend, that was a perfectly normal response. placing a hand on jack’s shoulder, gideon gives him a squeeze, half-smile pushing up his lip. “shit, man, i’m so happy to see you.” that was about as tender as gideon could muster, but he figured it’d be passable. “four years,” he whistles. “well, i finally had to settle down and i thought jericho seemed small enough, safe enough. guess i was… a little wrong.” 

      he can't keep the sappy smile off his lips, practically beaming at the other as thoughts of adolescence come rushing back. when time seemed infinite, when his couch was the closest thing to a second home he'd come to since he'd lost his first. '   four years. hate to break it to you gid, but we're old.   ' he reveals, a short burst of laughter falling from his smile. '   you have any plans for the rest of the day ? we kinda have a lot to catch up on. if you, like, wanted obviously.   ' because it's only then he realizes they're grocery shopping for their own, respective lives. that in spite of a past that draws them together, their lives are completely and thoroughly their own. ‘   the town’s safe !   ’ he interjects, a touch too emphatically. as though he’s scared that the other might leave if not properly convinced.

[proeliums-blog1]

softreigns‌ → emma phillips.

She’s back down on the floor now, the sudden movement and revelation was fleeting — as they always are. Still shoulder to shoulder with him, she ruminates in the sort of sad silence that so rarely gets to be this comfortable. There’s no tears and no comfort for them, only the particular flavor of loneliness they both share. Him less so now, she thinks, and as if a part of her has been ripped away by loss of solidarity: two lonely people is something to joke about, some sort of self-deprecation at the tips of tongues. But one is just sad, pathetic, the sort of person you feel sorry for. She thinks about that a lot — if people really like her, or if it’s all just sympathy. She wants  to tell him she doesn’t know the answer to his question, laugh it off and go back to cards, volunteer to pop open a bottle of wine because it’s a Friday and where do they have to be anyway? But instead, truth seems to rear its ugly head as she speaks. “ I guess, ” She doesn’t guess, she knows. But knowing your faults makes them seem much more permanent. “ I guess I just never know when things are over. ” The truth hurts, Emma knows this, but now it feels like the truth kills. “ I think that if I wait long enough … people will take me back. Or … come back. Or care. Or love me in the first place. ” She can feel her throat tighten, and it’s almost reflex when she reaches for his hand, the warmth of interlocked fingers bringing at least some comfort. “ And so I just wait, and wait, and wait … ” Her whole life has just been waiting. And waiting, and waiting and — she falls back into silence, the moment of the final, grand release of feelings falling back to the ground, no longer suspended in air as the moment continues. She swears she can hear them fall as she prompts a FINISH to the sentence. Her hand squeezes his.  “ I’m … ? ”

        she feels the weight of her words heavy on his chest, almost suffocating. it hurts to know that she hurts and he feels immediately guilty for even making her say it. though they hold a truthfulness that cuts at him like the cerated edge of a knife. when he was young, he was taught that there was no bounds to how much people could love one another. he saw it in the love between his mother and father, and their love for him. once upon a time he saw it in the eyes of his ex too. it made him believe that apathy was cruel and inhumane. though in the years that loneliness had staked it’s claim in his fragile heart, a realization had been made. knowing when to let go was a practice in knowing how to stop caring. he doesn’t believe it comes naturally, it’s something that has to be worked at, constantly and consistently. people aren’t as forgettable as they’d like them to be, people have a way of taking even when they’re not here. ‘   it’s hard to know.   ’ he says softly. ‘   even when all the signs are there.   ’ no one wants to give it up, no one wants to have to practice indifference. his thumb runs circles against her hand. ‘   i’m sorry.   ’ it’s hushed, but it’s the only consolation he ever feels is truly apt for the loss of someone in life, whatever form that takes. ‘   you’re ...   ’ he thinks real hard on it, it has to be perfect. she deserves perfect. ‘   you were one of the first people i met here. and you were kind. so kind. my girlfriend had just broken up with me and then you were right there like some sort of angel, and ... well i was gonna ask you out. then you told me about mickey and even when you didn’t have mickey, you still did you know ? but i’m glad i never did, because i didn’t realize how much i needed a friend back then. i suppose the point is, well the point is that i don’t know how people don’t just fall in love with you right then and there ‘cos i sure as hell did.   ’

[proeliums-blog1]

im tryna get my life 2gether so as much as i’d like to finish my two replies, two starters and get to the ones in the tag .. we [ plane emoji ] early nights, but i shld be around tmrw night to get to them hopefully !

[proeliums-blog1]

softreigns‌ → emma phillips.

She doesn’t even sit up to check the cards accusingly, or to nervously reach for another fistful of popcorn. She just stays flopped downwards, on her pile of pillows, sulking. There’s no revelation of how loved she’ll one day be, only the ill-fitting costume of impatience. It doesn’t suit her, not with bright smiles and the kind of joy that seems genuine to cynics that call sunshine itself fraudulent. There’s only loneliness, even in memories of love and in the direct face of friendship. And she only stares at the ceiling, blinded by light bulbs she’d insisted on making eco-friendly, and noticing the crack that always gives them trouble on the rare days it rains. She thinks that, in a way, she’s like that. Unnoticed, never causing problems, until some sort of storm happens: and then all she seems to do is wreck havoc, and ruin perfectly good things. “ You have to say that, ” She’s whining, but she believes it — that it’s all merely to make her feel better. “ But I mean, come on. Look at my track record, ” She sits up, abruptly, eyes meeting his, and she doesn’t look accusatory. She just looks sad. “ I mean — literally everything that happened with my family, with my parents. Everything that happened with Mickey, and how much of a disaster I was during all of it. With how Joel treated me, and that was one freaking night. ” Defeat and frustration edge any semblance of confidence out of her voice. “ I am a disaster, garbage fire of a person and, ” She tosses her cards down, suddenly becoming very interested in the floor. “ I can’t even play blackjack. ”

       he crawls over towards her and lies down, shoulders touching, his hand seeking hers. game night might be over, but they have a tendency to let the evenings drag until sleep settles upon their lids and there’s nothing left to say. fingers interlocking with hers, he raises their arms and paints imaginary drawings into the air. it’s playful, even if they’re sad, because her sadness is his. he wears it with grace because admittedly, and a touch guiltily, his life’s offered a glimmer of light in that respect. sex that didn’t leave him feeling entirely vacant, sex that made him feel whole. even if he hasn’t seen her since. maybe some things were meant to be fleeting, and he’s close - to finding the liberation within that. he rolls onto his side, freeing her hand as he does so. he desperately searches for her flaws, tries to put himself in the shoes of the assholes and the jerks but there’s nothing to find. it’s easy to confuse love with being in love, and he knows he loves her but he thinks that a splinter’s worth of him will always be in love with her. it doesn’t worry him, it just is. ‘   why’d you stay with mickey ? after you guys broke up ?   ’  he questions gently, he doesn’t mean to pry but it’s always been a question on his mind. ‘   it just seems like it would be torture.   ’ lovers never fall completely out of love. or maybe they do, and that’s what he could never grapple with. ‘   you’re not a garbage fire of a person. even if you lose a blackjack. you’re ...   ’ he searches for a word she’ll believe. he can’t find it, fundamentally helpless. 

[proeliums-blog1]

crackedsky‌ → daisy mae langlois.

   ❝   yeah,   yeah.   self-control   and   whatever.   ❞   it   comes   off   as   bitter,   but   she   tries   to   make   up   for   it   by   softly   swinging   his   hand.   too   dependent.   that’s   what   her   therapist   said,   her   exes,   her   parents.   she   needs   to   stand   up   on   her   own   —   and   she   thinks   she’s   done   a   pretty   kickass   job   at   it   recently.   but   she   doesn’t   want   to   do   everything   alone.   ❝   let’s   go   to   the   bed.   ❞   she’s   worried   she’s   upset   him,   that   the   thoughts   of   her   being   pathetic   are   back.   she’s   up   before   he   can   protest,   pulling   on   his   arm   to   get   him   up   as   well.   ❝   i’m   just   lucky   to   have   a   friend   like   you.   ❞   it’s   what   he   wants   to   hear,   she’s   certain.

        brows crease just a touch, it’s barely noticeable under the average eye but brown hues as keen as hers well ... he wants to make her feel okay. to feel adequate because she’s that and more and he can’t comprehend why she can’t see that. ‘   i admire you daisy mae.   ’ it’s a reflection of her own words, but they still ring true whoever they’re being said to. she takes his hand and a reluctant groan is let loose, he wants to pull her back. he could and she’d fall right atop of him, and ... he stands. ‘ ... yeah. i’m lucky to have a friend like you too.   ’ another mirror image, strained and uncertain. she said she’d tell him if he were making a mistake.  

[proeliums-blog1]

mimidunne‌ → mimi dunne.

     mimi lays back on his mattress– refusing to call it a proper bed– and helps guide jack’s pants off. there’s a certain level of grace absent in real life; sex is never as it is depicted in the movies: fluid, sensual, even artistic. real sex, even good sex, has a level of awkwardness that only makes it better. she feels this as jack guides her. she watches him closely, smiling when he’s finally here. their lips connect and mimi sucks on his bottom lip before letting go. hands wandering across jack’s bare skin, mimi pulls his body against his own. “come on, jack,” she half-moans into his ear. she decides: this is the closest she’ll get to begging.

       his eyes flutter shut and a low moan can be heard elicited against her lips from the way hers tugs on his. there’s an inescapable vulnerability to the contact of naked bodies, the way her breasts feel against the weight of his chest, parted legs on either side of him. ‘   i like the way you say my name.   ’ unsurprisingly, the utterance oozes with sentimentality. one hand lazily plays with blonde tresses splayed across his pillow, the other mapping a trail down exposed skin. a finger traces over her clit, his touch light until, with bearings gained, circular motions are made - another finger dipping slowly into her, painstakingly so. the weight of years untouched and un-touching that leave him tenderly aware. 

[proeliums-blog1]

softreigns‌ → emma phillips.

He is just saying that. She can FEEL it — even if it isn’t true. Inadequacy seemed to be a pattern, a rhythm she’d found herself stuck repeating again and again and again. At this point, she’d date a ROCK just to have the sense of security that comes with not being alone. The sense of ‘maybe there’s nothing wrong with me after all.’ But of course, her prospects always seem to be emptying themselves further. “ Just friends somehow is further than I’ve gotten since the calendar said twenty-seventeen. You know that saying, about how if something goes wrong in relationships or friendships or chatting politely with coworkers you have to look for the common thread in all of them? And it’s always WHOEVER you’re talking about. I’m that thread! ” Cards are flipped without warning, and when he follows suit and she counts a number higher than hers, she DEFLATES even further — electing to FLOP back onto the pillows behind her with a heavy sigh, curls flying everywhere and face buried in decorative cushions. “ Can I get a SYMPATHY recount? ” A mumble sounds out. 

        he listens intently because it sounds like she’s about to reveal something that’s cause for revelation, because sayings have that effect on him. however, he tilts his head in confusion because he’s never heard of that which only leads him to believe that what she’s saying might, for the lack of a better phrase, utter bullshit. ‘   okay, first of all. i’ve never heard that. and i spend too much of my time under the relationship quotes section of goodreads so ...   ’ the lightheartedness of it all simmers, even though he’s well aware that what she’s feeling is anything but. it’s hard being single, and everyone says that it shouldn’t be but that’s simply not true. being alone isn’t a gauge of self-love or independence, it’s just lonely. ‘   one day you’re gonna remember this conversation. before you walk down the aisle or when you’re grandkids are sitting on your lap. i promise.   ’ it’s not much, he can’t predict the future but he wants it, and wills it so and that should count for something.  a grin forms. ‘   are you telling me you don’t trust my mental math ? smart girl.   ’ he’s pretty sure he’s got it right this time, but he looks over the cards anyways. ‘   got you beat by two.   ’       

[proeliums-blog1]

gidcarlisle‌ → gideon carlisle.

      seeing jack in front of him is jarring, to say the least. the two used to be inseparable. jack even stayed on gideon’s couch for a while– it was the first time he can remember not feeling alone in his house. of course, a lot had changed since then; they both sort of fell out of touch in college. the last gideonheard,jack was living with his girlfriend. he wonders if he should ask, but decides to feel it out. gideon embraces his friend, patting him on the back as they pull apart. he sees the moisture in jack’s eyes and grins, lightly punching him in the arm. “fuck, what did you think, i was dead or something?” he teases. “seriously, what are you doing here?” 

        ‘   no ! i’m just ... surprised is all.   ’ he wants to say happy, that him being here is this nostalgic, sentimental happiness that he can’t quite reconcile with but ... see gideon doesn’t scare easily but he doesn’t want to be overbearing. lips part as if to say something, but he has to take a moment. the question is simple, it doesn’t ask for anything more than he’s willing to give and yet he feels like he owes gideon something better than surface-level. maybe the truth would be a start, but it’s marred with stuff he’d rather not have to speak about. ‘   uh, i mean, i live here. coming up on four years now. your turn.   ’    

[proeliums-blog1]

softreigns‌ → emma phillips.

Another card is flipped down onto his stack, and as the number surely climbs higher, she regrets not hitting her own. Though knowing her luck, she’d BUST. “ I think you guys’d be cute together. You’re a catch! She seems like one too. BOOM! Match made in heaven. ” At the mention of her own love life, she wants to slam her head onto the floor, or maybe throw the hot coffee on her face. At least then she’d have an excuse to cry at the thought. “ NOT WELL, as usual. They might as well put a badge that says SINGLE DATE CHAMPION! On my profile, because no one ever wants to see me twice. The other night, someone hooked up with his ex while I was there. I’m a failure. ”

      a card is once more, less than secretly looked at and he presses his lips together in order to stifle what would be a very big smile. once he feels as though he can speak without producing a super obvious tell he says, ‘   i think i’m gonna stand.   ’ and it’s the most he can get out without revealing what he’s sure is a winning hand. ‘   you wanna show your hand first or should we do it at the same time ?   ’ he’s speaking with little worry, confident that he’s in possession of a hand that’ll grant him glory, a month free of washing laundry and most importantly, free of cat duty. ‘   hate to sound like a cliche but we’re just friends, and even if we weren’t, i’m trying not to be so,   ’ he gestures his hands haphazardly, ‘   about it.   ’ upon the mention of her own tribulations he shakes his head. ‘   assholes. you’re the best person i know. and i’m not just saying that.   ’

[proeliums-blog1]

mimidunne‌ → mimi dunne.

      lips pushed sideways in a smirk, mimi presses her lips forcefully against his once again. nimble fingers begin the arduous job of unbuttoning his shirt as her kiss moves to his neck. she shifts, allowing him to tug her shirt off. mimi had never gone through a phase of being ashamed of her body– on the contrary, she’d always loved being looked at. “better hurry. i’m getting impatient,” she whispers into his neck, pressing her tongue against his skin. pulling away from jack’s embrace, mimi glances over to the bed; a chance for jack to look at her almost naked body while she maps out her next move. pausing momentarily, mimi realizes his bed is directly on the ground. she laughs, closing the distance between them and pushing him towards the mattress. their closeness permits mimi to rub against him, gently pressing her thigh in between his legs with an innocent look. 

        lapse of motions are interspersed between hands that are determined if nothing else, but he catches her gaze under the light that peers through an open window and he’s nothing less than awestruck. then the ache returns, hands frantic if not enthusiastic as he finishes the buttons on his shirt and lets it slip from his shoulders. the smirk isn’t becoming on him but it happens anyways, what else can he do in the face of, well, her ? he moves closer, all he ever wants to be closer, and the only thing that separates them are his fingers unclasping the button of his jeans and his thumbs hooking under both her jeans and underwear because well, he’s not sure how long he can last on admiration alone. with a kiss, he guides her downwards towards the bed, knees bent as he works on shuffling down his own jeans. it’s an awkward maneuver, and god, he really needs to get a bed frame.

[proeliums-blog1]

ofshirazis‌ → carmen shirazi.

Placing Marisol into her playpen, Carmen walks back into the kitchen and opens up the fridge. She can’t remember the last time she made cookies and she was excited about it too. “Do you have a preference?” She smiles, flashing Jack a quick smile. Though Carmen knows more than one type of cookie is being made. “Also, you don’t have an almond allergy or anything do you?” She scrunches her nose, pulling the ingredients out and placing them on the kitchen counter. “Because almond cookies with buttercream frosting is really good.” Truthfully though, Carmen is just a sugar fiend and will eat anything as long as there is sugar in it. “Want something to drink?” / @proeliums​

        ‘   not allergic to anything !   ’ he calls out, waving a little goodbye to marisol as he goes to accompany carmen in the kitchen.  his eyes trail over the ingredients, he’s never been a good baker but he’s always enjoyed the process. hopefully with carmen here, neither of them will be distracted to the point of forgetting to add eggs. his mind flits to a memory of not so long ago where he did that just, to the result of a cookie that could barely hold it’s shape and was awfully dry. ‘   those sound amazing. it’s time chocolate chip takes a seat.   ’ he heads to the fridge, he figures the least he can do is get the drinks as he assumes that she’s going to be taking the lead on the baked goods. ‘  yeah, i’ll get them. what do you want ? i for one, will be stealing the chocolate milk and taking a trip down memory lane. it’s crazy i haven’t had chocolate milk since i was a kid.   ’

[nectar-traps]

[proeliums-blog1]

Yᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴜʀɪᴇᴅ ᴄʜɪʟᴅɪsʜ ǫᴜᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇs Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ, ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ I ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ǫᴜᴀʟɪᴛɪᴇs Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ, ғʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ                 Iᴛ's ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ʀᴜɪɴ                 Yᴏᴜʀ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ's ᴀ ʟɪᴀʀ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴍʏ ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ's ʟʏɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ                 Iɴ ᴀ ʜᴏʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ                                                                     ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜᴜʀᴛ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴍᴇ                                                                     Fʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ.

[proeliums-blog1]

gidcarlisle‌ → gideon carlisle.

– @proeliums

     the grocery store he’s in is playing an obnoxious tune– upbeat, high-pitched voice, pop shit. everything gideon hates in music. he tries to tune it out, but ends up walking around with a pissed-off face. trying to get out of there as fast as he can, gideon ends up throwing several random items in his cart. he’ll figure out something he can make from it all. a familiar face breaks his concentration. he sees a man a few aisles down who looks just like the aged-up version of his childhood friend. approaching him, gideon peered into his eyes. “no way…  jack detler?” 

        he can spend hours in a grocery store, the lack of a grocery list often elongating the time. every decision is one of utmost importance, today the real head-wringer is the decision between salt & vinegar chips or the more healthy alternative, veggie straws. though before he can put either in his basket, a familiar voice pulls him out of his concentration. he looks over, and just like that there’s a rush of emotion so strong that he has to will his eyes to not well with tears. ‘   oh man, am i dreaming ?   ’ he asks, already pulling the other into a hug. with a short pat on the shoulder he shakes his head. ‘   fuck you man, you look so good.   ’