#;{paras}

[lolaccla-blog]

thats not where a shovel goes // christola

How many times was Lola going to remind herself that this was no big deal?

Probably as many times that she would remind herself that it's totally normal for a stranger to come over and dig in your backyard. ( a really cute one at that ) She was indeed grateful; Lola had musicians arms- meant for more delicate work than digging a five by seven rectangle with a trench three inches in front of the entire thing. It was awfully kind for Christophe, of all people, to take on the task she dreaded yet would have done herself if no one answered her pleas.

It wasn't quite giddy- the way she almost skipped with her steps, boots on instead of her usual flats because she had tried a little to dig at least the lines out of the patch; but rather a mix of excited and nervous. Lola liked meeting new people; even if she had gone to school with him occasioally and seen him around in her Uncle's bar when Dad worked too late. Her hair was down as always, it didn't matter what she was doing, and somehow- the teen managed to garden in a skirt. She probably didn't own pants to be honest.

As the heavy knocks hit her not completely sturdy door, she jumped away from the mirror hanging in her room, thin fingers dancing through her chesnut locks as she brushed them away from her face. With a deep inhale, she squeezed her eyes shut before exhaling and spoke a silent prayer. Hopefully, she wouldn't make a complete embarrassment out of herself. As she walked to the door, her steps were less enthused than before and took on an almost timid mannerism. She curled her hand around the door knob and pulled it open, instantly being wafted with the unique smell Christophe just gave off. It smelled like eveything she had been warned to steer away from for years by her overly protective parents.

"Hi," she started and pushed the door back even more, using her hip to keep it open as her hands found the sides of her skirt, pinching them to keep her from floating away. "Uh, it's in, it's in the back." Poor thing can't even talk.

@chrisdelorne

[ksxmai-blog]

Mai watched blankly as the rest of the Circus members sauntered right into the Gym, before the red haired male dragged her in with a lazy grin on the other’s face. The Circus members stood out mainly because one, they didn’t even attend Keisung and two, they were too intimidating. Managing to get the male’s grip off of her wrist, Mai sighed at how oddly familiar it was to her.

“This is pretty decent for a college like this.” Her leader mused in Japanese. “I should probably let you wander around and talk to old friends and stuff.” She merely nods at him, silently expressing her gratitude for the older male who motioned the others to follow him.

The rest of group disappeared into the crowd except for the red haired male. “You don’t have to stay, Tsukitachi.” She said to the other with a small smile on her face. The said male just shrugged in response and turned around, just to almost crash into someone. “Oh! Sorry.” She apologized quickly, hearing her groupmate laughing in the background. “How have you been?”

[wendybxrd]

{✶} do you dream? }

✶ James -- do you dream often?

[wendybxrd]

{ jim&wendy | hair care chats }

imetiamhic:

     ↘ At first, the teenager had flinched, a palm quickly brought up to touch the back of his neck to check for any pest. When he felt nothing but the unusual rat tail, he had taken to growing during his prepubescent years - as a rebellious statement, more than anything - he deadpanned. 

     "S’not a mouse. It’s my hair -“ he brought his arms down to fold across his chest, lips pursed, countenance unamused.                “Like y’can talk, looks like you’ve got sausages pinned to the back of your head.”

✶ Wendy had spoken with the full intent to help the boy, who she had mistaken for smuggling mice. The idea made her nose curl, lips puckered to match. The only problem was she had misunderstood, and now she looked like a downright bully! The thing attached to his jacket, was in fact his hair. How, or why, would someone do such a thing?

     A defensive hand curled around her locks, thick and nicely pinned. They were called sausage curls, so it wasn't such a cruel thing to say. The way he spoke, however, made her eyes fly wide open. "Excuse me! It is definitely hair, not sausages." Her slight fingers continued to cup the curls, hiding them from sight.

[wendybxrd]

{ peter&wendy | looking for pins }

✶ "See a pin, pick it up            and all day long you'll have good luck.        See a pin, let it lay,            and your luck will pass away."

      The girl with honey brown hair recited this with a mirthful grin to her lips and a redness to her cheeks. It was one of her favorite rhymes, as it reminded her to keep a sharp eye for sharp things.

      "The bad luck, I'd say, will be given to whomever is unlucky enough to prick their finger! Or toe, I suppose, if one were adverse to shoes. Then again, who goes about touching the ground anyway, unless it's a child at play."

      Was anyone even listening to her at this point? Point. Hah. Wendy smiled to herself.