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‘ fairytales don’t always have a happy ending, do they? ’
It’s hard to process Evangeline’s words. Perhaps not the words themselves, but the intent behind what she says and the painfully clear picture it paints before them. Kirby rips herself from Noah’s grasp as she lunges forward, wrists and arms suddenly tangling to hold her back. “Leave him alone!” A demand or a plea that has no solid ground and is weighed down by the horror and chaos of the moment.
electricxdreams replied to your quote: It isn’t even 3 in the afternoon and you’re...
SHUT UP AND MAKE YOUR OC BLOG JESSICA
this is a call out post for @wellwiisher. you’ve been fucking told.
get it done.
‘Do you think they’ll give us a joint cell?’
The laughter is instantaneous as Julian’s shoulders quake, eyes crinkling as amusement and adoration spill freely from his lips. “You think we’ll be in there all night?” Was this the most irresponsible thing he’d talked Cecilia into? Probably not, but it might have been the stupidest. Late nights with beers and bets with Adrian, egged on by the desire to push the envelope a little more each time. See if they could hide in the mall past closing and make it till morning. Adrian had said they’d be caught, but Julian had bet they could do it and... Well, there was no one else he’d rather be stuck with over night. Especially with the possibilities that came with it.
Plus when you were shooting on location in rural America? You had to get your kicks where you could and considering he wasn’t shooting until Monday? Why not? All terrible ideas often had that question though, didn’t they? “I don’t even think we’re going to get caught.” And whatever they ended up needing throughout the night; he would be happy to pay for in the morning, so what really could go wrong? Especially when It was an accident officer, we couldn’t get out! He was an actor after all? And Cecilia? Well she was just gorgeous and cute as a button, so who in their right mind could stay mad at her? Plus Do you know who I am? There were always autograph opportunities because people had someone in their lives that did... Usually.
“You think they’re all gone now?” Julian questioned, laughter had finally died, but the grin spread across his lips already explained an idea (probably a great idea) was already forming in the back of his mind. Already hidden within the walls of Bounty Paper Towels, he turned back almost egging her to make the first move. “You think we’re alone now? There doesn’t seem to be anyone around...” Surprisingly between the metal shelving, wire bars and paper towels, it was very hard to shoulder shimmy, so instead he turned, legs kicking out an dramatically sending stacks of paper towels flying. What great mall sleep over didn’t start with an eighties movie montage.
Unfortunately for her, he was an actor and not too much of a singer, but it didn’t stop Julian from extending his hand when he finally stood.
“Oh, that sweater is awful! Looks good on you, though.” - aubrey
“It’s Brooks Brothers,” Donnie responded simply, staring down at the garment with little more than indifference. It was supposed to be an argument to her opinion, but the lack of intent in his tone made it come off as more of a statement. His fashion sense was something he rarely put much thought into. Granted, he made an effort to look nice, but he figured as long as the brand name was prominent, nothing else really mattered. He certainly wasn’t like Marco or Vinnie when it came to indulging in luxurious Italian suits tailored down to every stitch; for the most part, he only did it to keep up appearances as a Capello. Most of his clothes ended up getting chemical burns in them from working in the lab anyways.
“How can it look good on me if it’s awful?” If spoken differently by any other man, under any other circumstance, a woman like Aubrey might take that question as teasing or flirtatious, but there was a genuine lack of understanding in Donnie’s tone. Anyone who knew him knew that, for such a smart guy, he could be a little clueless sometimes.
“Anyways. I didn’t ask you here to talk about attire.” He stared at the girl who, if not for an extraordinary act of chance, would still be a stranger. The history behind their friendship was the sort of thing he once believed you could only find in the introduction of a horribly cliche teen novel, but it somehow seemed to work for them. At least, it was starting to. “This is a little… unconventional, but I have a favor to ask.”
DEADPOOL STARTERS. // @electricxdreams
“Who are you, and how did you find me?” - Jacob
“Who do you want me to be?” The words are like velvet as the tips of matte mauve nails drag teasingly over his forearm. “And does it matter? If you ask me, it’s a perfect example of being in the right place at the right time.” Natalie purred, eyes locked onto his as their drinks sat between them. Truthfully tonight is a case of MISTAKEN IDENTITY. The Vegas lights and drinks have been getting to her — a rarity to truly mix business and pleasure but it’s been a ROUGH few days and Natalie’s routine is slipping and she get’s a little CRAZY when that comes to fruition… But Nathaniel and her were fighting and it went without saying that disaster usually followed when the world is knocked off it’s axis. So she’s wasting her time on STRANGERS and he looks like he could be worth something in the rough and tough way.
Every day she leaves the house looking like a billion dollars — and tonight is no exception, but the dress plunges a little deeper and her gaze lingers for seconds too long. She’s DRIPPING with desire and if her claws don’t end up pinned into the man in front of her, there’s going to be serious hell to play. Natalie’s idle hand comes up to rest on her neck, finger tips absently trailing the curve of her clavicle, teeth painfully pinning her bottom lip as she looks on in want.
Admittedly tonight she’s NEEDY, but most men fall all over that, bending at the knees to beg for the chance to spend even a moment within her presence. Those men however, usually they can’t afford her and that’s a sad reality for the average joe. Eyelashes fan over her cheeks as her gaze finally falls to the table along with her free hand that settles on the rim of her drink. The tiny toothpick offers a speared cherry that she carefully drags off the pick with her tongue. These Las Vegas lounges were always so hit or miss, but the dim lighting is particularly reminiscent of the 1920’s gangster noir. Every movement feels all too sensual, but that’s what these men thrive for and honestly, she moves with so much grace her motives are never questioned. “I’m not used to having to work for it.” Natalie pouts, though it seems explicit somehow. He’s not giving her the ATTENTION she’s used to and it’s beginning to make her wonder. “What, am I not your type?” Was he queer or just playing hard to get?
“You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? It could ruin my whole reputation.”
Julian’s eyes are hardly OPEN, heavy lids threatening to completely cut dies with consciousness and close at any moment. The world can’t even be described as fuzzy, it’s just a warm velvet that invites him in, sinking him deeper and twisting his REALITY. He can’t recall what he’s taken, but with how fast he’s been burning lately it won’t be long before he’s dead; another round of Hollywood Grim Reaper. His head tilts, eyes squinting and trying to pull focus from the man in front of him. What was his name again?
Chin falling to his chest — head too heavy to hold, he realizes for the first time that he’s half naked, jeans hanging open with his fly unzipped. Julian’s eyes refocus slightly, surprised at the discovery only to see ghost’s of his evening in dusty cocaine trails. There’s a bottle of something spilled — he can see it dripping and he can hear the crunching of glass somehow, but he’s planted firmly into the couch that feels like it’s sew into his skin.
Julian knows cocaine, and this nonsense that’s transpiring in front of him is not something he’s familiar with, yet he still can’t remember how the night even started, nor where he was. The problem was it hadn’t even been two months since he’d opened his eyes to what REALITY could REALLY be. Needless to say it was easy to keep pounding it back and piling it on when you don’t know your tolerance. You get a little impatient, take a little more, do it a few times and suddenly it hits you FAST.
Had they fucked? Were they just hanging out? Was he using? Julian blinks again, trying to recognize who is in front of him and scrambling to undo whatever they did. They were at a party right? Or was he at Coachella? Maybe a party after the day? There had been music — his skin was hot too touch, no doubt the sun having spent the day cooking him, mixed with the drugs that were currently throwing his system for a loop. Then again, hadn’t he just been out for drinks?
Wow, he’d gotten way too FUCKED. “Wait,” He mumbles, realizing for the first time that his mouth has never felt more dry, “What happened? Where are—” The words are a drugged out mess, he doesn’t even sound like him, “You leaving?” Julian couldn’t pull himself from the couch, but he was losing the fight with consciousness and it didn’t feel right. Actually if anything, it felt like reality was twisting before his very eyes, blurring and unblurring until nothingness started to consume him.
‘You can’t tell anyone about this, okay?’
Hadn’t he already said that, or had he simply been saying it the entire time? It didn’t feel like more than a second had passed, but that single second was currently lasting for ten fucking years. Why was there that annoying buzz? Was someone’s cellphone on vibrate viciously shaking on a loose hardwood panel? Then of course the beeping that intensified — the blinding white, the sharp knife pulling from his throat, or what felt like the prodding of rot rods through his wrists, deep into his arms, shooting up his spine.
‘It could ruin my whole reputation.
Could ruin my whole reputation.
Ruin my whole reputation.
My whole reputation.
Whole reputation.
Reputation.’
Why did the guy seem so freaked? Wasn’t he a drummer? Weren’t they supposed to be cool? Or was that the other guy? What were they doing that had been so wrong? There’s an annoying sensation that digs deep down his throat, suffocating his narrow naval cavity — suffocating everything making breathing both harder and easier at the same time. It feels like his chest has been struck with a bolt of lighting when he jolts — and jolts again — and once more. Then it’s a stillness, a darkness, another searing pain, distance voices — blinding nothingness, then once again with the suffocating breathing.
Blurry eyes crack open feeling like he’s been stuck in cement for weeks— what plays out in the span of seconds feels like hours. Adrian’s there — then nurses — sound doesn’t slowly fades in and his eyes gradually adjust. It takes him two months to overdo it, pushing his luck just a little too far and finally — he overdoses.
“I was way worse at his age.”
‘REALLY?’ Is the only look that’s conveyed as Aurora’s eyes narrow, head instantly turning to Adrian out of annoyance. “Is that supposed to help?” Mock uncertainty and fear play over her features as she shakes her head, hand squeezing down on his forearm as some small affectionate reminder that despite all intensive purposes, his failed attempts at making her feel better hadn’t permanently damaged whatever their unspoken little relationship was.
Aurora mutters a small “You’re an idiot.” Which translates roughly into ‘I love you’. “I can’t even imagine a sixteen year old Adrian Quinn…” Oh but the mental image is so amusing, a laugh falls from her lips as she sinks back into his side obviously finding this better and better as the moments ticked on, the realization dawning on the sheer possibility. “I bet you were the bad boy, weren’t you?” There’s a mocking taunt to her words, but it’s as affectionate as could be. “Did you have allllll the girls falling over you?” Sixteen had only been eight years ago for Aurora, but with how quickly society and the world around them was changing, it was very easy to feel OLD sometimes. Which was ironic considering she was often the youngest. “Adrian Quinn.” She repeats, fingers toying with the back of his hair, “Although… It’s far more likely you were the nerd, right?” Where was the burn unit crisis line when you needed one?
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a cool architect, actually.” God, put a bottle of wine in her and she became savage number ONE.
“fuck’s sake, what’s your problem?” - adrian
Aurora’s gaze held the weight of the world as she looked over at the eldest Quinn brother. Her brows visibly heavy — irritated, angered, but more than anything else; SAD. Did Adrian really have no idea where they were going to end up? It was almost silly to be lulled into a false sense of security — so to speak. Even Aurora had been disbelieving at first when things began to transcend down a serious path. Half the time she looked at Adrian and she saw the next ten years and that was scary. Before him she had her sights set on what seemed like a clear future — one that had never held any significant other because for the most part, Aurora’s path didn’t have room for two, and she was okay with that. But Adrian had went on and flipped everything on it’s head and even she sought comfort in WHATEVER it was he was providing her. While too stubborn to give it an official name, there was an unspoken finality between them that she just UNDERSTOOD.
So for him to stand there right now and make the choice for them both — it successfully had SOURED the rose colored tint life had held for the past year. It was evident now that Julian would always come before anything else in his life, no matter how detrimental that was. “Do you even have any concept of reality anymore?” Aurora finally questioned, almost surprised by how jagged and harsh her words had formulated. Still, she didn’t take them back. Julian was going to not only be the downfall of himself — but Adrian as well. How they’d gotten so tragically lost down the path of life was beyond her, but the closer she got to the older Quinn, the more her heart broke for everyone involved. It was a dangerous life and after her brother and his own bullshit — Aurora wanted to walk away entirely.
Leave the addicts in her review mirror because they couldn’t be helped when they didn’t want to help themselves and that was the bitter truth. The right path was obvious, held on a golden platter, with neon signs pointing… Yet they always took the darker path in life that would lead to temporary highs and absolute despair because these stories only ever ended in one day. However, at some point, she had fallen in love with the idiot in front of her, and for that she didn’t know who to blame. “He needs help, Adrian, and I’m sorry — but that help isn’t from YOU.” It was a harsh reality, one that cut her to vocalize, but Adrian didn’t even have the skills to do that… And Aurora even thought Julian was too far gone.
“He’s going to end up immortalized in tabloids, regardless of what it’s for— but I think you and EVERYONE else involved would rather it be for another stint in rehab than overdosing and being found god knows how.” After the months and months of increasing bullshit and constantly watching the wrong choice being made — she had finally snapped, and perhaps it was better someone did before something terrible happened. “You two have been through so much, and there is NO shame in getting help!” Julian wasn’t the only one that needed it. She saw the bottles, she knew the difference between a hangover and being strung out. “I can’t imagine how horrible fame is for him — nor you—” after all, how often could one pick up the pieces before they slowly started to crack themselves, “But it is NOT worth losing everything over! It’s possible to come back from this.” Because if there was no Julian, there would be no Adrian and the codependency could lead to a very dark path should one find themselves without the other in the long run.
“I don’t want to have to play the adult card, but SOMEONE has to.” Despite how she was younger than both Julian, Adrian, AND her brother. Perhaps this is why Gabe couldn’t look at her half the time when he was high as well. At some point in your life, it must become grating to have your little sister boss you around because you don’t know right from wrong. “Or it’s not just HIM you’ll be losing.” There was sad finality in her words, previously loud — her voice had sank because there was sorrow and it was evident. Whether she meant she wouldn’t be around, or that he wouldn’t be — it didn’t matter because it was their reality.
