#endless-youth

[coastercruushed]

continued from ( x )

now, it's not every day that people come to visit the park. ( especially fashion designers but that's against the point. ) honestly, it's hard to tell who was most excited to meet dorian--.... mapplethorpe or pink fashionista, siobhan! after what seemed to be a battle of the blondes trying to get the man's attention, it seems that mapplethorpe, much to siobhan's chagrin, seemed to win that battle.

he doesn't expect to be in the position he's in but he certainly isn't complaining. well, he's not complaining in the sense you'd think. ( he is begging dorian for more but that's against the point. ) at this point, he's forgotten to be quiet and he'll probably have to deal with that aftermath later. right now, he finds himself half on dorian's lap, clinging onto his for dear life as his fingers continued to pump inside him. ( it felt good but his fingers were just barely grazing his prostate. )

a shaky breath leaves him whenever a third finger is slid into him and then is curled inside of him. "ah!" he'll cry out but is quickly silenced by dorian's lips meeting his own. he'll deepen the kiss, moaning against his mouth as he's quickly overwhelmed from the pleasure that seems to shoot up his spine. he can't help but tighten around his fingers, quick to grab a hold of dorian's upper arm to have some kind of grounding. ( though, he finds himself already near tears at this point. this is so embarrassing. )

he can't really focus on his words, but he knows that they are teasing--.... causing the veins hidden in his curls behind his ears begins to vine down his neck. ( a dead man's blush and there was no hiding it. ) he starts to pant, even though he doesn't even need air, his free hand coming to cover his eyes as he lets out a loud whine. dorian starts to hold down his hips as he tries to pull away from him, the pleasure almost being too much for him. a loud gasp leaves him whenever he can't get away, his back arching hard in a last ditch attempt to get away. ( this, obviously, doesn't work. )

tears start to brim at the corner of his eyes, already leaking precum onto his own stomach. it certainly doesn't take long for mapplethorpe to hit that peak, his grasp around dorian's upper arm tightening as he cries out. "it's--...too much!" a tear manages to slide down his face as dorian asks for him to cum, which is just enough to get him to that point. his hips buck upwards, a whiny moan leaving him as he finishes onto his own stomach. "--...fuck!" // @endless-youth

[twomindedsubject]

04. turns their back on the other to begin walking away without a word.

~. "Hey- ...Hey! We're still talking to you!"

Rejection was one of the many things that Harvey didn't handle well. Rejection from their father. Rejection from school. From the girls that he tried to date. It never failed to make them agitated. Right after the acid incident, people gawked and stared in horror at their face.

And that was one of the worst rejections they'd ever felt in their whole life.

While this wasn't as bad -- it still managed to make the former DA's pulse rise. As they stomped after the other male, they grasped his arm -- twisting him around to stare him down with a burning fire in their mismatched eyes.

"What's your problem? Huh? Scared to look us in the eye when we talk to you? Mind your manners."

Gritted teeth, the pressure around the other's arm tightened.

"We said-- What's your name?" .~

[helraising-archived]

✞‎ ‎ ·‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ @endless-youth‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ :‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ / &. /‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎continued from here.

“wow,” ‎ ‎ ‎ huntress ‎ ‎ ‎ echoes ‎ ‎ ‎ flatly, ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ lift ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ single ‎ ‎ ‎ eyebrow ‎ ‎ ‎ being ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ only ‎ ‎ ‎ movement ‎ ‎ ‎ she ‎ ‎ ‎ offers ‎ ‎ ‎ in ‎ ‎ ‎ response, ‎ ‎ ‎ as ‎ ‎ ‎ she ‎ ‎ ‎ gives ‎ ‎ ‎ him ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ look ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ pure ‎ ‎ ‎ incredulity. ‎ ‎ ‎ “know ‎ ‎ ‎ how ‎ ‎ ‎ they ‎ ‎ ‎ say ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ rich ‎ ‎ ‎ are ‎ ‎ ‎ out ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ touch? ‎ ‎ ‎ congratulations. ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ make ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ rest ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ kind ‎ ‎ ‎ look ‎ ‎ ‎ intelligent.”

the ‎ ‎ ‎ primadonna ‎ ‎ ‎ had ‎ ‎ ‎ been ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ bane ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ helena’s ‎ ‎ ‎ existence ‎ ‎ ‎ long ‎ ‎ ‎ before ‎ ‎ ‎ she’s ‎ ‎ ‎ been ‎ ‎ ‎ left ‎ ‎ ‎ with ‎ ‎ ‎ no ‎ ‎ ‎ choice ‎ ‎ ‎ but ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ confront ‎ ‎ ‎ him ‎ ‎ ‎ face-to-face. ‎ ‎ ‎ firstly, ‎ ‎ ‎his ‎ ‎ ‎ choice ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ hair ‎ ‎ ‎ colour ‎ ‎ ‎ is ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ living ‎ ‎ ‎ nightmare ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ personal ‎ ‎ ‎ affront ‎ ‎ ‎ on ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ eyeballs. ‎ ‎ ‎ secondly, ‎ ‎ ‎ naming ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ company ‎ ‎ ‎ “grandeur” ‎ ‎ ‎ is ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ most ‎ ‎ ‎ stereotypical ‎ ‎ ‎ “ooh, ‎ ‎ ‎ i’m ‎ ‎ ‎ not ‎ ‎ ‎ like ‎ ‎ ‎ other ‎ ‎ ‎ socialites” ‎ ‎ ‎ things ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ do ‎ ‎ ‎ — ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ premise ‎ ‎ ‎ is ‎ ‎ ‎ not ‎ ‎ ‎ even ‎ ‎ ‎ innovative ‎ ‎ ‎ or ‎ ‎ ‎ unique ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ him. ‎ ‎ ‎ exhibit ‎ ‎ ‎ a: ‎ ‎ ‎ gwyneth ‎ ‎ ‎ paltrow. ‎ ‎ ‎ exhibit ‎ ‎ ‎ b: ‎ ‎ ‎ how ‎ ‎ ‎ are ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ worse ‎ ‎ ‎ than ‎ ‎ ‎ gwyneth ‎ ‎ ‎ paltrow? ‎ ‎ ‎ grow ‎ ‎ ‎ up. ‎ ‎ ‎ thirdly, ‎ ‎ ‎ his ‎ ‎ ‎ face.

and ‎ ‎ ‎ all ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ these ‎ ‎ ‎ have ‎ ‎ ‎ gotten ‎ ‎ ‎ crossed ‎ ‎ ‎ off ‎ ‎ ‎ before ‎ ‎ ‎ he ‎ ‎ ‎ even ‎ ‎ ‎ opened ‎ ‎ ‎ his ‎ ‎ ‎ damn ‎ ‎ ‎ venomous ‎ ‎ ‎ mouth.

“i ‎ ‎ ‎ just ‎ ‎ ‎ don’t ‎ ‎ ‎ know ‎ ‎ ‎ how ‎ ‎ ‎ depraved ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ mind ‎ ‎ ‎ has ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ be ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ jump ‎ ‎ ‎ straight ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ fetishes ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ my ‎ ‎ ‎ sex ‎ ‎ ‎ life ‎ ‎ ‎ when ‎ ‎ ‎ i’m ‎ ‎ ‎ trying ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ fucking ‎ ‎ ‎ save ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ life, ‎ ‎ ‎ buddy,” ‎ ‎ ‎ she ‎ ‎ ‎ crosses ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ arms, ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ thinned ‎ ‎ ‎ line ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ lips ‎ ‎ ‎ forming ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ frown. ‎ ‎ ‎ “and ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ don’t ‎ ‎ ‎ want ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ know ‎ ‎ ‎ how ‎ ‎ ‎ chauvinist ‎ ‎ ‎ pigs ‎ ‎ ‎ like ‎ ‎ ‎ you— ‎ ‎ ‎ actually, ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ know ‎ ‎ ‎ what? ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ can ‎ ‎ ‎ get ‎ ‎ ‎ fucked ‎ ‎ ‎ for ‎ ‎ ‎ all ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ care, ‎ ‎ ‎ ken ‎ ‎ ‎ doll, ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ care ‎ ‎ ‎ about ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ lady ‎ ‎ ‎ on ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ stage ‎ ‎ ‎ staying ‎ ‎ ‎alive ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ unharmed. ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ know ‎ ‎ ‎ her, ‎ ‎ ‎ right?”

several ‎ ‎ ‎ masqueraders ‎ ‎ ‎ are ‎ ‎ ‎ blending ‎ ‎ ‎ into ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ mercurial ‎ ‎ ‎ crowd ‎ ‎ ‎ at ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ bar, ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ not ‎ ‎ ‎ many ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ them ‎ ‎ ‎ are ‎ ‎ ‎ wearing ‎ ‎ ‎ literal ‎ ‎ ‎ masks ‎ ‎ ‎ or ‎ ‎ ‎ mantles. ‎ ‎ ‎ these ‎ ‎ ‎ bastards ‎ ‎ ‎ are ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ nameless ‎ ‎ ‎ variety, ‎ ‎ ‎ who ‎ ‎ ‎ make ‎ ‎ ‎ their ‎ ‎ ‎ presence ‎ ‎ ‎ known ‎ ‎ ‎ through ‎ ‎ ‎ last-minute ‎ ‎ ‎ tragedies ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ irreversible ‎ ‎ ‎ finalities, ‎ ‎ ‎ where ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ promising ‎ ‎ ‎ young ‎ ‎ ‎ woman’s ‎ ‎ ‎ smile ‎ ‎ ‎ can ‎ ‎ ‎ be ‎ ‎ ‎ made ‎ ‎ ‎ into ‎ ‎ ‎ something ‎ ‎ ‎ that ‎ ‎ ‎ haunts ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ conscience ‎ ‎ ‎ and ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ remainder ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ your ‎ ‎ ‎ waking ‎ ‎ ‎ moments. ‎ ‎ ‎ huntress ‎ ‎ ‎ thankfully ‎ ‎ ‎ has ‎ ‎ ‎ nothing ‎ ‎ ‎ in ‎ ‎ ‎ common ‎ ‎ ‎ with ‎ ‎ ‎ this ‎ ‎ ‎ suited ‎ ‎ ‎ weirdo, ‎ ‎ ‎ but ‎ ‎ ‎ his ‎ ‎ ‎ god-daughter’s ‎ ‎ ‎ safety ‎ ‎ ‎ is ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ priority ‎ ‎ ‎ they ‎ ‎ ‎ must ‎ ‎ ‎ share ‎ ‎ ‎ so ‎ ‎ ‎ that ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ performance ‎ ‎ ‎ may ‎ ‎ ‎ arrive ‎ ‎ ‎ at ‎ ‎ ‎ a ‎ ‎ ‎ graceful, ‎ ‎ ‎ expected ‎ ‎ ‎ final ‎ ‎ ‎ note; ‎ ‎ ‎ nothing ‎ ‎ ‎ more, ‎ ‎ ‎ nothing ‎ ‎ ‎ less.

“whatever. ‎ ‎ ‎ co-operate ‎ ‎ ‎ with ‎ ‎ ‎ me, ‎ ‎ ‎ or ‎ ‎ ‎ i’m ‎ ‎ ‎ shutting ‎ ‎ ‎ shit ‎ ‎ ‎ down ‎ ‎ ‎ my ‎ ‎ ‎ way. ‎ ‎ ‎ you ‎ ‎ ‎ don’t ‎ ‎ ‎ have ‎ ‎ ‎ any ‎ ‎ ‎ power ‎ ‎ ‎ in ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ whole ‎ ‎ ‎ wide ‎ ‎ ‎ universe ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ decide ‎ ‎ ‎ when ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ leave,” ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ voice ‎ ‎ ‎ may ‎ ‎ ‎ have ‎ ‎ ‎ been ‎ ‎ ‎ lowered ‎ ‎ ‎ for ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ sake ‎ ‎ ‎ of ‎ ‎ ‎ the ‎ ‎ ‎ odd ‎ ‎ ‎ pair’s ‎ ‎ ‎ privacy, ‎ ‎ ‎ but ‎ ‎ ‎ her ‎ ‎ ‎ determination ‎ ‎ ‎ hasn’t. ‎ ‎ ‎ “am ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ clear ‎ ‎ ‎ or ‎ ‎ ‎ do ‎ ‎ ‎ i ‎ ‎ ‎ need ‎ ‎ ‎ to ‎ ‎ ‎ dumb ‎ ‎ ‎ it ‎ ‎ ‎ down ‎ ‎ ‎ further?”

[bykacie]

am i the only one that knows the truth? (For Forrest... perhaps he knows about his secret For some reason or something? IDK, but feel free to go wherever you'd like with this for real lol)

@endless-youth

His nails are picking at the skin on his arm. It started as a fidget, then turned into something more nervous. Now it is getting to the point where he might draw blood if he isn’t careful, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be. After all, his. thoughts are far from his own body right now. All he can think about is being seen.

“Uhm. You might be the only living person right now. Not… that sounds threatening. It’s not uh, my parents kind of know, but they don’t believe me. Uhm, a couple of people have known, maybe, but… I dunno. It’s weird. It’s a weird thing.”

He finally notices what he’s been doing, and he stops for a moment. Before going right back to it. “Yeah.”

[bratxprincexlestat]

it's rare that anyone gets to see dorian with his guard down — in fact, the man himself hadn't discussed matters of the heart with even his closest friends for years (or the ones he was able to keep, anyway). dorian just found it easier to try to deal with things on his own; whether that was through having a good cry alone, through music, or something else. but today? whenever he thought that everyone had already gone from his home for a party he'd been hosting in honor of a friend of his (who knew a lot of people, it seemed and invited a lot of faces he knew virtually nothing about), that second option was what he chose to deal while thinking about the past. someone in the crowd in his home had looked like basil, and for a second there, he'd almost called out for him before realizing he was long since gone.

such was the life of someone who often found himself being transported back to england in the early 1900's, even all the way in america. in any case, dorian would've never started to play the resonator guitar that franz had gifted him for his birthday once if he knew that someone lingered in his home. it's not as if what he was playing was something embarrassing, though. more like a little secret that dorian wished to keep to himself that he liked, and this was the blues. resonator guitars weren't all too common to see nowadays, either. especially the kind of model he had, considering it was from all the way back in the mid 1950's-60's. part of the appeal behind them was that the sound generated off of them wasn't from a soundboard like an acoustic guitar, franz had told him, but these metal cones inside the guitar. this made it louder... gave it a more distinct sound.

dorian exhaled once as he sat the resonator guitar in his lap and began to play a song he'd memorized after taking a trip to mississippi some time ago. there were thumb picks on his fingers as dorian played, thinking back on all of the patrons he'd talked to that evening. one who playfully called him moneybags, which was a bit annoying, but he managed to tolerate it; a woman who was clearly trying to flirt with him, but who he told one of his friends to talk to instead while he made a quick 'getaway.' there was even someone he thought he saw with long blonde hair here, too. it was only when he'd reached halfway through the song that he heard the sound of one of his floorboards creaking, and he stopped playing, only to look up at whatever or whoever made the sound with a start. was there seriously someone still here from the party?

that's when he saw lestat standing across the way, his grip on the guitar he held becoming slightly more tense as he stood up from the couch. dorian squinted his eyes at him slightly, but other than that, he seemed mostly just confused as to why he was still in his home. ❝ you fall into the toilet or something? everyone already left my 'ouse a little while ago, if you 'aven't already noticed. ❞

(I'm afraid that Dorian has a recieved pronunciation british accent (or the 'posh' accent) that I decided to implement into this reply as it's a dead giveaway as to where he's from 😂 Though I may stop writing it later just because it might be hard to read, but just know, dorian DEF still has it no matter what)

Lestat hadn’t meant to linger.Well no, that was a lie. He never did anything he didn’t mean to do but he hadn’t expected to be rewarded for his curiosity with the sight of Dorian Gray, immaculate, untouchable Dorian, sitting alone in the half‑dark with a relic of a guitar in his lap and a sound in his hands that didn’t belong to this century at all.It hit him like scent....like memory...like blood.He’d stood there longer than he should have, letting the notes curl around him, letting the melancholy of them settle into his bones. Blues of all things,he would have laughed if it hadn’t felt like walking in on someone undressing....then the floorboard betrayed him.

Dorian’s head snapped up, eyes sharp as cut glass, and Lestat found himself caught in that stare like a thief in a spotlight. The quip that followed—sharp, irritated, defensive—was so very Dorian that Lestat almost smiled.Almost.He stepped forward, hands raised in a gesture of mock surrender, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. His voice, when it came, was low and warm, threaded with amusement and something else he didn’t bother to name.

"If I had fallen into your toilet, mon cher, I assure you I would have made a far more dramatic entrance."His gaze flicked to the guitar—old metal, old soul, still humming faintly with the last note Dorian had touched. "I stayed because I heard you playing and because I didn’t think you’d want an audience… I simply couldn’t make myself leave."He took another step, slow, deliberate, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt. "Play for me? I'll go after the next song if you do." He'd leave anyway if Dorian was done but was it not a shame to let passion for music go to waste?

@endless-youth

[silverwoodcursed]

@endless-youth sent: ∗ 12﹕ sender invites receiver to dance . (For Julian? OOP)

Oh, how the beloved Count of Vesuvia loved to throw parties, especially in his name. Be it for his name day, his wedding day, his anniversary of becoming Count.. Lucio could and would find a reason to let festivities be arranged and the citizens of the City State wouldn’t say anything against it, who were they to deny their Count anything, even those that were not privileged enough to be invited inside the Palace were rolling with it. Instead of being upset about not having access to the official festivities, the common folk built up tents on the marketplace, arranging their own little party, especially the Rowdy Raven would be a fun place to spend the night at but Julian would not have such a chance.

Ever since he had become the royal doctor, he was obligated, not only to attend any royal feast and party, but also to respond to Lucio’s every whim. There was something adorable about Count Lucio’s enthusiasm to celebrate, there was almost a childlike glint to his eyes whenever he told his council about the new ideas he had to celebrate himself in particular. Some people called him stupid, some called him a fun person to be around.. Julian was not sure how exactly he would describe Lucio, he only knew he was not sure if a party was really what the Count needed right now.

He had noticed Lucio growing paler every day, he had become moody, or rather, moodier than usual, he was quick to snap and even quicker to whine, which made everyone around him just want to give the man everything he wanted. Either to please him or to shut him up. Julian was a doctor, he did not really hold a position of power, instead he tiptoed a fine line. His word wasn’t worth enough to really make a difference, Lucio would listen to his advice but quickly dismiss it, while they still expected him to attend all formal events and represent the royal staff.

Julian Devorak was the last person that would say no to a drink and a dance, but he did not really feel like celebrating when he could watch Lucio’s condition get worse with every passing day without being able to stop it. Or without even knowing what caused it. Lucio seemed to be content to ignore it.

The doctor gave a tired sigh as he buttoned up his white dress shirt, very conveniently leaving the two top buttons open to give a teasing hint of his chest and to show off a bit of his chest fluff before he shrugged on his vest. He was not exactly in the mood for a party, but it was his duty to attend, so what was he supposed to do. He would find a way to pass the time. There would be plenty of booze. And there was a high possibility that no one would pay much attention to the good doctor anyways. Despite his teasingly unbuttoned shirt.

Julian had retreated to an empty table as soon as he arrived at the party. As expected the attention was on Lucio and Nadia by his side, servants carried around trays of alcohol, and Julian helped himself to more than a glass or two, the hall was filled with people chatting and couples dancing. Everyone seemed content and happy and busy, which would mean Julian would get to enjoy the evening by himself, and he downed another glass of champagne when a young man stopped right in front of his table, very clearly demanding his attention. Julian lifted his gaze.

Oh. Oh. If that wasn’t a surprise. Of all the people that ended up desiring his attention that evening, it was Dorian Gray out of all people. He did not know much yet about this young man, he only knew he was a fashion designer from a faraway country that has only recently come to Vesuvia, but his talents had been so impressive he was responsible for the mesmerizing outfits the Count and Countess wore tonight. But not only was he talented, Dorian Gray was also painfully handsome, with cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself on them, blonde hair as soft as satin and fingers so elegant Julian couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around his neck or pushed into his auburn hair.

He stared at the hand extended to him for a moment longer, a soft blush rising to his pale cheeks as he finally realized what was expected of him. Dorian Gray invited him to dance. Him, out of all people, out of all the handsome young men and beautiful women that already started whispering while staring at them.

Julian put down his glass and cleared his throat and then he put his gloved hand in Dorian’s, suddenly grateful for the layer of fabric between them, because he was not sure he would have survived the sensation of a warm hand on his skin right now.

The doctor let Dorian guide him to the space where the other couples were already dancing, and he finally took the young man’s hand into his own properly ere he, almost shyly, placed his other hand on Dorian’s waist to join him in dance, letting himself be led for a moment to regain his footing, he would feel terribly guilty if he embarrassed handsome Dorian in front of everyone with his half-drunken stumbling.

“What gives me the pleasure to be invited to dance by the great Dorian Gray?”, Julian finally mumbled; he had never been able to shut up in moments where it counted the most. He tried to look at anything but Dorian’s lips as he continued:

“I’ve been perfectly fine spending the evening seated at my table and now you made me summon the wrath of every young maiden in the room by making me hold your hand.”

[sunnykies]

❝ If you’re not scared, then you’re not taking a chance. If you’re not taking a chance, then what the hell are we doing anyway? ❞ (For Nora?)

she rolls her eyes.

"it's more complicated than that-"

and far be it from nora to talk about things that are dangerous, needlessly complex, and not worth doing. nora is the patron saint of bad decisions: working at the iceberg lounge, for example, walking around gotham at night, liking drinking, fun, good times.

still. dorian wants her to try something strong - absinthe - and she is somehow scared of it, the bright green of the bottle, the promise of true drunkenness. she feels almost depraved, looking at it. maybe that's the point.

she sighs. she takes the shot glass. it is cold and dry in her hands.

"you're an asshole."

she drinks. she almost spits it out. disgusting.

[coastercruushed]

@endless-youth sent in: dorian could tell the instant that he came to see mapplethorpe that day that something was a bit off with him; like maybe he was sad or stressed... possibly both. so, rather than ask mapple what was wrong and potentially get into an argument or something with him, dorian gently told him that he knew what would help him feel better — and from there, he laid out the blanket that he had brought with him in his backpack on the floor of the carnival game stand they stood in. dorian settled on the blanket, then, pulling out the travel pillow he had and laying it out on his lap. he'd also pulled out a book whilst grabbing the travel pillow and, after patting the pillow that he had set on himself, waited for mapplethorpe to rest his head in his lap. it was only after mapplethorpe laid his head down on his lap that dorian stroked a hand through his long, curly locks. he made it a point to repeat the motion soon enough as he held his book open in his free hand, asking the other, ❝ comfortable? because i was thinking i could read to you while you relax, just like this, since i know you're feeling rough. ❞ dorian caressed the space behind mapplethorpe's ear momentarily next, a small smile spreading across his lips. ❝ and it's okay to feel like that. you've just got to know when to let the feelings go, you know? ❞

mapplethorpe had his good nights and his bad nights. sometimes, he'd wake up in good spirits ( haha--... ), ready to ride all the rides like it had been the first time, playing games with all his ghoulish friends. other nights? he'd respawn with the weight of the world on his shoulders. the weight of how terrible this whole situation was. ( he was dead and the whole world was going on without him. ) whenever dorian stepped foot into the park, mapplethorpe had been happen to see him but he didn't have the same spring in his step. he falls into dorian's arms with ease, a soft smile on his features but not the usual wide, mischief filled grin.

the blonde watches dorian carefully as he laid out a blanket, head tilting as he settles onto the floor, pulling out the travel pillow. ( though, the second dorian gives him the go ahead, he's plopping down on the blanket. ) he rests his head on the pillow, peering upwards at dorian as his fingers comb through his curls. "i--..." he'll frown, a soft huff leaving him. "i'm just thinkin' about what i'm missin' out on. i guess i'm having a little bit of fomo--..." a forced smile is given. ( it's deeper than that but he doesn't want to get into it. ) he'll let his eyes flutter shut with a content sigh. "what book did you bring?"