#inbox replies.

[heavnhill]

there’s a locket dangling at her throat   —   a photo of her childhood dog, and another of her mother. ava touches this, as if they’ll guide her, as if they have something to say. she feels the engravings   …   she feels where some of the silver has tarnished from touching it so much. she turns   —   nikki is in her bed, beautiful, stunning, and ava can’t bring herself to do much more about it. mouths are kiss swollen, the after tastes of tequila and ava’s cherry lipgloss still lingering. she hates this. not nikki, not lying next to her, but just not knowing how to answer. fuck. she doesn’t want to wake up the next day, feeling like shit, knowing that : “i like you. a lot. i don’t want us to be strangers. i just don’t know what to do about it.”

“ we’ll be strangers in the morning, won't we? ” / @w1shwillows

[dreamingofep]

What are 3 things about Elvis that make you happy?

Oh my gosh there’s so many🥹

I swear this man can part the clouds and make it a sunny day. He makes me so happy I can’t describe it sometimes. Sometimes it’s just a feeling. You see an Elvis reference out walking somewhere and you can’t help but smile and feel like it was put there for you to see. Most people would think we’re insane for thinking like that but that’s how I feel sometimes!!! I can never pick one thing that makes me happy but the top 3 have to be his smile:

His love for his fans

And his beautiful voice

I fall in love with him everyday🖤

[psych1cwound-a]

“ you were never going to do anything i said. ” @iobartach, miguel o'hara & lola gravenoir.

LOLA DOESN’T NEED TO SAY ANYTHING, SHE JUST SMIRKS IN RESPONSE.   the fire in her chest has fizzled out long ago, it simply simmers, embers waiting to be stoked once again. they’ve brawled it out                   the evidence is in the cracked tile and the splatter of blood on a once lovely backsplash                   and now, in between heaving sighs, lola tries to speak as a human. the poor thing, under a mop of greasy black hair, peers into a stained mug, as if searching for herself at the bottom. “ you’re finally getting it. ”   a voice, so quiet yet rough around the edges   …   tired, but somehow, still tough. spine curves, she hunches further into her drink, while bruises knuckles bring the mug to her lips   …   the ache in her fractured bones pulse hot, reminding her of a narrowly admitted defeat. it’s not quite shame, but the feeling in her stomach weighs heavy, and it has taken her ego down a notch or two.   “ you’re in my home. you won’t leave. can we just call it even? ” the city hums below the highrise, a healthy reminder of life, but the home maintains a cold hum   …   the fridge, the coolers, a static filled tv left on in another room, lola herself. big brown eyes peer through strands of hair                   no longer filled with contempt, they’re almost pleading.   “ i don’t understand what you want from me. i can’t help you anymore than i can help myself. ”

[psych1cwounda]

“ you make me want to feel things again. ” ╰ @pettiests

IT’S LIKE HAVING A CRUSH ALL OVER AGAIN                   the sweat in her palms, the feeling of words getting stuck in her throat. it fills her chest with warmth, and her stomach twists for a second. a bundle of nerves, held tight between conditioned muscle and a wool sweater. her fingers still sting from accidentally grabbing the thorns on that bouquet of roses. she’s 20-something again. freddie has prayed for another moment like this   …   a second chance. “ and you make me feel everything all at once. ”   blue eyes, wide with fear, like regina is going to pull out a gun and like, shoot her for that. regina could, and freddie would thank her with her last dying breath. oh, fuck, she’s painfully in love. freddie might die, or throw up, or scream, or cry, but she’s so chill about this. “ no one else has done that. not between the decades of not being with you. ”

[huntrhaunta]

“ my only comment would be highly censorable. ” ╰ @isbrilliant

marcy’s blank expression is almost more infuriating than the situation at hand.   the severity is sincerely lost upon them                   this is also not the deepest shit they’ve been in. unleashing an entity of unknown origins is not a good look. marcy should be good at this thing now. they’ve read the books, they’ve studied lore, they’ve done the research, they’ve had their boots on the ground for a while now. but this is out of their scope. “ okay. ” that’s all marcy can really say. deadpan, seemingly disinterested   …   stakes are high, but not in their mind. this is fixable. allegedly. “ you should say it. i can just cover my ears if you want. ”

[stvrsold-arc]

“ the undead are not known for their mercy. ”  ╰ @miercolaes

curled up on the floor, shivering and groaning                   this is nothing like the movies, and, worse, it’s very real. this PAIN   ...   unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. and this is the girl who had to have her own vocals mansplained by simon cowell. the hunger is overtaking her. it leaves her sick and writhing, in pools of coagulated blood on those marble floors she used to meticulously clean. hands clutch her stomach   :   “ i can’t do it, wednesday. i can’t. ” DEAREST WEDNESDAY   :   a stormcloud on a sunny day yet a sign of optimistic pessimism on the ever present rainy days. charlotte can absolutely appreciate the morbidity of it all, very much including wednesday’s. because wednesday is right. charlotte isn’t dead. charlotte is undead, and the cravings won’t go away   …   but neither will her weak stomach or morals. she rolls over, pressing her forehead to the cold floors, watching the blackish-red ichor dribble from her peeling lips   :   “ i tried the raw steak, i tried roadkill, i tried beached whales                   i’ll find something, but i’m not killing some innocent being. ”

[swervdcity-arc]

❝ you look more dead than alive. ❞ she remarked, after a thorough observation of frida. this time however, this wasn't meant to be understood as a compliment. from wednesday's perspective, they looked terribly dreadful. definitely worse than that time the two of them met under rather unpleasant circumstances. ❝ what happened? ❞ she queries, taking one step forward towards frida. who am i supposed to kill were the words burning on the tip of her tongue, yet words she never uttered.

the taste is still in their mouth                   sour, sweet, smokey. glass pops, flame flickers, smoke billows. eyelids shut, skin creasing as they clamp tighter and tighter. it was all evidence, right ??? bodies are evidence, and this body would mean the fall of an empire   ... and their own untimely death. frida was never meant to kill. they never have. they’ve injured, they’ve fought, they’ve kicked the living shit out of a few folks, sure. he pounded at the glass, tried the handles, tried to kick his way out. with a gun to their head, they struck the match and set the car ablaze. a rite of passage, she was told. kill or be killed, dog eat dog, survival of the fittest, but the killer, the dog who eats the other dogs, the fittest, all have a fucking gun. she has a family who needs her. it’s supposed to be justified                   he’s been killing since before she was even born, he was dropping bad batches in the streets, he was going after wives and kids. hands shake, stomach turns   …   they will try to convince themself as much as they want, but the smell will never go away. “ it’s in my clothes, it’s everywhere, i                   ” frida chokes out. voice wavers, finger curl, nose crinkles, eyes widen. cognac couldn’t fix the pit in their stomach. “ i’m supposed to drive. i’m supposed to be a bodyguard every now and then. i never signed up for this                   ” a fuckin’ harsh reality, isn’t it ??? fingers rake through hair and pull, spine twisting as she keels over. jamie is in school, probably in fifth period, toiling over an AP history test or something like that. he doesn’t know a thing. he doesn’t know anything, except that she won’t be home for dinner. as far as he’s aware, she’s working another back-to-back shift. but alas : “ i had to                   i had to kill him. it was him or my brother. and they probably would’ve made me watch. ”

[arthurthefaceless]

@meretrixious​   ||   bless ur heart

     ‘Yes, two, please.’ Arthur nodded at the girl behind the coffee bar, ignoring the all-too-familiar stares of people not quite knowing what to do with a 7 foot tall man without a face. But he wasn’t here for them. He tipped the girl a few dollars when his order came up, and with two big, steaming cups of coffee he took the stairs up to his apartment, feeling blessed with large hands that could hold both cups in one, and he softly clicked the door open and back shut behind him.      The place was still quiet, so he couldn’t quite figure out if Remy was awake yet or not. As he walked further in, however, he heard the rustle of sheets and a zipper sound, bare feet slapping on the tiled floor of the bedroom. ‘I’m back, sorry I left,’ Arthur hummed as he nudged the bedroom door open, ready to have a nice, relaxed early morning with the other -- and he nearly dropped both cups at the scene.

     Remy was seated on his bed, scattered around him some of Arthur’s lingerie, a chastity cage, his collar and cuff sets -- but in his hands was the leather case that had been tucked all the way in the bottom of Art’s little... naughty drawer. Zipped open, and Remy’s fingertip trailing along the glistening, nearly brand-new metal rods, sizes varying.      ‘I ehm... I see you found my uhm... my stuff.’ Very smooth, Arthur. ‘I... I brought coffee?’