#incandescehope

[barelyspeaks-a]

        IT WAS QUIET, but not a silence that was paired with a sense of discomfort or awkwardness. it was peaceful for once.  ❛ you know w-when we were on the roof ? ❜ she questions SHYLY, her eyes averting over to where he sat.  ❛ that's t-the last time i felt normal, i think. ❜

starter call | @incandescehope

[ofmasterpiece]

                         pale  digits  run  over  antique  frame  of  the  painting,  the  kind  of   ADMIRATION   present  in  his  sundry  hues  that  he  shows  towards  nothing  but  art.  the  money  is  a  very  small  part  of  why  he  enjoys  this  job  so  much.  it’s  not  even  the  adrenaline  that  fills  him  up  from  his  toes  to  the  top  of  his  head  when  breaking  into  top  security  establishment.  milo  lives  for  the   SECOND  he  is  finally  able  to  lay  hands  on  the  masterpieces  he’s  been  studying  from  afar,  he  relishes  the  feeling  of  superiority  that  owning  something  precious  like  that  gives  him.  but  it  never  lasts  long  ;   he  can’t  allow  to  keep  the  things  he  so   CAREFULLY   pilfers  to  himself.   –––– –   milo  lifts  his  gaze  from  the  painting  when  the  other  figure  enters  the  room,  taking  a  step  back  so  he’s  not  blocking  the  view  to  it.  he  always  wonders  if  the  people  who  hire  him  will  look  at  their  order  with  as  much  love   &   dedication  as  he  does.  perhaps  the  reason  he  is   UNABLE   to  make  a  connection  with  most  people  is  that  he  gives  too  much  of  himself  to  art,  perhaps  his  one  true  love  is  not  another  person,  but  a   CONCEPT.   he  is  perfectly  okay  with  that.  the  male  keeps  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  lacing  his  fingers  together  behind  his  back,  sundry  hues  shifting  from  the  painting  to  the  other,  trying  to  read  off  some  kind  of  reaction  from  their  countenance.    ‘    satisfied    ?    ’

@incandescehope

[inhalcyon]

@narrcissist, @incandescehope.

kai is in a mood. the sort of mood when he can’t sit still, and the sort of mood when he’s bored, and the sort of mood when he has to make sure everyone knows about it. currently, he’s got his tongue poked out in thought, stood as he is with his hands on his hips, and his gaze focused collectively on colton and elwood. he’s deliberating something, that much is obvious, though whatever that happens to be remains temporarily unclear. it’s rare that he’s quiet for this long; they shouldn’t take the blessed silence for granted, that’s for sure.

after a few more beats, he’s circling about towards the nearest window, hands still firmly on his hips, and his shoulders squared for an almost comical stance. he does not look as big as he thinks with his chest all puffed out. “i have a preposition for you both.” he means proposition, of course.

[bonebreaking]

     His vision is red, red, red, trickles of blood from a deep cut along his hairline tinging the room around him a dark crimson as he fights to keep his head clear and his frame upright despite the roaring in his ears, the pounding at the base of his skull, the swill of brine and bile pooling between his teeth. From somewhere that sounds like miles away, he can hear the crowd thundering, some cheering his name, some cursing it, but he puts that out of his mind, compartmentalizes it for later; he has to, if he wants to focus — wants to win. He needs to win. In Aspen’s line of business, there isn’t any other option.

     The sensation of his nose cracking beneath a fist jerks him back to reality with an indignant shout of pain, and he blindly stumbles back, wildly swinging until he feels his knuckles connect with something solid. A thrill of triumph runs up his spine as he wipes the blood from his view with the back of his hand, spitting the red liquid accruing beneath his tongue onto the concrete at his opponent’s feet with a gore-flecked grin, lightheadedness overcoming him for an instant before he regains stable footing and begins to dance back and forth with a renewed vigor. The spectators erupt in elation when he lands a second punch, then a third, his clenched fingers colliding with his competitor’s temple hard enough to land him on his knees, then facedown on the floor, hapless and defeated. KO’d.

     As he tumbles out of the ring, Aspen catches a flash of dark eyes and curls through the mob packed in around him, a face that doesn’t belong, soft and innocent and clearly lost. He smirks, sending a crude wink in the pretty stranger’s direction before returning his attention to shouldering his way through the bodies congesting his path, acknowledging the overzealous slaps on the back and congratulations thrown his way with a few dazed nods and loose handshakes. There are no Fortune 500 companies to sponsor him here, only disenchanted, middle-aged men with more money than they know what to do with who love to watch a dirty fight — Aspen’s scrappy, no-holds-barred sparring style being a particular favorite of many — and, much to his disdain, he has to keep them happy to keep himself comfortable.

     Luckily their awkward, stunted banter doesn’t last long, and he’s soon free to weave his way through the combination of stragglers from his own matchup and those milling around in wait for the next, a towel draped over his bare neck and chest to catch the last few stray drops of blood flowing from his shattered nose. The majority of onlookers collected their winnings quickly and hustled out the door, and those that remain have already passed on their well wishes and comments, which finally allows Aspen the first moment to himself since leaving his apartment late this afternoon. Through the thinning crowd, he once again spots the same confused, almost frightened gaze from before darting around the room, jumping over him in search of an exit — or so he assumes; crooked half-smile returning, Aspen swaggers lazily towards him, an almost predatory intrigue propelling him forward until there’s less than a foot between them.

     “Did you like the fight, bellissimo?” / @incandescehope

[promiiscs]

♡  @incandescehope  :  continued from here

she’s happy that he’s taken it  like a  champ, at least. he doesn’t seem too upset, she can tell he’s almost making a joke out of it, and she’s quick to put her own hands over her mouth and nose once it’s done.  ❛   oh, my god!  -- oh my god, i’m so sorry, i thought you were --  ❜    she thought he was  someone else. she’s always been clumsy, she’ll chalk this up to one of those times.  ignoring the comments about her height, she moves forward to put a hand on his bicep in a concerned gesture,   ❛   do you need ice? we have ice--  ❜ 

[wintersvoid-blog]

          a slow exhale leaves him as he approaches the door, rapping his knuckles against the wood. a good night’s sleep had escaped him for the duration of the week and he could only think of one place to go. as the door opens he runs his fingertips over the purple circles underneath his left eye, offering him a sheepish smile.  “ hi. i’m tired. will you hold me ? “  —— @incandescehope

[barelyspeaks-a]

        THIS EVENING HAD been filled with laughter and genuine joy on both of their parts. daxton was wearing the same attire she wore the night they were up on her roof. clad in only her big t-shirt with the FLORAL pattern on the front.  ❛ i once h-had a dream that i ate the world raw. weird, right ? i OFTEN h-have strange dreams like that but that one was the weirdest. ❜ with a scoff she lifts her bare legs up onto the couch, moving to face him FULLY while sipping lemonade through her straw. ❛ what about you ? w-what's the weirdest dream you've had ? ❜

@incandescehope

[cblivicns-blog]

tagging @incandescehope​

          the night is still young, a glass of water is tucked away in between manicured fingertips before she’s turning her gaze to each person that keeps talking. the truth of the matter is she’s got her eyes entirely locked on HIM . . . though nadia truly wishes that it wasn’t, her gaze unfortunately can’t be torn away. her heartbeat is thick in her chest, dark optics just rolling around the surroundings in between small sips of her drink, her free hand wandering around the table as she tucks it below to her lap. though elwood seems to be occupied in all things that are far from the femme but it’s not until she goes to reach for his own hand that she’d either get swat away, or spoken to later about the latter. though they’re on that level of uncertainty with one another ; she’s been trying her absolute best to really understand what exactly is going on between the pair ( even if it’s practically nothing ) which only seems to fail her as time goes on & on . . . well tonight she plans to really make or break it, risking it as fingertips ghost effortlessly over his ; regardless of the deep pit of fear burrowing within her chest, right behind her loud, stammering heartbeat.